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Registration thread: version 2.0

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Alric » Tue Jul 20, 2010 4:42 am

Name: Bani'rettr Kyorl'solenurn (formerly Dutan'vir)

Race: Drowussu

Order: Sentinel Eye

Age: 48

Equipment:

-Wears typical white tunic, trousers, tabard with Holy Eye symbol black-lined cloak, and boots. Has standard suit of black full plate armor with a full-face helm. Sentinel Eye logo engraved on helm above left eye.

-~25 ada on person, plus reserves back home

-Carries a five and a half foot long zweihänder as well as a poniard.

Mana: Blood Sorcery (Minor), Aura Vision, Sealing, Basic Mana Manipulation

Starting Place: Chel'el'sussoloth

Clan: Kyorl'solenurn

Background:
Born as the eldest child to a skald of the Dutan'vir clan, Bani'rettr grew up immersed in the literary and poetic background of the Les'annr subhouse. His mother, Segja, was known as a singer and performer of tales, and taught Bani'rettr and his siblings of what she knew. Bani'rettr, though not as accomplished at singing as some of his brothers and sisters, was able to learn how to handle the lyre quite well. He would often accompany his family on the lyre as they recited tales of the glorious battles of warrior-queens. With these recitals, Bani'rettr became acquainted with most of those in his clan and subhouse, including his cousins. Most notable of these was his younger cousin Maria, whom he treated much like a younger sister. Like many in his clan, Bani'rettr grew to respect honor and loyalty above all other virtues; virtues which tempered Bani'rettr's more rambunctious and ruthless side.

Upon turning 10, Bani'rettr was sent off for schooling at Orthorbbae. Bani'rettr came into contact for the first time with both full-blooded drowolath and those of different clans, which was quite a shock for the usually outgoing drowussu. The young Bani'rettr was completely overwhelmed being away from his kin for the first time in his life.

Eventually, like many others in the same situation, Bani'rettr became attached to those who his clan was friendly towards; chiefly his Sharen compatriots. Bani'rettr knew that their blood ran through his particular veins as he had a Sharen ancestor, a male knight named Duryo'dhana. This fact made him highly accepted among his Sharen peers, who jokingly referred to him as "our brother with bleached skin." The gang often amused themselves outside classes by making life hard for their rivals in the Sarghress and Sullisin'rune clans. Bani'rettr would often help plan and lead these pranks and roughhousing, and would always put up a fair bit of resistance whenever the offended parties would return for some payback.

Bani'rettr enjoyed a particularly strong friendship with Iu'iutsu, a young Sharen noble who shared several classes with him. Bani'rettr saw Iu'iutsu as a very close friend and ally, and pledged to defend him and the Val'sharess with his life if need be. The young Bani'rettr saw it as his divinely granted duty to protect the nobility of the Sharen against all threats, a view fostered by his Dutan'vir upbringing.

However, incidents in the political landscape of Chel'el'sussoloth brought ill tidings for Bani'rettr. It became known that a number of drow, including several Dutan'vir, had been experimenting in the forbidden necromancy of demonic summoning. Furthermore, even more drow became inadvertently tainted through the acts of these summoners. Val'sharess Diva'ratrika called for a purge of any drow known to be involved in such activities. Though relatively few Dutan'vir had dabbled in the black arts, the clan as a whole felt betrayed when they too were targeted by the inquisition.

Bani'rettr had just graduated from Orthor'bbae when these horrific events occurred. The Dutan'vir clan had been plunged into chaos- already a house had defected to the extremists in the Kyorl'solenurn clan. Bani'rettr couldn't help but think of Iu'iutsu and what he thought of the whole issue. Did he approve of Diva'ratrika's actions? Did he think that the Dutan'vir had betrayed the trust of the Sharen clan?

The assassination of Sannindi'ligr by Nidraa'chal agents prevented Bani'rettr from ever getting back in touch with his old friends. With this cowardly act, the clan fell apart at an appallingly rapid rate. Bani'rettr's family felt ashamed and betrayed by recent events. One of Sannindi'ligr's surviving sons gave the remnants of the Dutan'vir clan one last chance for a shining moment of glory, just like the heroes of old. They would make a final stand against the demonic hordes of the Nidraa'chal…victory or death, their decisive battle would be one that would restore the honor and name of the Dutan'vir clan for all time.

Bani'rettr was just old enough to ride out with the rest of the Dutan'vir warriors and mana specialists to face the great evil. Deep inside him, Bani'rettr felt his hatred and shame grow into an unstoppable rage. He confessed to his mother; "I don't care if I live or die; I just want to take as many of those Nidraa'chal monsters with me. And what of our Sharen so-called allies? They ask for us to defend them, but prey on us once our backs are turned!" Segja looked like Bani'rettr had hurt her. She then sighed and said, "Don't say that, my son…you're still young. I pray that none of us here fall. The Sharen will one day pay for their crimes…perhaps not by our hands, but by someone. I know you are a good person, Bani'rettr…but you've got a dark streak in you. Don't let the evil out…ever!" Bani'rettr considered Segja's words.

Soon, the Dutan'vir warriors launched their fateful charge upon the waiting Nidraa'chal forces. The Dutan'vir fought with courage and valor, but their lack of focus and discipline proved to be their downfall against the demonic hordes. Bani'rettr witnessed several of his loved ones brutally slain, torn apart, and eaten by Nidraa'chal warriors and their mutated lackeys. The horrifying sight scarred the young drow mentally and emotionally, driving Bani'rettr to fight with an insane, blood-crazed rage much like the demons he battled with. Yet, the young warrior was but one against many. When the battle was over, only a handful of Dutan'vir still remained among the living, most of whom Bani'rettr had never seen before.

All that Bani'rettr had held close to him was now gone in a frenzied slaughter. The young Dutan'vir walked on, sobbing and terrified of the future. Bani'rettr's family had all been slain…where would he turn now? After what seemed like an eternity of walking, Bani'rettr came across a warden of the loathed Kyorl'solenurn, accompanied by several of her warden lackeys. In a fit of rage, Bani'rettr charged them, nearly oblivious of his wounds and fatigue. How dare they tread on his clan's sacred lands after such a tragedy?! The more experienced Kyorl'solenurn quickly subdued the young warrior, outnumbered and injured as he was.

Yet Bani'rettr was not to die that day. The shrewd warden of the Sentinel Eye order, Tom'oe, told her guards to stay their blades, and she asked Bani'rettr what had happened. Breaking down in tears, Bani'rettr told Tom'oe of the events that had just transpired in between deep sobs Tom'oe recognized Bani'rettr's fighting spirit and further realized that she had been handed what might be a deadly weapon to use against the tainted. It was not a difficult task to convince the boy that the tainted were his enemy, and that his family could be avenged by slaying as many of them as possible. Bani'rettr felt the weight of his injuries weighing down upon him, and the desire to avenge his fallen clan burned deeply within him. Bani'rettr followed Tom'oe back to the Kyorl'solenurn fortress.

Empaths worked tirelessly to heal Bani'rettr's physical injuries, and to soothe his mental scars. Unbeknownst to Bani'rettr, the empaths had orders from Judicator Innen to twist his past memories as to support Kyorl orthodoxy. Little memory remains of Bani'rettr's past friendship with the Sharen, or his Sharen heritage. His fears and survivor's guilt were assuaged, but the memories of his family's brutal deaths remained – as did a burning hatred of not just those responsible, but of all tainted.

Bani'rettr was adopted by the Sentinel Eye order and subsequently devoted much of his life from here on out to training hard in combat skills, sealing, and in sorcery. He served his order and clan unflinchingly during this time, earning the acclaim of his Judicator and superiors. It was during his time at the Dutan'vir that he met other survivors of the Dutan'vir, most notably Maria. Both were overjoyed to meet each other again. Though Maria did not take Bani'rettr as a templar at this time, the two remained extremely close, as they were the only remaining links to the Les'annr house (at least as far as they knew).

Eventually, after her prior templar was retired from active duty, Maria requested Bani'rettr to accompany her as her templar, and Bani'rettr accepted. The two formed a tight bond, and now continue to serve the Kyorl'solenurn clan.

Appearance & Characteristics:
Height: 6'6" (1.98 m)
Weight: 240 lbs (110 kg)
Eyes: Grey
Hair: Copper colored, long and pulled into tails at the back as a nod to his Dutan'vir heritage. Messy bangs in the front.

Timezone: US Central (GMT-5)
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Zickman » Tue Jul 20, 2010 10:34 pm

Name: Validus Lo’shack (formerly Validus Lo'shack Dutan’vir)

Race: Drowussu

Age: 87

Equipment: Validus's armor is simple but effective, he wears only a cuirass, greaves, and metal gauntlets. Under this he wears tunics and pants usually made of reinforced spider silk. His armor is of black metal while the clothes he wears underneath are generally of a white color.

Weapons-wise Validus carries about his person a hand-and-a-half sword and a backup dagger.

Other:
Whetstone
30 Ada, usually 5 to 7 on person at any given time
Small figurine of the Dutan’vir clan symbol
Broken dagger, monument of the fall of his clan

Magic: Fire Sorcery, High Arts

Skills: Adept Swordsman- A childhood of training in Orthorbbae and the hard life of a clanless Drowussu has left Validus well skilled in the use of his blade.

Proficient Mana User- The instructors at Orthorbbae did their job well, leaving Validus very knowledge in the field of Mana Arts.

Sharp Intellect- A Drowussu does not survive clanless and alone amid a city of Drowussu hating Drowolath without use of a keen mind.

Beginning city: Chel'el'sussoloth

Clan: Former Dutan’vir, now clanless

Background: Faith? Believe? Destiny? The Goddess’s Plan?! You speak to me of the Goddess’s Plan?! Well let me tell you a bit about what the goddess has planned for me? Maybe at the end of my tale you won’t be so sleekly full of yourself Inquisitor.

My name is Validus Lo’shack Dutan’vir, remember it well. I was born the fourth son of Raimee Lo’shack Dutan’vir, she was a well renowned high ranking soldier, and her mate Karmack. As a child I was relatively happy, my mother was loving towards all her children and not just her daughters. My days were spent running around Dutan’vir tower with my brothers and friends generally getting into trouble and being a rambunctious youth. I was satisfied and content, relatively strong and healthy. So then it came time for my education in earnest to start, I was to go to school. To learn how to fight, to learn how to be self-sufficient, to learn to be a proper Dutan’vir.

I was eager to go to Othrobbae, I had heard so much about the place from my older brothers and sure enough I was not disappointed. The school was every bit as magical and fantastic as I expected. I can safely say that the years I spent at Othrobbae were the happiest of my life. I met several of my closest friends in this place, I lost a couple of them too. But twenty years is merely a fleeting wisp of time in the eyes of our people, and soon I was back at home. Grown, strong, proud and ready to give my life unreservedly to the Val’Sharess as all the rest of my clan. For a couple of years all was well…………..

And then came the great betrayal, the beginning of the end of my life as I knew it.
“The Tainted are enemies, Take them out…… Whoever they may be!” One order, one simple order which ripped my clan apart. In an instant brother turned upon brother, mother on son, daughter on father. Loyalty to the Val’Sharress primary, clan ties and family love a distant second. My mother was one of the earliest to be tainted in battle, without fuss and without complain she called us all to her side and with her family as witness she plunged a dagger deep into her heart. “Loyalty to the Imperial Queen above all else.” Were the final words she whispered before death’s embrace.

For the first time in my life I felt burning hatred. Directed against the one to whom my existence was sworn. What leader did this to her most loyal servants? Apparently the Val’Sharess was just such a leader. But I stifled away the doubts and anger. I was Dutin’vir, my very existence was based upon protecting and serving the Imperial Queen Diva’trika. It was part of me as much as the will to survive. So it was that I watched helplessly as blow after blow was struck to my clan, I believed in the Dutin’vir invincibility. We were an old and mighty clan! Nothing could bring is down, this was simply a bad storm that would soon blow over and in place leave a brighter day. That might have happened even, despite all the massive losses we could still have survived.

That was until the turning point happened, the occurrence which was the path of no return for my clan. The final blow was struck with the death of our Illharess. With the death of our Illharess, our ultimate fall was simply a matter of time. I well remembered our final battle, our final charge against the demon worshipping scum. I was there, fighting alongside the rest of my brethren. In the midst of the fight I was slashed across the face and fell unconscious. That’s how I got this scar. When I awoke at first, I thought I was dreaming. My clansmen lay around me. Dead and still. I was the only one that still moved. I don’t know how long I straggled among them dazed and bleeding trying to find a survivor, but eventually I accepted that there was none. I was the only one that remained of the proud army of courageous warriors that had set out to avenge the mighty Dutin'ver just hours previous...........I was the only one that remained.

I don't know how long I wondered the dead deserted streets of Chel, I don't remember much of those few days following the battle on a whole. But finally I found myself back at our fortress, I had come back for our young. For those that we had had to leave behind to go on our crusade. They were the only hope of our clan now. I had to protect them at all cost!

Imagine my horror upon seeing my home gutted and all the young, the future of our clan gone. Take away by the looks of it. Then and there it sank in, the Dutin'vir had fallen. My clan was no more. I think that madness gripped me for awhile. I can remember standing around and just screaming to the air for hours upon end before falling down exhausted and crying myself to sleep. But when I finally threw off the stupor, when I finally decided to go on simply because I was the last stupor clear brilliant realization came to me. My clan had been betrayed by its Vals, they had been the one to issue the orders. It was they who had led us to the slaughter. More than likely it was they too who had survive.

So that's what drives me to this day inquisitor. That is what kept the madness at bay, that is what gives me well to go on. Revenge. That is the goddess's plan for me. Revenge against the treasonous Vals that led their own clan to its end. I swear upon the grave of my mother that I shall find any of them if they still survive and put an end to them. Blot out their life as they did my mother, brothers, and sisters. That is the oath I made, and shall keep no matter if it takes me to my grave.

Description: Validus is handsome even for a Drowussu. He stands at 6'2 and is built like a runner, slender yet strong. His amber hair he wears in a mass of curls, and he has light brown eyes that can go from soft and laughing to cold and murderous in a second. In the right light his pearly skin seem to give off its own soft illumination. The only flaw in Validus’s perfection is a long jagged scar that runs the length of his temple, memento to the time his clan fell and he almost fell with it.

Time Zone/Activity: Central
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Thalar » Fri Jul 23, 2010 8:36 pm

Those of you who have accepted their conditional approvals may immediately begin play after having posted so in this thread. Just a reminder ^^ Same goes for those posting updated dvergar appearances - there is no need to repost the entire background, just the appearance is fine.

Glithrien - new age is fine, in case you were waiting for it to be approved before joining in :)
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby django » Fri Jul 23, 2010 9:08 pm

Name: Elly Les'annr Dutan'vir
Race: Drowssu
Sex: Female
Age: 41
Weapons: Dagger (More of a tool.)
Armor: Non
Other Equipment: 20 ada pieces, some cloths, cloak, Lock smith tools, 3 rations, back pack, Mother locket, flint and steel.
Magic: Fire (novice) Basic mana
Clan: Clanless (former Dutan'vir)
Beginning City: Chel'el'sussoloth

Back ground: Les'annr mother was a young but loving parent who was a locksmith for her house and clan. Like her mother, Elly was a gadget worker from the day she was born. Even at a young age she could take apart some simple things and put them back together (With the help of her mother of course).

When Elly played with her friends she always pretended to be a tiki. She always wanted one for herself but her mother said no because she doesn't have the time to take care of it. 'When your a little older dear' she would always say.

Ellys showed signs of being talented with fire like her aunt. Her aunt saw this wanted to train her to wield this power properly and not burn herself, like many first time fire novices have. Elly liked her aunt she was really nice. Elly would visit as often as she was allowed to and hone her mana skills.

But good times were short and the Nidraachal attacked. Elly's mother was killed in the assault and Elly was placed with a group of children in a safe place... for the moment.

Nobody came for a long time, until the Kyrols entered and they didn't really help. They just took some of the children from Elly's group, the more pure looking ones. Before they left, Elly begged for them to please help them but she was only pushed back roughly by a templar. The children and Elly cried because it felt like the world was coming to an end.

When the Kyrols left the slaver, who weren't far behind. Large black olaths entered with shackles and rope. They started to harvest the frightened, fleeing children. Elly caught the eyes of a large brute, she tried to get away but he pulled her off into a room away from the other slavers. Ripping her clothes off and forcing her on a bed, Elly struggled but was too young and weak to fight back against him and was raped. This olath was sick and evil, in celebration of this he took his last rare surface tobacco cigaret.

He lit one and hovered over her thinking about what to do to her next. When he breathed in, Elly mind clicked off as she saw the cherry light and a survival instinct took over. Summoning what mana she knew; she manipulated the cherry light and made it into a small flame and pushed it into his throat and lungs as he inhaled.

Choking to death, his sensitive lungs and throat too serious damaged to take in air as he shrived on the floor like a worm, choking for air.

The other slavers left him and Elly behind. Not sure or really caring where their comrade went to stick around with all the fighting and demons around. Elly stayed in that room for a long time, huddled on the bed not sure wether to cry or rip her skin off feeling so dirty and used. She only dared to look outside when she heard her aunts voice looking for her. She was shocked to find Elly naked, bruised and with a dead man.

Taking the poor girl she grabbed what ever she could find and headed to Chel. She knew the clan had fallen and took the only thing she had left was Elly and she needed her.

Ellys aunt was tainted from all the fighting with demons. They passed by the mounds of corpse in the streets and the demons the feasted on their flesh. They managed to sneak by unnoticed but the images made an impression on Elly. Never will she be a child again, never will her world so safe, never will she be the same again.

They found a rough but honest life living Chel, hiding their Dutan'vir history from everyone. During these fifteen years, Elly became near silent, looking over her shoulder often, thinking another Olath was going to jump her and rape her again or the return of demons to finish her and the rest of the Dutan'vir off.

Holding on to the few things that were her mothers, a locket with a picture is one of them, if she opened it a chime would sing. She almost never opens it, it reminded her of bad times. Elly worked as a lock smith, her skills had improved as the years would go by. Although young, her skill level with locks is at least a step ahead from the norm for her age.

But things never stayed quite for Elly, out shopping with her aunt, they came across a Kyorls purging squad. Her aunt told her to flee and Elly ran for her life.

Her Aunt being tainted knew they would follow her until they caught her but she chose to fight them.
Although she died, she gave Elly a head start. Small and quite she blended in well into her surroundings well. But they chased her fanatically for the whole day almost but she was a slippery eel and seemed to make a fool out of the larger group.

She almost got caught twice, once by a templar but he was too big to fit in the hole she escaped in and the other by a warden, Elly was hopping a fence and her leg was caught by a warden but Elly acted quickly and gave off a sparked with a flint and steel, using that flame to set the wardens (perfumed) hair on fire.

It took a long time but Elly lost them. Returning home she cried and sobbed, she wasn't good enough for them the first time and they left her to be raped. Now that her aunt was tainted, they wanted to cleanse her.

Elly stayed in her house for a few days not eating or drinking much. She was afraid they were still in the streets looking for her or too depressed to get up and do something. She gathered her things and her aunts savings. She needed to start new and she would, she didn't know why she wanted to but the urge to get out was too much.

Description: She has a small thin body but with a cute little face. Long black hair, as well of some some signs of an olath in her blood line but not much. Her shiny copper eyes tell a tale of sadness.

Height: 5
Weight: 100
Eye Color: Like two shiny pennies
Hair Color: Black
Personality: Elly was once a happy child with nothing concerning her more then how to fix or take apart her next gadget or playing with friends but since the Nidraachal war she became a quite, shy and even afraid.The truma of rape left a deep impression on her, she developed fear of men (Some more then others), trouble sleeping and eating, she wont even be in the same room with a bed and an Olath (regardless of sex) in it.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Thalar » Fri Jul 23, 2010 9:38 pm

Writeman
Character: Neraph Gurnisson

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (6)
  • Mana arts - (NA)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (6)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (6)
  • Plausibility - (7)
Conclusion: Approved

==

The Watcher
Character: Durin Bergthalsson

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (7)
  • Mana arts - (NA)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (7) -
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (8)
  • Plausibility - (8)
Conclusion: Approved

==

Sonor Val'Illhar'dro
Character: Waer'ah Kyorl'solenurn

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (8)
  • Mana arts - (7)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (7)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (7)
  • Plausibility - (7)
Conclusion: Approved

==

Alric
Character: Bani'rettr Kyorl'solenurn

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (5) - Bit of a far stretch for the Sharen students to accept him as a "brother" when the male lineage isn't traced. "Cousin" would probably work better in this situation. Also, more likely that the empaths removed or weakened all his memories rather than being able to edit some of them (which may not be possible, while we know brainwashing is).
  • Mana arts - (7)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (7)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (7)
  • Plausibility - (6)
Conclusion: Approved

==


Zickman
Character: Validus Lo'shack

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (8)
  • Mana arts - (7)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (7)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (7)
  • Plausibility - (8)
Conclusion: Approved

==

django
Character: Elly Les'annr Dutan'vir

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (6)
  • Mana arts - (7)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (6)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (6)
  • Plausibility - (7)
Conclusion: Approved
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Avashka » Sat Jul 24, 2010 8:15 am

Blanked pending re-write, feel free to delete until then.
Last edited by Avashka on Sun Jul 25, 2010 1:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby The Watcher » Sat Jul 24, 2010 11:58 pm

I can tell you right off the bat, this character is never going to be accepted if he has anything to do with shapeshifting powers, no matter their source or explanation. Shapeshifting is such a big deal that only the comic's main character and demons are the only ones allowed to have it.

The simple, grinding fact in this setting is that anyone non-fae in this setting must be completely mundane. Limiting, and frustrating at times, but that's how it is.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Avashka » Sun Jul 25, 2010 12:41 am

The Watcher wrote:I can tell you right off the bat, this character is never going to be accepted if he has anything to do with shapeshifting powers, no matter their source or explanation. Shapeshifting is such a big deal that only the comic's main character and demons are the only ones allowed to have it.

The simple, grinding fact in this setting is that anyone non-fae in this setting must be completely mundane. Limiting, and frustrating at times, but that's how it is.


Figured it was worth a shot. Thought the utter lack of traditional skills, miserable personality, and massive limits on said capabilities (what with looking like a colourless horror no matter the shape) might swing it to limited acceptability. I'll see, I guess.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Thalar » Sun Jul 25, 2010 11:45 pm

Please do not use this thread for anything except posting completed character profiles for review, or dealing with a conditional approval. Thank you.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Kel_The_Oblivious » Tue Jul 27, 2010 3:39 am

Simply posting updated age and apperance

Age: 29

Standing 4'6", he is quite tall for a dwarf. He weighs 150 lbs, His body is lean compared to some dwarves, but the strength is obvious just looking at him. His hair is short cropped and copper red in color. His beard is short and well maintained, covering his entire jawline, cheeks, chin and mouth. His eyes are dark and gray, like flint. Dozens of small scars pepper his skin, no major ones showing.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Avashka » Mon Aug 02, 2010 6:22 pm

Name: Adrius ("Addie") Valir

Sex: Male

Race: Goblin (Human)

Age: 28

Equipment: 16 ada, clean grey robe, green sash, cloth belt, common dagger, soft shoes.

Magic: None. He's human, after all.

Beginning city: Val'Raveran

Clan: None (Freed slave from clan Val'Nal'sarkoth)

Background: Adrius was born on the surface, in a small village that he cannot remember. Always somewhat small and weak, he was little help on the fields, and instead took to medicine; he served under the village's healer for some time, learning much of the local flora and fauna and their various uses in creating both remedies and poisons. When he was 14, a mercenary band of drow raiders sacked his home and enslaved most of the population, delivering them to Chel'el'sussoloth for sale. Adrius, unfit for most labour, was initially thought useless until he informed his captors of his skill set; he was promptly sold off to an apothecary of clan Val'Nal'sarkoth to serve as an assistant.

Adrius proved himself to be extremely capable in this duty, and for that matter an insatiable learner. His mistress was intrigued at this, and perhaps on a lark opted to teach him more thoroughly; over the twelve years he spent as her assistant, he swiftly became one of the most capable chemists and herbalists she ever mentored. During this time, as she became more impressed in her slave, she slowly granted him more freedom to experiment, so long as he remained in the seclusion of the clan holdings. While none of his creations were revolutionary, Adrius did prove himself able to create almost everything in the apothecary's repertoire. All and all, Adrius was very useful, and he was treated better than many of the other slaves, even for the Nal'sarkoth.

Unfortunately for him, however, spending most of one's life in constant contact with obscure chemical fumes and worse is rarely good for a human's health. Although he reached a full 5'8", his body remained slim and gangly, and he developed a nasty cough. The final punctuation to this involved an accident with an experimental process in dye creation that left him completely bleached; opaque white flesh and hair, dull pale grey eyes, and several weeks recuperating before he could return to work; he was blinded for several weeks and his vision didn't fully return for almost a year. Defying any sense, the colour alteration seems to be permanent, giving him an obvious mark that most of the other non-drow members of the Val'Nal'Sarkoth found distasteful.

Finally, Adrius' mistress-- despite his effective service-- took on a drow apprentice and no longer required the ghostly-looking human's services. With no ability to serve in the Val'Nal'Sarkoth military and only limited use as a domestic, the apothecary set him free. Knowing Chel'el'sussuloth's typical view of non-drow, he signed on the first caravan to Val'Raveran he could find, and now performs odd jobs as he seeks ada to (hopefully) open his own apothecary. And survive. Survival is good.

Suddenly, selling oneself back into slavery is looking real good.


Description: Prior to the 'accident,' Adrius looked to be a fairly ordinary, if skinny, human male standing at about 5'8", with brown hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. He kept his face carefully shaved and, though not terribly handsome, wasn't hideous if one could ignore the chemical staining and burns. Now, however, his entire body is opaque white, as is his increasingly-long hair, and he seems unable to grow any facial hair. His eyes too have turned a dull greyish colour and he has become somewhat nearsighted. On a positive note, the bleaching also smoothed out his complexion and eradicated the visible signs of chemical stains and burns; now he just looks creepy, effeminate, and ethereal. In fact, he has been mistaken for female numerous times, to the point where he doesn't bother to correct strangers anymore.


Skills and Capabilities:
Adrius is a self-admitted coward and an atrocious fighter; he keeps the dagger more as a tool than a fighting implement. In a fight, even against an adolescent drow, he would likely be beaten easily, and being human he lacks any magical power.

What he does have, however, is a gifted mind for chemistry, a fair amount of intelligence, and a tremendous capacity for learning. He's also a decent artist, remarkably good actor, and, oddly enough, talented singer, with an extraordinarily broad vocal range. He fancies himself a scholar, and hopes to learn all that he can of the world below and of the world above; a daunting task indeed, given he barely knows anything outside the Val'Nal'Sarkoth fortress.

Adrius' alchemical skill is nothing short of extraordinary in spite of a significant lack of any magical potential. He can make most mundane salves, unguents, dyes, and ointments given time and materials. Further, due to his service to his mistress, he has some considerable skill crafting poisons, incendiaries, and caustics, though their use is typically frowned upon. He is also an experienced herbalist and is fairly knowledgeable regarding local flora.

Adrius is in fairly poor health and, aside from being physically weak, has poor stamina and a nagging cough. He is also still somewhat nearsighted since the accident; nothing crippling, but still a drawback.

Time Zone/Activity: Eastern, most active 8pm-1am
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Avashka
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Sir Malifact » Tue Aug 03, 2010 2:33 pm

Name: Murados Doombreaker
Race: Dvergar (free)
Gender: Male
Age: 56
Profession: Mercenary and Survivalist
Beginning City: Val’Raveran

Equipment
-Armor]

Murados wears a simple set of thick hide armor, with nailed-on plates of Drow steel for extra protection (taken from the armor of slain Drow soldiers, but cut down to the desired size and shape). The metal itself is a deep black, contrasting dully with the cement-grey of the hide, which came from a beast of burden Murados slew in a caravan raid long ago. The plates are attached to the shins, thighs, shoulders, forearms and chest. It provides ample protection, whilst allowing Murados to move stealthily through the tunnels of the Underdark.

-Melee Weapons:

As a rule, Murados wears a pair of leather gloves, thin plates of spiked steel melded to the hide. A pair of viciously serrated daggers are tucked into hidden sheathes on his wrists, and a double-headed warhammer is strapped to his back. Propelled by his prodigious strength, and reinforced with plundered Drow steel, the hammer is a formidable weapon in his gnarled hands.

-Ranged Weapons:
Murados uses a light-weight metal crossbow with a collapsible stock and arc. It can fire a wide array of adapted bolts; thin-headed armor piercers (made from viciously sharpened slivers of Drow-steell) and wickedly serrated and barbed bolts, which he is known to coat in various unpleasant substances when the opportunity presents itself.

-Miscellaneous:

--Large rucksack
--Hip-flask of Gutbuster Stout,
--Coinpurse containing a meager sum of silver and copper pieces (Dwarvish currency) as well as a few Ada
--Powder horn, small supply of toxic residue
--A quiver filled with crossbow bolts
--Home-made explosives: makeshift Molotov cocktails, waxed paper fuses, small “grenades” made from hollowed-out stones filled with a bit of explosive powder and scraps of metal. Said grenades are temperamental and often more effective as a distraction or a morale breaker than a lethal weapon.
--A box of self-made fungus cigars.

Magic: None, of course.

Clan: Murados holds no affiliation with any Drow clan; he was born into a rugged, nomadic clan of survivors, the Doombreakers. While a mere fraction of their former strength, the Doombreakers are one of the largest surviving Dwarf clan remnants, constantly on the move to avoid unwanted attention and ensure an adequate supply of resources. Bitter enemies of the Drow, the Doombreakers have stayed strong by perfecting the art of guerilla warfare to raid Drow caravans with maximum effectiveness and minimum casualties, typically via overwhelming but fleeting ambushes on vulnerable targets and heavy use of weapons based on the choking, disorienting underworld toxins which only Dwarves can endure. A harsh life and harsher training regimen ensures each dwarf is at their physical peak, and weakness in any form is heavily looked down upon.

Background:
Murados’ life was one of hardship, deprivation, and tragedy from the moment he was born. His mother died in childbirth, and his father had died months ago in a raid. So it was that the community raised him, but no one had much time to spare for yet another orphan, and the clan ethos saw the young dwarf fending for himself before long. In many ways Murados never had a childhood; life with the Doombreakers forced a dwarf to grow up fast or die. For years he worked to establish himself in the clan, but time and time again he found he had little or no talent for most any useful profession or skilled labor; he couldn’t become a blacksmith, artisan, or healer; he had no profession. He even proved to be, at best, an indifferent miner, a shame beyond shame for any dwarf. More and more he felt that he did not fit in with his clansmen, who had families, who had friends, who had skill with their hands and honest work to give them pride.

Determined to succeed but lacking any alternatives, he threw himself into the only option left to him; fighting. He threw himself into the clan’s rigorous training regime with a determination unusual even for his tenacious race, the determination born of a desperate man with no other way out. No matter what happened to him, no matter how grievous his wounds or embarrassing the humiliation, he kept going. He was implacable, unshakable, his nerves seemingly forged of steel. At the cost of friends and happiness, at the cost of personal relationships or emotional development, he focused on his training with a single-minded devotion that saw him develop into a ferocious warrior, a living weapon for his clan. In fighting alone did he feel he was useful, that he was valued and skilled and worth something. His emotional pain and anguish were channeled and focused as relentlessly as his body, developing a cold, calculating, implacable battle-fury, approaching the destination of ferocity in completely the opposite direction of a berserker, but with equally rampant furor. Before he even entered adolescence, he took part in clan raids in any way he could, carrying ammunition and loading cannon for his brethren.

As time passed, and his battlefield experience grew, he began to chalk up kills of his own. Driven to excel so that he could feel valued, he developed a preference for the crossbow over the hand cannon; noticing the importance of hierarchy and organization to effectiveness in battle, he would use his more precise crossbow to target any drow who stood out as leaders, hoping to silence them before they could rally their compatriots.
This proved invaluable in one of his proudest moments, when Murados’ crossbow bolts first struck through the eye of a caravan guard commander’s mount to slay the beast, then through the throat of its rider when the momentary distraction caused her mana shield to falter. Effectively beheaded, the Drow defense fell to shambles, and they were defeated through an unrelenting bombardment of cannonballs and noxious gas, There would be no glorious captain to lead a counter-charge because of Murados’ efforts, and the Dvergar efficiently whittled down the survivors. Following the clan’s traditions, he was allowed to take the beast’s thick hide as a trophy, which he brought to the hidesmith to craft into a toughened suit of armor. For a week, they ate and lived well from the plundered spoils of the caravan.

However, the success did not bring Murados the recognition he wanted. The other dwarves saw him as obsessed and rabid, with an unhealthy bent of mind and an overwhelming love of violence. Despite his calm and calculating nature, or perhaps because of it, they saw him as cold and unbalanced, uncaring. This further drove a wedge between Murados and his clansmen. He saw their wariness, even fear and dislike, and coped the only way he could; by deciding not to care, and focusing ever more on his combat drill.

This caused Murados’ life to settle into a rigid pattern, which held neither comfort nor joy, but which Murados accepted nonetheless with a kind of emotional numbness. Wake up, eat, train, fight, pack up the camp and move on. They had few domesticated pack animals, and those that they did were used to ferry the women and children, the sick and the wounded, which meant everyone took turns carrying their fair share. And when supplies ran low, they’d set up an ambush along a trade route and wait for a Drow caravan to pass by, laden with goods from the Raveran market.

Years passed by, and Murados grew ever further isolated from his comrades. Emotionally stunted, he withdrew more and more into himself until the other dwarves found him a cold, distant figure at the best of times, never deigning to speak with his Dwarven brethren unless it was to scold them.

Then, during a routine ambush, the unthinkable happened. Somehow, the Drow were ready for them; later on, one amongst their group would be found to have been a treacherous gnome and a plant, feeding information to the patrols of the region as he could.
The Drow charged, using a mana-shield to deflect the Dvergar cannon-fire. In an act of desperation, Murados grabbed up a cannon, overcharged it with powder, and charged with fuse lit towards the Dvergar’s own ammunition stockpile before hurling the whole lot in. The resulting explosion brought the roof of the cavern down between the Dvergar and Drow, hundreds of tons of rubble separating the Drow from Murados’ comrades, who had already began to fall back as they realized the jig was up. When the smoke cleared, they tried to look for him, but gave up as they realized there was no way he could have survived the cave-in. His loss was unfortunate, but no one truly mourned him, or truly searched all that hard, for he had been cold and distant and none had become close enough to care about him. Instead, they moved on, secretly glad to be rid of him.

But Murados wasn’t dead. He hauled himself out from the rubble on the other side of the tunnel, battered and bloodied, sporting a headache which made his usual hangovers seem like a tap to the head, but very much alive. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened, and what the inevitable outcome would be. He took it in stride as he did everything else, merely collecting ammo from his fallen brethren and scrounging what he could from the site of the ambush, before moving on. But he realized an important lesson: the dwarves he had lived and fought by cared nothing for him. And when allies care nothing for you, they aren’t there when you most need their help.

After several weeks of trekking through the vastness of the Underworld, he came to the entrance of Val’Raveran, the Drow trade city whose caravans he’d ambushed so many times before. The irony of it did not fail to make itself clear to him, but again, he took it in stride. He’d work with what he had. A grizzled veteran such as himself could make quite the profit, hiring himself out as a Mercenary. Arriving a few weeks before the Daemonic outbreak, he found employment as a bouncer for a seedy brothel in the lower quarters of the city, also accepting independent commissions from those with the Ada to pay. When the Daemons were unleashed, Murados and the other mercs' were quickly hired out by better-off merchants to protect them and their goods from the beserking monstrosities; but unlike them, Murados was a Duergar, and immune to taint. Possessed drow were hideously dangerous opponents; he made heavier use of his crossbow and blackpowder reserves than ever before to fend them off while staying a safe distance away, and learned, if close, to slay demons as they took hold of their hosts, rather than allowing them to fully mutate into their immensely dangerous forms. By fighting with the utmost caution and cunning, and using dupes or other mercenaries as meat shields where he could, he managed to escape this exceedingly dangerous line of work having merely recovered from several grievous wounds and having picked up a swathe of hideous new scars, rather than losing his life as had so many. After the daemonic invasion had died down, he made a name for himself by simply having survived. Even he was unsure that he’d actually managed to definitively kill any demons, but the fact that he had fought them without fear, gotten close enough to inflict injury upon them, and lived was testament to his murderous skill. It placed him above the motley collection of thugs and ex-gladiators that served as his competition, and ensured some measure of success as an enforcer, mercenary, and killer for hire. However, over and over again he saw the easy comradery of others, and secretly envied it. Over and over he found himself betrayed, turned on, or abandoned. Each time he survived, but each time he questioned how much longer he could continue alone before a betrayal caught him too much by surprise. Mostly, his response to these questions has been to lose himself in working to replenish his stock of explosive powder or drowning all higher thought in taverns with mushroom beer and wenches, but they continue gnawing at him, regardless. Perhaps it is time for a change, to endeavor to become something more than a skilled warrior and cold-blooded killer. To find some place where, finally, he can feel like he belongs.


Personality:
Murados' hard life has left him an emotionally damaged individual. He has trouble relating with others, is extraordinarily taciturn save when alcohol intervenes, and has difficulty expressing strong emotions other than hatred. Blunt, gruff, and brutally honest, the dwarf's cold and no-nonsense demeanor has prevented him from making many friends at all. Although he would probably never admit it, Murados realizes what an aberration he is, and is trying to overcome his normal standoffishness. After all, he has begun to realize that even from the coldest survivalist's perspective, lasting, dependable allies are a good thing to have. A complete pragmatist, Murados' "anything to get the job done" attitude is off-putting to many; he is as equally willing to use brutal force as insidious subtlety to get what he wants, and he is only now coming to realize that while this approach may have its place in battle, it is of dubious benefit outside it.

Description:
Murados is a hardy example of his race, standing at 4’8. He is in exemplary good shape, heavily muscled without an ounce of wasted flesh on his stout frame. A thick black beard pours down from his chin, bound into two separate tails by a pair of rawhide cords. The rest of his hair falls down to his shoulders in a mess of dreadlocks. His skin is pale, and, traversed with the heavy scarring picked up from years of hard living and raiding, looks remarkably like rough-hewn marble. His features are strong and rugged, but heavily grizzled and marred by the marks of a lifetime of guerilla-war, with a nose that is somewhat crooked due to having been broken many times. His eyes are ice-grey.

Time Zone: Eastern U.S. Actively sporadically throughout the day.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Thalar » Sat Aug 07, 2010 8:34 pm

Avashka

Character: Adrius "Addie" Valir

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (6)
  • Mana arts - (NA)
  • Abilities - (6)
  • Items - (7)
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (6)
  • Plausibility - (7)

Conclusion: Conditionally approved.

Post to confirm that he is Halme, which are the predominant human type that we know of near Chel, alternately that he is Emberi (who come from distant lands) and was thus shipped quite a distance before ending up with the Nal'sarkoth. For this background, the difference between the two human types is minimal, it would affect your character's basic appearance almost exclusively. For other backgrounds the difference would have been more significant.

==

Sir Malifact

Character: Murados Doombreaker

  • Worldsetting accuracy - (7)
  • Mana arts - (NA)
  • Abilities - (7)
  • Items - (6) - With what we've learned about dvergar, relying on drow steel wouldn't be necessary as long as the dvergar community had access to enough resources and craftsmen themselves. But used as you describe is fine.
  • Total power level - (7)
  • Backstory cohesiveness - (7)
  • Plausibility - (8)

Conclusion: Tremendous improvement over the previous versions. I'm glad to see we've reached this point. Conditionally approved.

Please post an exact amount of ada on his person, and confirm that he doesn't carry more than five of his home-made explosives (your choice of which ones he carries) at any given time. Also I need to know what that 'toxic residue' does. If it is simply an airborne irritant which makes it difficult for non-dvergar to breathe you may confirm so and begin play, provided the other conditions are also agreed to. If this is not what you intended, please PM me with the intended effect of the toxic residue, so we can come to some kind of agreement without a need for a full repost. You may not begin play until we are in agreement, with the effect posted here and approved.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Hetros » Sun Aug 08, 2010 12:32 am

Revised character: Made the prereq changes, including his appearance to match the stone of the place he was born in (black stone shot through with veins of rose quartz)

Name: Eronas vrag Duerdrepa (Literally Eronas of Earth Striker Clan)

Race: Duergar (Free Dwarf)
Age: 67 years old

Equipment:
-Around 3 black powder explosive mines at any time, more when he’s actively fighting. Large enough to cause serious damage to any unprotected structures, let alone living creatures. Long fuse timer
-Around 5 much smaller grenades built in much the same fashion on a smaller scale. More scary than dangerous, but able to cause some serious damage if they get past a Drow’s guard.
--->No Smoke bombs, as those would be useless to a miner, his mines are generally made with the intention of opening up new veins and cracks, not for combat.
-Pick-Axe, one end for mining, the other for people trying to stop him from doing so. The pommel is actually a piton hammer for driving in climbing spikes.
-Sapper’s Armor (built with casters in place of metal studs, but acts as studded leather armor. Casters allow him to slip through places he might not otherwise be able to fit through. Also insulated against heat. It acts as camouflage against drow’s own thermal vision, and against extremes of temperature in the underworld. Either the icy caverns far from heat source, or near magma and lava flows where it is extremely hot. Also has a ton of loops and hooks in protected pockets for his various gear)
--->Picture Reference: http://www.castersupply.com/NAV/images/balls1tra.jpg (the caster-studs would look like this before being attached to the armor)
-Climber’s gear, including clawed gauntlets and boots.
-Several day’s rations in dwarven foods, supplemented by mineral based seasoning and rations.
-back pack with many handy pockets
-Chisels and other stone working gear.
-Spark Striker: Metal tweezers with a flint on the end of one prong, and a steel tip on the other, when squeeze fast enough in the right way, it creates a small shower of sparks capable of lighting fires, like for a fuse.

Magic:
N/A

Abilities/Skills:
He is a very skilled spelunker. There are few places and crevices anywhere in the underworld he cannot get into. He knows how to fight, but he prefers to run unless he can get the drop on his opponents with bombs or from a handy crevice. He can fight, but he prefers to fight on HIS terms, not his opponents. He also has some level of architectural skill. He can spot faults, key stones, and similar things, and knows how to build a proper shaft and building, but this is more a side effect of the fact that he knows how to DESTROY such things, and that is what his primary business is. In the same vein, he can tell rock composition, likely mineral contents, conditions of the near by caverns, and similar things due to the nature of his training. He's no architect or prospector, but he knows enough to make himself useful in those areas if he has to be.

Beginning city: Val'Raveran

Clan: Clan Earth-Striker (Duerdrepa)

Background:
Eronas was born into the Earth-Striker Clan, a nomadic clan of dwarves subsisting on what it could hunt and gather in the wilderness, and on what it could rob from Drow caravans it came across. They kept their movements between Chel and Raveran, the primary trade road, since the best hauls were always from taking down the lightly protected caravans. This was the world Eronas was born into.

He was mostly raised by his mother and grandmother, his father being one of the main raiding members of the clan. He was small for a dwarf, and ill suited for fighting the drow directly, so his training fell to his grand mother, a dwarven sapper of Duerdrepa. His grandmother taught him the ways of the sapper, teaching him the secrets of stone and black powder that had been passed down through their family for ages.

As he grew older, he was rarely sent on the raids his family took up when traders hadn’t paid their dues, instead he used his talents and lessons to scout for the tribe. His knowledge of the living rock allowed him too find the veins of metal his kind mined while on the move, utilizing portable forges and anvils, as well as other resources such as sulfur, coal, as well as food and water sources. Mostly what he found though were passages. His duty was to locate new path ways for the clan to take so that their progress through the underworld would remain unpredictable. Where new paths couldn’t be found, he was tasked with finding hidden faults and crevices that their miners could expand and dig through the underworld to further avoid detection. Further, on those rare occasions when path ways were known to have been discovered by drow, he was one of those tasked with collapsing the tunnels behind the clan, preventing chase.

As time progressed, he grew steadily stronger, and swifter and more adept at climbing through the tunnels, crevices, and ledges of the underworld, learning the ways of explosives and black powder well and rarely failing in his tasks to expand tunnels or collapse old ones. He became a sapper to make his grandmother proud. Never the less, it was truly rare when he was sent out to help the veteran sappers in their tasks of preparing ambush and fall back points, Even as he learned the basics of fighting with grenades and mining pick, he remained a noncombatant for most of his early life.

This changed on one fateful raid when the ambush did not go as planned. The caravan guards that should have died in the cave in caused by Eronas’ grandmother, managed to shield themselves and remain capable of fighting. The clan had greatly underestimated their latest quarry and paid dearly for it. Amongst the final casualties was his grandmother, who gave her life to seal the tunnels behind the fleeing clan members, including her son, Eronas’ father. From then on, with one of their most experience sappers gone, the clan required Eronas to take a more active part in the raids.

Taking the place of his mother, Eronas quickly earned more than one scar and broken bone over the course of the first several raids he took part in. Though he quickly became a proficient enough fighter to at least defend himself from the average caravan guard’s assault with his pickaxe. During many of these raids, the clan warriors based themselves out of ancient Duergar ruins, and in those quiet hours after preparing the mines and faults of the cavern itself, and the actual battle, he often wandered these ruins as much as he was permitted. It was during this time of his life that he began to truly realize that the Duergar had not always lived like rats and bandits... that once they had ruled a set of kingdoms so great that it would put the disorganized rabble that the drow dared to call an empire to shame. He eventually came to the conclusion that nothing from their present, except for the technology they had developed in desperation, was worth keeping. That their past, their roots, held what was TRULY dwarvish.
He spoke constantly of what he learned while in the ruins, telling stories of the magnificent arching and the great works the dwarves had once had, and how the drow even now occupied even greater places that the dwarves had originally built and been driven from by foul magic and dishonorable tactics. That the drow had made the dwarves like THEM, vermin. He tried to reason with the clan elders, including his father, to found a permanent settlement, to no avail. Eventually, it was decided that his ideas were too dangerous to the clan, and he was given an ultimatum by the elders. Stop spouting this nonsense about founding a permanent settlement, or leave the clan. Eronas left. His mother had died long ago in a raid, and his father had long ago grown distant with her death and Eronas’ own ideas of settling the clan down. So he traveled.

For the next 15 years of his life, up to this current day, Eronas has traveled the Underworld. Once idealistic, he is now filled with a deep sense of ennui. The drow control every inch of the habitable underworld, his own kind continue to scurry like rats through toxin filled tunnels, caring not one bit for the future, only for their continued survival no matter how much is degrades them. He came to believe that there was no real chance of the dwarven people of reclaiming their ancestral glory. Since then he has sold his skills to the highest bidder, always carefully keeping secret the methods taught to him from any non dwarves. He has fought along freedom fighters, and discovered new trade routes for those elves who would pay him. He has acted as a guide more than once through treacherous tunnels to ancient ruins, and even once assisted in a run away slave rescue operation. His travels have now brought him to Val’Raveran, where he once more has come to sell his skills and maybe even find something worth believing in again.


Description:
Height-3'11"
Weight- 175 lbs
Eye- beady and black.
Hair- Mottled Black and Grey
Appearance-Eronas is a burly dwarf, short for even his race. His thick beard and hair are charcoal black streaked with dark grey, and his skin is a slate grey so dark it’s almost black, with odd red lines crisscrossing strikingly across his skin, resembling the rose quartz veins that ran through the stone of the caverns he was born in. His face is almost impossible to see under the matte of hair and bristle he calls his beard, but what can be seen of it is heavily scarred. Beyond this he carries himself as someone who has long since given up grand causes, and is merely trying to get from one day to the next, like every other member of his race.

Personality: Eronas is a stoic in every meaning of the word. He sees how dwarves have fallen and is furious for what the drow have done to his race. But he also realizes that aside from his banditry, there is little they can really do. To much history has been lost, to much culture with the fall of the cities a thousand years ago. The dwarves will remain pale shadows of themselves unless they can build once more, settle properly, though he sees such an event as unlikely in the extreme, he yearns for a day when there will once more be a dwarvish homeland. This makes him a solemn person to be around, he thinks, and considers, and calculates carefully everything he plans on doing, but once he has decided on a course of action he will see it through to the end, come hell or high water.

Time Zone/Activity: PST
Last edited by Hetros on Sun Aug 08, 2010 10:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Avashka » Sun Aug 08, 2010 12:41 am

Thalar wrote:Avashka
Conclusion: Conditionally approved.

Post to confirm that he is Halme, which are the predominant human type that we know of near Chel, alternately that he is Emberi (who come from distant lands) and was thus shipped quite a distance before ending up with the Nal'sarkoth. For this background, the difference between the two human types is minimal, it would affect your character's basic appearance almost exclusively. For other backgrounds the difference would have been more significant.


Confirmed, he is Halme.
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