The first thing Zion notices when he comes out of itâ€"the first thing he always noticesâ€"is the sharp, metallic smell of blood.

It takes a few moments for his mind to orient itself. He blinks at the corpse, dazed, as his higher cognitive abilities reassert themselves, reminding him where he is, what he's done. It comes back to him in pieces.

La'marri, night.

Deep in the darkest alleys he could find.

And this unfortunate drifter who stumbled upon him at the wrong time.

Grimacing, he wipes a hand on his pant leg as if it would do some good. It's all over him. His clothes, his face. Bits of flesh still stuck in his teeth. He listens. If the man screamed someone may be coming to investigate and he can't be caught like this. But the alleys are silent and still. For now.

Where to now? He chose La'marri for its lack of an organized law force, but this isn't Zantaric. If enough people realize what he's done, what he will continue to do, they will come after him. Before he stands he spares a good long look for the man he devoured. Most of the face is gone and the brain case busted open and cleaned out, but he always tries to give them a few remorseful thoughts, a prayer for their departing souls, anything to show the gods his regret and make it easier to live with himself afterward.

As he edges to the corner of the alley and peers down the next street, he wipes his mouth on a clean part of his sleeve. First thing he needs is water to clean the blood from him, then some fresh clothes.

[center:22rt9otd]MEPHISTA[/b]

Quote goes here.

lyrics
go
here[/center:22rt9otd]

Current Threads:
none
[right:22rt9otd]Completed Threads:
none yet[/right:22rt9otd]


__________________WELL MET[/b]

Name:
Mephista

Gender:
Male

Species:
Human

Age:
25

Height
5'9"

Home:
Ketra, Adela

Occupation:
Merchant, Owner of Peaches n' Cream Brothel

Right or left?
Left handed


__________________KNOW THYSELF[/b]

Appearance:
Silver-white, shoulder length hair.  Blue eyes.

Personality:
Foppish and silly on the outside, but with a ruthless and sharp business mind when he's working

History:
Commands a vast fortune, partly inherited and partly earned. Has his fingers in just about every industry in Adela, but the bulk of his wealth comes in from the international trade of luxury items. Owns and operates several brothels. Not officially of noble blood, but his wealth has earned him influence in the court.

Abilities:
Plays the flute very well. (:

He could have gone directly to the castle. He should have.

But damn. Months on the road, campaign after campaign. And no, it's not the fighting he has a problem with, but this inevitable homecoming he's now facing. He's not ready for it. It's not like the place will fall to ruin one more day without him. No more than it already has.

The only brothels he's ever frequented here in Adela were Mephista's, and he has to avoid those the way one avoids houses under plague. The second that loud mouth gossip finds out he's back in town, the whole nation will know. Probably...hopefully...no one in this place will recognize him. The only risk he can see is the possibility of high ranking nobles in this place who might know him on sight. For a night of escape and a decent fuck he's willing to chance it. And the fuck isn't even necessary; it's the escape he's really looking for.

He very nearly walks in with Thorn still strapped to his back. The last thing he needs is to start a problem with the bouncer. With a bit of a self-mocking grin, he retreats back to his retainersâ€"all of them disguised in plain clothes, as he isâ€"and hands off the greatsword to them. He's worn it constantly, every day, and for so long that he forgot he even had it on.

Just inside the entrance, he spends a few moments to take it all in. He can imagine the picture he must make. He doesn't look like some half-starved peasant or anything, but he's rather travel worn and he hasn't had a proper hair cut in a good long while, and all in all it has him looking more like a wild mercenary who's barely scraping by than the king of all Adela.

Shouldn't be a problem, though. He's got enough gold on him to buy this entire street and every business on it and the mood he's in he feels like spending every bit of it in the most frivolous ways possible.

I've got two character who I don't want to lead threads with. They'd be better off in someone else's. So if anyone has an open thread and you need a character, or they seem interesting to you, just lemme know.

One's Haven:
//http://spiritsoftheearth.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=880

And the other's Kassian:
//http://spiritsoftheearth.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=632

They're wanderers, nomadic, so just about any location would be fine.

I've got some new pics since last time I posted here, but here's just the one's I consider worth looking at:

A Link sammich.

Wheel of Time fanart.

And some Zelos Wilder.

I'm really gonna try to hit that oekaki board sometime this week. I wanna see how I do drawing with a mouse.

Mephista's first thought upon reaching the castle is, Where is everybody?

At any time of day, the courtyard of the castle is usually alive and buzzing with people—courtiers lounging by the fountains, petitioners awaiting their audience with the throne, sometimes even musicians playing lively music. The place is all but empty, now.

When Mephista travels anywhere—always dressed in the finest of clothes, of course—he's usually trailed by at least a half dozen people, most of them the secretaries and various adjuncts it takes to keep the gears of his merchant house well-oiled and functioning. Not today, though. This morning he received an official summons with the king's own seal on it, but signed with a name he doesn't recognize. He was a little irritated by it, actually. One thing that's kept him in business so long is his extensive information network. He's got little birds everywhere, little birds who sing beautiful songs to him so long as he give them what they want. But this summons he knew nothing about. He doesn't like being surprised.

From one of the sentries he learns of the audience the king is holding in the Great Hall, but that doesn't interest him. He prefers to keep his physical person separate from politics and allow his little birds to keep him informed of the political currents in the kingdoms. So while the court busies itself in the Great Hall, Mephista goes in search of something to pass the time until the king is ready to see him.

At first he simply wanders the halls, nodding and smiling at the people he knows as they pass for he frequents the castle often on business and many of the courtiers know him personally. His blood hasn't a drop of noblility in it, but he's got more money and more assets that half the court put together and that's enough earn him a place here. And it's not an infrequent occurrence for him to offer friendly loans to those of the nobility who fall on hard times and wish to maintain their standard of living—at a reasonable interest rate of course.

Eventually, he inquires from a page the location of Tarlaka's rooms and heads in that direction.  Captain Tarlaka, he reminds himself. She's probably in the Great Hall, but it couldn't hurt to stop by her rooms just to check. When he reaches the door, he knocks but doesn't bother to wait, instead opening the door and poking his head inside. "Helloooo? Tarlaka? You here, love?"

It'd been months since Tuyen had seen anything of Rintrah, and part of him—that part that still held a tiny, remaining drop of optimism—hoped that they'd seen the last of the bastard. Part of him hoped it was all over. Stupid of him, really. It would never be over, not until he found out what the Feathers were and what they wanted of him. And now Rintrah was back. Just yesterday he appeared out of nowhere and disapeared again just as easily, but not before he ruined Tuyen's right wing and made flying impossible.

I've gotten too used to flying, anyway, Tuyen thinks, trudging through the thick woodlands that cover the foothills of the mountains and scowling at nothing in particular. It's not a bad wound at all, not life threatening, but it's damned annoying and it'll keep him grounded for a good two weeks before the bones mend unless he can find a healer somewhere out here. He's annoyed with himself. He's allowed the Feathers to make him weak, and he should not rely on them as much as he does. They're a curse and he must treat them as such.

The sun moves past it's zenith, and Tuyen treads onward until he come to a natural hotspring, steam rising up from the water. As he draws closer, he can feel the heat coming off it. His shoulders sag and he leans on the spear he's carrying, shrugging his right shoulder; the wing is hanging at an odd angle because he can't even raise it up properly or fold it against his back, and it's straining his muscles. Bblood is still caked all over it since he hasn't found a place to wash it until now. Dirty, tired, and sore as he is, the steaming water looks inviting. His wings'll be waterlogged for hours, but it'll be worth it.

The chances of anyone being out here with him are next to nothing, but still he takes a look around before stripping his pants off and dropping them to the ground. He can't wear a shirt; damn wings make it impossible. His spear he leans up against a tree near the hot springs, well within reach.

He inhales sharply as he sinks slowly into the hot water—it's almost too hot. But once he's in, the incredible heat seeps down into his very bones and melts away all the exhaustion and tension of the last few days. He closes his eyes and sinks down further, lowering his wings so the top joint is fully submerged. It stings, the hot water on the untreated wound, but not enough to bother him, not enough to distract him. He sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

It'd been months since Tuyen had seen anything of Rintrah, and part of him—that part that still held a tiny, remaining drop of optimism—hoped that they'd seen the last of the bastard. And then, just yesterday, there he was again, appearing out of nowhere and disapearing just as easily. But not before he ruined Tuyen's right wing and made flying impossible.

I've gotten too used to flying, anyway, Tuyen thinks, trudging through the thick woodlands that cover the foothills of the mountains and scowling at nothing in particular. It's not a bad wound at all, not life threatening, but it's damned annoying and it'll keep him grounded for a good two weeks before the bones mend unless he can find a healer somewhere out here. He's annoyed with himself. He's allowed the Feathers to make him weak, and he should not rely on them as much as he does.

The sun moves past it's zenith, and Tuyen treads onward until he come to a natural hotspring, steam rising up from the water. As he draws closer, he can feel the heat coming off it. He shrugs his right shoulder; the wing is hanging at an odd angle because he can't even raise it up properly or fold it against his back, and blood is still caked all over it since he hasn't found a place to wash it until now. His shoulders sag and he leans on the spear he's carrying. The hot water looks very inviting. It'll get his wings waterlogged but it'll be worth it.

The chances of anyone being out here with him are next to nothing, but still he takes a look around before stripping his pants off and dropping them to the ground. He can't wear a shirt; damn wings make it impossible. His spear he leans up against a tree near the hot springs, well within reach.

He inhales sharply as he sinks slowly into the hot water—its almost too hot. But once he's in, the incredible heat seeps down into his very bones and releases all the exhaustion and tension of the last few days. He closes his eyes and sinks down further, lowering his wings so the top joint is fully submerged. It stings, the hot water on the untreated wound, but not enough to bother him. He sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

Ash this time. I like how the folds of his robe came out. ^^

//http://www.deviantart.com/view/17207344/

HAVEN SALVAROS, WANDERING HEALER[/b]

"Price?  Surely the act of teaching should be its own reward." ~quintessential Haven

Simple Staff . Actual Pacifist

Don't forget, we've got unfinished business,
stories yet to unfold,
tales that must be retold,
and I regret not knowing when to put an end to all this madness,
keeps me wanting,
keeps me wanting more...
~All Time Low: Running From Lions[/center:2uipm0s0]

Current Threads:
Not such a bad place after all
[right:2uipm0s0]Completed Threads:
Out of the forest, into the fire[/right:2uipm0s0]

__________________WELL MET[/b]

Name:
Haven Salvaros

Gender:
Male

Species:
Human

Age:
23

Height
5'8"

Home:
Sancutary

Occupation:
Wandering Healer


__________________KNOW THYSELF[/b]

Appearance:
Rather slight in build, height a little shorter than average but not by much. Dark blond/light brown hair. Blind. Always wears a blindfold and carries a staff. The staff is carved in runes and decorated with feathers, beads, and ribbons.  Every one of those decorations has a purpose, and the staff is fairly glowing with enchantments, most of them of a level of intricacy only an experienced mage would be able to make any sense of.  Poor, so usually wearing peasant-type clothes.

Personality:
All-around nice guy. He's a healer not just by trade, but by nature as well. Helping others is an instinct with him. He's been blind for several years now and it's no longer much of a handicap, but it has made him timid in a certain way, in that he is hesitant to defend himself physically. On more than one occasion, his inordinately powerful magic has hurt others by accident because he was unable to properly cast without sight, and this has given him a certain nervousness.  He's unlikely to fight back when confronted with hostility, though he's no stranger to passive resistance.  He sticks almost exclusively to healing, now, which he is quite adept at.  This includes traditional healing techniques as well as magic.  He will help anyone in need; leaving anyone in suffering or distress is not an option.  The blindfold never comes off in public.  He'd be mortified if it did. He's very comfortable with physical touch and proximity, so he has a tendency to get into others' personal space.

Has a (bad?) habit of turning down payment for his healing services if he thinks the client can't really afford it or just sometimes because he feels healing ought to be free. This is why he's dirt poor, not that that bothers him at all.  He's quite content in life.  And if he has to sleep in a barn every now and then, so what?

Abilities
He is likely to keep a cool head in any crisis.  Definitely not the type to get frantic.  Defensive magics are strong and he uses them well.  His sense of hearing is exceptional.  Has a great memory as well, which has come from him having to memorize his way around towns and such.  When he does indulge in his elemental magic (in which he is strongest) it is usually with finesse and the creative manipulation of very small amounts of it, to avoid getting anyone injured.  The raw power available to him is genuinely phenomenal, and instantly apparent to anyone able to detect that kind of thing, however, strong as he is in magecraft, he can't really do much with it.  Not without endangering himself and others.  So it does him little good.  His major weakness is physical.  He is at a sever disadvantage without sight.

History:
Doesn't talk about the source of his blindness to anyone.

Likes:


Dislikes:


Wins the SotE award for:
Most likely to say hi to a tree.

I'm getting back into pencil drawings, but I need a heap o' practice before I can produce anything decent. Still, these two didn't come out too bad, so I guess I'll share. ^^

Here's one of Kirshna and Tuyen. Hehe, Kirshna's such a hippie; he wuvs everybody. Oh yeah...I also learned, once again, that I can't draw wings. Ah well, c'est la vie. I'll do better next time. //http://www.deviantart.com/view/16948210/

And the other is just a chibi picture of my new charrie, Haven. (Who still needs a thread incidentally.) //http://www.deviantart.com/view/16948486/

Before him is the desert, endless burning dunes bleeding heat back into the air. It wavers like water in his vision.

Behind him, far behind and beyond sight, the city of the Sun sprawls outward and mocks the very desert that is killing him even now. If he had water left in his body, he would weep for want of the shining white walls and towering spires of that radiant city.

Ash blinks sand from his eyes in a startling moment of clarity. Light, he is far gone, now! His mind is dying. The Sun...the Sun is killing him, punishing him. It will drive him to his knees, then to his belly, and when he is gone it will bleach his bones white.

He sways on his feet. Before they cast him out of the city, they stripped him and put the lash to his back thirty times. They branded the mark of the traitor into his forehead. For three days he has stumbled naked through this desert, this hell, trudging ever closer toward his own death. His tanned skin has been scoured raw by the windswept sands and is starting to burn beneath the Sun's hot glare. The lash wounds on his back are dirty and infected. His storm-cloud-colored hair whips around his face, dry and rough. He has sweated all the moisture from his body already. Now there is only the patient inevitability of death.

And yet he keeps walking. It is the steady, enduring strength his mother imparted to him. He will walk until he falls. Let the Sun beat him down if She wants him punished so badly.

He cups his hands before him as he walks. Even desert air contains imperceptible amounts of moisture, though it is not imperceptible to him. If they had known he had this power, they would have burned him alive instead of exiling him, but what does it matter now if the Sun sees his ultimate shame? It is difficult, though, to pull the water from the air and condense it in his parched, cracked palms. He has spent years fighting this curse, and it does not come easily to him. Still, the few droplets of water that gather in his hands are the sweetest he has ever tasted.

No, he will not fall. Not yet.

_initiating damage assessment of organic systems

_o/nervous system_functional_significant damage in hippocampus and cerebral cortex
_o/endocrine system_functional_no damage
_o/cardiovascular system_functional_low oxygenation rate
_o/skeletal system_functional_no damage
_o/digestive system_functional_no damage
_o/excretory system_functional_no damage
_o/psychoemotional biosocial system_no data

_activating organic systems[/size][/color]

The light is too bright. It hurts Cameron's eyes and he has to squint and blink as he opens them. He is on his back, he realizes, staring up at the painful radiance of the sun, whisps of cotton-white clouds suspended in the perfect blue of the sky. An overabundance of carbon dioxide and a dearth of oxygen in his system makes him deepen his breathing until his oxygenation rate returns to an acceptable level. Tingles of sensation travel in sensitive waves down his whole body. Now he can feel the grass itching at his bare skin.

Bare skin?

Feeling as though he has lain here for thousands of years without moving, Cameron pulls himself up into a sitting position. His hair is dark red with a lock of black above his left eye, and he is not entirely human. Parts of him have been replaced with biomechanical counterparts: his entire right leg; his left leg up to the knee; his right arm and half of his torso; the right side of his neck and a portion of his face surrounding his right eye. The biomechanical digineurogenetic parts of him remain lifeless, but those parts of him that are human—those parts he cherishes more than anything—are alive and awake, every cool breeze, every blade of grass, every cheery birdsong supplying Cameron's mind with a wealth of stimulation, bringing it fully back from its coma state. But...

Why am I naked? And where am I?

A slow swivel of his head reveals a lightly wooded area with no signs of human presence, but smoke rises above the treeline some distance away. A settlement is nearby, then, within walking distance. But why does he remember nothing beyond his name? Falling into a daze of confusion, he stares straight ahead into space, the artificial half of his brain taking momentary dominance as it continues its reactivation sequence.

I've started up a group of fanatical sun worshippers called the Lumenari. Most of them are NPC right now, but it'll be more fun the more people we have. ^^ So here's the basics, for anyone who's interested.

What they do:
Basically, they're a band of outlaws who will ride around and cause trouble for everyone else. They will be harassing many areas, including Serendipity, Adela, the DMV, and any other place they please. They especially like to go after Drow, and they are not above torture, sadism, or the murder of innocents. They're a pretty tight knit group, too.

What they believe:
The basic belief of the Lumenari is that the Sun is the source of all power and life in the world. To walk in the Light of the Sun is to accept Her (the sun is feminine to them) as a conscious force and the ultimate power. They believe the Sun personified herself and walks on earth now. They refer to this person as the Living Sun, and their ultimate aim is to see her rule the world. Creatures of darkness (like drow, for instance) are on the same level as animals. Humans who don't follow the Living Sun (like all of Adela and Serendipity) are considered ignorant savages.

Who they are:
The majority of the Lumenari will come from the desert and belong to a race of people called the Solisi. If you play as a Solisi, all you need to know is that they have fair skin, either light or red-colored hair, and a serious superiority complex. However, what matters to the Lumenari is that you follow the Living Sun; what race you belong to is secondary. So don't hesitate to join up a different race. Anthros—especially bird anthros or anthros of desert animals—are considered on the same level as the Solisi.

And that's about it! You can join up as any kind of character you like...warrior, priest, healer, scout, assassin, etc. Whatever comes to mind. All you need to know is that they are all skilled and devoted.

Also, they draw strength from any kinds of fire, heat, or light, and their weapons are forged with a remarkable substance called Incendia that can burn hotter than fire and glow with a blinding light when they want it to. Ohh, and their leader is my character, Dimitri.

They're all currently in the Light Mage Village under the thread "Loved by the Sun," so just jump on in if you want! ^_____^

Mother Sun is bright and hot today, shining down from a cloudless sky and giving life and light to the world. She is blessing their holy work here, Dimitri thinks. She must be. And why not? Now that She has descended to earth and given Her eternal blessing to the Solisi, it is time for the faithful to crusade for Her. That is why he is here. That is why they are all here.

Before Dimitri is a view of the village below. They are just outside of it, away from curious eyes. He turns his back on it and rejoins the rest of the Lumenari. Dimitri is blonde as most Solisi are, with the red-orange flare to his eyes that others say are an omen of favor, though his skin is somewhat darker than it should be for a Solisi. That shamed him in the past, and he walked the streets of Solis with his head down and his shoudlers hunched, but he has since learned that it is of no matter, especially not among the Lumenari. They are all brothers and sisters under the Sun.

Still draped over the back of one of the Lumenari's horses is their most unfortunate prisoner. Unfortunate because it is finally going to meet justice for its transgressions. They've covered it in heavy black cloth for now to spare it from the Light, but they are in a secure position now, and it may be time to see what it knows.

"What do you think, Vulcan?" Dimitri says. He glances at the bird anthro—currently in his human form—before nodding toward the dark shape slung over the horse's back. "Should we let it feel the touch of our Mother Sun? Now's as good a time as any I suppose. And if there are any more rats like this one around here, it can tell us where they are." Dimitri's smirk turns into a grin. And if there are others nearby, we will bring the Sun's justice to them, as well.

[center:1jwu3xf3]

KASSIAN KEVARA; MERCENARY[/b]

"Piercings generally do hurt." - stating the obvious for Vahni

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

~Green Day: Boulevard of Broken Dreams[/center:1jwu3xf3]

Current Threads:
can't get any worse
[right:1jwu3xf3]Completed Threads:
nay[/right:1jwu3xf3]

__________________WELL MET[/b]

Name:
Kassian Kevara

Nicknames
Kassi (thanks Vahni)

Gender:
Male

Species:
Human

Age:
27

Height
6'0"

Home:
Ketra, but travels a lot

Occupation:
Mercenary

Right or left?
Right-handed

__________________KNOW THYSELF[/b]

Appearance:
The strong, graceful form of a swordmaster; long black hair usually kept in a braid; red eyes with flecks of gold. He dresses predominantly in dark, form-fitting clothes, and his sword is always strapped to his back. He has a few silver piercings and chains in his ears and two silver nipple rings.

Personality:
Not very talkative. He's the type who, if he had a problem with you, he's more likely to just dismiss you and walk away than waste his time on an argument. Life as a mercenary suits him well, as he enjoys traveling and doesn't like getting tied down. He'll help someone in need, but he'll do it because he believes it is what should be done, not out of some fervent, righteous zeal. He'll help in the most efficient way possible then be on his way. Rather emotionally vacant. He has some half-formed notion of trying to fix that, but it's not a change that he actively seeks. Can be snippy at times.

History:
An accomplished assassin in the past, he left his guild not because he felt guilty, but because he didn't feel guilty. He decided he didn't want to be the kind of man who could kill for money and feel nothing afterward. He saw himself becoming dead inside and decided that was not the person he wanted to be. Any members of his old guild who run across him will be obligated to kill him. Or try to.

Strengths:
Kassian has been trained in the assassin's arts, meaning all manner of sneaky and underhanded means of killing people with as little fuss as possible. Poison was a particular favorite weapon of his. Since leaving the guild, he has abandoned those techniques and prefers honest combat. A master swordsman.

Weaknesses:
Magic. Not only is he terribly uncomfortable around magic in general, but he has little to no defense against it.

Likes:
Silence, solitude, swords.

Dislikes:
Anyone who preys on the weak.

Additional Pictures:
<!-- m -->http://talyafera.deviantart.com/art/Pri ... e-16286886<!-- m --> - very old oekaki. VERY old.

Commentary:
I've lost track of just when and how I came up with Kassian. [strike:1jwu3xf3]I think I played him on another rpg site before bringing him over to SotE, but I can't remember the name of that other site. It's probably long gone by now.[/strike:1jwu3xf3] It was Imythess, and yes, it is gone. x3

Soralyn pushes the stallion into a gallop as she leaves the village behind her. It is the dead of night, but she knows this path, has ridden it many times in the dark. As always, she has donned a tunic and breeches and pulled her long blonde hair back into a thick braid. Her sword—the only one she owns, the one she must keep hidden lest it be taken away from her—is strapped to her back.  Her breath mists in front of her as it mingles with the cold air.

She turns her horse off the path then, letting her memory guide her to her destination. They are on rough, uneven terrain now, so she slows the stallion to a trot; if he breaks a leg out here, that'll be the end of her nightly excursions. He pulls at the bit and fights her control, but she keeps a firm hand on the reins and holds him in check, smiling as he settles down. He's got good spirit, and she likes him for that, but she can't risk laming him. He'll get a good gallop in on the way back to the home.

Ahead of her looms a stand of trees, and hidden among them is a dark, towering shape outlined in the silver light of the full moon. It must have been a small manor house at some point in time, but now it is nothing but ruins. The roof is gone, possibly burned away, and one entire wall is missing.  The three remaining stone walls are crumbling and covered with moss.  Some silly rumors say the place is haunted, but she's been using this place to practice her sword work for nigh on a year now, and she's seen no evidence of ghosts. At least the rumors keep people away and allow her privacy.

She had driven a post into the ground on a previous visit, and after she ties the stallion to it, she pulls a book from the saddlebag. She's gotten quite a collection of books on swordplay, for books are the only instruction she can find on the subject. Her parents long ago ruined any chances of her receiving tutelage from someone who knows what they're doing.

Picking up where she left off, she draws her sword and practices the techniques described in the book. The sword is old and notched, the edge dull and the grip worn, and it's not at all the right blade for her body type, but it's all she has, and she loves it because it is hers.

[center:3jdid2tn]

SORALYN DYLUINDER; noblelady[/b]

Quote

lyrics
go
here[/center:3jdid2tn]

Current Threads:
Riverside ransom!
[right:3jdid2tn]Completed Threads:
Honey Cakes Among Snapdragons[/right:3jdid2tn]

__________________WELL MET[/b]

Name:
Soralyn Davonara

Gender:
Female

Species:
Human

Race:
Serenian

Age:
19

Height
5'8"

Home:
Serendipity

Occupation:
Noblewoman

Right or left?
Ambidextrous


__________________KNOW THYSELF[/b]

Appearance:
Graceful, with pale skin, blue eyes, and long blonde hair.  When not in court she keeps it pulled back in a simple braid.

Personality:
Soralyn is very at home in Serendipity court life, having been raised to thrive in that environment. She's poised and dignified and knows what to say and how to survive—if not thrive—in the treacherous and deceptive political jungle.  When away from court, however, she practices fencing and archery and reads adventure tales.  She often daydreams of leaving Serendipity and seeing the world, but her responsibilities to her family and the ties binding her to her liege lord's province keep her from ever seriously considering it.

History:
Soralyn was born to a minor noble house in Serendipity. Court life is all she has ever known.

Abilities:
She's one heck of an archer.

Likes:
Fashion, swords, archery, socializing, hunting, falconry

Dislikes:
Connlaoth, injustice

Commentary:
A very old character.  She was around even before I joined SotE.

[center:1t41kdp7]

TUYEN[/b]

"When I get my pants back, you're dead!" ~uttered in a fit of rage after Sorch stole his pants.

lyrics
go
here[/center:1t41kdp7]

Current Threads:
go to hell, world
[right:1t41kdp7]Completed Threads:
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__________________WELL MET[/b]

Name:
Tuyen

Gender:
Male

Species:
Human

Age:
21

Height
5'10"

Home:
Wanderer

Right or left?
Right-handed


__________________KNOW THYSELF[/b]

Appearance:
Semi-dark skin, orange-yellowish eyes, dark blue hair, a toned and muscular body, and white wings. Never wears a shirt. The wings make it too difficult to get one on and off.

Personality:
Misanthropist. In general, Tuyen tends to be rude, selfish, and incompassionate.  He really isn't compelled toward any kind of helpful or benevolent behavior, and tactfulness is not his strong point.  Friendship is something which, for him, has no practical use. That said, he's not entirely without a conscience. He will help someone out if he absolutely has to, though if no one's life is in danger he's much more likely to just go about his business. Gets annoyed very easily, which causes him no end of stress. Claustrophobic. Prickly about his personal space.

History:


Strengths:


Weaknesses:


Likes:
Uh...not a whole heck of a lot...

Dislikes:
Practically everything and everybody.

Having obtained a set of keys from one of the guards, Tyne goes in search of the weapons storerooms. He's never had occassion to enter those rooms until now. In the past, someone more knowledgeable in weaponry just gave him what he needed, but that was before all the weapons instructors labeled him a hopeless case and gave up on him. They won't give him the time of day anymore, so he's got to take matters into his own hands.

There were three different store rooms. The largest held the generic weaponry for the castle guards. Another had better weapons for the knights.  The other, the one he enters, is reserved for the Mordecai, and within are the very best weapons in the kingdom's possession.

Tyne shuts the door behind him.  Sunlight slants through the windows and glints off of all the sharp pointy things before him.

He just kinda stands there for a moment, unsure where to start. What does he need? What's best for him? He doesn't really want to be here anyway, but lately he's been feeling like he should try to contribute something. Not that he minds leeching off of the kingdom, but it's occurred to him that they might not keep him around if he doesn't at least put forth an effort, Mordecai or not. So here he is...but now what?

There are lots of swords: curved, straight, light, heavy...then there are the glaives and spears, the maces, the battle axes, throwing stars, and a quite few things that he can't even name. Not knowing what's best suited for him, he starts rummaging around, tossing aside stuff that's too heavy, trying every sword that looks promising, and just in general making a mess and racket.