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Registration thread: version 2.0

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Glithrien » Thu Mar 18, 2010 9:21 pm

Name: Belrik Malode
Race: Dwarf
Age: 173

#Drawing equipment.
#Heavy brown leather apron and gloves.
#Brown leather boots.
#White shirt with brown trousers.
#Crude flintlock with 18 shots.
#4 Dwarven books about the implications of black powder.
#Small hand axe.
#Personal decorated war axe with etchings set into it. (Crude etchings just words really)
#Bronze pickaxe
# Hammer, chisel, hacksaw, metal file.
#Suitably sized back pack to hold items.
#Wineskin filled with wine.
#10 days worth of trail rations. (Just incase.)
#Scratch boards.

Startan City: Vel Raveran

Clan: None as such

Noteworthy Abilities: Skilled engineer speciality is civil engineering but tinkers in mechanical.
Mining experience like any good dwarf.

Background: Belrik turns to you and scribbles quickly on his scratch board and you read, “You really want to know about my boring past? Fine have it your way.” Turning away from you he pulls out several scratch boards and starts scribbling quickly and hands them to you one by one telling his story.

Well to start off with my mother and father were not a normal couple a one night stand and I am suddenly half dwarf and half gnome, though my father did say my physical features were very gnome like but my insides and muscles were built like a dwarf. Of course I did not know my mother I only knew of her from what my father told me and apparently she had visited Vel Raveran for some reason or another and long story short she stayed till she had me and dumped me with my dad and left. That is all I know of my mother. My father on the other hand was a good Ol’ miner dwarf from long generations of dwarfs who mined and I was keen in following in my father’s footsteps and he was all but glad to show me the ropes. I struggled with it at first for I was not a ordinary dwarf my gnome heritage let me down in areas which dwarves would shine through but I soldiered on and did my job to a fair standard and it was all going well until...

One day in the mine all was normal we were told to start a new tunnel by the drow and of course we followed this out to the letter, little did we not know is that someone had paid off the geologist to hush about the gas pockets in the direction we were digging. A disaster occurred in a single strike of a pickaxe, my father’s, setting off an explosion caving in the further reaches of the tunnel but peppering people like me at the back with rocks. The lucky few of us came out unscathed but me? I had lost my father and from what it felt like my voice also, according to a doctor it was most likely caused by a flying piece of rock striking me on the throat where my vocal chords are. I did not care too much for I had lost the only family I had. The next couple of months were a emotional struggle to carry on but without my voice it was even harder to do my job and was a lot of times told to just sit at the back, while doing so I drew on a scratch board I had been provided, drawing complex structures seen about the mine. A Drow overseer noticed this and moved me to a engineering department comprised mostly of draftsmen where I learnt a new trade. This I did for such a long time that eventually everyone forgot I was a dwarf and believed me to be a gnome, the drow changed over supervisors and I was a gnome in their eyes and therefore a free person. I left the job I was in immediately and started working as an civil engineer for the people of Vel Raveran and you my good sir are my drinking buddy for tonight. And I am 173 years old.

Appearance: Belrik is quite a small dwarf compared to other dwarfs just clocking in height barely at 3ft. He is also less stocky and thinner than most dwarves making him stand out in a group combined with his short beard, which stands out on end like he had been electrified, and hair he stands out the most. His hair is white despite his age making him look older than he is. His clothes are suitable to his trade and provide him some protection from things like extreme heat, he almost never wears his goggles on his eyes they’re pretty much always on his forehead. It is not strange to see him time to time with a thin handmade cigar if he ever gets hold of suitable ingredients,

Timezone: GMT+/-0
Last edited by Glithrien on Fri Mar 19, 2010 11:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby SejsCube » Fri Mar 19, 2010 2:50 am

Name: Vierstra Melervs
Race: Xuile'solen
Age: 115
(-)A scant handful of ada, usually only 3 or 4.
(-)Close-fitting clothes, mostly self made. Not particularly colorful, the material keeping whatever hue it carried when she found it, but of complex texture and embroidery.
(-)Leather strapping for her feet. Vierstra doesn't wear shoes.
(-)An assortment of pouches and cases on a leather belt, mostly holding personal effects, mementos, utensils and her clothcrafting tools.
(-)A crude, heavy iron knife. More a tool than weapon.
(-)A long, fringed white sash she wears around her waist, woven from her own hair. Two small skulls adorn it, held fast near the knot.

Magic: Sorcerery (Element: Raw Mana; Mana-eater), trained.
Beginning City: Val'Raveran
Clan: None. Xuile'solen outcast.
Background: Vierstra had blood on her hands before she was born.

Being born amongst the xuile'solen in the deeper reaches of the underworld would have proven a difficult enough childhood for any drow, even if Vierstra hadn't been 'gifted' with carrying on her mother's legacy. She, like her mother before her, was a mana-eater. A rare quirk amongst the dim-magic'd deeper drow, Vierstra was brought into the world with a cannibal aura. Her mother, already weakened with starvation and the efforts and complications of birth, became her first meal.

Raised amongst the small community of clannless outcasts and vagabonds, Vierstra's younger years blurred past always teetering on the knife's edge between scant civilization and outright savagery. Born blind into a lightless underworld she had to learn life's harsher lessons first - trust at arm's length, always take care of yourself first, anything that is yours can be taken away, kill when you must. Anything resembling an education was sporadic and utilitarian.. how to make your own tools and shelter, how to read with your fingers, how to hunt, how to scavenge, how to run, how to hide. The years rolled past with little to anchor them. The only thing close to a family were her fellow outcasts, some drow, some not. Time loses meaning when one day blurs into the next.

As Vierstra grew, so too did her hunger. A gnawing emptiness that what scant food she could find did little to sate. As she cusped into adolescence Vierstra had already gained a sharp reputation for being unlucky. Enchantments seemed to unravel when she was around, mana being woven nearby would wane and disperse as she passed. The dim lights the sighted in the outcast commune relied upon to pop and die. On its own she would have been driven out from her sole refuge had it not been for the intervention of a woman by the name of Yun'drala.

Yun'drala was a sorceress, matronly if she had a clan that would claim her, moderate in her power but voracious in her curiosity. Cast out from the light of drow society for showing a bit too keen an interest in the arts of summoning and binding demons, she had been exiled to the depths of the underworld to die either by beast, magma, or the slow withering of an old enough drow without mana to sustain her. Yun'drala took the sightless young woman in when no one else would, and taught her what she knew about her 'talent', her condition. Out of kindness or spite for those who had driven her out, Vierstra never knew, but it was a family, and it was comfort, and that was all that mattered. Under Yun'drala's tutelage Vierstra grew to adulthood, learning to harness her native sorcery, when to rein her hungry aura in tightly, when and how to let it loose as she willed.

Sadly the candle of their tragic circumstances could not burn forever. In time, Vierstra came to lose a second mother much as she had her first. With Yun'drala's death Vierstra left the outcast colony and wandered alone in the depths, directionless. Feral and alone. Only after a time - she herself unsure just how much - her wanderings found her on the outskirts of Val'Raveran's territory. Memory sparked brightly across her mind at the sound of voices, real drow voices, raised in speech for the first time in a long exile. Drawn in by the warmth, the sounds and smells, Vierstra followed the caravan routes in toward the city itself.

It's there now where she finds herself, living amongst the lower sections of the city, amongst the poor and destitute. But for her it's a home, with enough bustle for her to be lost in, and that is small joy enough.

Description: A female xuile'solen, long-limbed and curveless, with dark ashen skin. Currently Vierstra wears her hair completely shaved down to stubble. She has long, spidery hands and feet, sensitive, almost delicate if it weren't for the scarring, dirt and callouses they bear. Her wide mouth is a cheshire shark's grin, and when let out her tongue seems obscenely long to those less familiar with the sightless. Her trim, wiry frame is quite tightly muscled and her usual hunched or crouched posture belies her true height. On her forehead she bears an upright almond-shaped ritual scar, the likeness of a third eye, as well as two thin diagonal scar-lines that extend downward from the crest of her nose. When she speaks, her quiet voice is more croaky than melodious, and her diction poor.
Time Zone: PST.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby AthenAltena » Sat Mar 20, 2010 4:32 pm

Here goes nuthin':

Name: Falma Kyorl’solenurn

Age: 58

Equipment: Bandages, around 10 ada, incense, a small Sharess pendent, short dagger, small pamphlets that describe what her order does that she hands out at the slightest provocation, small soulmir

Armor and Clothing: A simple spidersilk robe, mainly white with light blue overshirt and a white sash, leather boots

Magic: Blood (basic skills), Basic sealing skills

Beginning city: Chel’el’sussoloth

Clan: Kyorl’solenurn

Background: Falma was born as the second daughter into a middle class drowussu household within the Kyorl section of the city. After a standard stint at the Kyorl section of Orthorbbae she led a fairly normal life up until the Nidraa’chal War, and never felt particularly drawn towards any one field or Order.

Then the Nidraa’chal War happened, and in the confusion of the early days of the War she found herself caught up in the chaos in the lower city and separated from her family. As she tried to find her way back she came across a Sharen warrior who begged her to end her life before she was completely taken over by a demon, and with shaking hands she took the woman’s sword and did it. She spent the next few hours wandering through the streets, in shock at what she had just done. She nearly walked into an ambush before she was saved by another group of drowussu ending the lives of those who had been corrupted as mercifully as possible. Led by a warden named Venta and her blade Dos’man, they told her that they wished there were another way besides the sword to end their suffering, and in the wake of the war they formed their own Order seeking to do just that. Her parents were at first reluctant to allow her to go with them on what they saw as a dangerous mission, but after a time they finally relented, thinking that at the very least she’d found something to believe in.

Since the war the order has developed a technique to end the lives of those who have been tainted forcefully through a combination of drugs and manipulation of blood and other biological elements. After a few early mishaps they learned that it was best for people to come to them rather than seek them out, and they are often approached by the family members of someone who has fallen to a demon. Falma finds the hardest cases to be those where a young child has been taken over, but though these cases tax her emotions greatly she pushes aside her feelings for the greater good.

The Order rents a small shop front near the gate of the drowussu section of the city, and she lives there with the other Order members. It’s through them that she learned most of her mana skills, and is currently one of the youngest members. She carries a small soulmir for her work out in the city and can do basic sealing techniques, but any high level demons require help from others for her to defeat. She has some basic fighting ability in hand to hand combat and the use of her dagger and can handle herself fairly well in dangerous situations, but her usual reaction in a group will be to throw up a mana shield.

Under the influence of her fellow order members Falma is more moderate than many Kyorl and sees those who have been tainted as poor souls who have lost their way more than an active threat, and as such tries to bring about their deaths as quickly and painlessly as possible. Since she deals with hard cases she has the ability to set her emotions aside for the greater good, and rarely lets herself regret or second-guess her actions. She is still young, idealistic, and a bit chirpy, but her background has given her enough street smarts to know trouble when she sees it.

Height: 5’10
Weight: 150 lbs
Eyes: Green
Hair: Light brown, usually pulled away from her face in a high ponytail
(Picture One)
(Picture Two)

Timezone: US Eastern Time/GMT -5
Last edited by AthenAltena on Tue May 18, 2010 4:44 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Hetros » Tue Mar 23, 2010 1:09 am

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

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

-Around 5 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 10 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.
-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.


He does have thermal vision and tremor sense. He is extremely sensitive to vibrations in the stones, even through his clothing, making him very difficult to sneak up on when he’s alone. Beyond that he is an amazing 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)

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.

Weight- 175 lbs
Eye- Ruby Red
Hair- Mottled Black and Grey
Appearance-Eronas is a burly dwarf, short for even his race. His beard and hair are charcoal black streaked with dark grey, and his skin is a slate grey so dark it’s almost black. 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. His eyes are probably his most striking feature, standing out as the only bright color on his body, up to and including the camouflage colored armor he wears. 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
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Malyuta Skuratov » Wed Mar 24, 2010 9:50 pm

I just thought I'd let everyone know that I edited this character bio.

Malyuta Skuratov wrote:Name: Malyuta Skuratov
Race: Human
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 managed 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 Val'Raveran 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 Dark Elf 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 traveling Drow mercenary's dragon mount 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 Sun Apr 11, 2010 11:37 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Malyuta Skuratov
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Paladin Tim » Wed Mar 31, 2010 7:26 am

Name: Aetu'charam Illhar'dro

Race: Drowolath

Age: 40, approximately.


Weaponry: Aetu'charam carries a rather ugly, plain sword long enough for hand-and-a-half use. The blade is rectangular and broad, with no crossguard, single-edged with a bit of a wave in its coloration. A blue spidersilk ribbon is wrapped around the hilt, which is barely padded enough to allow it to be wielded comfortably. The ribbon is then knotted through the ring-shaped pommel, the ends left to dangle, the blade worn in a sheath across the back of his waist. Although he dislikes using it, finding it ugly and unartistic to wield, he wouldn't feel safe without it. Additionally, he carries his favorite weapon, a long and finely-crafted spetum, a gift from Sien'day. The mirror-polished head is shaped like a stylized bird, the pointed beak forming the speartip, and the flared, jagged wings forming the sharp side-blades. The haft is sturdy, and with a spiral-wrap of electric-blue lizardskin to give it a proper grip. Although pretty, it is still eminently functional. As a backup weapon, he has a retractable blade hidden in his gauntlet.

Clothing/Armor Although he has adapted to a more graceful existence well, Aetu still knows the value of good protection, wearing his strong but light Drow-forged steel plate often, more commonly than members of his clan tend to wear armor. It is the same vivid blue as his spetum, lined in silver, and with the great tree that symbolizes his clan on his breastplate. The helmet has a beaklike visor, and a pair of feathers coming up over the dome. Although of fine quality (much of his allowance went into commissioning it), it is relatively plain otherwise. Even in armor, he wears a long spidersilk scarf of blue and silver around his neck, over the gorget, letting it hang back over his shoulder almost like a cape. The scarf was a gift to commemorate his adoption, and he values it highly. His armor also includes a waist-cloak (seriously, I looked up this particular piece of armor and cannot find any other name for it), a piece of silk hanging from his waist in the back down to his knees, going around the outside of his legs as well. Outside of his armor, he favors a simple double-breasted tunic and trousers in his clan color, with his scarf still around his neck. Even out of his armor, he keeps his sword on his belt unless he absolutely must forego it.

Other A small collection of knives, rarely or never carried with him. A few books, mostly instructional, on the subject of etiquette and combat, a collection of songs and music that he uses to practice. A small, silver lyre. A fold-out cutlery set. Around 30 ada, although that number fluctuates as, unless watched, he tends to spend frivolously. Finally, in a simple silk bag, the remains of a snapped, shattered, and very old cleaver that must have been pitted, stained, and rusted even before it finally broke. Of these, he tends to carry only the money, and when going on the road he will generally purchase or borrow necessary supplies, such as a firestarting kit and a bedroll beforehand.


Basic Mana Manipulation: Proficient in the basic applications, mana shield, mana bolt, dispel, and aura vision.

Beginning City: Chel'el'Sussoloth

Clan: Illhar'dro.

Summarized Backstory: Aetu'charam was born to a Drowolath commoner family in the city of Chel'el'Sussoloth. He and his brother Zyail'hamad helped out his parents in their butcher shop by collecting corpses (occasionally soon-to-be corpses), and despite the horrible nature of this work, had a reasonably happy childhood. Aetu would help chop and skewer the meat for hours on end every day, while Zyail, being the more clever and less physical of the two, learned the ins and outs of the business, including basic mathematics.

Unfortunately, the Nidrachaal war broke out when Aetu was approximately 24 years old. Although their parents barricaded the door and attempted to protect their home, while the boys hid in the bedroom, a possessed monstrosity composed of fused corpses and multipartite mouths managed to get inside. Although they had the drop on it and managed to kill it, both were badly wounded. Zyail went downstairs, hearing the end of the battle, and was unfortunately there when his wounded parents became possessed themselves. He managed to escape, but not without losing most of the flesh on one arm, and with a deep wound to his aura. Aetu tried to help and comfort his brother, not understanding how badly tainted his little sibling was...until Zyail, crazed by possession, attacked him. Aetu was lucky, and managed to tangle his arms in a bedsheet long enough to splatter his skull with a cleaver and leave him for dead, then escaped the house, running until he collapsed from exhaustion well outside the district. He was still unconscious when the purging Sharen forces moved through.

Orphaned, Aetu lived on the streets, feeding on what he could steal, frequently forced to turn to murder and cannibalism to survive, preying on drunks and other urchins. Barely better than a tainted or an animal, he thought only about his next meal, fighting viciously and without remorse. Although at first he lost as many fights as he won, often coming back to face those who defeated him before, his tenacity and grit impressed mercenaries who frequented the local taverns, occasionally betting on his fights, telling him stories, and even giving him food. Over time, however, Aetu started becoming too old to be an urchin, and was too isolated to join a street gang, many of whom had it in for him because of the aforementioned killing-other-urchins thing. He begged a mercenary group into accepting him, working hard for a tiny amount of pay and a share of food, turning his butchery skills once more towards combat.

During these jobs, he developed a degree of combat proficiency, learned some basic mana-manipulation tricks, and developed some muscle. He practiced incessantly to get better, when he wasn't working or doing chores for the mercenaries, determined to prove himself in order to avoid being dumped back on the streets. Fighting as a group took some effort to learn, but he managed it, and his first battle was nowhere near as traumatic as he'd expected, since he'd been fighting and killing for years anyway. The group preferred guard jobs, which were safer and tended to pay better, and took up contracts with the wealthy Illhar'dro clan. During these escort missions, Aetu'charam attracted the eye of a merchant, Sien'day, who fed him the scraps of her meal out of curiosity. Seeing how the taste of actual good food dramatically increased his loyalty, she decided out of a mixture of curiosity, boredom, and ego to see if it would be possible to turn the youth into a civilized, proper drowolath, especially since he would be easily discarded if he failed. Through vigorous, nigh-obsessive practice (which he had already been doing anyway) he succeeded, picking up the spetum as a more artistic and civilized supplement to his single-edged, ungraceful sword, and turning his gift for rhythm and accuracy, forged by hours of repetitive, precise chopping as a child, into a fair grasp of music. Although it took time, eventually Sien'day was impressed enough by his dedication to adopt him as a guard and a warrior. He still keeps the broken remains of his original cleaver with him.

FULL backstory: WARNING: LONG! http://pastebin.com/y2LVjK1U but might offer clarifications or answer questions from the summary. Highly recommended to read, as I said, it does clarify a lot...but most of the important events are summed up above.

Description: Unusually, Aetu'charam tends to wear his hair very short, dyed teal. As previously mentioned, he commonly wears his armor. When out of it, also previously mentioned, he tends to favor long-sleeved outfits that do not reveal much of his torso, likely because he is ashamed of the various scars, most of them old, along his chest, back, and arms. He nearly always keeps his left forearm covered up, due to a particularly long, curving, and vicious scar along the upper side, nearly spanning the distance from elbow to wrist. A secondary reason is some lingering body-image issues, he is still somewhat used to being the scrawny, underfed one, even now that he is leanly muscled enough for no one to notice, and has worked hard to make it a difficult thing to guess. In fact, he's become something of a prettyboy, which doesn't help improve his image as a warrior one bit. He is slightly above average height for a drowolath male, and rather slender in the manner of a fencer. His eyes are pale green.

He has worked hard to have a courtly, polite attitude, although being around Tainted makes him vaguely uneasy. He almost always carries his sword with him, even if he finds it an uncomfortable reminder of who he used to be, that history is enough a part of his personality that he wouldn't feel safe without it. Although he has learned proper etiquette, part of him is still that same ruthless, desperate child, and it shows in an almost feral hunger in his eyes when upset or angry. He is almost fanatically devoted to his clan.

Time Zone: Eastern USA, on most of the time.
Paladin Tim
Posts: 233
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 6:57 pm

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Kel_The_Oblivious » Wed Mar 31, 2010 11:48 am

Name: Kel Ragebrew

Age: 78

Race: Dwarf

Magic: N/A

Background: Like all dwarves, Kel was born and raised in the harshest parts of the underground, areas so hostile to life that no child of the dokkalfar would bother trying to erk out a living. Kel's "clan" a rag tag group of maybe 50 free dwarves, used one of the abandoned fortresses to shelter them from the harshest the wilds had to offer, and helping them rebuild, slowly, but surely.When the children of the dokkalfar came, many dwarves decided that rather give up their hard made homes, these long forgotten ancestors would destroy their great works, killing all who were within the area. Some would collapse the cavern, crushing all within, or flood it, drowning everybody.

The fortress Kel's "clan" settled in, who's name is last to antiquity, released toxic fumes from deep magma vents, used to power the fortress forges, choking the fortress and surrounding area in a sulfurous fog. A great many died, a fortress of a hundred thousand reduced to a handful in a matter of hours. Those what survived scattered, heading deep into the underworld, some to their deaths, others into shackles, and a rare few managing to live long enough to come across other survivors and refugees. No more then nomads now, the dwarves roamed the underworld for a long time, scraping by or becoming enslaved.

Many generations have passed, and the once toxic fumes that engulfed the cavern have weakened enough that the hardiest of life can make a living within the massive cavern. The dwarves could not give up a chance to reclaim some small part of the past, and the native life of the underworld could not resist so much room to grow in. Not to mention running water, and an array of hardy, barely edible or down right toxic fungus.

His family was a typical dwarven family. The mother and father were hunters and gathers. His mother was the far better hunter, while his father had a knack for herbalism. Being the oldest of three siblings, Kel was expected to help bring in enough for his brother and sister. Lucky for him, he was skilled both with throwing axes and recognizing the edible flora in the fungus groves, and had a certain love of brewing everything he could find. From simple mushroom beer, fiery spices extracted from the spores, lichen wine that smells like rotten meat, but tastes like ambrosia, to potent hallucinogens that leave the user drooling and giggling, Kel found a use for every plant, and nearly died quite a few times trying them on himself.

But life was by no means easy. Death was every present, as the massive halls of the fortress, the untamed fungus groves, and winding underground river all held creatures who had made this place their home, and toxic plants that could kill a dwarf just by touching it, not to mention the threat of drow slaver raids, goblin and orc attacks, or any other horror from the depths.

The death of his mother came as no shock, killed in one of the periodic drow raids. She was caught far out into the caverns around the city, and did not submit to slavery. Enough of her was found that he could give her a proper burial, being cast into the magma vent, to be returned to the stone from which she came.

His father died a few years later, being attacked by a massive centipede and throw into a deadly patch of fungus. It was 'predatory' and anything that touched it would instantly become ensnared and consumed, the fungus secreting a paralyzing toxin. For the still young Kel, it was a horrifying sight, watching his father struggle for a moment, then slowly be consumed by the fungus, unable to help, because a similar fate would await him.

His brother and sister, both scavengers in the deep fortress, met their death far from home, exploring the depths, searching for lost relics and tools. Their bodies were never discovered, lost to the depths. Still, statues, made in effigy, were crafted, and then dropped into the magma vent.

Kel became very cold, very distant, after the death of his entire family. Rarely did he spend time with the rest of the clan, most
interested in what strange brew he could make, and what it would do it him. Some called that an addiction, but he saw it as a way to explore every possibility of their home. One day, they would become a great place again, one day the dwarves would be a force to be reckoned with. And to make that day happen, you needed coin.

It did not take long for Kel to decide he would risk the unknown far beyond this cavern, instead of the certain death that awaited him. He took everything he had, and everything his family left him. Since then, he has traveled long and far, for easily 30 years. He has survived the worst the underworld can throw at him, mostly by running away.

Settlements are uncommon, but it's not hard to find them, provided they don't want to remain hidden. It did not take him long to hear of Chel'el'Sussoloth, by far the most well known city in the entire underworld. He did not like the sound of such a place in the slightest. So many drow, in such a small place. Any dwarf worth his salt would know to say away from there.

His travels took him elsewhere, and another realm, much more appealing to a free dwarf, came to his attention. Raveran. Free
members of all kind, in the same area, all trading and exchanging stories. Surely there would be quite a bit of coin to be found there.


Fighting: This is no fancy way of killing. This is simple, brutal, and unrelenting. It is a time tested method, proof of his survival.
Hunting: Hunt or be hunted was a way of life.
Stalking: Far easier to kill something when it doesn't notice you. herbalism: Finding out which ones are safe to eat and which ones will kill you means you don't need to hunt as much.
Alchemy: This plant can kill you. Well, I will extract what kills you, and coat my spear with it. Then stab you, and run away laughing.
Survival: One doesn't wander around the wilds for years and not figure out how to survive in them. Finding water, shelter, avoiding predators, avoiding weak stones or unsafe caves, all these are things you learn.


Armor: Without the vast forges and tremendous manpower of their old empire, Kel's "clan" did not have the luxury of metal armor. They had to make due with what was plentiful. Massive beetles, the size of wagons, served as food, clothing, and

His armor is made entirely out of deep blue beetle carapace, the helmet made from the head, leggings made from the thicker sections of the legs, the gauntlet made of the thinner sections, with the small claws serving as fingers. The breastplate is made from two sets of wing covers, the shield made out of one. Everything is very rounded, as a natural being would be. Should he roll up with the shield in front of him, he becomes an almost perfect sphere. Useful when something is trying to bite you, as it can't get purchase. Useless against swords and spears however. With mixtures of alchemical salves, and tanning methods, the carapace will last a great many years, and while not quite as strong as steel, it will still turn aside a blow.


He wields two weapons, one, an artifact spear, found deep within the fortress. Named Nothisrash, or translated to "The Grieving Death" it is a steel spear, masterfully crafted, bands of silver and gold running down it's length, with a single star sapphire, carved in the likeness of a grieving dwarf, set just beneath the head. It was made in the waning hours of the fortress, the crafter's bones still next to the forge that birthed it. It is no magical weapon, but some would argue that craftdwarfship of this manner is a magic all in it's own. The other, is a simple iron dagger, little more then a bar of iron pounded forcibly into shape, crafted in his home.

Regular clothing:

One can't run around in armor all the time, so he owns a couple sets of simple, hardy clothes. A dull gray leather tunic, with matching leggings, a thick lizard hide cloak, durable, hard soled boots, and thick gloves.


He has a single cherished item, a small silver pendant he was given by his mother. It is nothing special, merely an arrow like shape, with a strange maze held within. He sometimes stares at it for hours, pondering it.


He arrived in Val'Raveran with a wide supply of mushrooms, lichens,

potions and pastes, along with dozens of spore samples.

Blue Cap: A simple mushroom, it is inedible, but the spores can be ground into a nutritious, if bland, flour. Blue cap bread is of course, vibrant blue.

Crystal Grass: A rare beauty, these wheat like stocks are covered in small sugar like crystals. The colors Kel has are emerald, gold, black, and purple. Ground up, the crystals make a wonderful dye.

Barb cap: A mean, ugly mushroom, known for it's fleshy hooked cap, is a strong hallucinogen. The world melting is the best way to describe it's effects on users, along with a feeling of euphoria.

Plump Pod: These large fungus clusters are a valuable food source. Able to be eaten raw, these purplish round fungus caps provide a great deal of nutrients, along with a whole lot of water. Two of these fist sized pods can supply a humanoid being with enough food and water for a day.

Ripple Slime: Useless as food, but very useful as a medicinal fungus, this bright orange slime, which of course has a rippled effect to it, can be ground into a paste, which when applied to a wound, helps reduce pain, and prevent infection. A hot seller everywhere.

Bark Stalk: This thick, wood like stem is a mild stimulant. Chewing on it is a common sight back in Kel's homeland, giving everyone a little extra zip to their step, making them that much faster, and less likely to be eaten. Kel refines it into it's base form, a clear, acidic fluid. Taken undiluted can lead to massive head aches, chest pains, and sometimes, short term blindness. But if you mix a small amount with a bottle of wine, or a skin of water, it turns it into a pleasant upper.

Sweet Pod: These red, bean shaped fungal growths are full of a rich, sugary sap. They are small, perfect for popping into one's mouth while walking. They can be refined into a sugar like substance, which has a distinct red color to it.

All of these he either has the plant itself, the extract, or the spores to grow it.


Standing 4 foot nothing, he is quite tall for a dwarf. he weighs 150 lbs, with hardly any fat on him. His hair, when not matted and tangled, is long and straight, and the same color as freshly smithed copper. His beard is still growing in fully, and he had a healthy beard that reaches from his ears to his neck, but is kept short for sake of his helmet. His eyes are dark and gray, like flint. Dozens of small scars pepper his skin, no major ones showing. His body is lean compared to some dwarves, but the strength is obvious just looking at him.

He has a very hardened appearance, forced to endure hell and came out swinging. Because of this, he is alert to the point of paranoia, always alert to the slightest change around him. His is always the second knife to be drawn. Rarely does he smile, when he does, the mismash of scars on his face pull and warp.

PST, on daily or so.
Posts: 7
Joined: Sat Mar 27, 2010 6:43 am

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Kraul » Thu Apr 01, 2010 2:55 am

Name: Martell "Tuck" Tucker

Race: Human

Age: 27


Buck Knife
Adventurers Outfit
Lock Picks
Flint and Tinder
Pocket Change (4 ada)

Magic: None

Beginning city: Val'Raveran

Clan: None

Background: Tuck was born a simple farmboy to a weary pair of up world peasants eking out a living in the overworld. The fifth of eight children he learned the value of teamwork and having someone to watch your back at a young age. He also learned to be quick on his feet and wary of his flanks since four of his siblings were brothers and three of them were bigger than him. He had a happy, normal, uneventful childhood. His family lived the harsh but simple existence of subsistence farmers and, like anyone living in a household without immediate community support, Tuck developed into a jack of all trades. When the nearest carpenter is on a homestead 8 miles away and the nearest cobbler is as far as Val'Raveran you have to know how to shore up a sagging roof beam or patch up your own shoes yourself. Many of his later comrades commented that he learned new things so quickly because his first education was not in skills themselves, but in how to learn. As he grew he picked up a little of what it takes to maintain a frontier homestead. Carpentry, thatching, fishing, hunting, farming, tanning, even tailoring. And while he acquired a very broad knowledge he never really excelled at any single task. And a good thing too. The tragically high infant and child mortality rate of an isolated wilderness lifestyle saw him one of only four children by the time he was sixteen.

At that time in his life Tuck had a rash of wanderlust and left home with nothing but his father's blessing and his mother's fire pit bannock recipe. There was a group of WANDER mercenaries passing by his home and he signed on with them. WANDER, an acronym for Warrior, Adventurer, Nomad, Dissident, Explorer, Rebel, was a loose, quasi mercenary group that focused on running salvage operations to retrieve lost Elven technology. Tuck took to the life of a WANDERer like a fish to water, his quick wit and steady blade pulling more than his weight with the crew and his friendly, easy going manner earning him friends and admirers. He traveled with them for years, scavenging, salvaging, fighting, recruiting and mourning lost comrades. Eventually he was one of the only members of the original band remaining and had a falling out with one of his oldest friends, a man named Rafe. Rafe wanted to take the group in a more mercenary direction while Tuck was fine remaining primarily a salvage operation. It was expected that he would challenge Rafe to a duel for the leadership of the band but, rather than risk killing his friend or their friendship, he said his goodbyes and left.

He is now unaffiliated and out for adventure, going where the winds take him and living a life of freedom.

Description: Tuck is a tall, lanky, long legged human with light skin and short blond hair. Not over muscled or beefy, he none the less possesses the whip thin sort of strength honed by a lifetime of action. His face is broad, honest, and a bit quirky looking. Green eyes peer inquisitively out from under thick blond brows and are punctuated by a squat, oft broken nose. His mouth is almost constantly pulled up into a friendly smile and seems just a bit too wide for his face. His clothing is an eclectic and miss matched menagerie that looks like he ran head first through a circus tent. His thick leather boots are scuffed and dusty from long miles on the road. His trousers are loose fitting and comfortable, tailored for ease of movement and covered in patches. Especially the knees. His wide sleeved shirt is usually untucked and covered by a light breastplate, once again designed more for maneuverability than protection. Altho his general appearance is more of an explorer than a fighter a chipped longsword hangs from one hip and a pitted shortsword from the other, resting near hands covered in thick dueling gloves. His overall look is frayed, patched, and amicable.

Time Zone/Activity: Mountain Standard Time (-7), very active. Multiple posts per day.
Posts: 5
Joined: Wed Mar 31, 2010 3:23 am

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Fumbles » Thu Apr 01, 2010 4:21 pm

Name: Fumbles Blaidd

Race: Human

Age: 24

A lovely pink Drow dress. (Likely formalwear)
3 ada
And a fork

Magic: N/A

Beginning city: Val'Raveran

Clan: None

Background: Fumbles is an unfortunate man, most say his name is accurate but it is more a case of his name being the cause of his misfortune. The Blaidd family line has a peculiar ritual of naming their firstborn sons "Fumbles", they believe this causes the families misfortune into the one child allowing their other children to lead highly successful lives. It's a superstition at most but appears quite effective.

Now to bring you up to date on his current situation I'll have to inform you of his life. Fumbles was born into a Blaidd family born from a Blaidd mother and a Mac father, going along with the silly superstitions his father (Fenrir Mac) named the boy Fumbles but intended to train him a warrior as he himself had been. Fast forward to age 10 and Fumbles is still about as effective as an irritated grandmother, his brother Gerrin on the other hand (Age 6) was proving to be quite an up and comer, the kind you'd expect to join the local militia. Unfortunately by Fumbles 11th birthday this meant his father had moved all his attention to his third born child Gerrin. (Kandra being the second.) Fumbles continued to grow unguided by his father and very rarely talked to by his mother (Although she did teach him to sew after she got sick of having to mend his torn clothes so often.) it wasn't too long before he got put to work on the farm. This did not work out one bit. Every crop he worked on failed, he did everything correctly but it never worked. So the family sent him to the local smith as an apprentice hoping he could at least grow some muscle hitting hot iron, the smithy burnt down three weeks later due to an unexplainable accident. After a constant moving of jobs and professions Fumbles had become a freeter, (Someone who only takes on part time jobs.) he learned that staying too long meant disaster, this also meant that by the time he was 18 he was forced to move away from his home village to find more work. He continued travelling and being a freeter for many years, never settling, never finding love. Only working. This had some advantages as he picked up quite a few skills here and there but his bad luck let him know he could never possibly be GOOD at anything, he worked everywhere you could think of from apprentice scribe to rat catcher. But he still kept on wandering. Until one day one of his many accidents landed him into a whole different kettle of fish.

Fumbles found himself facefirst down a dried up well a good length away from any towns he knew of, fortunately it seemed to run from an underground river that had almost stopped it's water flow. Unfortunately when he found his way down this piddling stream he came face to face with a fearsome beast! Something he had only ever heard of... a Tik'Tikki! He knew it wanted to eat him and feed him to it's children. So he ran. He ran in the darkness until he found a lit road, where he waited. And waited. Until he fell asleep. He was jolted awake inside a drow slaver caravan a new piece of stock. When he asked where they were taking him they replied "Chelsuwhohoth". After a long trip and an uncomfortable sleep Fumbles was standing on the street corner being sold, where he was sold to quite a pretty elf! Too bad she wasn't very nice to him. She had him do everything for her. Dishes, washing, cleaning up after the pets. She named it, he did it. He did refine his knowledge of the Elf tongue slightly while he was in her "care" at least. But of course as all things do when Fumbles stays in one place for too long, it came to an end. Fumbles was on his way to wash the mistresses dress and then to do some dishes when he decided it would be a great time to try the plate spinning trick he learned in his time with the street performers, the plate spun and spun until he could not hold it. It flew straight into the nearby golems crystal. Somehow lodging into it. Thinking fast Fumbles pried the plate loose with a fork, shattering the crystal and releasing a blast of mana into him. He managed to survive barely as the golem began a rampage, his clothes shredded he resorted to the mistresses dress. And he fled. He didn't know where to head so he just followed the roads, hitch-hiking when he could. Until he arrived in Val'Raveran.

Description: Fumbles is a man of average height and weight with barely any muscle on him, he has shoulder length blond hair to compliment his almost dead looking grey eyes. As of late his life has been worse than usual leaving him slightly emaciated and dour. He would be a "pretty" man if he were not so grimed up all the time due to his constant falling and flailing about, some would say he has feminine features and too small of a frame to be a real man as his shoulders never thickened out properly to meet his hips. The dress he wears is quite obviously of drow make and quite expensive, it's a light pink flowing piece covering more than you would expect from drow formal wear (That isn't armor.) and he probably would have pawned it would that not require him to get naked before owning another set of clothes.

Timezone: GMT+10
Posts: 1
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 8:12 am

Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby DestyNova1 » Fri Apr 02, 2010 3:12 am

Well, I've pondered and tweaked and I guess I'll take the plunge and submit my character.

Name: Isabella Orylson
Race: Dwarf
Age: 67
Mana Arts: none
Abilities: Brief stint in militia provides basic arms familiarity. Talented in non-magical healing, (Stitching wounds, applying healing salves, setting bones) can also identify herbs, plants and fungi that can be use with healing and the preparation of said salves, draughts and poultices

Items: Knife, Common clothes (Shirt, trousers, boots, cloak), Smock, tool belt for healing tools, bandages, pouches with herbs, fungi, plants, etc used for making poultices, wound spreads, and draughts. Also carries several pre-made items, very sharp obsidian knife, alcohol, and binding rope for amputations, books on healing, herb lore, and backpack.

Clan: None
Starting City: Val’Raveran

Background: Isabella looks up from her mortar and pestle and grunts at your question. “Want to know how I ended up grinding roots in this dingy shop, eh? Very well, I’ll humour you.”

“Lived most of my life in the underworld of course, family was either merchants or healers so it’s no surprise that I took after my father who was the clan healer and started learning the trade by fetching bandages and herbs, took years of being hunched over smelly pots, wrist deep in corpses and squinting over yellowed books before I was given the title of apprentice healer. No magik for us of course, just bags full of foul substances and lots of stitches, if there was something like a spear through your guts, the only thing we could really do is stuff you full of mushrooms so you could die in a beautiful dream.”

“*Ahem* anyways, I travelled quite a bit with patrols and caravans, getting practical training in my skills, it was one of those trips that the whole war business started up. I lost contact with my family and to this day I don’t know their fate, shouldn’t be too hard to guess though. I'm just hoping I will be able to find some remnant to enact a proper burial with.

“Now I could go on and on about the war and raids and what happened with all of the bravery, cowardice, finger-pointing, hope and despair, but there are hundreds of people that will talk your ears off about it and each one will go on about how proper or wrong it was depending on if it is a drow or dwarf was talking. What I will say is that I saw a lot of people die, managed to save a few, and got sick of the entire business so I travelled here to Val’Raveran to try to get some peace.”

“Been an herbalist and healer my whole life, so that is what I tried to be again, tough luck finding a place of my own though. One of the drow apothecaries did notice that I had a knack for this business and hired me for a pittance for long hours amongst the pots, pestles and dank root cellars. So here I am at this apothecary mashing herbs, stitching wounds and setting bones. Once day, I hope to be able to find some of my kin and start a new home.

Special herbs: Numbing Lichen: This lichen is mixed into a paste and often put into a bandage to be applied to the wounded area, where upon pain will be deadened as long as the mix is kept fresh.
Staunch moss: when applied to open wounds, staunch moss will slow blood loss and aid healing, it can be mixed into a paste, but most effective when used fresh.
Dream ‘shrooms: These small mushrooms are the talked about hallucinogen, when ingested, the imbiber will experience vivid hallucinations. This is often given to those mortally wounded in order to ease their passing.
Fever tea: dried mushrooms make up most of this ground mixture, when made into a tea, it helps reduce fevers, chills, and help speed recovery of most flu-type illnesses

Description: Isabella stands about three foot eleven and seems ill-kept. Her shoulder-length brown hair is tangled and her blue eyes tend to be a bit blood-shot from long nights of work that leave her smelling of herbs and roots most of the time. Her hands are stained from the long hours of grinding ingredients but are always kept clean when she needs to work on a person; the numerous needles, knives and other tools of her trade are kept spotless and sharp.

Attitude: Isabella, while adhering to the healer’s code of helping all who come to her for aid is rather distant from the popular concept of unending care that would label her an ‘Angel in White’ in better times. She attends to her work in a brusque manner and is quick to reprimand those who don’t follow her advice, although she knows he must hold his tongue now that she works for the drow lords.
As for her heritage and family, Isabella quietly mourns her separation from her family and clan, but harbours no illusions about grand oaths and quests for vengeance and hopes she can one day find other dwarves to start up a new village with.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Pariel » Tue Apr 20, 2010 10:04 pm

Name:Shamshayid "Shamsha" Aleyrin Val'Beldrobbaen

Race: Drowolath


On her Person:Beldrobbaen full plate with shield golem and gauntlet blade, 20 Ada, Greatsword, Dirk, pouch with mana gemstones, coagulating salves.

On her lodgings: Mana tactical board, books about high arts and military tactics, a wardrobe full of fine spidersilk dresses, 100 Ada in a small ornate chest, wooden desk, big trunk with plushies.

Magic: Shadow Sorcery, Earth High Art

Beginning city: Chel'el'sussoloth

Clan: Val'Beldrobbaen, Subhouse Aleyrin

Background: Shamsayid was born as the third daughter of the De'vess, and as customary, she was raised by one of her sisters. After an uneventful youth, the shy girl entered orthorbbae for her education at age 10. She was paired up in her room with a Dut'anvir female named Laisseyr. Even though she had a funny appearance, young Shamsha made her best to be polite to one of the clans the queen was fond of, and made her best clumsy attempts to befriend her. Soon, she realized she had made the wisest choice. By her age, Shamsha was already bigger than her teammates, a scene that caused much mockery since she could not coordinate well her physique yet. Laisseyr for her part was also one of the class' amusements, thanks to her pale skin. The two kids had no one but eachother, but that was more than enough for them. They would eventually persevere against their teammates. By her 20's, Shamsha had solved her coordination problems, now dominating the class as one of the best of her promotion, specially in the Beldrobbaen sorcery, fighting skills and tactical dispositions. It was then when the people who formerly mocked her, were now all so eager to be her friend. The shy noble suddenly became the center of attention and naively accepted her offers, yet she still held Laisseyr as her dearest, much to her newfound friends chagrin.

However, these friends were all but loyal, as Shamshayid found out during her 27th birthday. As it had happened inside Orthorbbae's walls, the teenager girls had organized a party with aid of Sullisin'rune elder students in one of the meeting halls, boys included. It was the first time Shamsha had been encouraged to test alcohol, and not too soon after she was piss drunk. She didn't mind, of course, a party was to be enjoyed. The combined effects of the drugs and the alcohol were more than she could handle, and she became willless before the raving youth congregation.

Had it not been because of Laisseyr, she'd have ended much much worse. By the time she had reached her, a male had been found taking advantadge of her state to engage with her and make her lose her maidenhood. The next day, Shamsha awoke with a terrible sickness, and although she was devastated at what happened, managed to compose herself to attend to her classes with the help of her Dutan'vir friend and ally. However, this was not the end of her bad luck. The sickness of the morning stood for a while, and this was no good signal. During her next break in the fort, she had herself checked.

She had been impregnated, during that drunk party. Her mother was furious, all her family equally scoffing for such a disgraceful move. In the end, they did not disown her, however. A cover up was performed. Shamsha would attend normally to class until the pregnancy became so obvious she could no longer hide it, and she would spend the time in the fortress afterwards, give birth, and resume her classes, while her firstborn was raised by someone else. Shamsha did as ordered, embittered by the fact she had been fooled by a male and could not raise her firstborn.

Upon completion of her Orthorbbae lessons, Shamsha had begun to change. The shy, gentle big girl of once had become more brash and aggressive, developing a loathe for males and their antics.She even went as far as, with the help of Laisseyr, track the male who had done the deed, and present her as trophy.Not all was harshness, however. In order to make her regain her lost status, her mother tasked Shamsha with raising a kid of a friend of hers. Having being bereft of a daughter recently awoke in Shamsha a maternal instinct unknown to her, and devoted herself to the kid. She was named Leyre, and she had been born with empathic skills. Shamsha became a caring mother, always on the watch to defend the young drowess from all dangers, while at the same time continuing to develop her sour, brash aggressive facet as a method of self defense. Such was her zeal, that she herself returned to Orthorbbae with the excuse to learn Earth High arts to keep an eye on hers.

Upon raising the youth, which had been no small task, the De'vess revealed that the kid had no been from a friend of hers, but Shamsha's daughter all along, in order to teach her a lesson to not do it again. If her relations with her mother had deteriorated, now they were rock bottom. Out of bounds, Shamsha lifted a heavy table above her head, and launched it towards the wall, while swearing all kinds of profanities. After lamenting the loss of said table, her mother entruested the fould mooded giantess to the Heavy corps, as such strength was not to be wasted in petty arguments and destroyed furniture.

Shamshayid quickly rose in the ranks becoming one of the officers of the troops, as her combination of size, mean nature and birthright made her an ideal candidate, and continued to hone her abilities in combat, and mana arts, all the while scaring all others out, specially males. Soon, strange rumours circulated about her devouring males, and having no heart not even for her mother. Both were false, yet Shamsha never made any effort to disprove them, instead delighting in them to instill additional discipline and terror.

Even so, her lack of relations with males made the devess frown. She would not tolerate deviants upon her home, so she ordered Shamsha to mate with one of her choosing.She was 130 by then. Shamsha had no choice but reluctantly agree and mate with the male, out of duty and nothing else. It did nothing to destroy Shamsha's reputation as man-killer, but she bore the devess a male grandchild, which she entrusted to Leyre. Shamsha did not like males, that was true, but her son was a notable exception, and even if she did not raise him, she was more than willing to help him achieve his own ends, going so far as to introduce him to a fellow friend of hers some time after, a drider named Kalandrin whom she had saved from a gladiator pit long ago, so she could be her trainer once it had been set that he would become a drider, after impregnating a female in his 51st birthday.

Some time later after reaching her second century, Shamsha felt lonely. Her outer harsh persona had done her job too well to guard her against people, and her inner shy side resented it. She sought her old friend Laisseyr, but she found out much to her dismay she had fallen to the Queen's Purgues during the time, much to her embittered self. They were tumultous times, the tainted were on the rise, and the Beldrobbaen were ebbing. And then it happened. Like a gamble of fate, the only male that Shamsha ever loved appeared in her life in something as mundane as walking through the different stalls of the market. He was a handsome Beldrobbaen named Mahel, the rumours said, and much younger than hers. But his manners were implacable, and his heart a jewel of kindness. For the first time, Shamsha felt blood rush to her cheeks as she felt she became a century younger. Readily, she accepted him as mate. Soon after she gave birth to twins, an extremely good omen by drow standards. The fact cemented her position among her own house and made her much more overjoyed with Mahel. Yet, as if they were tempted by fate, Mahel did not live much longer, not even long enough to become knighted, as a golem freak accident crushed him to death.

Sunken in depression and bitterness, Shamshayid kept lurking the Heavy troopers, terrorizing them and other house members, all the while she pondered if the disgrace had struck her clan. Her gut feeling proved right when, just one year after her twin daughters Naedhi and Seadhi left the school, an entire generation of girls was wiped out. While she herself was lucky, her firstborn had been not. The shock to Leyre proved too much, and she lost her voice ever since, a fact that embittered her mother even more.

Nowadays, Shamshayid is a felt presence, albeit in a negative manner. Holding out males in open contempt and harshly administering discipline, she does not spare a moment of weakness. More than now, youths need to react, and she would loathe if any of them found out her true personality, that of a devoted shy and caring woman. Only in the presence of dear friends and close family does the disguise fall.

Description: Shamsha is a towering stout shaped woman, with generous curvaceous features and broad constitution. Standing 6'7'', she sports gray long hair tied up in a bun in the back of her head to avoid hair pulling. She has green eyes, set deep in oval shaped face. When not wearing her full plate she prefers comfortable dresses, and her ample atributes would give her a motherly look if she wasn't that aggressive.

Time Zone/Activity:CET, ocassionally.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby darkdragonfire » Sun Apr 25, 2010 10:55 pm

Okay, changed fire magic to basic mana manipulation; and added weight/height.

Name: Lydia
Race: Drowolath
Age: 29, soon 30 (has, however, lost count in the aftermath of loosing her parents. Thinks she is around 36)
Equipment: Everything she had is currently carried on her person, as she has nowhere else
- *A dagger of mediocre quality
- *A small amount of money
- *White clothes
Magic: Undiscovered Ice Affinity, Basic Manamanipulation
Beginning City: Chel'el'Sussoloth
Clan: none
Lydia was born into a poor merchant family. With little money and less food, it wasn't a very good living, but the family made due. Her first years passed without any noticeable incident, except the birth of a brother twelve years younger than her. When Lydia was twenty, her parents decided to go on a trip to the overworld, in hopes of making lots of money there and giving their family a better living. They never came back. Lydia received notice that her parents had died from a friend of them who also had been on the caravan. There had been an attack; and they had been among the casualties. Lydia blamed the ruling clans for not having enough guards to protect the caravan.

Alone now with her little brother, she tried as good as she could to make a living; carving things, patching clothes to her best abilities, even begging. But she never stole anything. A year later, her brother got sick; and she didn't have the money to bring him to qualified doctors. He died in her arms soon afterwards.

(notice that the following is just Lydias opinion on the authorities...)
Again, Lydia blamed the authorities for not helping her brother. They had the resources, they could have saved her brother. But they just sat in their homes, swimming in riches, food, knowledge and medicine. They never shared or helped the common people. She decided to do something about it. She would bring the great clans down, and avenge her brother. For the next seven years she trained with a dagger she had bought. She also learned basic magic from an elder drowolath, who wasn't really good at teaching or magic; but he helped her for a fee small enough for her to afford.

Then the time came to test her newfound abilities. Lydia attacked a patrol, and failed completely. Her magic was easily countered, and her self-taught swinging of the dagger was far below the abilities of a well armed, armored and trained guard. She was captured, and sold to a fighting pit. Too young to be used as a gladiator, she was set to clean the arenas instead and the quarters of the gladiators. And yet she was devout of purpose. After her failed attempt to attack the patrol Lydia had realized that she had no chance at ever really harming the great clans. Apart from that, she didn't really have anything to live for.

Soon, all the killing she had to watch in the pit was more than she could handle. At the first chance, Lydia ran away.

Lydia has black skin that is in clear contrast to her white hair and clothes.
Her eyes are blue, with a hint of green in the middle.
She is short for her age, looking almost 5 years younger than she is (and she thinks she is 5 years older than she is =D)
Her hair was cut short during her time in the fighting pit.
Height: 5'
Weight: 100 pounds

Time zone/Activity:
I try to answer once a day if that is required from me. Normally, I almost succeed.
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Hugeklaws » Mon Apr 26, 2010 4:19 am

Ok, let's see if I can do this right.

Name: Lir'driia Deylyl
Race: Drowolath
Age: 43
Equipment: Three small pouches filled with a healing poultice hanging from a worn, leather belt with an iron buckle.
An unadorned rectangular targe
Flail with spiked ball and chain
Old, tarnished full plate armor without the helmet. Despite efforts to keep it in good condition, it has been worn down and has lost its shine. The armor is worked over at some parts with thick leather as a sort of make-shift repair. She wears http://www.gradovi.net/images/armour4.jpg. The armor is spartan of its designs and trimmings. She has a sallet helmet with large horns on it, styled to look like that of a ram's. http://www.armanorthhouston.org/event20 ... t-helm.jpg
A chainmail shirt under the plate.
A filled waterskin and a couple loafs of stale bread.
Magic: Basic mana manipulation, with emphasis on using light spells to create blinding flashes.

Beginning city: Chel'el'sussoloth
Clan: Vel'vloz'ress

Background: Lir'driia was born from a relationship between Shurthae Deylyl, a high-ranking member of House Deylyl, and yl'Rlonhrys, a member of House Rilynmtor The two houses merged together to create a stronger one, still holding onto the name Deylyl. Shurthae became the matriarch of the house after the merge, and took her place as an iron-fisted leader. Lir'driia was under her constant scrutiny, teaching her lessons and punishing her for anything that was wrong in her eyes. Despite the suffering, Lir'driia continued to dote on her mother, taking in all she could to make her mother proud of her.

When she became strong enough to carry a sword, Lir'driia was taught by her uncle, Vuz'axle, the basics of fighting armed and bare-handed. She was constantly lectured on weakness and her mother disciplined her harshly if she dared show any in front of her or others. Lir'driia was taught how to use fear as a weapon, like her mother did. Shurthae ran the house with fear, demanding absolute loyalty, especially from her daughter, however, many members of the house disapproved of her methods, terrified and scornful of the new matriarch.

Lirdriia was taught very little in the use of mana, her mother claiming that magic and technology made their race softer, content in their powers. The young drow was taught about the inner workings of many of the races, often having to dissect duergar, ferals, and other drow. She felt no sickness doing such things, believing that it was in the norm, and that it was for knowledge.

Her first fight was when she was twelve years old. Shurthae declared it to be a test as to see whether Lir'driia was worth the time. She was to fight an accused guard in the House's pit. The two fought hard, but using her lessons, Lir'driia won out after cutting into the man's muscles and arteries, executing him in a detached manner. She continued fighting in the Pit for her mother's approval and entertainment, training and learning when she was not in combat.

She endured everything her mother threw at her. Years spent fighting for her, the only thing keeping her from going mad was her willpower. She considered she was doing something terrible, yet she refused to accept it. Six years of fighting and training had hardened her physically and mentally. She did all she could to eliminate the weaknesses from her body.

While she trained, the House was being torn asunder from the inside. Shurthae made many enemies in her own house, one of them yl'Rlonhrys. One night, he and his fellow traitors attacked the house while the other soldiers slept, many dying in the first moments of the betrayal. Lir'driia was attacked by her uncle, Vuz'axle, and two House soldiers in her bedroom. Her uncle was a respected and revered man to her and the other guards of the house. It made it all the harder for her to fight him, but she did out of necessity. Despite taking two crossbow bolts and a fall from the second floor, Lir'driia managed to survive, and made her way out to the city.

She lived out in the back alleys and dark streets for years, terrorizing parts of the city with random killings. It was her way of entertainment in the solitary world. Lir'driia did not become part of the usual urchin gangs. Her paranoia would not allow it, nor would that stubborn voice in her head that called the urchins dirty and weak. She played 'pranks' on those urchin gangs, brutally killing a few of the lot in the sleep. It built her ego. It made her feel sane.

She outgrew her entertainment, carving out a meager living by killing and thieving. Unable to make enough out of it, she chose to become part of one of the many mercenary outfits in the city. What little knowledge and expertise she retained from her days as a noble landed her a low position in a mercenary band, where she fought and trained hard to become a veteran in the band. She became companions with others, gaining her first true comrades then. With the money she saved up, she bought herself a good flail and targe. She took her own share from the battles, scavenging among the dead, picking out good pieces of plate-mail.

It was not long after she achieved her status among the band that they joined Vel'Vloz'ress. The lifestyle that mercenary band had lived by was gone. The older warriors were disappearing; killed, tainted, or simply disappearing when nobody noticed. There was not enough recruits to keep the band filled. The group broke apart and Lir'driia lead a solitary life once more.

Here's the super long background story. http://pastebin.com/f8yv6KJA

Description: Lir'driia is a large drow with dark gray skin and ruby red eyes like other Tainted. She is about one head taller than the average drow female. She cuts her shabby hair short and refuses to dye her hair, often complaining that she could be doing better things like hitting something. Her muscular body is covered in scars from battle after battle, some from her childhood. She wears them like badges of honor, triumphing her victory over one foe or another, and when in the mood, she brags about how she got them. The mercenary life had changed her for the better, where she had learned the basics of communication, but sadly, in the haughty and coarse style that such warriors often talk in. She still did not get over her paranoia from living in the streets, wearing armor at all time in the streets, her shield strapped around her arm. Even in her own home, she has her flail close-by and wears a chainmail shirt.

Lir'driia has has a hardy body, with thick muscles developed over the years from training and fighting. She has a friendlier side to those she feels deserve it, otherwise completely indifferent towards them and considers most nobles and mages to be soft and weak. She holds a burning passion towards battle, reveling in the kills creating fear among both friend and foe. Her style of killing borders on pure brutality and savagery, with a modicum of control and sheer willpower being the only things keeping her back from going completely berserk.

Time Zone/Activity: Hawaiian-Aleutian Standard Time
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby Bamawing » Tue May 04, 2010 7:08 pm

Name: Wokuhila "Hila" Vloz'ress (note to my German friends: Ja. Genau!*)
Race: Ver'drowendar

Age: 42

Equipment: Decent but not great armor (better than what many Vloz'ress have), three gemstones, one of which contains Velma. She also had a polearm that she doesn't really know how to use.

Magic: demonic summoning. She has one Ver'aku glutton (Velma) in a gemstone, and is capable in opening and closing small gates.

Beginning city: Chel

Clan: Vloz'ress

Background: Hila was born and raised the demon-worshiping cult that eventually became known as the Vloz'ress. Hila's mother believed that Sharess evolved to be a demon herself. Hila's childhood was a happy one, marked by the freedom only outcasts have. When she was 10, her mother began teaching Hila demonology. Hila learned quickly, and at the age of 15 underwent the ceremony to become tainted herself. She named the seed Gertrude.

Meanwhile the Vloz'ress were changing into a fully-fledged Vel clan. Hila's mother, always the idealist, was convinced that Kharla was a demon goddess. (Hila is not convinced of Kharla's divinity, but is deeply impressed with her.) Hila's family was assigned to help settle Vloz'raveran, and they were honored to do so.

Meanwhile, Hila studied hard and acquired a demon of her own - a Ver'aku glutton she named Maud. Her mother bore more children, and Hila assisted in raising them: two boys and a girl. She also had her first run-ins with Kyorls, usually when she was trying to shop. At first, she simply ran. Later, she became more comfortable with letting Maud out for "feeding." Maud got Hila out of several jams (and caused a handful of Kyorl ritual suicides) before eventually falling prey to a Templar's blade. Hila escaped, but still feels remorse for not calling Maud back in sooner. She summoned/adopted another demon she named Velma.

HIla continued her training, pushing herself and Velma to their limits. She met a Summoner on a trip to Chel, and was determined to become one herself one day. At the same time she refused be involved in the death of another demon. Dreaming of noble status, she bought a polearm similar to the one she saw a summoner carry in Chel. Sadly, the best advice on its use that she could find was "swing until it hits something."

On her 42nd birthday, tragedy struck.

Hila had no idea who opened the demon gate or why. All she knew was the grayskins used it as an excuse to attack. She was showing off her martial skills for her youngest brother when the Kyorls arrived, sword glinting. She managed to kill or taint many of them, but it was revenge and not defense: both brothers were slain, and so was her mother, pregnant with her fifth child. Hila doubts but has no proof her sister managed to survive.

She remained around the outskirts of Raveran for many weeks, picking up Vloz runaways, tainted stragglers, and anyone else who wanted to leave. When she decided she had enough people to risk a journey, she set off for Chel.

Note: This "group of stragglers" already contains one player character, and I don't mind adopting more. If you want to be a part of this group, PM me!

Description: Hila has short, spiky hair in front and a long braid in the back. In keeping with clan traditions, she has it dyed appropriately, and has red tattoos on her face and midriff. I'll upload a picture when I get off my lazy duff and scan it in. She also keeps mementos of her battles in the form of ribbons torn from enemy uniforms. Her prize among these is a ripped and slightly stained swath of cloth with the Kyrol symbol intact. Don't let that fool you. It really came from a tainted-suicide.

Time Zone/Activity: Oh shoot, I'm not sure. I live in Germany, which is an hour later than GMT. I'm on here way more often than I should be ^^; but I don't always post very promptly. Give me about a day / once every other day.

* Geneu = exactly. Wokuhila (pronounced Vo-koo-hee-la) is German for "mullet," the hair, not the fish. I totally went there ZOMG
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Re: Registration thread: version 2.0

Postby TheTatteredKing » Wed May 05, 2010 3:36 am

Name: Treklemmer

Race: Light Elf

Age: 34

Equipment: Seven sharp knives originally used for eating but are now as throwing knives. She is trained in quick draw and accurate attacks, but is only good for running away after a fight really starts.
A doll of a drow named 'Inrid'

Magic: Empathy. Treklemmer is able to impart emotions onto others and sense anxiety in others. It is difficult for her to force emotions upon people unless she is feeling the emotion herself, but due to feeling the constant malicious hunger of the dormant demon inside her she lives in a constant state of fear.

Beginning city: Chel


Background: Treklemmer was purchased and raised by the particularly ambitious and reckless Ver'drowendar Elendig'heks of the Vloz'ress clan. Treklemmer was the third light elf to be purchased by Elengid'heks, as she accidentally broke the last two trying to 'groom' them to assist in her political career. The third time was the charm and Treklemmer became her master's magnum opus and favorite toy, not that her treatment would suggest that. Elengid'heks engineered every trauma in Treklemmer's life to maintain an emotional and mental state that would be conducive to the task the elf was being put to. She was a disposable living terror weapons for hostile negotiations. Her empathy lessons were specifically designed to cultivate fear, ignorance, and dependency. Treklemmer believes that the demon is much closer to awakening then it is and that the result of this will be much more cataclysmic then it likely would be.
Elendig'heks' dangerous toy worked much better then anyone could have expected. In fact it had worked too well. After a handful of rivals were sent reeling from meetings with the Ver'drowendar it wasn't long before she caught a dagger in the back from one of her enemies. The one semblance of order and control in Treklemmer's life now missing, the scared and confused girl grabbed the only things she could think and ran away to find someone to fill the void. Treklemmer chanced across the demon summoner Wokuhilla and followed her in hopes that the drow's knowledge of demons could be used to help suppress the taint. Despite that the urgency to contain Treklemmer's taint is entirely artificial, a legacy of her indoctrination to her master.

Description: Treklemmer wears the maid outfit that Elendig'heks so did love. She has short hair that grayed from her constant worry. On her waist is tattooed a symbol that Elendig'heks had put on anything of value to the crazy witch.
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