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Registration thread: version 2.0

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby thatguyvex » Sun Mar 14, 2010 8:05 am

((Well, here's goes round one I guess. ^^; ))

Name: Ash’Kir'lin Ist’Aven Val’Sullisin’rune

Race: Drowolath

Age: 53


Weapons - Kir'lin's standard weaponry consists of an longsword and parrying dagger. Both are well crafted and made of high quality steel and have matching silver cross-guards with engraved wave patterns. She also carries a backup curved dagger.

Armor and Clothing - Her armor consists of well fitted gold enameled steel gauntlet, arm guards, and shoulder guards that are designed to fit closely without any ostentatious sticking out bits. She wears a white reinforced silk shirt and leg guards underneath her normal clothing and armor. Her usual method of dress alters on a day to day basis but she does favor a particular sleeveless long coat of a dark blue color with silver embroidery along the hem of ivy leaves. She favors halter-necks that leave her midriff exposed and leggings, usually both of lighter blue shades than her coat. She also likes efficiently made knee high leather boots over other footwear of the kind that lace up the front. She usually eschews headgear but will occasionally wear hair-pins in situations where she feels like it.

Other Items of Note - She always carries a little spending coin on her though usually only around fifty ada at any given time. She has little need for trinkets but has a fondness for fine wines and carries a small flask for whatever drink she favors at the time. Due to her love of books but the injury that leaves her blind she also carries a specially made Golem in the shape of a small (about palm sized) scarab. The Golem is designed to scan words when placed upon a page and then lets off a series of chiming notes which is a code Kir'lin has designed herself which she understands and can translate into proper words.


Empathy - Kir'lin possesses the talent for Empathy and has undergone sufficient training to control it at an intermediate level.

Mana Use - Skilled in all basic uses, focused in aura vision.

Beginning city: Chel'el'sussoloth

Clan: Val’Sullisin’rune, sub-house Ist'Aven

Background: Ash'Kirlin was born the sixth daughter of De'vess Ash’Irae Ist'Aven Val'Sullisin’rune, sired by one of the De'vess' personal guard. Her initial formative years were spent being tutored by her most immediate elder sister Ash'Juli wherein Kirlin was indoctrinated with the same fanatical loyalty and love of the Val'Sullisin'rune that pervades House Ist'Aven. She proved an apt and eager student and in those early years developed a potent fondness for books of any sort, absorbing words like a sponge regardless of their source whether they be fanciful tales or dry historical accounts. Her love of words even prompted her even in these early years to try her hand at writing and could often be found between lessons scribbling one odd story or another down in a notebook she began to always keep with her. She got on well with her siblings though her tendency to spend more time with books than people kept her from forming any extremely close ties during this time. She did revere her mother though and fully embraced the Ist'Aven ideal of self improvement put all her efforts towards improving herself and becoming an asset to her Clan. She manifested her talent for Empathy early on at around age eight, where she first began to feel the emotions of those around her. This was not unexpected as the power is inherent in the bloodline and she was given initial training to begin controlling her Empathy before she was sent away to Orthorbbae at the age of ten.

Though her early training and extensive reading up to that point had prepared her somewhat for living outside the Clan there was obviously a number of new experiences awaiting her at Orthorbbae. Ist'Aven's close knit nature meant that she'd become very comfortable with the emotional state of the people around her, but in Orthorbbae there were countless individuals all creating a storm of differing emotions. While trained somewhat to handle this it was still a heavy weight that pressed on her at all times, the ocean of emotion she now had to swim in. She also had to deal with the many different young females of differing Clans that held beliefs and ideals that had little to do with House Ist'Aven's worship of the Val'Sulisin'rune Clan and it was here in Orthorbbae that Kirlin learned about the nature of anger, pride, love, loyalty, and violence.

While she met and had dealings with many people in Orthorbbae there were several that stood out.

The one who would be her closest friend in the school was a girl from another Sullisin'rune subhouse named Tiviae Al'tew. The Al'tew's were a exceedingly small sub-house that almost exclusively produced expert bodyguards that served the Sullisin'rune. Not quite as fanatical as the Ist'Aven but still very loyal, Viviae was a typical member of her house; proud, intense, and more than a little sensual (Sullisin'rune bodyguards do more than just guard the body). Kir'lin hit it off well with Tiviae and the two quickly became attached at the hip, one rarely seen without the other. Kir'lin's love of books often amused Tiviae and it wasn't an uncommon scene for Kir'lin to lounge and read while Tiviae practiced her own passion, the art of swordplay. Much of Kir'lin's own combat training was a result of studying with Tiviae, and the two tended to help each other with their lessons, Kir'lin helping Tiviae with written work, and Tiviae with Kir'lin's combat skills.

Between the two they made friends with an older but much shyer girl from the Nal'Sarkoth Clan named Cemri. Cemri was a mousy sort but quite capable of surprisingly fierce emotions when it came to talking politics. She was being groomed to be an ambassador of her Clan and even at a young age seemed to know more about the inter-relations of Chel'el'sussoloth's Clans than Kir'lin and Tiviae did combined. Their friendship was heavily based on Cemri's admiration for Sullisin'rune political savvy and Kir'lin found she enjoyed the Nal'Sarkoth's girl's powerful emotions, which she often kept hidden and subdued but when let out where like beautiful bursts of fireworks to the Empath's senses.

The last of the quartet of friends was an unusual one, an older Ill'hardro girl named Roux'vianna. Atypical of her Clan Roux was quite insular and less than social, tending to sit by herself and avoid contact with others. This was seen as a challenge by two highly social Sullisin'rune oriented girls like Kir'lin and Tiviae, who went out of their way to 'socialize' with Roux. They say socialize, Roux called it 'incessant harasment'. However over time, whether she seemed to like it or not, Roux'vianna was roped into the circle of friends and even reluctantly appeared to enjoy the company over time, though never willing to admit to such out loud. Roux's only real interest seemed to be the study of military affairs, an odd thing for an Ill'hardro, but this meant she got along best with the militant minded Tiviae, while Kir'lin was often the one to joke that Roux's real passion was the "art of being grouchy".

Kir'lin established this circle of friends within her first year at Orthorbbae, which passed fairly smooth and was one of the best years of her life, with countless new experiences and things to learn. However in her second year things became much rougher as a result of meeting two particular people.

The first was Deikorvi Nal'Sarkoth, who was very much the opposite of her older sister Cemri. Loud, boisterous, and very vindictive. Overly protective, as well, of Cemri, which may have been her saving grace. Kir'lin and Deikorvi might have come to serious blows with each other if not for mutual love of Cemri, but Deikorvi was very patriotic of her own Clan and could not stand argument that any other Clan held greater promise than the Nal'Sarkoth. Obviously this meant conflict with an Ist'Aven. They competed with each other at every opportunity, whether it be art, math tests, practice at swords, or mana arts. Kir'lin could not say she hated Deikorvi, but her earliest experiences with the emotions of anger and pride were a result of her constant competing with the unrelenting and passionate Nal'Sarkoth girl.

It was one of her more loud and intense arguments with Deikorvi over the various virtues of the Sullisin'rune Clan that triggered her meeting with her second, and much worse opponent; Uvwethi Hol'drak Vel'Sharen. The Hol'drak sub-house was little more than a house specifically geared towards being propaganda agents of the Sharen Clan. Kir'lin and Deikorvi's argument over the Sullisin'rune attracted Uvwethi's attention, and with her entourage challenged both girls to deny the superiority of the Sharen. The resulting argument might have degenerated into violence then and there if not for the presence of several teachers.

However this was the spark that started a year long conflict between Uvwethi's circle of friends and Kir'lin's. At first it was simple things like arguing and insults in the hallways and little mostly harmless pranks, almost innocent, almost fun. But things quickly became far more severe when Uvwethi and her crowd managed to corner Roux by herself one night between trips to the lavatory where they held the young Ill'hardro down and broke several of her fingers as a 'warning' to her friends. This prompted an almost immediate retaliatory strike by Kir'lin and Tiviae where they dragged Uvwethi out of bed in the middle of the night and beat the Hol'drak girl, not so badly that it would cause interference from the school faculty, but enough to satisfy their need for vengeance.

But that did nothing but escalate the matter and ultimately lead to the most life changing event of Kir'lin's life.

In retaliation for the beating Uvwethi set out to target another of Kir'lin's friends, this time Cemri. By now Kir'lin had come to insist that she and her friends always walk about at least in pairs and share rooms with one another as often as possible. This applied even to bathing, and it was during one evening where Kir'lin and Cemri were sharing a bath that Uvwethi and her troupe struck. Anger had driven Uvwethi to care little for the consequences of breaking school rules and the beating Kir'lin and Cemri received was severe. Over the next few weeks while Kir'lin and Cemri were recovering there was no real punishment bestowed on Uvwethi or her crowd, as neither girl had been killed. However Deikorvi, enraged by her sister's injuries, set aside her differences with Kir'lin and joined in the goal of dealing with Uvwethi. The final confrontation occurred a few days after Kir'lin had recovered from her injuries though Cemri was still bedridden.

Kir'lin, Tiviae, Roux'vianna, and Deikorvi lured Uvwethi and her compatriots down to one of the training rooms in the night, using Roux as bait walking about by herself to draw Uvwethi in. In that room the four girls confronted Uvwethi and five of her own group. Few words were exchanged and it was not long before a desperate brawl broke out. Somewhere amid all the throwing of punches and small blasts of mana Uvwethi and Tiviae had squared off and were fighting each other one on one. Kir'lin, having gotten atop her own opponent and in the full process of choking her into unconciousness looked up in time to see Uvwethi pull a dagger from her sleeve and stab Tiviae in the gut. Tiviae went down. Kir'lin completely lost control of her emotions and went at Uvwethi like a wild animal. She slammed Uvwethi bodily against the wall but for her trouble was slashed across her face, right across her eyes. Despite unbelievable pain and sudden blindness she kept slamming Uvwethi into the wall until the other girl stopped moving. By then Deikorvi and Roux had managed to fend off the remaining rabble and between the two Kir'lin and Tiviae were carried from the room and to the infirmary.

The fallout of the fight was muffled by the fact that despite Tiviae being stabbed and Uvwethi receiving severe head trauma, neither girl died. The severity of the fight still warranted punishment but Kir'lin spared her friends the worst of it by accepting responsibility for the fight, claiming that ambushing Uvwethi was her idea and that she'd simply used a bit of Empathy to cajole her friends into going along with the plan. While one of the school teacher's own Empathy was able to restore Kir'lin's eyes to their proper shape, sight was lost to her and she remained blind. The entire following year she had to perform numerous additional physical labors at the behest of the faculty as punishment, a light sentence given the circumstances. Uvwethi was no longer a problem as the incident caused her family to retrieve her from Orthorbbae, for reasons Kir'lin could not guess.

Compared to those first two years the rest of her time at Orthorbbae was fairly uneventful. Few people dared to cause her or her own much trouble due to the incident with Uvwethi. Kir'lin herself had to adjust to the sudden issue of being blind and while her family suggested she return from Orthorbbae as well to continue her training at home where she might receive daily treatment to possibly heal her eyes she wished to remain with her friends and requested to remain at Orthorbbae to finish her schooling there.

Her blindness caused a deep rift in her, the condition being a weakness she began doing all she could to overcome. She could no longer read under conventional means, and had to rely on a specially made Golem to read information from books for her. She had to work three times as hard at her combat training in order to keep up with even new girl's in their first year. She focused her energy on developing her control over her Empathy further to better sense people, and learn acute aura vision to help her 'see' people if not things.

She received plenty of support from her friends but her condition had put something of a chip on her shoulder and as often as not would refuse help. While Cemri and Roux'vianna seemed content enough to give Kir'lin her space when she obviously wanted it, Tiviae was far more persistent in her insisting to help Kir'lin in her training; something which occasionally caused the two to get into heated arguments though they never remained angry with each other for more than a few days. Deikorvi's help in dealing with Uvwethi didn't do much to soften the completive spark between her and Kir'lin either, and Deikorvi's vindictive nature had also worsened because a part of her still blamed Kir'lin for not being able to protect Cemri the night of the beating. The settled their differences in their last year at the school with one final duel that ended in a hard fought draw, but still seemed to satisfy their wants, perhaps finally confirming in each other the worth of each other as rivals and cementing a kernel of respect for one another.

When Kir'lin finally graduated and returned to her home it was with mixed feelings. She was proud to be able to return home and adult and begin her service to her House. She was also anxious and ashamed of her blindness and how it might affect her standing and performance. As it happened, she was surprised when her mother accepted her home as if nothing was amiss. Indeed it seemed Ash'Irae was proud of her daughter's graduation despite the handicap and was every inch willing to take action to seek a way to heal Kir'lin's eyes. Kir'lin, though heart warmed, had almost come to see her blindness as her personal life challenge. She, in her remaining years at Orthorbbae, had worked harder than she ever had before losing her sight, and that effort had allowed her to gain in strength she didn't think she could have managed otherwise. Which wasn't to say she wasn't sensitive about her blindness. In fact she had a rather sizeable chip on her shoulder about the matter, but that odd wounded pride prevented her from accepted the idea of healing her eyes as much as it kept her pridefully striving to overcome the weakness.

While she did not tell her mother specifically not to look for a way to even partially heal her blindness she made it clear that she didn't think of it as a 'weakness' and would willingly challenge anyone to try to prove her wrong. It was with this attitude that Ash'Kir'lin began her service to Ist'Aven with the kind of abandon that even those among a House so fanatical in nature already had to admire. She trained daily in the art of the sword and combative use of mana, taking breaks rarely and then usually only for food or sleep. She might have continued doing such for years if not for both her mother and elder sister Ash'Juli's interference. The two practically conspired to ensure Kir'lin was given a social life despite her apparent desire to do little but train. She didn't refuse the offers to spend time at social gatherings or accept the obvious intent when particularly attractive males and/or females were sent by her mother to 'assist' her in training, but Kir'lin did so only with a reluctancy to abandon her constant striving to developing her abilities as a warrior. Inwardly she still thought of herself as weak and it was hard not to. Despite her grueling training her blindness was an undeniable handicap that prevented her from achieving the level of skill her other family members were capable of. She was competent with a blade, no one could doubt that, but even with the aid of Empathy and Aura Vision to sense her opponent Kir'lin was rarely able to hold out against another warrior of her family for more than a few minutes.

Over the following decades she did take some time to keep in touch with her friends from Orthorbbae, though as she gained in skill her duties in serving House Ist'Aven alongside her training tended to keep her too busy to do much more then send letters. Tiviae, being of a sub-house of the Sullisin'rune Clan as well was easiest to keep close to and at least once a month the two would arrange to meet and train together. The two had formed a close bond and Tiviae was perhaps the only regular lover Kir'lin has ever had. Tiviae for her part wast serving as a bodyguard to a Sullisin'rune merchant family now and had begun her own family, having a daughter by one of the family's sons.

Cemri and Deikorvi were both working amongst their own Clan, Cemri as an aide to one of the field ambassadors, and Deikorvi as a member of the Clans fortress guard. Kir'lin was only ever able to arrange one meeting with the two again in the years before the present time, as conflicting schedules and the often far flung nature of Nal'Sarkoth relations made it nearly impossible to do more than exchange letters.

Roux'vianna had gone to distant Val'Raveran but Kir'lin heard no more details then that. What few letters were exchanged were clipped and short, Roux seeming to either be returning to her anti-social nature or intentially keeping details of her work and life private for reasons unknown to Kir'lin.

As time wore on Kir'lin, while still heavily focused on maintaining her regular training schedule and trying not to get too distracted by social affairs has begun to indulge herself once more in a goal she'd all but forgotten before being blinding, that of being the passion of writing. Though unable to read she's become quite used to using her reading Golem to have books read to her and rekindled a passion for writing. She, very much in secret, began toying around with writing various fictional stories. Despite her many precautions from keeping this fact from getting it the Ist'Aven's are a tight knit Clan and nothing remains secret for long. So it wasn't a particularly lengthy span of time before Juli found out, and before long Kir'lin had all manner of family members poking at her about her "noveling". Kir'lin thus far has managed to keep too many nosy brothers or sisters from getting into her cache of writings but she was defenseless against her mother's interest and hence Ash'Irae is the only one thus far that's been allowed to read any of Kir'lin's work.

Her service to her Clan has mostly consisted over the past decade of performing escort tasks for members of the House or associates of the House that have business about the city, which generally always requires some protection due to its volatile nature. She's also been entrusted with assisting one of her older brothers with handling the Clan's coin-keeping, having shown a talent for numbers. However she has yet to be truly tested or taxed in any particular task. The main reason for that is because House Ist'Aven keeps is strength mostly hidden and has had little reason to partake of any kind of action that would require Kir'lin to use her talents as a warrior. She is overeager to be able to test herself, however. She has felt a growing need now that she is older to prove her skills and show that her blindness is not a weakness. While she has grown used to the condition she is still very sensitive about it and bizarrely prideful of her skills, such as they are. Most of her family is aware of how angry she can get if it is even suggested or implied that her blindness is a disability.

As of her fifty third year, the present day, she remains as ever focused primarily on her daily training of her body, Empathy, aura vision, and combat skills so that when her House calls upon her to perform a worthy task she will not fail due to her weakness. She's less rough around the edges than she was when she first returned from Orthorbbae and can be cajoled into dropping her training with some convincing and has grown close enough to her sister Ash'Juli that she's even considered showing her sister her writings.

Description: (see Armor & Clothing for most common manner of dress) Kir'lin is a fairly tall drowolath at about 6' 2", athletic in build with broad shoulders. She isn't quite as curvy as others of her family, with actually rather understated breasts and a sort of square hip-line, but she has very long and well shaped legs (most of her 6' 2" comes from them). She also has strikingly long hair, passing her knees. She leaves it mostly white but dies her bangs and the length tips gold. Her eyes are dark blue with a inner edge of green, almond shaped, with only a hint of that glassy nature blindness tends to give. She has strong angled features, a sort of feminine handsomeness that isn't quite classical beauty but striking nonetheless.

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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Sarcose » Wed Mar 17, 2010 3:02 am

Edit: post deleted.
(very well. It was not my intent to break the rules or convention. I will reread the posting rules better next time. My apologies)
Last edited by Sarcose on Wed Mar 17, 2010 3:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby blackshade10 » Wed Mar 17, 2010 3:55 am

Sarcose wrote:Had to.

Abilities: Berserking is not an advantage. It causes someone to give in to their anger, making them attack in an either unpredictable but sloppy way or a enraged but simple way. Either way, any skilled fighter will find it laughably easy to parry, deflect, and beat such a person. There is a reason that people taunt others in a fight. Berserking does not make you immune to pain or damage. Furthermore, controlling your rage, or your anger, means to not succumb to it. Please avoid Berserking in future characters.


Historically inaccurate assessment of the use of rage and anger in battle. Channeling it is an asset that allows for optimal adrenaline production in order to help to ignore pain and fuel strength output.

Do not post anything in the Registration thread besides character sheets. If you have objections to something it can be done in PM to Thalar only.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby voynich » Wed Mar 17, 2010 3:47 pm

Name: Daston Iminok
Race: Dwarf
Sex: Male
Age: 42

-A heavy cloak made out of thick wool. The cloak shows signs of heavy use such as patches, tears and spots of dirt. The original colour might have been deep red, but all the days spent in dark caverns have left in encrusted in dirt and grime giving it greyish brown colour.
-A plain, brown burlap tunic.
-A cotton eye patch covering his right eye socket.
-Pair of burlap pants with leather reinforced knee pads and thick leather belt with simple iron buckle. The pants are dyed green.
-An iron chainmail that is worn over the tunic. Some of the links are clearly newer than others indicating that it has been repaired multiple times.
- A copper mask that covers Dastons whole face. It has eye holes in it and multiple dents in it. Daston wears the mask to protect him when using his explosives to mine, other times it hangs from his pack.
-Gloves and boots made from thick leather. The gloves show many scratches, most of which came from sharp rocks and flying shrapnel.
-A brown leather pack, hanging at Dastons side containing:
  • 3 fist sized pouches of gunpowder. The pouches are made of waxed sack cloth.
  • 3 copper casings where the pouches can fit. without them a exploding pouch would just produce cloud of smoke, as all the pressure escapes.
  • pieces of rope about 1 inch long, soaked in slow-burning tar like mixture to act as a fuse.
  • jar of sticky tar like substance. It is mainly used to secure the explosive on a wall.
  • flint and steel to ignite the fuse.
- A grey backpack.
- A iron pickaxe in a reinforced wood shaft. It seems like it has seen lot of use.

Magic: None, ofcourse.
Starting city: Raveran

Appearance: Daston is about 3 feet tall, sturdy dwarf. He has muscular arms from years of mining. He has no notable scars, but his right eye is missing. The remaining eye is dark grey, much like the colour of wet stone. Daston has somewhat short, about 4 inches, black beard which is usually full of rock dust and dirt. His coarse black hair resembles his beard, but is much shorter. Daston's skin is light grey, the colour of dry stone. He is usually covered in rock dust as he does not bother to clean when he is mining.

Back story: So you want to hear my story then? Well, I really don't remember my mom or dad. They were both slaves and I was sold soon after I was born, you see. I grew up doing what we dwarves do best, diging. I dug precious metals and gems for my owner for nearly twenty years. Then came the day I had been waiting for all my life. My owner came to me and said that I'm free. From what I heard my owner speaking it sems like he had lost a bet. Ofcourse I had no place to stay and owned only the clothes I was wearing. I drifted in the city of Raveran for a while sleeping on streets, doing some odd-jobs to keep myself fed. Probably would be there this day if I had not heard of the United Dwarven Mining expedition. They made these trips to the wild to mine it's resources and I was able to join one of them. Now that I think it is strange that they called it dwarven although there were no more than dozen or so of us dwarfs in it. There were lot of other minor races too, humans and orcs for example, none of the fae races thought. You can bet that us dwarfs were the best miner in the lot

Now I was used to mining in a safe mine, where all you had to fear was a cave in, but here they were the least of my concerns. We diggers were handed a iron pick and told which wall to start smashing. After we had made some nice cracks and and gouges to it the blasting teams were brought in.It was dangerous job. It was mainly us diggers that got hurt as the ones placing the charges had these breastplates and metal masks to protect themselves. And the explosions were not all, as you know the wild is filled with all kind of nasty creatures hungry for dwarf meat. Those damned Satiaised claimed many of us. At this point Daston stops and starts to muter himself. Driders! Thats what they were. Not those that you might see in town but the feral ones. I lost my eye to one of those, jumped me as I was sleeping. I was lucky that my pickaxe was at hand, other wise would had lost much more than a eye. We diggers quickly learned how to use our picks for more than just diging. If it can smash a rock wall, it can sure do nasty things to fleshy creatures, you see.

So after few years of dodging all kind of damned creatures and surviving from almost suicidal blasting teams I was able to join one myself. It was more secure as we spend most of the time near the well guarded gunpowder caravan. They also taught me the art of making explosives. Daston pats a pack hanging on his side . And that was the best job I ever had. Just waiting till the diging team gets their job done and bringing the wall down. That was my job for nearly fifteen years and I loved every one of them. By then I had been able to save enought for a small hovel in Raveran. So I left the expedition and started to do some private jobs. Going out to the wild to explore. Getting to know other dwarfs. That kind of stuff. I quickly got to know few dwarven raiders. They taught me far bit about surviving in the wild and fighting. Now to think it was a wonder that I hadn't got myself killed in there. Soon I was able to go deeper and deeper to wild in my trips to find precious gems. I did not take long for the raiders to ask me join them for a raid. But I knew that if I became a raider it would be just a mater of time before some warrior drow show up with the caravan. You see, they control this thing they like to call magic and it is powerfull stuff. I've yet to see a creature immune to it, not that I have searched one.

But that's my story, how I become who I am today. A lone miner trying to carve my living out of the earth. Now if you excuse me I have to prepare my next trip, the gunpowder does not make itself, you see.
Last edited by voynich on Thu Mar 18, 2010 1:17 pm, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby TrueDarkBlade » Wed Mar 17, 2010 9:11 pm

Name: Torgen Guldorf

Race: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 35

A large dwarven cannon slung over his shoulder. The cannon menaces with spikes of iron on one side; the cannon is meant to be used as an impromptu mace if things go very wrong.

A large backpack filled with pouches of black powder and cannon balls.

A small pouch of mushrooms he likes to chew on from time to time.

Worn leather armor which hardly protects anything.

Magic: None

Beginning city: Raveran

At only four feet tall, Torgen is a muscular dwarf covered in scars from his arena days; his biggest scar is his missing left hand, which is now replaced by an iron hook. His leather armor is extremely light and hardly protects him at all; it is another relic from his arena days. He has pale grey skin; a long, thick beard; and short, brown hair, like many other dwarves.

When Torgen was a small boy, his father told him that one day, Torgen would be a great weapon smith who would craft many fine weapons to crush the drow and win back the Underworld. Fate had other plans as what one day seemed like idly exploring random caverns turned into the day he was kidnapped by drow. Torgen was bought by an arena manager who raised Torgen to do one thing and one thing only. Fight for his survival.

When Torgen finally achieved adulthood, he was placed in a match against a feral. He killed her with a swift blow to her head from a war hammer. After that match Torgen’s owner realized that he had made a good choice in buying Torgen as the crowd loved his savage brutality. The crowd would cheer him on as he fought goblin and beast alike. Torgen’s world had become a twenty meter circle filled with blood. As Torgen grew older he had gained a very wealthy fan who wished to use him as a body guard. Torgen’s current owner had no problem sell off the dwarf for a very, very nice profit.

Upon being received by his new drow mistress he was given a dwarven cannon, a meager weapon fitting of such a creature. However, his mistress added spikes on one end of the design, noting that the canon was better off as a bludgeoning weapon anyway. Torgen did not care so long as he had a cannon, something his father would have wanted; at least that is Torgen’s belief. It would soon come to pass that Torgen failed miserably at his job; his mistress was assassinated in the night. Upon finding the corpse of his mistress he ran. He knew he would be killed if it was discovered he had failed; his best option was escape.

Torgen now wanders the streets, looking for mercenary work to help feed himself. His food supply itself has dwindled down to but a bag of mushrooms. As he continues to wander the Underworld towns he can't help but think that mercenary work is too rare for these parts. He begins to dream of the forge and his father's hammer. Perhaps he will learn blacksmithing like is father wanted; that is, if he can make enough money to live off of it.
Last edited by TrueDarkBlade on Fri Mar 19, 2010 6:27 am, edited 8 times in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Halfwot » Wed Mar 17, 2010 9:20 pm

Name: Karken Stonehand
Race: Dwarf
Sex: Male
Age: 84

Magic: Nope.
Starting City: Val'Raveran

Appearance: A decently tall specimen for a dwarf Karken stands nearly 4 feet tall and is rather bulky in build, beard dyed black cover most of his face and hangs down nearly one feet below the chin. His large hands are suprisingly deft and clean for his race. He often dress in a coarse leather tunic over white shirt with simple brown leather leggings. A thick belt at the waist tightens the tunic and over the buckle his belly hangs out. Several pouches and tools hang from the belt containing all you need to set up a small engraving workshop anywhere.

20 ada
Small trading tent with furnace
Engraving tools of high quality
Simple smithing tools for soft metal objects
A handful of money
Half-eaten loaf of bread

Born the son of mining slaves Karken's first memory is of striking stone with a pick, and for years digging and mining was all the young boy knew. Separated from his parents at a young age he turned to using his hands when he was alone and had free time. He started making shapes in the stones he had cut out from the rock wall, soon becoming apt in the art of engraving. This little hobby of his would remain unnoticed for years until a noble drow artisan looking for high quality stone for her next work happened to come across one of his works. Seeing the potential in the young dwarf she bought the slave to act as her assistant for larger works.

For the next sixty years Karken's life would be dominated by art and stonework. His mistress was an amateur historian and fascinated by the old dwarven civlisations that had existed in the underworld before the drow arrived, and from her he learned a lot of his race's history and how to craft items in the old dwarven ways. Her fascination for the dwarven civilisation even went so far that she gave him a dwarven name, which she used far more often than his elven such, so much that by now he barely rembers his old name. However, dwarven style engravings were not the only thing he was to create, most of his mistress's comissions were of more traditional elven variation. He also learned the craft of masonry as his mistress was comissioned for architecture. He learned the basics of metalwork to produce belt buckles and other clothing details and jewelry.

Three years ago his mistress fell ill with an unknown disease. Her condition became rapidly worse until it became clear she would die soon. Gathering her slaves at her deathbed she granted them all freedom, knowing that her relatives would not treat them as well as she had. Set free with the clothes on his body and a set of tools granted by his mistress, Karken found himself alone in the city of Val'Raveran. He quickly went to work, however, taking up odd jobs with engraving and helping on construction sites. Soon he earned himself enough money to get a small stall in the outskirts of the Bazaar where he set up shop and sleeps. While he makes do business is not that good, the overwhelming majority of his customers are the commoners of the city, who often have more pressing concerns to attend to.

Timezone: CET
Last edited by Halfwot on Wed Mar 17, 2010 9:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Nether Spawn
Posts: 51
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 12:14 pm
Location: Furthermore, I think Carthage must be destroyed
Clan: Vloz'ress

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby HavocHamster » Wed Mar 17, 2010 9:41 pm

Name: Denbo Feltbeard
Race: Dwarf
Age: 322


- Forged Steel Axe
- Round Wooden Shield
- Steel Skull Cap with Nose Guard
- Crossbow of high quality manufacture
- Quarrel of 40 bolts
- Heavy dark green woolen cape
- Chainmail shirt
- Heavy leather trousers
- Steel toed leather boots
- Thick leather gloves
- Thick, wirey beard also affords additional protection for the chest and face regions
- Small hammer
- Pick ax
- Prybar
- Wrench
- Corkscrew
- Handsaw
- Handcart
- Heavy knife (for utility purposes)
- Mess kit (cup, bowl, utensils)
- Steel Tankard (Doubles as a weapon in a pinch)
- Jar of disinfectant herbal balm
- Although he doesn't carry it on him, he does have a stash of special chemical explosives for use in mining

Startan City: Vel Raveran

Clan: None as such

Noteworth Ability:
Denbo is an accomplished soldier, miner, architect, metalworker and brewer. While not particularily bright for a dwarf, he's been around for a long time and occassionally managed to pick up a talent or two.


Born over three centuries ago in the Dwarfen Fortress of Udon Thran, the first century of his life was actually quite unremarkable. He worked hard alongside his brothers and sisters in the coal mines below the fortress. He worked hard all day and only needed a stein of ale in the evening to make his life complete.

Then, as the story typically goes for dwarfs, Udon Thran came under attack by a large force of raiders from the Sarghress clan. Denbo was summoned along with every other able bodied dwarf in the fort to take up axe and shield against the invaders. The battle was long, and fierce, but as it always seems to be, dwarfen determination was no match for the inherent magic of the Drow. Those dwarfs that didn't fall in the defense of the fortress were dragged off in chains by the cruel Sarghress slavers.

Through some strange quirk of fate, Denbo was knocked unconcious during the battle and fell into the well at the center of the fort's courtyard. The Slavers merely assumed that he had died in the fall, but it seems they had underestimated dwarfen hardiness. It would take Denbo three long days to drag himself up the sheer walls of the well using only his bare hands. By then, the Slavers had already left, leaving behind only ruins and corpses. Denbo found himself for the first time in his hundred years of being alive.

Denbo spent a few days picking through the ruins. The slavers had been very thorough, carting off anything of value, but they had overlooked the odd jealously hidden stash of dwarven valuables. He managed to find himself some basic equipment and enough gold and jewels to fill a small burlap bag. He loaded all these into a small hand cart which had been left undamaged in the attack. Steeling himself, Denbo set forth from the ruins of his home.. heading to.. well.. he had no idea where..

Denbo drifted for close to two centuries after this. Sometimes fighting alongside Dwarfen insurgents against drow caravans, and then even spending a time on the surface doing mercenary work for human lords. In his lifetime, he killed more fae and goblins than he could ever hope to count. He faced horrors unimaginable by most, and felled even mighty dragons and daemons with his trusty axe. However, it seemed that no matter how hard he fought, how hard he tried, nothing could fill the emptiness within his heart. Even as he continued to fight, he saw his people crushed further and further under the iron bootheel of the Drow Tyrants. It seemed no matter how hard they fought, the drow could always simply do away with any stubborn dwarf fighter with but a gesture and a small expenditure of their accursed mana. No matter how hard he fought and protested against the heavens, it seemed that the drow would win. Soon every free thinking being would be their slaves, and if they resisted, they would be dead.

Now embittered by life, Denbo continually finds escape at the bottom of an ale stein. Recently he arrived in the city of Val'Raveran in hopes of seeing more of his kind again.

Denbo appears to be a typical dwarf in most regards. Although he is getting on in years, he's as spry as he ever was. His beard now reaches past his knees and entire body is bulging with thick cordlike muscle and sinew. His hair is now a whitish grey and his face is covered in deep wrinkles. For all intents, he seems like a dwarf who has lived a long and hard life.

Timezone: Pacific
Posts: 657
Joined: Fri Jul 16, 2004 12:42 am
Location: The Frozen Sea of Stars

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Japuje » Wed Mar 17, 2010 10:16 pm

Name: Magrum Ukmok
Race: Dwarf
Sex: Male

-a muddy, white linen shirt with small patches of faint color on it, most probably the remnants of meals, mushrooms and things I dare not even guess
-loose pants made out of burlap
-a pair of sturdy leather boots
-a leather belt which is notable because it has a copper belt buckle with a mushroom carved on it
*Attached to his belt are several pouches which usually contains mushroom spawn, seeds and other agriculture-related items
-a large cap made of wool which has long since lost its natural color because he often uses it to store things, most often mushrooms and the like, for unspecified amounts of time
-assorted tools related to agriculture, most notably a shovel, a rake and a rather low-quality pickaxe he needs to fix now and then (he does not carry these on his person)
-a fairly large backpack which he uses to haul things from place to place
-a clean set of linen clothing he uses when he needs to make a good impression, often with bad results
-burlap sacks
-flint and tinder

-a hovel made out of irregular stones and a small farm which usually provides for him.

-just some cheap leather armor which he usually leaves at his hovel

-a small handaxe he carries either on his waist or in his backpack

(He doesn't really own anything of value, except his farm)

Magic: None, since he is a dwarf

Starting city: Val'Raveran

Magrum was born to two unremarkable slaves. He spent his childhood at a large, drow-owned farm with many other slaves. His parents worked on the fields as farmers and foragers, and he grew up helping his parents with their daily chores, learning while working. He had already taken an unusual liking to growing things, and while he hated to work, he loved to see the crops grow, atleast until he realized that he wouldn't get his hands on them. But the main point is, he developed a keen interest in farming and growing.

Eventually, when he was around 15 years old, he was sold to another farm, never to see his parents again. There he started on the bottom, hauling things around, gathering crops, that sort of thing. Eventually as his skills grew, he got better and better assignments, until his mistress gave him the task of supervising the other slaves who worked on the same farm plot. Of course he had no real power over anything, but his farming skills showed off, and the arrangement was beneficial to his mistress, since he was able to teach the other slaves a thing or two, increasing profits. After gaining the status as a talented farmer he quickly gained value in the eyes of the drow. In this position he learned an assortment of skills, including reading and writing.

When he was a 26-year-old lad, something rather peculiar happened. One of the drow, maybe after taking a liking to the skilled dwarf, or gnome as they are called, led him outside of the settlement, gave him some supplies and pointed him at Val'Raveran. He eventually made it, against most odd and began his life anew, got a job as a farmboy and eventually got a small farm of his own in the outskirts of the city. He doesn't lead a rich life, but atleast he leads a free life now, and that is the way he enjoys it.

Magrum is a bit taller than most dwarves, but also a bit less broad-shouldered. He is fairly strong because he has lived a life of manual labor.
He has gray skin and a coarse, short beard which seems either brownish and has been colored by gray dust, or gray and colored by dirt, this is in fact the natural color of his hair. Magrum tends to keep his hair rather short.
He dresses in simple clothing which doesn't really stand out. He has no noticeable scars, but there are some small ones on his back.
Posts: 1
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 7:25 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby blargargarg » Wed Mar 17, 2010 10:51 pm

Name: Andy
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Age: 26 (or the Orc equivalent)
Magic: None whatsoever
Starting City: Val'Raveran

Appearance: A six-foot-eight, rather lanky orc with pale-blonde hair and a wide, cheery grin. Tends to wear a worn brown cap on his head.

- Slightly bent steel axe
- Low-quality secondhand leather jerkin
- Pants
- heavy padded gloves
- woolen cap
- worn leather backpack
- Shoddy short bow
- Quiver of forty arrows
- rusted short sword
- flask
- handcart
- several cooking pots (including one several-gallon stew pot) and a number of cheap wooden bowls and utensils
- three somewhat dented tankards, six wineskins (filled with cheap wine), and a barrel of low-quality beer
- various foodstuffs (usually from animals common to the particular area he's in at the time)
- firewood
- flint and steel
- sign, reading "Andy's Edible Foodstuffs"
- frayed red blanket
- one rather poorly patched red tent

Andre (or Andy, as he is now known) was born to Gorbash Tribe, a band of nomadic woodland orcs known for terrorizing one of the larger trade routes between a few of the existing human nations. While this band was never known for being particularly successful, it was known for its tenacity; over the course of its existence, the clan survived several failed raids on passing caravans, as well as three separate attempts on the part of the local kingdoms to wipe them out with military action, five attacks from rival orc clans, and one major forest fire. Local legend had it that the tribes leader, Gorbash Redhair, was nigh-invincible, and said to have been given powers by horrible creatures from beyond, so that none but the purest of the pure could kill him.

All that changed approximately thirteen years ago, when a Drow patrol, responding to the tribe's assault on a passing slave caravan, came down on Gorbash Tribe's woodland stronghold, and wiped it out almost to a man. Those that survived sword and sorcery were quickly put in chains, and added to the caravan's cargo to replace the losses the tribe had inflicted. Andy and his parents were among those taken.

After being hauled into the underground, young Andy was put to work as a kitchen boy, peeling potatoes and hauling heavy objects for the actual (read: drow) chefs. Most of his time was occupied with slaughtering various animals for the day's meals, or cleaning dishes en masse for the more lazy or higher rank kitchen slaves, though, being a surprisingly enterprising young orc, he managed to (on occasion) find time to study the various labels, menus, and recipes that passed through the kitchen. When this was discovered, a few of the lazier kitchen slaves realized the advantage this had (as he could now tell the difference between the flour bags and the salt bags), and encouraged it, teaching him basic recipes, vocabulary, and even a little on how to "write good."

Approximately three years ago, the house Andy worked in suffered a massive military catastrophe, leaving most of its leaders dead or exiled, and its holdings as easy pickings for other, larger clans. While most of the important bits were secured quickly and efficiently by local major powers, the kitchen staff, being entirely unimportant (even to the new owners of the fortress) were completely forgotten. Most of them begged for positions in the new household, or were grabbed and re-enslaved by the chief chefs, most of whom were actual drow citizens. Andy, however, grabbed a cart and a few iron pots, and scampered.

Since then, he's worked as something of a "innkeeper on the go," selling cheap alcohol and bad food to patrons in the shadier districts of the city, and keeping as far as possible from the local authorities. He describes his food as "edible." Not everyone agrees.
Nether Seed
Posts: 24
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 7:49 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby TheTatteredKing » Thu Mar 18, 2010 12:10 am

Name: Fal'ruthiel
Race: Light Elf
Age: 56
Tattered robes
Tall heavy duty laced boots
leather gloves
Blood stained apron
Satchel containing medical supplies, anti venom, bandages, thread and needle, splints, scissors, saw
A shovel
A coffin containing the preserved remains of a dearly departed (she tries to stay rooted to one place so she doesn't have to lug it around)

Magic: Untrained Empathy. She has some training towards healing but is a jack of all trades master of none. Most commonly she uses it to assist in her medical practice, to determine symptoms beyond the ability of the patient to explain, but all her uses are instinctual and clumsy.

Beginning city: Val'Raveran
Clan: None
Fal'ruthiel was born in the last city of the Light Elves. She never knew of a world outside her family, her classes, and her best friend, Tel'alth. Her mother was a skilled healer and she showed promise for carrying on the family trade. Fal'ruthiel enjoyed medical work and the relief and joy she felt from others when they were cured.
After acing an important test set by her healing tutor she rushed to Tel'alth's home to pass on the good news and celebrate. Fal'ruthiel was distraught to discover that there had been an accident and Tel'alth was mortally injured. She tried to apply her lessons and cure her friend but that day she learned the most important lesson for her craft, that not all ailments can be cured. She did not take the lesson well. A grief stricken wreck, Fal'ruthiel could not focus on her lessons or anything else save for an obsessive search for a way to cure death. Her parents believed she was just coping poorly with the tragedy and that she would abandon her fool's errand soon enough. However, when she robbed Tel'alth's grave and spirited away the body enough was enough and it was not up to her parents to deal with this issue.
Fal'ruthiel was exiled for her outrageous behavior. After much effort she managed to get to where she hid Tel'alth's body and escaped the city with it before the official ritual of exile was preformed. However because of this she was only able to take her own medical supplies with her instead of being supplied with the necessities an exiled are provided to last the first few days. She struggled to get by, using her medical skill to obtain shelter and rest when she could. Eventually she heard of cities underground ruled by fae, manipulators of mana. She traveled to these lands in hopes that there were powerful magical practitioners that could discover the cure for Tel'alth.

Description: Fal'ruthiel attempts to cover her light skin with her garbs to blend in better. She is very short for her age so could be easily confused for someone young instead of the morose adult she is. Her stance is often introverted, as well as hunched due to the weight often on her back.

Time Zone/Activity: EST
Last edited by TheTatteredKing on Thu Mar 18, 2010 1:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
Nether Spawn
Posts: 96
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 10:17 pm
Location: Carcosa

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Paladin Tim » Thu Mar 18, 2010 12:46 am

Hello everyone! I hope it's not too bad an idea to start with a non-Fae character, although it seems I'm not the only one. :)

Name: Gruugar Bugcrusher (also responds, noticeably, to "Hey, ugly!")

Race: Orc

Age: 34

Sex: Male

Equipment: Flanged mace (after all, it doesn't need much sharpening or care to use, and does a fine job versus thick shells), rounded and angled shield, slightly scruffy platemail. All three are of common quality, although thick and heavy to fit with his strong frame. Also, a sharp-tipped pick intended to spear through chitin. Also carries a bag of edible fungus, a canteen, various small food items, a little knife for eating, a big knife for butchering, crushable poison pills suitable for killing insects and rats, flint and steel, a few sticks of fuel for a fire. For clothing, a simple gambeson he wears like a tunic, trousers, thick hob-nailed iron-shod boots, heat-and-corrosion resistant gloves. Compact but powerful crossbow, with thirty bolts.

Skills: Exceptionally skilled at melee combat, due to a combination of sheer experience, twitchy reflexes, and brutish strength. He has very little style, though he has gained a degree of respect for his combat skills among other Orcs. Can whistle, with almost perfect pitch, any song he's heard a few times before. Decent with a crossbow or other easy-to-use ranged weapons, especially against a moving target. Reasonably good at any task that involves lifting a heavy load, obviously, or doing monotonous physical tasks for hours on end.

Magic: None, obviously.

Starting City: Val'Raveran

Clan: None, works for whoever pays.

Background: Some heroes gain renown from killing monsters, others enjoy a far less heroic (and glamorous) career in the extermination business, doing the same thing for less pay. Gruugar is an exterminator because his father was an exterminator, killing the creatures that infest fungal farms, mushroom beer distilleries, culture pools, and other such areas. From the earliest time he can remember, Gruugar was following along behind his father, swinging a hammer, crushing shells, tossing the corpses into a little bin strapped to his back for dinner. He never met his mother, and his father didn't seem to remember much about her either. It would be a joke to describe an Orc woman as beautiful, and Gruugar's father never tried. When asked, he'd simply grunt that she was "strong" and "from a tribe." Years later, Gruugar learned that most Orcs were nomads, and a desire...unacted on, perhaps until now...to see a place different than the world he knew filled him. When the boy asked his father about the fate of his mother, he was occasionally answered with nothing but a cuff behind his ears. Other times, usually when he'd had more of the cheap liquor he favored, he would receive a vague answer about leaving to travel, or more commonly that she wasn't alive anymore.

Gruugar's education in how to swing a heavy object, and break things with it, was well underway by this point. His father took it a step further, not just by sparring with fists and clubs wrapped in rags, but by gradually increasing the responsibility he was allowed during their workdays. Sometimes, he let him set the bait...poisoned rats, bits of meat, spoiled food. Sometimes he let him wait and use a heavy, spiked club to deliver the final blow.

He has never known the surface, while his father was a free Orc, that didn't mean they had money or the potential to do much besides exterminating pests. They always ate well, at least, on gigantic mutated critters of all sorts, creepy-crawlers of every description. While it didn't always taste good, at least it gave him the protein a growing child needed. After his father was devoured by a giant centipede-like creature during his teenage years, a creature maddened by the toxic leaving of various Drow alchemical experiments, Gruugar took over the family business, and has been swinging a mace or a pick through fur, scales, and chitin ever since. He doesn't blame anyone or anything for the accident, it was simply a hazard of the profession.

He also works wherever else a strong arm and back is needed, lifting objects, cutting trees and mushrooms, even doing occasional stints as a miner. Most of his income goes to buying his equipment, as his father's example has taught him that eating what you can catch instead of what you can buy is a small price to pay for a set of thick armor between one's skin and gnashing, hideous mandibles. The loss of his father also inspired him to train, constantly, for combat. If he isn't doing some sort of work, eating, sleeping, or drinking, odds are he is fighting someone or practicing.

If Gruugar has one wish, it is to do something with his life. He is aware of his talents, and limitations, but nonetheless wants greatly to take part in building or helping to form something important. Perhaps a warband or a mercenary troupe, although he has had such dreams for years, and is still working as an exterminator.

Description: Gruugar Bugcrusher is big and ugly even by orc standards, standing nearly eight feet tall, though poor posture and a tendency to hunch over make him seem shorter. He resembles almost a knot of solid, twisted muscle, with deep, ugly scars all over him, even crisscrossing his face. His skin is a mottled yellowish-green, his fingers darker from the residue of the poison pills he uses to kill smaller pests and weaken larger ones. His hair is prematurely grey, although still in his prime, standing up in a shaggy mane around his head, with thick muttonchops and a scraggly, unkempt beard. He has a disconcerting habit of eating virtually anything organic, remotely edible, and not-too-poisonous. So far, he has never eaten anyone's treasured pet Tiktikki or spider, but he makes a point of devouring a rat or two before meeting people, in case they do bring their pets. One of his ears looks as though something took several small bites out of it once, and he regularly scratches it when nervous. He only realized how obvious this habit was after he carefully considered how 'unlucky' he was at gambling.

Time Zone: Eastern Time (Eastern USA)
Last edited by Paladin Tim on Thu Mar 18, 2010 4:05 am, edited 5 times in total.
Paladin Tim
Posts: 233
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 6:57 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Wirewolf » Thu Mar 18, 2010 12:57 am

Name: Malakai Armstrong
Race: Dwarf
Gender: Male
Age: 100
Magic: None
Starting City: Val'Raveran
Appearance: A Dorf roughly three foot five, a thick red beard that he has to place in his belt. This Dwarf is bedecked in homemade iron mail and wears rough leather with the edges stitched with wolf pelt. His arm bears a simple bronze torq written in faint runic script. His helmet is traditional dwarven headgear and provides good protection from both weapons and falling rocks also his wears a gorget around his neck. This is a very burly Dwarf due to his time spent as a blacksmith and prospector. A black tatoo crosses his brow. Greatly resembling a ring of stonework.

Smithing Tools
Portable Anvil
Spare change of clothes
Travelling Pack
Heavy Hammer (Doubles as a weapon as well as forging tool.)
Bearded Axe
Drinking Horn
Mess Kit
Small bag of medical supplies
Note Worthy Abilty: A master blacksmith with years of expiernce (Not to mention some Gods gifted skill.) He's also a good prospector as he scrounges for just the right materials. He's also a competant warrior and explorer and has wandered the underways for decades.
Born to a small Dwarven town in the depths of the Underways Malakai's family were noted and highly talented metalsmiths, Malakia was no differnt and inherited his families natural abilty at working metals. His family were so attune to metalworking that he shared this talent , that on his 10th year he was taken as an Apprentice by the towns leading Blacksmith and spent the next ten years studying under his Teacher. His skills improved so much so that by the time his training was complete he was renowned throughout many Dwarven communities for his skill and perfectionism at his craft. He spent his early career traveling between Dwarven Settlements offering his services to those that needed it. Each year going farther and farther abroad until finally he one day found the surface world. And proceeded to travel under the sun for the first time in his life. His wanderings took him far out into the lands of Men. And his time spent above ground was a period of some of his greatest work. His signature rune was recognized by many (A Flexing Stout Dwarven Arm.) During his adventures he fought in many battles and found that he had an affinity for fighting using his skills as a Blacksmith to take apart enemy armor plating on the battlefield and finding the weak point in an enemies armor.

One day he grew tired of wandering the Above Ground world and eventually found his way back underground. After months more of wandering he found the remains of his town, finding it in ruin with only a handful of survivors. He learned it was an all out attack from a small Drow Army. Bitter but with infinite Dwarfen Stoicism Malakai Armstrong nodded. He collected the few scattered belongings and artifacts of his people including his old masters Anvil .burying the remains in burnt out remains of his home. His duty done he left. Rumors abounded of a The Mad Smith Malakai Armstrong forging weapons and armor for Dwarven Raiders and participating in a few attacks himself on Drow Caravans. Though this was never verified rumors still abound. What his known that one day he returned and followed his usual route underground providing his services. Even going to Dwarven communities within Drow Cities and providing his services there. Currently the Armstrong finds himself in Val'Raveran drinking in a Dwarf bar wandering where to go next.
Posts: 143
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 8:27 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Samechiel » Thu Mar 18, 2010 1:45 am

Name: Mu

Race: Xuile'solen

Age: 76


- A small assortment of tools and untensils useful for brewing, distilling, and everyday use.
- A number of pouches, envelopes, and flasks containing varied ingredients and reagents. Usual samples range from yeasts, salts, and fungi to flowers, spices, and aromatic herbs native to the surface.
- One moderately sized cutting blade, well-used and intended for utility purposes (but still plenty sharp to kill).
- A small pouch of cut gems for bartering/exchange into local currency.
- A number of flasks, decanters, and wineskins containing prime examples of her favorite brews and distillations; strawberry wine, blackroot stout, and the aptly-named gnomeblight rotgut are almost always in stock.
- An assortment of medical supplies: bandages, healing salves, antiseptic poultices, and antitoxins for a wide variety of poisons.
- A shoulder-slung satchel (for carrying all of the above).

Magic: None, save standard Xuile'solen "negative aura."

Beginning city: Val'Raveran

Clan: None

Background: History is riddled with tragedy and misfortune; there is no exception here. Mal'galatea seemed so promising a start -a small Drow settlement hidden away in the far-flung reaches of the underworld, leagues from anything that could be considered civilized Drow society. The place seemed destined for prosperity; abundant food and fresh water, easily defended and bountiful with the wealth of the earth. Gemstones and rare metals seemed to bleed from the very walls of the tunnels and caverns. In the end, it was this wealth that was the downfall of Mal'galatea... enticed by veins of platinum and adamantite, the miners dug too deep, too greedily.

It must have been fate. It had to be. How could it not? That a young mother, a new bride, would give birth to a Xuile'solen with what was to befall them. That they would nurture this child rather than shun it, to teach her and care for her in these precious early years.

The beasts came as the village slept, breaking through deep wounds in the earth. Surging up through the mines, rising like a tidal wave from the endless darkness below the settlement. Nearly half the population was swept away before anyone even knew what was going on; the rest were hunted through the streets and alleys, taken in their homes by dark, unfathomable things wrought from a child's nightmares. Few escaped, fleeing into the endless passages of the Underworld, leaving behind those that they could not hope to save.

Though those nightmare creatures did not persue long, the bedraggled survivors of Mal'galatea were already sealed in their fate. They wandered lost through the darkness, unable to find their way back to civilization. One by one they fell to the hazards of the Underworld: Hunger. Predators. Dwarves. Toxins and radiation. Paranoia.

And little Mu was alone.

But for all their shortcomings as Drow the Xuile'solen are, above all, survivors. Young Mu survived. She clawed her way through the darkness, her instincts coming alive in the endless depths of the Underworld. She struggled tooth and nail for many years, beset on all sides by a hostile, unforgiving world. She grew quick and strong, a feral creature of the wilds. Time quickly became meaningless to her... even so, she felt an emptiness, a longing for the companionship of others that was only a dim, faded memory. Eventually, however, she encountered something that would forever change her world:


Rum, to be prescise. Distilled from prickleberry sugars. Several large casks of it, held in the posession of a small caravan of traders -humans and dwarves, mostly- that had become lost just off a main highway. As the caravan slept she snuck into their camp and helped herself to their supplies, among them the sweet rum. She drank, and enjoyed it... and continued to drink until the cask was empty. Stumbling drunk, she staggered through the encampment and wrecked whatever she touched. Young Mu found it all to be incredibly amusing -the traders, for their part, had never seen a Xuile'solen hunched over a barrel puking her guts out before, and in turn found some level of humor in the affair, deciding not to slay or cage this curious being. When she had sobered, they made a proposal; more rum in exchange for an escort back to the highway. Desperate for more of the drink, young Mu agreed and a deal was struck.

When the deal was concluded, however, Mu found that she had enjoyed their company. Though they were not quite as ecstatic as she, they allowed her to travel with them. She followed them from the darkness of the Underworld into the brilliant light of the Surface; she marvelled at the smells and sounds and texures there, listened to the stories of its peoples and tasted the bounty of their ales and brews. Oh, the brews! Wines and lagers and stouts! Sweet honey meads and throat-burning whiskeys! She knew what she wanted, more than anything else in this life: to bring they joys of the humble brew to all.

Saying her farewells to the merchant caravan that had been her home for so long, she put everything of herself into learning. For years she studied, serving as apprentice under every brewmaster she could find, every vintner and homebrewer worth their salt. She studied the arts of herbalism and botany that she might better understand the flavours and cultures of ingredients, and alchemy and chemestry to know their compositions and reactions. Brewing was her art, and she an artisan -but she was running out of canvas. She wanted new things, new ingredients, new souls to inebriate.

She had to return to the Underworld. There were so many untapped ingredients down there, roots and tubers and mushrooms and cave grasses! Just think of the brews she could brew with so many untasted flavors!

So it was that Mu, no longer so young, returned to the darkness. Desire and conviction beat in her heart, and at her side hung a skin of prickleberry rum.

Description: Years of solitary life in the Underworld and the subsequent years of surface travel have kept Mu in fair shape. She is lithe and gaunt as one might expect of a Sightless runt, with thin, narrow features. Her dark skin is pockmarked with scars of varying severity -evidence of the trials and tribulations of survival for the Sightless. Her empty eye-sockets remain hidden behind a bandana of tattered black cloth and her hair, grown long and straight in her years of relative peace, hangs limply in front of her face.

Mu is adorned in an ankle-length, long-sleeved qipao -black, with pink and fuscia floral prints creeping up the left side. The garment is fitted for a much larger person; the extra bagginess allows her a greater range of movement and comfort. Beneath, she wears simple workman's undergarments.

Time Zone: Central

(edited for spelling errors)
Last edited by Samechiel on Fri Mar 19, 2010 6:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
Nether Seed
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 9:15 pm
Location: Off in the dark, getting drunk on Blackroot Stout.

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Malyuta Skuratov » Thu Mar 18, 2010 4:52 am

Name: Malyuta Skuratov
Race: Human (Halme)
Age: 37
Sex: Male
Magic: None
Clan: None (formerly Skuratov clan)
City: Val'Raveran

#Brownish cloak
#Make-shift backpack
#Various pointed sticks made out of bone, each about one foot long
#Mushrooms (some of the poisonous variety)
#Torn shorts
#Tattered shirt
#Make-shift shiv (sharpened piece of iron)
#Leather moccasins
#Straight razor

#Prestidigitation (Latin for fast fingers)-Able to take your wallet, light it on fire, then put the ashes in your pocket before you even notice.
#Wilderness Lore-Roamed the countryside, seeking shelter from invaders has taught Malyuta much.
#Hunting-Malyuta had to often find his food by scavenging the streets of Val'Raveran for vermin and such.
#Trapping-Goes hand-in-hand with hunting.
#Stealth-Can blend into any crowd of people, which he learned from his days of stealing form market stalls.

Background: Malyuta Skuratov, a human boy was born to a fairly well-to-do father and mother. His father had attained a government job as a sort of constable while his mother stayed at home. He was a workaholic, and as a result, stayed outside during late hours, and on one day in particular, stayed out late during the rain. This eventually led him to catch consumption, thus forcing Malyuta and his mother to seek employment to care for his sickly father. His mother would weave quilts and sell them for profit and find other types of crafts methods to earn income.

Malyuta, on the other hand had other ideas for revenue. The rebellious lad would go around town picking pockets, stealing goods from market stalls and selling them to other stalls at lowered prices, and for an ultimate unsavory tactic, he would patrol the town at night, and round up strays. The next day, he would be talking to various furriers about his ‘prized mink pelts!’ Malyuta soon realized the hard way that nothing lasts forever, and the townspeople eventually caught onto his shenanigans. He was facing a few fairly grievous charges, and there would be more than a few of his neighbors who would love to lop off facial extremities, were he to be caught. The young man needed to flee and do so quickly. Although he would abandon his mother and his terminally-ill father, the thing that would suffer the most would be his reputation. As the son of someone sworn to uphold the law for king and country, he would receive a slash against his record from which he would never recover. He would flee from the townspeople as they chased him across the countryside. Skuratov found shelter inside a cave along the face of a mountain. Hearing the sound of the encroaching mob, he sought shelter further inside…

He crawled downwards for what seemed like an eternity. He kept the various foodstuffs he had obtained from hunting in his backpack. He had managed to preserve them by pouring salt on them. He was able to locate an underground stream, and with it, achieved a supply of water. The water was filthy, brackish, and made him ill for weeks. Were it not for a near astronomical set of circumstances, he would be dead. All hope for Malyuta was not lost, for he was about to be found by an inadvertent rescue party, unfortunately, the first to find him was a Drow band of mercenaries who easily captured and subdued him. They noted how he must have been a strong young man to not only survive but locate his way around the underground labyrinth for a whole month. Deciding they would take him back to the city of Chel'el'Sussoloth to sell him into slavery, Malyuta would never have guessed he would be stumbling upon a hellish nightmare, wrought with beings he was only told of as a child. He was now in the Drow city of Chel'el'Sussoloth. It didn’t take long for him to be noticed by the general populace. The Drow mercenaries auctioned him off to the Sharen clan, and it was here for the next 10 years, he would be forced to call home. He first earned his reputation as a slave who was diligent, and for the most part, was smart enough to do what he was told, but he still did not get along well with other slaves. It is here that he earned his animosity toward the Drow people, with the abuse they inflicted upon him for nearly a decade. For his servitude, he had earned scars from lashings and more than his fair share of Drow saliva from being spit on. It is unclear whether the source of antipathy stems from the aforementioned various assaults on his person and psyche, or if he developed it when his right leg was mutilated by an attack from a dragon mount whom he was making his rounds feeding, resulting in getting it amputated from the mid-thigh, but he regards the Drow with, at best, fear. He was still a slave, but he was plotting on ways he could earn his freedom… not easy to do when you have literally one foot in the grave.

The day of supposed salvation had come. The Drow family felt that the man was falling behind on his work, and that they could now easily accomplish his tasks through other slaves with less sass, so they decided to have a little bit of fun with him. They recalled how well he was able to survive in the caves, so they sent him out presumably one last time to see how well he could accomplish that task with a leg missing. It was just like when he was stumbling around in the dark, ten years ago, only now there was no group of Drow mercs to save him, no food in his backpack, and he was going to attempt the task while missing a leg. "Things can only get better from here..." he muttered.

Malyuta had heard of the Drow city of Val'Raveran from other slaves, and how it was a city of promise. There was no way he could return to the surface. He was still considered an outcast, and he would surely serve prison time for his crimes. Staying in the Underworld was his only option. Staying in Val'Raveran was his only option. Malyuta had learned a lot from his days of hunting, and fortunately, he had not forgotten much. He was successfully able to live off the land and make it to Val'Raveran. His days as a thief were now gone. His life as a slave was now over. He would attempt to find his way in the world that rejected him for the third time.

Appearance: Malyuta learned a long time ago the benefits of shaving your head. He frequently shaves his head as often as he can to prevent his hair from getting caught on things. When he lets his hair grow out, it is unkempt, shaggy brown hair. Despite shaving his head, he does maintain a beard that would match the disheveled look of his non-existent hair. He has hazel eyes and a slender, but athletic build. He's been described as fairly tall, but not freakishly so. He frequently wears his brown cloak, which obscures much of his entire body. He has lashmarks all over his back from his previous Drow slavemaster(s), as well as a few scars on his face. The most apparent disfigurement he has is the absence of his right leg from the mid-thigh down. He cannot move all that fast, and does his best to hobble around on his crutch. Years of practice have allowed him to move much faster than someone who just had one of their legs amputated.

Time Zone: Central Time USA (-6 hours)
Last edited by Malyuta Skuratov on Mon Jun 28, 2010 5:14 am, edited 9 times in total.
Malyuta Skuratov
Posts: 211
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 4:49 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Atrial » Thu Mar 18, 2010 8:43 am

Name: Tamin Quartz
Race: Human (Emberi)
Sex: Female
Age: 20

Red linen blouse,
Sturdy Leather bodice (Brown)
Thigh high Leather Boots (brown)
Red wool skirt
Heavy Leather belt.
Carpenters tool set.
Large backpack
Mess kit (Bowl, Cup and Utensils)
Leather Quiver and stone headed arrows.
skinning knife
woodcutters hatchet.
Hemp rope
Tinder box (contains striking steal and flint)
Cat, "Nickie" a small female calico house cat

Home: Tamin lives in a home above her workshop. in Val' Raveran it's a modest home left to her by her family. There is a well used workshop that takes up most of the lower floor full of old tools an projects.

Tamin has a well made long recurve bow made by her father.
She also has a old, but well kept short sword and scabbard.

Starting City: Val'Raveran

Tamin was born into a family of fairly low born peasants from an Emberi village not far from Val'Raveran. Her father's side of the family have been carpenters and wood workers for three generations before she was born, the only child of the family. Her mother had been stricken with fever and illness a short two years after Tamin's birth, though she survived her illness she never did bear another child. Rather than be daunted by the lack of a son Tamin's father chose to teach his daughter as an apprentice through her adolescent and early teen years. At age eleven her family decided to move to the trade hub of Val'Raveran to offer their trade and experience a better life than they had before.

With a modest home and a decent business they made a good living for a few years, Their status in the Drow controlled city became more apparent as the years wore on causing some tension between Tamin and her family, they had moved away from their home of generations to trade dignity for comfort. As she grew more skilled over the years Tamin found she had developed a knack for her trade and was most proficient as a bowyer. Her first attempts showed promise and with some considerable practice and tutoring from her father she began to move into a trade of her own. Regarded by others as somewhat of a tomboy growing up she kept her hair short and was overlooked until nature and physical development took over. With age came experience, in addition to her craft the young wood worker became quite skilled in the use and application of her Bows experimenting with different styles and techniques to develop her own style.

Tamin was educated through tutors in the city of Val'Raveran. Resistant at first she made her way through her compulsory education with the occasional stumble here and there often daydreaming in her studies and having to stress and strugle because of it. She now resides in the same house and workshop of her family, working and filling orders for goods and crafts out of a sense of duty to her family. She has a deep conviction and pride in her own work and ability, the position of her people in this society felt upsetting to her. She often made friends with some other cultural outcasts, finding some warmth in the company of other free thinking people.

Tamin is left handed.
She carries a small string of nondescript black beads on a plain cord, part of a religious practice of her culture.
She speaks the native languages of Drow and Dwarven well enough to converse and trade but with a heavy accent.

Tamin is a young woman of average height standing five foot five inches with short cropped black hair, and a light tan complexion. Her brown eyes are often set with sharp contrasting eye makeup. She dresses in rugged clothing to suit her job and prefers reds and warm colors. Her hands are often covered by a pair of working gloves with a few scratches and scrapes on her arms from time to time. She has a comely appearance, often obscured by her working attire, though she can clean up to be lady like when nessicary.
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Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 8:57 pm


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