The home of Trade Prince Hespu Masud was the very definition of opulence. Everything in sight was gilded in gold and jewels, including the slaves gliding here and there. Slaves were Hespu's trade, something he was very good at and that had made him very wealthy. Not everyone had his keen eye for good slave stock, after all, and few catered to potential buyers in quite the same fashion as he did either.

Never did his wares go to the slave market after he had acquired them – although truthfully few of his treasures were purchased from the markets. He preferred fresh flesh bargained from the Duhjari savages.

Today was a grand affair, in the later afternoon when the day had cooled enough for comfort his slaves had prepared a magnificent banquet. Hespu had his more talented slaves performing for his guests – all wealthy merchants and Trade Princes. When he had a significant selection of fresh slaves to ply this was always his preferred method of showing them off. Slaves on display at the market couldn't truly show their worth like ones mingling and serving his guests could!

It was a method that had brought him great success.

Zimayi was there today, it was the first time she had been allowed to attend one of the events, because every slave present was available for purchase should they make a good impression on someone. She hoped to catch the eye of one of the guests. Her master was a good, honorable man, but he was always temporary. Now that she was a woman, it was more than time for her to find the one she was really meant to serve.

Hespu had made sure to decorate her especially well. As a slave trader he made a habit of not getting attached to his products, but sometimes an especially fine specimen did come along. Not only physically, but temperamentally, he thought Zimayi was one of his finest. She deserved to find a master that would treat her as well as she would serve – and he knew she would serve her master very well.

Light purple silks, sheer in consistency made up her skirts and what could barely pass for a top. The outfit was designed to show off as much of her lightly sun-kissed skin as possible, a guest could reach out and feel how supple and smooth the flesh of the young slave was to the touch. Her generous bust was practically spilling out of the flimsy garment. Hespu knew she would easily make a fine concubine for a wealthy man.

Golden bangles decorated her arms, and a small portion of her deep purple hair was fixed up with silver hair pieces.

She looked a marvel as she wove among the crowd of patrons, offering drinks off a silver tray, hips swaying sensually as she walked. Hespu almost regretted giving her up, but he had enough wives and concubines of his own already – and his first wife had made it abundantly clear she did not want the foreign-born beauty remaining in her house any longer.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Zimayi
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Height: 5' 5"
Build: Hourglass
Species: Human
Occupation: Slave



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Zimayi
Art Credit:  dark-spider

Gorgeous, elegant, and poised – Zimayi was blessed with beauty. Thick, straight, dark purple hair falls all the way down past her curved backside. Soft brown eyes gaze out from an oval face while full lips rest under a just slightly too wide nose.

Her skin is far too pale for Essyrni blood, but remains a very lightly golden tan and silky smooth to the touch without a blemish in sight. An hourglass figure has always been maintained with a careful diet to ensure her waist remained small while simple genetics gave her wide enough hips and amble bust.

Essyrn is very hot in the daytime, and like most residents of Essyrn, Zimayi doesn't wear any heavy clothing. In fact, some might consider her to not wear very much clothing at all, but that is not outside the norm. Mostly long silken skirts and sheer, nearly completely see-through tops that leave much of her torso completely bare. Obviously she wears any jewelry her master decides to decorate her with.



PERSONALITY

Submissive without being timid, Zimayi knows her place and is confident in that knowledge. Yes, she is a slave, but that does not mean she lacks dignity. To serve is a noble and important purpose. It is the natural order that some are meant to rule and some are meant to serve and she happily accepts this truth. Her rather mild upbringing probably has something to do with her amicable views on slavery in general.



SKILLS
Talents/skills:
Dancing and serving.
Magic Abilities:
None!



BACKSTORY

Zimayi doesn't know her birth name. When she was only a few months old her parents were on their way to Essyrn as part of a trade caravan, during the crossing of the Serha Plains the group was attacked by a Duhjari horde. Whoever she was before no longer mattered. From then on she was dubbed Zimayi, and like all the survivors of the raid, she was sold to Essyrni slave traders.

That might have been the beginning of a truly tragic life, but one saving grace was her mother's great beauty.

While she was sold separately from her mother, it was decided that she would likely also be a very beautiful woman one day. Such girls were not subjected to hard or harsh lives under the roof of her first master. So from infancy a great value was placed upon her, with her master investing into specialized training. While it was found she was a tolerable singer at best, she possessed a grace and poise ideal for dancing.

When not honing her dancing skills, she learned how to properly serve future masters in various other ways, such as being a cup-bearer, setting and serving the tables, cooking, and tending to children.

Her entire young life has been in preparation of being sold to a more permanent master, but it has not been an unfair life in her view.

Takoda is my new wild druid boy. He mostly wanders between Draconi Forest and the Serha Plains. There are all kinds of fun plot things you can do with him!

Maybe you run into trouble and he helps you out! Maybe HE runs into trouble and you help him out! Maybe your character heard rumors of the wild man living out on the plains/in the forest and wants to civilize him for some reason(good luck)!

Throw some ideas/characters at me and see what we can come up with. 8D

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Takoda
Nickname(s) or Alias: Tak or Koda
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Height: 6' 0"
Build: Muscular
Race: Druid Shape-shifter
Nationality: Adelan/Duhjari
Residence: The Wilds



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE


Art: Takoda || Glamor Shot || Wild Forms
Art Credit:  Sheppard56

A wild mane of very dark hair hangs to his shoulders, usually decorated with beads and fathers – both favorite decorative items in general. He's got amber brown eyes and a rugged, very handsome face. There's usually a bit of a five o'clock shadow gracing his strong jaw. Takoda usually wears red body paint.

Speaking of bodies, he's got one; a very muscular and strong one that he likes to show off. While he loves his paint and beaded jewelry, clothes are another matter entirely. Oh sure, he knows that when in polite society one is expected to cover up, but he doesn't spend a great deal of time in polite society. When in the wilds a loincloth is more than enough coverage.

If he has to go where there are a lot of people he'll throw on some pants.

Sometimes.



PERSONALITY

There is definitely certain wildness to Takoda. He is a man that has embraced his animalistic instincts with gusto. Given the very remote and uncivilized nature of his life so far, it really shouldn't be surprising. When it comes to people he remembers enough to get by when he does have a run in with someone, usually approaching people with a mix of curiosity and caution.

When left to his own devices he generally does just enough work to get by. Some might consider this lazy, but he just does what most natural predators do – conserves energy through sleeping the hotter parts of the day away and hunting at night.



SKILLS
Talents/skills:
Mainly just a survivalist, he hunts, fishes, and forages. He's got a pretty broad range of skills focused on self-sufficiency.

Magic Abilities:
Not sure if it is magical as much as a fundamental part of who and what he is, but he can shift into three animals: a bear, raven, and wolf.



BACKSTORY

Takoda isn't young, so you would think he'd have some interesting history, but you'd be wrong. His mother was an Adelan woman that was captured and taken as a slave by some Duhjari. His father was one of her captors.

He was raised in the plains, more or less running as wild and free as he pleased until he was seven or eight. That's when his mother escaped and returned to Adela proper, taking him with her.  Well, she took him into the forest that bordered the plains and then abandoned him there.

Takoda took it in stride even for his age. Surviving in the wild, alone, came rather naturally. At age ten he began shifting, which helped ease his new way of life even further. He doesn't even miss living with his wandering Duhjari horde.

Noelle Dupont has just found herself without employment after living a rather cushy life. She'll be needing work.

Also, the family she used to serve likely had other servants. Maybe there's potential for a childhood friendship background between her and one of your characters?

I'm totally open to other plot ideas as well. Maybe she'll have to find an entirely new place in the world and learn how to live a different life altogether!

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Noelle Dupont
Nickname(s) or Alias: Elle, or Ellie
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Height: 5' 3"
Build: Slender Hourglass
Species: Human
Nationality: Serenian
Occupation: Indentured Servant


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Noelle Dupont
Art Credit:  mylsbunagan

Noelle has long, thick raven hair and sparkling eyes that are a beautiful light blue-green. A small, elegant nose sits above full, pouty lips, her entire face accented by high, rosy cheeks. A smattering of freckles is splashed across her nose and cheeks, adding a little extra charm.

In possession of a slim waist with hips and bust just big enough to give an hourglass figure overall, Noelle is well shaped. Her clothes are quite fine, those of a very well-cared for servant.


PERSONALITY

Demure, quiet, polite, and soft-spoken Noelle has the temperament of a well-bred young servant.


SKILLS
Talents/skills:
She's educated.
She can sing.
She can dance.
She can knit and sew.

Magic Abilities:
None!




BACKSTORY

Noelle was born to a poor young couple without the means to really give her much of anything in life. She had two older siblings already and the family was hurting for everything. By the time she was two her mother was heavily pregnant with yet another child they couldn't care for.

Fortune smiled upon her when her father happened to help a lord by happenstance. The lord had a daughter who was just a few months older than Noelle herself and after hearing the family's plight he made an offer far too tempting to refuse. Lord Samuel Kreston had been considering taking on a companion for his young daughter, since the girl was an only child and his wife was deemed unable to again conceive.

Her parents sold her into indentured service to the lord with the promise that Noelle would be educated and raised alongside the lord's daughter Lucilla, not quite as an equal, but close enough. Once grown it was promised that Noelle could remain a handmaiden to the young lady, and indeed would have a place to serve the family all her life.

So it came to pass that a very poor girl born with low prospects was raised and taught much as a young noble woman might be. Lucilla and Noelle were inseparable and dear friends.

For a time.

With his wife unable to bear him more children, well, Samuel's relationship with his wife became very strained. They resented each other and one day he realized that he's daughter's servant playmate had grown up into a very lovely young woman. Noelle resisted and rejected his advances, of course, which infuriated him, but the real trouble came when his wife caught him attempting to force his attention on her.

Noelle was cursed as a temptress by the lady of the house, and literally dragged from the home by her hair. Truthfully it was better in her mind than the alternative.

Cast out with nowhere to go, Noelle has suddenly found herself once again with nothing.

It was always dreadful for small communities when something like this happened. What Sahara had stumbled onto was not a plague, no, the death toll was not nearly high enough for all that, but it was enough to make things quite miserable for this tiny little village on the outskirts of the forest.

The children were hit the hardest, falling quite ill - one particularly frail girl had actually died. Half the adults were also sick, but they were not hit as hard by the disease.

Sahara had found the small collection of houses and farms almost a week ago. The residents were happy to welcome her as soon as she revealed herself to be a medicine woman of some sort. Every waking moment had been devoted to easing the suffering of the ill children.

Almost everyone was on their way to a full recovery. Only a few of the sickest children really needed her care now, but even they were getting better. It made her very proud to have been able to make such a huge difference. The death of the one girl was heartbreaking, but if she hadn't come when she had at least four other children would likely have perished before the sickness ran its course.

Just outside the village she returned night after night, collecting more herbs to make into medicine for the humans. She had to make sure they had enough to keep dosing the most vulnerable children even after she moved on - she had taught two women a little about making more medicines than just the one they needed now. If they had even a little knowledge it might make a big difference in the future. That was worth more than any amount of coin - not that she had asked for any. Taking money from these poor people that were already suffering just seemed wrong.

And she didn't need money. Sahara was mostly self-sustainable anyway.

The satisfaction and fulfillment her work gave her was payment enough. What more noble purpose could one have in their life than helping, and saving, others? For that reason she hummed a happy little tune as she worked, almost completely oblivious to all but her plants.

@Spicyspice @DragonSong @Viscount Rhi-Rhi @Draconian @Lion @Dad 76 / ARAD V1.0 @Dauphin DaGlobster @Glorilyss

So I might be able to start posting a little again. Let me know if you want to continue our threads or drop them. I won't be offended if you don't want to keep going with me. I know I can be a little unreliable at times.

[M is because with Roman adult themes are almost a given.]

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

What a lulling repetition of sounds.

Roman had been unsure at first about the stately grandfather clock that sat nestled against the wall behind him, opposite the fireplace, his comfortable stuffed sofa sitting before it so he could stare into the burning fire as it roared in the hearth. A glass of wine rested in one hand, his wrist making idle motions that caused the dark red liquid to swirl about the crystal in a lazy current. Off to the side a well-stocked liquor cart loomed, the dark walnut panels reflecting the dancing firelight pleasantly.

It was a meticulously staged reception and seating area.

As for him, Roman loved this room. Here was where he greeted clients when they called on him, and where he most enjoyed relaxing when not occupied in his bedroom or out of the house for business. The evening hours were actually surprisingly quiet. These were the hours when families were truly coming together, sharing the dull happenings of the day around dinner tables, or tucking little ones into their beds with stories and wishes of sweet dreams. With such a generally predictable lull in business it made planning wind down hours relatively simple and easy. Even he needed time to wind down from his work day – after all he had a rather hectic schedule that was prone to surprises.

Lacking any appointments for several hours yet, Roman had nothing at all to do other than sit with his thoughts and enjoy the dry red wine in his glass. A very fine vintage, it was particularly delicious since the bottle had been a gift from an appreciative regular.

Sadly his thoughts weren't nearly as fine. Boredom and restlessness gnawed at him with relentless vigor.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Roman Moretti
Nickname(s) or Alias: Rome
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Height: 5' 9"
Build: Lean
Race: Incubus/Human
Sexuality: Bisexual
Nationality: Serenian
Residence: Arca and Cerenis
Occupation: Masseuse and Courtesan



PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Roman
Art Credit:  AikaXx

Not hyper masculine, but not quite androgynous. Roman is a very beautiful man with an aristocratic cast to his features. Thick, dark hair and vivid red eyes paired with smooth, pale skin give him a rather striking appearance. He is not particularly tall, but he's not short either. Roman has a lean physique that is slightly narrow and almost delicate.



PERSONALITY

What do you want to see? A sweet boy that is all shy smiles and fumbling advances? Perhaps you prefer a more refined gentleman, charming and sophisticated as he subtly romances you? Some like a practiced little whore who looks up at them with big doe eyes and breathlessly begs Master to do naughty things to them. Roman is a chameleon when it comes to his personality. It all boils down to what his clients want – pleasing them is how he earns his living, after all.

If you want to see the real Roman you will find yourself in a time-consuming process of slowly peeling back layer after layer of fake personas devised just for everyone else. Honestly, if you were to ask him who the "real" Roman was he might not even be able to tell you himself!



SKILLS
Talents/skills:

There are a lot of small talents and skills that come with the territory. Mix everything you might expect from a very high class butler, nobleman, masseuse, and whore – that's the combined skillset you will generally witness.

Magic Abilities:

Roman's magical talents line up very well with his chosen careers. As an incubus he holds a great deal of sensual and sexual allure, not all reliant upon his good looks, although those don't hurt. He can sense and read arousal cues from those around him, aiding him in selecting his clients. Sometimes he can tell just what naughty little things his admirers desire from him and uses that to his advantage.

Sexual energy collected from his partners heals him and keeps him youthful.

Non-sexually his hands can be warm as they massage, giving off very weak healing magic – enough to soothe and repair aching muscles, but little beyond that.



RELATIONSHIPS

No family that he knows.

Obviously the relationships he fosters with his clientele, professional and discreet.



BACKSTORY

Roman was a disgrace. His father was an incubus. His mother, well, it isn't exactly unheard of for the son of a minor lord to fool around and end up with a bastard or two, but for a daughter? When Roman's grandfather learned his unwed daughter was pregnant the plan had been to hand the child off to a servant the day he was born and never speak of him again, but his mother wailed inconsolably and raged at her father for trying to steal her baby from her.

Instead she was locked away to hide her condition from the rest of the societal elite. Shortly after Roman was born his mother died from complications. The family was torn over grief for the loss of his mother and anger that he had killed her – regardless of his innocence in the matter.

His grandfather considered drowning him in the river, but couldn't bring himself to do it, or order it done by one of his guards. Instead Roman was given to one of the house staff to raise. She was a kindly woman who couldn't have children of her own, so viewed him as her little blessing. Brought up among the servants, he learned to be a servant. In fact at one point he declared quite proudly that he would be the best butler ever one day. Even as a child everyone was charmed by him.

It wasn't until he was twelve that his grandfather paid any attention to him at all. By then his father's powers were manifesting wildly within the boy. Roman was too young to keep it in check. He became the personal attendant of his grandfather. Lessons during the afternoon began that taught him everything a young lord might need to know. He learned to dance and socially entertain high society.

At night he would sleep in his grandfather's bed. You can imagine how that turned out.

It was the worst kept secret around; although few knew their blood relation.

His grandfather's only child had been Roman's mother, and he had never acknowledged Roman as his grandchild legally, so when the old man finally died when Roman was seventeen there was no real claim for Roman to make on anything that had once belonged to the family. Most of the estate was divided between distant relations, but surprisingly his grandfather did leave a sizable inheritance to his bastard grandchild – and lover.

Roman immediately moved to Arca and purchased a fine home, but knew that his inherited money would not last forever, no matter his former lover's generosity. What he should do with himself to earn his own living wasn't hard to figure out. Eventually he was even able to purchase a second home by the ocean in Cerenis.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Sahara 
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Height: 5' 4"
Build: Slight
Race: Werewolf
Residence: Niahi Woods


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Sahara
Art Credit:  Yuuza

Long, wavy strawberry blonde hair falls all the way to Sahara's waist. She is very fond of weaving multiple braids into the impressive locks, usually along the sides while leaving the top flowing naturally down her back. The young woman has a naturally pale complexion, but her penchant for staying outdoors has lightly bronzed her creamy skin. The most grabbing feature of her face is the large, olive green eyes framed by thick eyelashes a couple shades darker than her hair. Her eyebrows have a natural arch and, like her lashes, have a slightly darker color than her hair. She has a youthful round face, with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and pink lips that have a natural pout.

Sahara has a thin, graceful neck that leads down to delicate shoulders. Her body is fairly slender, but the rounded bust and hips paired with a narrow waist give her a natural hourglass figure. While not tall by any stretch of the imagination, she isn't short and her legs are nicely shaped and toned. In fact, her entire body is nicely toned, speaking of a very active lifestyle.

As a wolf Sahara is quite a bit larger than a normal wolf, but is probably still not considered very large for a werewolf. Her fur is a beautiful canvas of blonde, light red, and cream. In this form her eyes remain the beautiful olive green that her human form possesses.


PERSONALITY

Sahara is someone who knows who they are and is comfortable in their own skin. She holds confidence and self-assurance in her decisions and actions. Don't mistake confidence for arrogance, though. This is a humble wolf that has no problem admitting that she is not perfect. Although she does think that she is a good person.

Most people wouldn't argue with that assessment.

In possession of a big, compassionate heart, Sahara will often put the needs and well-being of others before her own. She firmly believes that if you are capable of helping someone else then you should. It makes her very generous with what little she does have. Sure, some have taken advantage of her kindness, but she would rather that then to shut herself off for fear of being used. Helping the ones that really do need it is worth the occasional scam.

While quite young, Sahara definitely has a motherly persona. She enjoys taking care of and looking after others. Age really doesn't matter much, child, adult, or elder will all likely face some form of mothering from her.


SKILLS
Talents/skills:

Sahara has spent years learning the arts of healing and herbs; although other werewolves rarely need much of her talents given their tendency to possess impressive self-healing.

Magic Abilities:

As a werewolf Sahara heals very well. Wounds that would be devastating or deadly for a human are easily recovered from and shrugged off in a fraction of the time it would take a non-wolf.

Longevity is a common werewolf trait, and she's not exception. She will age much more slowly than a human, surpassing their life expectancy by several decades.

Enhanced senses far beyond that of a human, her wolf lends her at least part of their animal sense of smell, sight, and hearing. When in wolf form she has the full strength of wolf senses.

Speed, strength, and reflexes are far in excess of what a girl of her stature should possess. She is not the strongest or fastest wolf, but would still put any human to shame.


BACKSTORY

Somewhere along the southern border of the Draconi Forest lives a small, shamanistic pack of werewolves. It was here that Sahara was born into the wilds of the plains. With Draconi to the north and Serha to the south, she spent her youngest years wandering barefoot through both the thick forests and open grassy plains. The Duhjari, nomadic horse tribes of the plains, held particular fascination for the young girl. On rare occasion the pack would have dealings with these outsiders and it always left her to daydream about how they traveled far and wide – for the plains rolled on as far as the eye could see.

She was still quite young when her mother went hunting on the plains and never returned. They never found a body, but the pack is certain that she was either killed or enslaved by a band of Duhjari. Sahara was deeply affected by the loss, and matured far too quickly as she took up caring for her younger brothers and sisters.

However, when she reached her sixteenth spring, Sahara had to relinquish her maternal role. Pack tradition maintained that she must leave home and partake in a journey of discovery. They believed that no wolf could be at peace before undertaking this rite of passage from childhood to that of a mature experienced wolf. It was with great reluctance that she set out on the journey. Her daydreams of travel had turned to ash with the death of her mother and Sahara dreaded leaving home, feeling as if she were abandoning her younger siblings.

It didn't help that while most wolves that set out did return eventually, some did not.

Eventually her wanderlust did return however. Six years after leaving home, Sahara is still wandering; searching for the epiphany that would signal to her it was time to return home. The alpha had only said that she would know when it was time, but she still hasn't felt that the call to go back.

Cole had been laid out in his tent, being tended to by his mother. For a young man that had only hours ago been in the peak of physical condition and the prime of his life, he looked now as if he had been kissed by the grim reaper. His silver skin was sallow and like fire to the touch as his body burned with fever. Much of his armor had been stripped from him and Kyandria cleaned the blood from his skin and wounds with a cool cloth, trying to soothe him as much as she could.

A gaping wound slashed across his left hip and down his thigh, whatever had caused the wound had exposed bits of his hip bone and nearly tore his thigh muscle clean off his leg. He was extremely lucky he'd not been disemboweled. As it was they were worried if he would ever walk normally again. A mercenary with a distinct limp was hardly marketable. One that couldn't walk at all was even worse.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. No one understood how things could have gone so very wrong. Of course someone had to take the blame, and right now Cole was definitely the easiest target. After all, he was the youngest and newest working man. The fact that there was no way he could argue, defend himself, or fight back was a huge bonus as they poured out their side of the story to the boss. It was quite the fanciful explanation, and entirely bullshit, but their scapegoat wasn't about to counter their tall tale.

They all came to the most logical conclusion: Cole had to go.

Three men were dead, two had substantial wounds, and Cole was in such poor condition they were certain he was a dead man anyway. If the boy was just going to become dead weight there was no point in keeping him around.

Half the men in the company suggested putting him out of his misery – and taking anything he owned, little as that might be. The other half just wanted to get out of Zantaric.

In the end the only thing that saved him from having his throat slit and his body dumped in the jungle was Kyandria. Even as a slave, she browbeat his father into helping her remove him from harm's way, even if his father agreed with the men that suggested that he was dying and a quick death would be kinder.

Together they moved him to a litter and dragged him through the streets. Kyandria was the one that found out about a supposedly gifted dryad healer with a tender heart; a rare thing in Zantaric. Most would have turned him away as too expensive to help without some form of compensation.

As soon as they reached Lavender's home, Kaleb took a last look at his son and left since he had fulfilled his obligation of dragging him there. Kyandria knelt down next to him, smoothing a hand over his burning forehead tenderly, a flicker of some undefinable emotion in her red eyes as her baby boy didn't so much as stir at the motherly touch. She had resented him all his life, but he was still her child. Her only child. She couldn't let him die without trying to save him.

It was the very least a mother could do for her son.

"I should have left you on a doorstep years and years ago." It was the only apology for raising him in such a life that came to her. She removed the pendant from around her neck and carefully placed it around his. He tossed his head fitfully to the side. Rising up she banged her fist loudly against the door and then left to return to her master. Kyandria felt she had done all she could.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Cole Solvi
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Height: 5' 9"
Build: Slender
Race: Human/Drow
Residence: Varies


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Cole Solvi
Art Credit:  Zardra

Cole has a rather slender frame. His muscles are toned well by hard labor and fighting, but they do not add any real bulk to his narrow body. Because of his mixed heritage, Cole does not have skin as dark as his mother's drow kin. A silvery, light grey hue covers him from head to toe. What he did inherit solely from his mother was the snow white hair and blood red eyes typical of the dark elves.

Clothing is very simple linen and leathers that can be afforded by relatively poor people. His armor is little better, light boiled leathers good for relatively minor protection. The good thing about leather armor is that it allowed him to work quickly and quietly. A small ruby pendent kept on a very simple black cord around his neck is the only thing of note that Cole wears. It belonged to his mother and was the only gift she really gave to him.


PERSONALITY

What kind of attitude would you expect from someone raised among a vulgar band of thieves, murders, and other general shitty people? Any sign of weakness would be mocked and exploited. You become guarded and suspicious of everyone. Cole did his best to conform to avoid punishment and to survive. A tough, careless mask goes on and it becomes a heavy burden, but you wear it so long it becomes difficult to take off.

It is hard to say what Cole is really like, but there is definitely anger and bitterness within him. His life has never been easy, but he does his best with what he has. Somewhere deep inside him is undoubtedly the inquisitive, playful child that has been buried under the weight of everything else.


FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FOES

His mother is a drow slave by the name of Kyandria.
His father is a human mercenary named Kaleb Solvi.


BACKSTORY

Cole was born in Adela, if you want to be technical. Kaleb Solvi's mercenary band had reluctantly camped off the side of a road just north of the Serha Plains when his mother went into labor. It was a reasonably large group, with several slaves kept by individual members. Cole's mother Kyandria was the slave of his father.

They almost didn't keep him.

His father decided to raise him to become a mercenary so that he could contribute to the group. It was a very harsh life and neither of his parents was inclined to show him love or affection. Instead he was hardened and trained to be whatever paying clients needed him to be. He was taught to kill, he was taught to steal, and he learned on his own never to count on anyone – not even his family. Not that he had much of a family.

Joss hadn't even let the blood on his hands finish drying before he'd stumbled into an inn. Mud and blood splattered his boots and coat, but nobody questioned his disheveled appearance. People knew better than to ask strangers about things they didn't really want the answer to.

He felt as if he'd run several miles only to have the tar beat out of him at the finish line. A good hunt always wore him out. Of course he was a mongoose sitting in the middle of a viper's nest. All the unsavory sorts loved Zantaric – demons were quite fond of the place, which was why it was so easy to find fiends to vanquish. It also meant he was in even more danger than usual, but most of the characters in this particular inn seemed uninterested in picking a fight with him.

Good.

Joss fell into a chair at an empty table, pulling out a pipe and slowly packing it with his favorite tobacco. A sultry serving girl came to take his drink request, and left pouting when he refused to flirt or acknowledge her large, barely-contained breasts which she'd none-to-subtly tried to shove in his face. Probably made extra tips and got presents from fool customers that were actually interested in her wiles.

He wasn't in need of such fleshy comforts – or at least he couldn't indulge without answering some hard questions.

By the time his drink had been shoved in front of him and the offended tavern wench sauntered off to invest her attention elsewhere, Joss had finished stuffing his pipe. A simple spark of demonic magic caused smoke to wisp up from the basin as he puffed contently for a few moments before finally taking a long drink from his tankard; it was the perfect way to end a long day.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Sir Robert Thorne
Nickname(s) or Alias: Robb
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Height: 6'3"
Build: Muscular


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Robb |  Sir Robert Thorne
Art Credit:  sunsetagain

Overall his face has an appealing, roguish cast; a  strong, square jaw is usually shadowed with dark, scratchy stubble that doesn't get grown out into a full beard, but also can't seem to manage to be shaved away every day either. He has an almost elegant brow, with dark hair falling into deep, chocolate eyes. Luxurious hair the color of fine chestnut is generally kept pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck.


A great knight has to have battle scars, and Robb has plenty of those. The most prominent, and always the first to catch anyone's attention is a very identifying slash that falls diagonally from almost his hairline to his right cheekbone, an injury that narrowly avoided taking his right eye completely. Fortunately the ladies rarely seem to complain about such a scar, and some think that it makes him look all the more wickedly good-looking.

The subtly aging knight stands tall with broad shoulders and cords of lean muscle encasing his form, not in small part thanks to his years of military training and experience. His skin, for the most part, is of a clear complexion and has a healthy glow to it, being neither pale nor deeply tanned, which suits him just fine.


PERSONALITY

At the core of his being, Robb is a good person. He doesn't like to see others hurt or suffering, but he is not a saint. Who really is? Everyone in the world is a sinner, and if they claim otherwise they're lying. A jaded point of view, perhaps, but experience has taught him to be guarded. Especially when it comes to trying to be some kind of hero, because that can get you killed or even worse, get the person you were trying to help killed.


SKILLS

As a seasoned knight he possesses great skill with blades. He can fight effectively with two-handed great swords and is even deadlier duel-wielding lighter, swifter swords. Robb can also handle longbows, crossbows, and spears though at the cost of efficiency as he's had less practice with such instruments of war.


BACKSTORY

Robert was born the third child to a military family part of the upper-middle class in Moonspear. While not actual nobility, his family is moderately wealthy, his mother being a silk merchant and his father a knight of some reputation and merit. This created vast advantages and opportunities to him and his siblings from the moment of their births – they were wealthy enough to afford proper educations and even had servants in their small mansion.

At age twelve Robb became a squire, with the ambition of being a knight like his father. His eldest sibling, Susanna, was on track to become a silk trader just like their mother. His older brother, Lucas, had taken to magic and eventually went to live at a mage college.

After years of dedicated studying and training, Robb became officially knighted at the age of twenty. He was still quite a young man, but no one could argue with his skill while holding a sword. It was the martial prowess and a good head for strategy that earned him a place within The Order of the Moon as one of their holy crusaders. For the next twelve years of his life he lived and breathed service to the Order, hunting the unnatural creatures that are considered to be a stain upon Serendipity.

An unfortunate mission and poor judgment lead to the death of a close friend. While the Order was willing to forgive him for the mistake that cost several lives, Robb couldn't forgive himself for it. Using the excuse that he wasn't getting any younger, his service to the Order ended with an early retirement.

Open by request ONLY! PM if interested in joining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't the fanciest inn that Elysia had ever played in, but it sure as heck wasn't the worst either. From what she'd seen so far at least the place was reasonably clean and was without the stench of piss or vomit.

The innkeeper was a nice enough sort too, letting her barter for room and board for the night. All she had to do was play her lute, sing, and recite poetry. Not a bad deal for either of them. She got a warm, dry bed to sleep in, plus hot food, and the innkeeper got to watch his customers linger to listen and dance to her performance. The longer they stayed, the more drinks they bought, and the more money the innkeeper made.

Some of the men tried to buy her drinks too, and her lute case had a smattering of coins in it to boot. A good day for a young bard, indeed! The only downside was the locals only really loved a handful of songs, so she ended up singing the same folktales over and over again. Great for them, mind-numbingly boring for her. At least it freed up her mind for actually observing her audience. There were some guys with cards that had been gambling at one of the tables all evening, but they didn't seem to be attracting a lot of attention.

She didn't know a lot about gambling, to be honest. Sure, she found that a lot of inn common rooms had at least a few games of cards or dice going on, some people just liked to risk their coin for a chance to gain a lot. Elysia figured coin in the hand was worth more than potential coin, so she played and minded her own business anytime she encountered gamblers. Today wouldn't have been any different, except the merry mood in the room changed abruptly when a fist loudly struck a table and the word cheater rang out.

Her fingers faltered on the notes as she stopped singing and turned to look with everyone else at the table of men. Elysia had no idea if the guy was cheating or if the accuser was just a sore loser, but either way an angry crowd was not a good thing. Bad for business and bad for your health too, if you were the one about to get your face smashed in, which kind of looked like what would happen to the poor guy that had been accused of cheating.

Now, if one were to listen to logic and reason, one would stay out of it. Except Elysia was a bit more impulsive than reasonable, and she hated to see someone get the tar beat out of them. Violence was seriously not her thing! Hopping down from her seat, the little bard hurriedly interjected herself into the middle of the mess. "Hey now, let's not get all riled up over a handful of coins. Why don't you let me buy you a drink there big fella and we can all cool off and go back to having a good time, right? You know, singing and dancing and nobody fighting!"

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Conrad Fairhall
Nickname(s) or Alias: Connie (Keiran ONLY)
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Height: 6'0"
Build: Willowy
Race: Human
Nationality: Serenian
Residence: Arca and Ravensway, Serendipity


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Conrad
Art Credit:  feimo

Conrad's facial structure is elegant and aristocratic; overall narrow, with a slightly pointy nose, wide eyes, full lips, and a small chin. Very pale, unblemished skin covers a willowy frame, holding all the delicate beauty of the ancestral fae that founded his bloodline.

His hair ranges from dark navy to pure black and flows halfway down his back in a silky curtain. Clear, dark blue eyes round out the typical Fairhall features.

Clothes are always very well-made and expensive. His preferred fabric is silk. Conrad generally wears finely tailored, open, flowing robes over his suits. It is the typical fashion choice of his house.



PERSONALITY

As the heir to his house, Conrad is under immense societal pressure. From birth his every action has had to reflect the standards and expectations of a family as notable as the Fairhall lineage. He knows how and when to be on his best behavior, presenting himself as a perfect gentleman during formal and official functions.

On the other side, the eldest Fairhall child has a penchant for flirtation and rebellion. His reputation as a roguishly charming pursuer of lower class girls of great beauty is very well-known. Such behavior is only barely tolerated by his father because he knows to keep such affairs discreet.

Unlike his younger brother, Conrad is much more impulsive and quicker to let his emotions control his actions.



SKILLS

Conrad is a skilled swordsman when it comes to slight, quick blades. He possesses weak elemental ice and water magic, but is far less powerful and skilled than his younger brother.



Relationships

House Fairhall
House Sigil: White Kirin, Blue Field, Black Border
House Colors: White, Blue, Black
House Motto: Majesty and Grace.
Residence: Hall of the Wild Rose, Ravensway in Serendipity
House Renown: Breeding rare Kirin for use as mounts

Lord: Nathaniel Fairhall
Lady: Bethany Fairhall
Heir: Conrad Fairhall
Spare: Keiran Fairhall



BACKSTORY

Conrad was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, as the saying goes. House Fairhall has held considerable wealth for many generations through the breeding and trade of rare Kirin mounts. Because he is the eldest son his life has been shaped for him by his father. From birth Conrad has been groomed to one day take over as head of the family and Lord of Fairhall.

I have a stray thrall who has been abandoned by her vampire master. She can't survive without a new master to give her his blood and power. Not just any blood will do, only her master can feed her and give her true nourishment.

Her master doesn't have to be a vampire. As long as they have blood her life essence can bond to them and their blood will become her life source.

Shoot some ideas at me people!

I am still alive. I know this probably comes as a surprise, but it's true.

I've been in a big writing slump, have mostly been watching youtube/movies, and playing some video games. I really am sorry to all my writing partners, but I've just not been up for posting the past few weeks.

If you want to drop a thread with me, let me know, otherwise I will try to make some posts soon. I promise I won't be mad if you decide to ditch me.

Love,
~Moonie

P.S. @TreeFolk @Draconian @DragonSong @visualspice @Juno

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Alison Fawkes
Nickname(s) or Alias: Ally
Gender: Female
Age: 96, looks 16
Height: 5' 4"
Build: Slight
Race: Thrall
Nationality: Serenian


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Art: Alison Fawkes
Art Credit:  Selenada

At first glance it might be hard to discern if you are gazing upon a delicate, beautiful girl barely over the cusp of womanhood or an incredibly detailed, life-size china doll. Blue-black hair falls like a silk curtain down almost to the figure's waist while large, shining eyes like polished pink diamonds glitter in their frame of full, lengthy lashes. Further emphasizing her doll-like appearance is the smooth, porcelain skin and plush, pink lips drawn into a natural pout.

While obviously feminine, Alison has a very slight figure. Both her shoulders and hips are narrow, with curves being subtle and more girlish than womanly.  Even the clothing wrapping the girl has an almost surreal dollish quality. The fine silks, wools, and furs looking something like a doll belonging to a wealthy girl might be dressed up in.



PERSONALITY

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Alison is a pretty, little, broken thing. Years of slavery and abuse have left the girl little more than an empty husk; a mockery of a real, living creature. Perhaps once upon a time she had been a vibrant child, but her experiences have wrung all the real color from what might have been a true personality.

Now all she knows are the greys of fear, misery, and despair. Meek and subservient, she will do anything to appease her master and attempt to avoid his wrath and punishment.



SKILLS
Talents/skills:
Basically anything her master requires of her. If she doesn't know how to do something, she will quickly learn.

Magic Abilities:
Alison only has the power her master wishes her to have and is able to give her. Her first master liked to keep her weak, so she is little more than a human girl in aspect of physical power.  The only power she has is that of immortality in so far as she will live forever as long as her master continues to feed her and she isn't killed in some horrific manner.




FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FOES

She had a family, and friends, a long time ago. They are all dead now.



BACKSTORY

Alison Fawkes was the youngest, and most beautiful, daughter of Lord Allister Fawkes. A long time ago their home was in Moonspear, and they belonged to The Order of the Moon. Her father and his men cleared out a group of vampires living within their region, but failed to kill the oldest vampire who was the leader of their small "family".

In retaliation Victor Davos kidnapped Alison and turned her into his thrall. Her father's sins certainly made him feel her unworthy of actually becoming a true vampire. She became his slave and he taunted and tortured her as he exacted his revenge very slowly upon her family.

One by one she was forced to endure watching everyone she ever loved mercilessly killed by her master. Eight decades past, and with her family bloodline all but wiped out, Victor finally felt there was only one thing left to cement his vengeance. Knowing that Alison was completely dependent upon him for her unnatural life, he abandoned her to at last die – ensuring that no living blood from her family would remain.