CAMBIE LIVES!

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Tomasz Landeskog
Alias: The Soul Urn
Age: 63 at death
Gender: Male?
Species: Reanimated spirit possessing a funeral urn
Ethnicity: Adelan
Height: 1.5 ft
Weight: Around 30 lbs
(Former) Occupation: Soul splicer and necromancer
Residence: None

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Nobody really remembers what Tomasz Landeskog looks like anymore, for his mortal body was burned to ashes and placed into an ornate funeral urn when he passed from the physical to spiritual realm. His soul, spliced with the souls of so many others, has manifested itself as a spirit possessing said funeral urn.

The urn itself appears to be made from a combination of iron and lead. Four separate faces are carved onto four sides of the round urn, each face expressing some sort of open-mouthed horror. The eyes of each face are opals glowing faintly with some sort of dim magical essence. However, three of the faces are missing an eye each. The heavy lid seems to completely seal shut the Urn's opening: no amount of brute force can open it.

Personality
Despicable in life and despicable in death. Tomasz Landeskog was known to be petulant and ornery, spouting insults as quickly as possible. While alive and practicing his necromancy, the man spliced dozens of lost souls to his own in order to enhance his own power and perhaps stave off death itself. Many of these souls remained dormant while attached to his own.

However, one such soul imprinted itself irrevocably on his own when he murdered a young mage for her essence and failed to complete the ritual before being swept up into the Urn. This soul occasionally manifests itself in the form of a separate ethereal voice, calmer and more collected than her necromantic counterpart.

The two souls seemed to have all but forgotten the transgressions committed by Landeskog in life. Now they coexist as one – and occasionally argue with one another.

Magic/Abilities
The Soul Urn is possessed by the very will of a formerly powerful necromancer's spirit. While much of Landeskog's magic had faded as a result of his death, and as a result of the Urn's scattered parts, some of it still remains to power the Urn. It can manifest its voice(s) into the physical world. On occasion the spirit can generate enough magical essence to make the Urn move, sometimes float.

It also seems to be able to impart some of the necromancer's former magic onto whoever possesses the Urn, or olds it. The effects can be as fickle as the spirit within. Sometimes the Urn's bearer can be infused with unnatural and unholy power. Other times the bearer can fall ill to some unexplained malady, caused by the necromancer's malevolence.

Relationships
It's an urn. What relationships?

History
Not much can be said of Tomasz Landeskog, for what black mark he had on Adelan history has been mostly extinguished through retaliatory burnings of his dark works and secrets. What little is said about him can only be found in tomes hidden in the darkest corners of the land's greatest libraries, where those that remember his sordid past have not been able to locate and destroy his name.

What can be pieced together goes something like this:

Nobody knows exactly where he came from, only that he terrorized Adela for some years. Wherever he went, inevitably death followed. Bodies were found with their souls forcibly extracted from them through some sort of unholy power. Dozens of them, leaving a trail of burned-out husks along the way. Eventually the necromancer was caught though – with every soul spliced to his own, his own aura grew stronger until those who knew how to search for his magical presence could easily locate him. It was in the process of killing his final victim, a young powerful mage who had been lured to him by the false promise of apprenticeship, that a band of vengeful hunters caught up with him.

Knowing his end was nigh, the necromancer chose to bind his soul to a powerful phylactery, a four-faced urn capable of housing both him and the many souls he'd stolen during his mortal life. The purpose of the urn was to keep his essence safe while awaiting such time that he could reform his body and continue his terror spree.

There hadn't been time to complete the ritual sacrifice though, and as his ashes were swept up into the vessels the opal eyes of each face trembled and fell from their very sockets. His hunters, knowing that the evil mage could not fully return to life unless it was able recomplete the Urn, scattered the magical opals across all the land and buried the Urn itself in the darkest and deepest of tombs. It remained down there, trapping its many souls within leaden and iron walls, until relic seekers inadvertently removed it back to the surface.

Since then the Urn has been appearing all across the nations, bidding its bearers to find those magical opals and replace them into those deathlike faces. Three opals remain to be found. But the magic that had bound the necromancer to his vessel has corroded so much over the years that the spirit has mostly forgotten its purpose. All it really knows is that something incredible will happen the Urn is finally complete again.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Rajon-Toukta Vaa'tanen
Alias: Red
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Kishahni
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 195 lbs
Occupation: Soldier of fortune
Residence: On the road

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Tall, with unkempt dark brown hair and tanned reddish skin that burns easily in the sunlight, Red has the typical trappings of a Kishahni native. He is muscular for his height, with a sharply defined jawline and high cheekbones, usually clean-shaven but sometimes covered by a thick scraggly beard. His eyes though... they almost appear golden and cat-like, with a feral quality to them that might be found in the massive jaguars of the deep jungle. His appearance ironically mirrors the meaning of his name: "rabid cat."

His trappings, ironically, are decidedly not indicative of the Kishahn jungles. He mostly wears the high boots, sand-colored traveling trousers, a clean white long-sleeved shirt that might seem more appropriate in the desert than in the jungles. Almost always, a dark red scarf hangs around his neck.

Personality

Brash, rude, curt, but always always sure of himself. Red epitomizes the phrase "shoot first and ask questions later," always preferring direct action and conflict over negotiation and bargaining. He isn't fallible, and often finds himself in trouble due to his own stubbornness. He makes mistakes and gets hurt sometimes, but never doubts himself in any situation. That's not to say, however, that he lacks any sympathy whatsoever. He simply prefers his own brand.

Magic/Abilities

Red is an excellent tracker and decent thief (when he needs to be). Growing up in the Kishahn jungles, he is incredibly acrobatic for his build, and can climb even the most difficult heights.

Relationships

Opus Dey, a perennial compatriot, partner, confidant, enemy, rival. The two men have worked together and have betrayed each other on multiple occasions. It's never anything personal. Well... sometimes, it is.

History

Born Rajon-Toukta, or "rabid cat," Red is the third son of the Kishahni warlord Meztli of the Vaa'tanen people, one of the more powerful figures among the jungle tribes. He was given the ugly name as a way of warding off evil spirits, a longstanding tradition whenever the child born before him died at birth. The stigma of having this unlucky child was exacerbated by the fact that Red's mother, though Kishahni by birth, had an Essyrni upbringing and instilled those cultural values into the young child.

Dissent among the Vaa'tanen tribe over this unlucky child with Essyrni tendencies, coupled with a sickness that befell the mother, forced her to send Red off to Essyrni to the household of a merchant princess whom she'd befriended years ago.

Red grew up in that household, becoming surrogate brothers with the house's first son Opus Dey. It wasn't long that Opus's mother also died from some mysterious illness (some say poisoning), and both boys were swept up into the world of Opus's father: piracy. The two learned the criminal trade that way, and worked together for the most part. As fate would befall Red, Opus Dey followed in the footsteps of his father to become one of the most powerful criminal lords in all the kingdoms, with Red as a close confidante.

But it was in both their natures to put self above others. Throughout the years, Red and Opus Dey have worked together and, lately, against one another on multiple occasions. Both men are bound by the bonds of brotherhood, but separated by their respective calls in life and their respective senses of self-preservation.


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Dear SOTE gang:

I'm sort of back, though I don't know if I'll be terribly active. Life is getting really hectic. But like the title says, I just couldn't stay away. I'll try to get up to speed on my owed posts.

-Cambie

To the SOTE gang,

Between work and some personal things, I need to take some time off. I'll keep in touch.

Don't pollute my pool while I'm gone.

It'd been more than three years since he'd seen her.

Three years since Aryn awoke in an empty mansion to find that Kella Harmond had disappeared in the night, snowy horse tracks leading away from the estate's open door. That day he packed up some of the silk and velvet noblemen's clothing in the mansion closets and took off after her.

He searched for her for those three years across the war-torn country of Connlaoth. Most places he stopped at had no answers. Some had gossip for him, but never anything good. On more than one occasion the Ironhand had come close to giving up his search only to hear something new, something that sparked his fleeting hope of ever seeing Kella again. On the way he picked up a few more scars, killed a few more men, stained his hands with some more blood.

Then Thaedes burned to the ground. He'd been camped out with a group of ragtag mercenaries at the time when the news arrived, that Lady Kella Harmond had been spotted in the fiery city. By the time he arrived, nothing remained but a pile of charred rubble. Still, it sparked his hope.

He turned toward Turgall. He wasn't the only one. Apparently the Duke of Turgall, twin brother to the woman he sought, had sent his messengers across the land to muster up banners to his cause. At Turgall Aryn watched Blaith Harmond, marvelled in how similar he looked to Kella, studied his appearance and mannerisms as he gave a rousing speech to the gathered army – and stole one of the Duke's horses.

It was on this horse that he now sat, exhaling soft wisps of frosted breath in the cold air as he reined the stallion to a halt upon a high ridge, overlooking the great Fort Dhagh down below. A fluttering tickled his stomach from the inside, and it wasn't just from hunger. The plan in his head was, by all accounts, the most idiotic thing a person could do, but the Ironhand didn't really know any other way to go about it. Reaching into his pack, he withdrew a pair of stolen, ill-fitting doeskin gloves and slipped them over his flesh hand and his iron one. The highborn clothing fit snugly against his large frame and still had wrinkles and creases from the three-year journey. He honestly didn't look anything like the Duke of Turgall.

But who in that castle would know the truth?

'Blaith Harmond' had come for his sister. To pluck her out of that citadel and get her as far away as possible.

With another long exhale and then a spit off to the side, he dug his heels into the stallion and rode down the hill toward Fort Dhagh's gates.

@visualspice @Moonie

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Bastian van Toews (pronounced van Taves)
Aliases: Bass, Bastian One-eye
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Serenian
Height: 5' 10"
Weight: 175 lbs
Occupation: Detective Inspector
Birthplace: Arca

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Tall and stocky with a prominent chin and a long nose. The most striking thing about Bastian van Toews is not any of his natural looks but instead the unnatural scarring and discoloration of his right profile. The right side of his face is discolored and disfigured with scarring that runs from high up his temple and down his cheek, shoulders and arm. His right ear is a mangled cauliflower and his right eye is missing, instead replaced by what appears to be a shimmering glass eye. His left eye remains, a hardened orb with a deep brown pupil.

His clothing, while respectable and occasionally stylish, is plain enough to represent his lower-middle class roots. He is most often seen wearing a thick overcoat with many pockets, within whose folds he keeps several sharpened knives, to go with the one inside his boot. His face is kept clean shaven and his dark hair is maintained at a respectable length, slicked back with scented oils as is the fashion of the day. A polished saber, the badge of his rank among the city guard, hangs from his side.

Personality
No-sensense, rough-and-tumble, prickly, short-tempered, unforgiving -- these are all adjectives that describe Bastian very well. He is very much what one can expect of a man with his job description, to investigate and root out organized crime within the sprawling magical labyrinth of Arca, capital of Serendipity. In that regard he does his job quite proficiently in the eyes of his superiors, though clearly the trade-off is that he can be quite offputting and lacking in social grace. Not that he cares much for what others think of him. He is very single-minded when it comes to his tasks, and absolutely dedicated.

His anti-social nature also helps to conceal several of his deepest secrets, secrets that he would kill to keep: his addiction to the narcotic known as Ash, and the fact that he secretly is being paid to turn a blind eye to a criminal organization's dealings. This highlights a very telling personality trait, that above all else he looks after himself first. He is not above stealing money from a crime scene to fuel his drug problem, or to accept shady bribes.

Magic/Abilities
Bastian has a knack for the analytical and investigative, making him quite a proficient detective inspector (when he isn't taking bribes). He is more than capable with his sword and with his knives, although the cheap magical replacement for his missing right eye occasionally strikes him with bouts of vertigo and plays tricks with his depth perception. It DOES help him see in the dark.


Relationships
---

History
Bastian van Toews is somewhat of a minor celebrity as a result of his story and of his heroics one fateful night. Born of a lower-class stock with no magical powers so to speak, his childhood consisted of many rough nights of violence and starvation. Yet he persevered where many children would have died; he turned his own fortunes around as soon as he became of age by being enlisted as a cadet in the city guard.

His career as a public servant hit a high point when, at the age of 34, he was instrumental in thwarting the attempted kidnapping of a high lord's young daughter by one of the many criminal organizations festering in the underground of Arca. More a product of luck and timing than of skill, Bastian nonetheless was nearby enough to be able to fend off an ambush on the lord's carriage. In the process he was severely disfigured on the right side of his face by a thrown magical concoction that burned a bright green trail down his body. He lost his right eye and was permanently disfigured from the ordeal, but nonetheless drew the praises of the local populace and his fellow officers by going above and beyond the call of duty. The lord paid him handsomely for his rewards. His superiors promoted him to detective inspector.

The attack left him scarred both mentally and physically. Even after he had healed a great deal, Bastian still found that he had difficulty sleeping at night because of the incessant pain that wracked his body. This was no ordinary pain, but one of magical proportions that had pervaded every inch of his scarred flesh and would leave him writhing in agony the rest of his life. To combat the pain, he soon became addicted to the analgesic narcotic Ash, named both for the way it burned bright, and for the burning sensation it left when ingested. Some either joked that Ash left burnt through its users, leaving them empty husks consumed from within.

In the course of his duty, dealing with his secret addiction to Ash, Bastian began spiralling into corruption. He would pocket money from crime scenes, kill witnesses for a portion of the loot, and even accept bribes, all to fuel his drug addiction. Eventually the shadowy organization that ran the Ash trade in Arca even began supplying him with the drugs in return for turning a blind eye to their activities and for focusing his efforts on a rival criminal organization, the Soot Wolves.



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So I was roaming around and found this place. Looks like a fun environment!

__________________QUICK SUMMARY
Name: Arkh'an
Pronounced: arr - CAN
Age: ??
Gender: Male
Species: Heartless Demon
Ethnicity: ??
Height: 6' 11"
Occupation: King of the Heartless
Residence: Beneath the Seraj Isa

__________________IN-DEPTH

Physical Description
The King of the Heartless, like all others of his race, appear formless and faceless, a shadowy conflagration punctuated by two fiery red eyes. His apparition is particularly malevolent, the blackness of it seemingly sucking away all nearby light. The shadows seemingly change shape shapes at random, perhaps imitating the general outline of a human anatomy. Where the shadows would have a 'head' its hard to pinpoint one exact face, as that too constantly changes to suit the King's needs.

His human form is decidedly more easily described. Skin of ash grey, hair of the purest white, and those same fiery red orbs that his shadowy form possesses, sunken deep into his gaunt facade. His face still changes often, making it hard to nail down one specific look that absolutely defines him. However, despite the constant changes to his face, several prominent features always remain: a long nose with very foreign qualities to it, wide cheekbones, a strong chin. It never looks quite handsome, and sometimes can be considered especially grotesque -- but one thing is for sure, his face certainly commands attention.

Another very distinct feature of his human form is his height. He towers over the other Heartless, and indeed over most humans of average height as well. His shoulders are broad but the rest of his body is unnaturally slender, making him look incredibly disproportionate. His arms and slim fingers seem too long to be human. His clothing, if one could call it that, seem as though they're made from the same shadows that he is.

Personality
Conniving, manipulative, coercive, sweet-talking, persuasive. The King of the Heartless is all of these things and more. He can be arrogant in his power, and malevolent toward those on whom his people prey, with occasional outbursts of violence. But most often he is calculating an deceitful.

Since his fateful involvement with a captured princess of the purest heart, his persona has taken on more human qualities, embodying brooding reflection and an overabundance of morality. He loves this human woman, but hates her at the same time. He wants nothing more than to consume her heart, the purest heart of them all, but fears the consequences it will have on his demonic self. He wants her to suffer and die, but wishes for her to live. And all the while, this injection of human decency into his empty demonic husk eats away at him from the inside.


Abilities
The King of the Heartless, like all of his demonic kin, has the ability to change his form almost on command, taking whatever persona and body that he needs to accomplish his goals. Like the shadows, he appears where he wants, whispers what he wants, and just as quickly disappears into nothingness. And while consumption of human hearts has given him a mostly human form, unlike other Heartless he still retains the ability to revert to his former shadowy self at will.

Further, as the King of the Heartless, he possesses demonic powers and magics that can be quite destructive. He can drain life at a touch, make walls crumble with his arcane manipulation, vanish on a whim, meld with shadows, even appear to be flying. Most importantly, he can detect the purest of human hearts.


Relationships
Coming soon!

History
The Heartless have existed beneath the sands of Seraj Isa for time immemorial, a sprawling ruin long forgotten from human memory. And for countless eons these demonic shadows that feed and thrive off the hearts of the mortals, have been under the thrall of their King. He is the one that directs them, from his shadowy throne of power, to wage war on nearby human civilizations, with the goal of tearing out their still beating hearts, consuming them, and perpetuating their own race. Many kingdoms have fallen to the Heartless, and many yet may fall. The Kingdoms that persist in the face of the Heartless, the Kingdoms of the Pure-Hearted, continue to be sieged by these heart-stealing demons.

While many kingdoms fall to the onslaught of demons, many more fall because of the treacherous nature of the Heartless, who promise amnesty in exchange for their young daughters. In every instance, the kingdoms that give up their princesses are destroyed nonetheless.

One Kingdom, however, had a princess of the purest heart, a beacon of moral light in a world of darkness. She offered herself up to the Heartless King in exchange for the safety of her people. The King had never experienced a heart as pure as hers before, and in his intrigue, rather than consume her heart immediately he kept her prisoner. Against all odds and in the face of impossibility, she was able to break through his demonic coldness and -somehow- the Heartless King fell in love with her, and her with him. She bore him a son, half-Heartless and half-human, born with a strong beating heart. At once aware that his own kind would devour the child's heart, and having learned the very human emotion of fear, the King exiled this child to the land of the living.

Having no other alternative as King, and finally succumbing to his desire to consume his human love's pure heart, he had her brought before him. But instead of having to rip her heart from her chest, he was absolutely stunned when the princess willingly offered it to him. In his haste he consumed the heart, only to realize belatedly that the absolute purity of it threatened to turn him completely human, and also strip the princess of her humanity, everything that he loved. Panicked, he tore the new heart from his chest and gave it back to her, but it was too late. The new heart he gave her was tainted by his demonic essence; slowly and surely, it would kill her.

And so to preserve her, the King had her encased in glass somewhere in the vast sea of glass that is the Seraj Isa, hoping one day to be able to give her back a pure human heart so that she may live. He steals other princesses' hearts now, hoping to find one pure enough to save her. And he secretly languishes in limbo, neither fully Heartless nor fully human now, consumption of the purest heart having made him both and none at the same time. Perhaps there is some way that he can truly regain his fully demonic form again, and he searches for it now.


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__________________QUICK SUMMARY
Name: Erwin Therrien
Pronounced: (TEH-ree-en)
Aliases: Captain Serious
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Connlaothian
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 195 lbs
Occupation: Duke of Wulfbauer, Knight
Residence: Wulfbauer, Connlaoth

__________________IN-DEPTH

Physical Description
Erwin is a tall and handsome man. Possessed with rugged good looks, broad shoulders and lean muscle, he always commanded attention from young ladies at upper-class social gatherings. His eyes are a piercing light blue and his hair is often neatly combed back. As a trait of his lineage, his light brown hair began to turn silver at a very young age; it now has a salt-and-pepper look about it, in stark contrast with his youthful looks. He has a chiseled jaw occasionally covered in a light scruff of hair and a hair-trigger grin, though catching him with a full smile upon his face is as rare as finding a white stag in the forest. The only real blemish on his face is the tiny scar on the side of his neck, running parallel to his jawline.

In the field he wears the captain's tabard over his light chainmail armor and his uniform, adorned with the insignia of Wulfbauer. With this attire, he looks every bit a knight and soldier. Away from the battlefield, his clothing reflects the finer tastes of fashion among nobles, albeit in the more muted and reserved colors of dark blue and grey, the traditional colors of the Duchy.

Personality
Away from the battlefield and the political world, and in private, Erwin is amicable, perhaps even relaxed. He is a notorious bachelor and womanizer, having never settled down or even considered taking a wife. However, now that he was unexpectedly thrust into the role of Duke, his womanizing ways have been curbed somewhat as pressure mounts for him to take a wife from a good family. He has a knack for conversation and a keen eye for artwork. He loves riding. He is known as a teetotaler.

However, as the Duke of Wulfbauer, he must put on a face for his people. The Duke is consummately a soldier's man in the traditional sense, and a man of Wulfbauer. Courageous, cool-headed and fearless under fire, Erwin values loyalty and military perfection above all else, and has especially little patience for incompetent subordinates or junior officers that do not do their work properly. He also looks poorly upon those men in Wulfbauer who fail to honor their military obligations in times of conflict. Early in his military career, his strict demeanor, coupled with his greying hair, landed him the moniker "Captain Serious."

Ever the soldier's man, he is popular among the soldiers for his willingness to mingle with them, share their fires, trade stories. His reputation among officers and advisors was less stellar, given his penchant for dismissing those that failed to live up to his expectations. Still, most of his subordinates give him a measured amount of respect for his perfectionism. The Duke still prefers to lead by example, actively participating in his duchy's military affairs rather than sitting in Wulfbauer Keep and governing from the safety of its walls.

As a former high-ranking officer, he is mostly closed off to objections to his plans. Ironically, he also possesses a great deal of moral courage, having the strength to contradict direct orders to him when he perceives them to be flawed or impractical. When it comes to the well-being of Wulfbauer, Erwin can be especially critical of other nobles and lords, perhaps even the Grand Duke himself. Erwin showcases disdain for unnecessary loss of life. Never strictly an opponent of mages (indeed, he occasionally admits being intrigued by them), he sees the summary deportation of mages as a massive waste of available manpower in a time of winter and famine.

His leadership, both on the battlefield and as Duke of Wulfbauer, is characterized by his drive. As a military commander he was known for his brazen tactics and formations, and was not afraid to risk the entire battle on a single decision. He took quite a few gambles in his lifetime, and some are amazed that he managed to live through them all, the successful ones and the failed ones likewise.

His largest shortcoming has to be his complete lack of experience in diplomacy and politics, two of the most important skills that a Duke requires. He tries his best to issue edicts for the betterment of the people of Wulfbauer, but he often does not recognize the dangers or risks of his decisions. Because of his lack of experience, he has plenty of advisors to counsel him in the ways of provincial administration. Unfortunately, this also makes it very easy for people to feed him the wrong information, leading to rulings and decisions favorable to them.

Abilities
Erwin is a capable enough combatant, having been trained in the use of sword, spear, and bow. He is also a known sharpshooter, often preferring to ride into battle with his dragoon cavalry wielding gun, saber and lance. As a tactician, he is more than proven. As a military leader, he operates with precision and daring.

Coming from Wulfbauer, he is also a renowned horseman and sportsman, and is an excellent falconer. Indeed, he owns an entire stable of steeds, and grew up riding them every day on his estates. He has a way with animals, owning several dogs that he takes with him when hunting.

Erwin is an accomplished artist. Indeed, he can often be seen sketching with charcoal pencils high up on a hill overlooking a battlefield on the eve of battle, or painting on an easel set up under an arbutus tree at his estate.


Relationships

Constance Therrien* - wife, and Duchess of Wulfbauer
*depending on timeline

Duke Marsden Therrien, father (deceased) - briefly Duke of Wulfbauer
Chantal Therrien, mother (deceased)
Kristian Therrien, brother, 26 – a knight, now Lord of Arbutus Vale
Marcel Therrien, brother, 22 – an aspiring knight
Adette Therrien, sister, 16 – unmarried
Marietta Therrien, sister, 14 - unmarried

History
Arbutus Vale, the ancestral estate of house Therrien, takes up several hundred acres of land in the Duchy of Wulfbauer and is known for its extensive arbutus groves. The Therriens have always been an important, if lesser, family in Wulfbauer, for generations owing direct fealty to the Carwicks. Indeed, old Marsden was the Master of Horse to Duke Harlow Carwick, and a trusted advisor.

Growing up as the first son in a noble house, it was always expected of Erwin to follow the traditions of his ancestors and inherit the household on the passing of his father. Along with his training in swordsmanship, history, and other such indulgences of upper-class children, young Erwin was also taught to ride and to shoot, skills that would serve him well later in life. In his adolescence Erwin decided to pursue a life in the military, leaving home at 16 to attain his knighthood and become an officer in the army of Wulfbauer. He won his spurs not long after and was appointed a captain. He took command of a newly formed corps of dragoons, heavy cavalry who fired their wheel lock guns from horseback before engaging in melee combat.

Erwin's time in the military was characterized by a rapid rise among the ranks, his leadership earning both the admiration of his comrades in arms and his fellow officers. Known for his daring and aggressive gambles and his propensity for hardly ever making tactical mistakes, he soon became one of the most respected soldiers in Duke Carwick's forces. His demeanor, always demanding perfection in his comrades and having no patience for incompetence, landed him the moniker "Captain Serious," a nickname which he never really cared to dispel. He left his duties to Arbutus Vale mostly in the hands of his mother.

When the civil war erupted, Wulfbauer was quick to declare for the Grand Duke. Old Duke Carwick was assassinated in the course of the war by a rogue band of extremists and his de facto heir, his first cousin once removed Avery Carwick (which whom Erwin had served in the military) assumed the mantle of Duke. It was evident that the exchange of power also brought about a marked contrast in Wulfbauer's policies, especially with regard to the systematic ousting and deporting of all mages. Erwin never outwardly opposed such a scale back (having more intrigue than fear of the magical), but privately lamented such waste of valuable manpower.

Tragically Duke Avery Carwick was killed in battle less than a month after assuming the duchy's seat of power. His brother Caspian, a horseman under the command of Erwin, was killed not much later, leaving the duchy in a state of limbo with no successor to carry on the Carwick dynasty. After weeks of posturing among the noble houses, it was determined by acclamation and by royal decree that Marsden Therrien would assume the Dukeship.

Erwin was suddenly and unexpectedly thrust into the uncomfortable position of being Lord of Arbutus Vale, without any real experience in politics. His father had always been in good health, and nobody had seen it necessary for the eldest son to return home and learn how to rule a province. He took the job in good stride though, splitting his time between his ancestral home and his military post.

As fate would have it, his father took ill only two months after the severing of the Carwick line. Nobody could provide a credible explanation for Marsden's sickness, but within the week he, too, was dead, leaving Erwin Therrien as the new Duke of Wulfbauer and the duchy in chaos.


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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Fletcher de Villiers
Aliases: "Fletch"
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Connlaothian
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 165 lbs
Occupation: Gunsmith, Engineer, Academic, Sharpshooter
Residence: Uthlyn
Birthplace: Wulfbauer

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Fletch has the look of a typical Connlaothian, save for the fact that he wasn't blessed with the broad shoulders and muscles of most men. He is a slimmer man, though well-muscled enough from an upbringing that involved mandatory training in swordplay and archery. He has jet black hair that is cut short to the scalp and neatly combed, skin a slightly darker shade than pale, and hazelnut eyes. He keeps himself clean shaven, and even on off-days, only a small hint of fuzz grows on his chin. His nose is pert, and his lips thin. He's a decent looking fellow, but in a very boyish manner. Certainly, he wouldn't win the hearts of any girls looking for a stallion.

He is often seen with a pair of thin spectacles upon his face, though his eyesight is perfectly fine. Indeed, those spectacles are often found on fine craftsmen who work with tiny objects; these particular ones aid him in magnifying the tiny rivets and gears with which he works. His attire is simple, but the material of his clothes are expensive and fine. He often sports a crisp white shirt, dark brown breeches and black riding boots, with a soft green overcoat. Often, his sleeves are rolled back to reveal his taut forearms and his nimble fingers.

Personality
Fletcher is a naturally friendly person; it suits him very well to be able to come off as relaxed and easygoing, especially when nobles contact him for some of his prized pieces. He can sometimes be a bit of a showoff. He is not the strongest or most capable of people in a fight, and he is very well aware of it. He can get a little defensive when people judge him based on his inability to handle himself in a situation that requires physical violence. To compensate, he often flaunts his intelligence and his ability with a gun, and can sometimes overreach in situations where such cockiness is unwarranted. Some people say that the demand for his work has given him almost a superiority complex, though he tries very hard to keep his pride in check, especially since the people paying him are often the ones that run the Nation.

Although he has no qualms about pulling the trigger on a man when the situation calls for it (and he has fired on assailants before) Fletcher still gets a little antsy when there's a distinct possibility for bloodshed. He'll do what he has to do, but he certainly won't like it. All the more dilemma in this time of war, when his particular skills are more and more valuable.

While superstitious is not really the perfect word to describe him, Fletcher does like to subscribe to a certain protocol in his day-to-day affairs. He likes to do things a particular logical way, and likes to make a habit out of mundane things, whether it be sharpening a carving tool a particular way or washing his hands at a particular point in the day.

Lately, as the threat of civil war has loomed heavily over the entire nation, Fletcher has become more and more wary of people approaching him for some of his work. He knows that his name is well-known out there, and is very aware that the wrong kind of person might take an interest in the things he can craft, or the talent that he has with firearms.

Growing up, he was taught how to use a bow and actually showed considerable skill with that ranged weapon. He spent a good portion of his youth hunting with his older brothers and father. Now as an adult, he obviously prefers his guns, but still maintains his love of hunting.

Magic/Abilities
Fletcher is gifted with an innate understanding of engineering, ballistics, mathematics and chemistry, honed by the years he spent in Uthlyn at the college, under the tutelage of some of the finest academic minds in the land. He has a very keen eye for detail and an incredibly steady hand, both useful traits in his line of work. In addition to possessing the detailed and intricate knowledge needed to be one of few able to craft the wheel-lock guns used in Connlaoth, he is constantly striving to push the envelope in terms of scientific and engineering innovation. Some of his finest works are very highly desired by the nobles of Connlaoth, particularly those wishing to present an image of currentness by possessing custom-crafted guns. His finest pieces are among the most reliable and accurate guns in the nation, much more so than the generic products churned out for general military use. Anything with his initials embossed into the stock fetch enormous prices.

A corollary of years spent among and around firearms is that he has developed a very precise skill in operating such weapons. He is able to muzzle load even the simplest of guns with quick proficiency; his record for a generic wheellock rifle, from loading the muzzle to priming the pan and firing, is somewhere below half a minute. His aim is also impeccable, both with pistols and rifles. He is able to hit moving targets at a fair distance, even with the more unreliable guns used by the military. His accuracy with a gun is unparalleled.

Growing up in a minor noble household among larger and rougher brothers, Fletcher was also given training in how to wield a sword, how to shoot a bow, and how to ride a horse. While a competent rider, his melee combat skills leave something to be desired, and his smallish body frame simply exacerbate said deficiency. He rarely carries a blade with him anyway, perhaps only a small dagger for emergency purposes. Instead, he surrounds himself with his guns.


Relationships
Miles de Villiers - older brother and minor noble, head of the de Villiers household
Samvel de Villiers - second older brother, a knight
Jon de Villiers - third older brother, a knight
Wikus de Villiers - younger brother, clergyman in the Church of Angsar

History
On paper, Fletcher owes his allegiance to the Duke of Wulfbauer, in which his family's ancestral lands sit. He had the typical upbringing of any minor noble's son: taught the ways of the sword and bow, of the arts, languages, history. He excelled in the academic portions of his tutelage but was less than proficient when it came to learning how to be a knight. Two of his older brothers became knights on their own merits, but it was evident from an early age that Fletcher would not join them.

Noticing that young Fletch had a knack for sciences and mathematics, his father was quick to ship the young lad off to Uthlyn for the college there, in order to spare his family the disgrace of having a son who was of no use to their duke's military needs. At the college, Fletcher was quickly taken under the wing of the master gunsmiths, many of whom were either part of the intellectuals who pioneered the emergence of guns in Connlaoth, or who had studied under such masters. The young man was taught alchemy so as to understand the mysteries behind blackpowder, mathematics to understand the physics and geometries of firing a gun, engineering to unlock the secrets of design. He excelled in all of these areas and, under the watchful eyes of his masters, became a gunsmith savant in his own right. His first major design change to the regular wheel-lock rifle added fifty feet to its effective range. His next innovation reduced the weight of a gun by a noticeable amount. Even his artistic talents did not go unnoticed: his intricately carved guns sported very minute details to them. Eventually, even the richest of nobles (and even several Dukes) commissioned him to craft custom guns for them with carved stocks to reflect their personal house insignias. For some years, Fletcher's renown grew among the Connlaoth elite, and he made quite a bit of coin for his work.

The first signs that the brewing unrest of the civil war was reaching even him occurred, several years after the death of the Grand Duke. In the streets of Uthlyn, not a city block away from the high tower of the college, he was the victim of an attempted kidnapping, presumably to make use of his talents for gunsmithing for whatever nefarious purposes these men had. They were well armed, obviously paid by some noble or another. But their black cloaks and leathers could not stop Fletcher from shooting all of them down with the very guns he was about to deliver to a local customer. Since then, random violence in Uthlyn has increased dramatically amidst talk of full-out war, and Fletcher has been careful to carry with him plenty of lead balls, blackpowder, and at least a handful of small wheel-lock pistols. The last thing he wants is a repeat of that night: that his ability to craft a fine gun be used as part of the war effort.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
Fun with Guns and Bombs
Don't Swim Against the Current

Complete Threads

Alright, against my better judgment I'm starting one of these art threads.

Disclaimer: I don't own a scanner (nor do I know how to draw with pencils). I also don't own a stylus. Which means everything you see in this thread is drawn with my fingers on a tiny tablet. You have been warned!


Without further ado, Fingerpainting presents...

As the red morning sun dawned over the sprawling city of Essyrn, for the briefest of moments there was a still hush in the air, as if every collective breath within the Desert Jewel was held. And then, a shrill shriek pierced the air from behind the silk-draped balcony of an alabaster wall overlooking the Niafi River. City guards patrolling the streets below the estate stopped in their tracks and peered up incredulously, unsure of what they just heard. Then a second scream broke the silence and a veiled concubine burst through the silk, screaming hysterically.

"MURDER! OH HAKESHNA, MURDERRRR!"

The nearby town bazaar was abuzz with chatter in whispers that morning. Could it be true? More than one witness has heard the girl screaming, and even now the estate of Fazir El-Atwah was being swarmed with armed men and even more armed guards. They had ruthlessly scoured the surrounding neighborhood for signs of the perpetrator, and even waded into the waters of the blessed River to find the killer. They found nothing.

The so-called Bread King had been found sprawled in the middle of his massive feather mattress, stark naked in his opulence, fingers covered in gold rings and gold chains and pendants wrapped around his neck. Everything about him was covered in gold, silver, and diamonds: the bedposts, the ottomans, the chairs fit for a shah. And the gold-hilted dagger plunged deep through his heart.

All of the local merchants conferred with one another before the opening of the market, to discuss how to proceed in the wake of such shocking violence. El-Atwah, the Bread King, was one of the richest men in the city of Essyrn, controlling nearly all of the wheat imports from abroad. He had a stranglehold on the food supply of the people, and had made a very tidy profit from his monopoly. But now that he was dead...

The murder had come just days after an up-and-coming grain factor had been found dead in the alleyways behind the red light district, his throat slashed from ear to ear. The young man had been considered an upstart in the city's extensive trade network, and had posed the greatest threat to the Bread King's dominance over the city's wheat supply. Now that the two of them had gone the way of their ancestors, uncertainty in the marketplace had everybody nervous.

So it was little surprise that nobody noticed the stranger in the marketplace that morning, wandering from booth to booth but never inspecting the wares nor spending the coin on anything. He stopped between two booths selling exotic plants purported to have magical healing properties, but his amber-gold eyes seemed so very disinterested in what the sellers had to offer. Their pitches fell on deaf ears, and their scowls at his retreating back were met with nothing but silent disregard. None of them could remember much of the man's face though, other than those gold eyes of his.

Finally, the Stranger stopped at a small tent where a local baker was selling his freshly baked offerings, ironically made from the same grain bought from the Bread King. The Stranger bought a single loaf and paid for it in coin before taking it over to a nearby fountain and sitting on its edge. Cowl pulled over his head, he sat there motionless, staring down at it.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: --
Aliases: Ten-Thousand-Winds, The Stranger, Kassim, El-Lion, Tahar, Achmed, Imad, Karim, Ghassan, Pavel, and a hundred others
Age: Over 200, but looks 30
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Essyrni
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 185 lbs
Occupation: Cursed assassin
Birthplace: Essyrn

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
The man is tall and lithe, but his lean muscularity is obvious even beneath the thick swathe of robes draped over his torso. His clothing consists mostly of deep earthy colors, perhaps hints of green and tan amongst the brown. His sleeves are large, almost enveloping, but often than not they're at least pulled back up to his forearms. Occasionally a headscarf covers his head and features.

His features are distinctly Essyrni: curling black hair around umber skin, a pointed nose, thin lips. The face is a conundrum: at times he seems quite handsome, at other times quite homely, and more often than not his features seem indiscernible, almost generic. The one thing that stands out though, are his eyes. His orbs are an incredible gold-amber color in stark contrast with his darker skin and even darker hair.

Personality
Once he was brash and confident in his abilities, but loathing of having to live a life of servitude. Since he lost his True Name to the djinn and found his talents essentially being loaned out, he has become incredibly paranoid and lonesome. He keeps mostly to himself, often preferring to tend to a plant that he cultivates with care and love. While he does occasionally and accidentally lower his guard and befriend someone, invariably he loses contact with that person when the djinn gives his True Name to yet another vengeful wishmaster seeking someone's death, forcefully compelling him to travel the breadth of the land to find his target.

On occasion, though, his former self really comes to bear. Even years of reflection and introspection can sometimes give way to his former arrogant self. Those bursts of livelihood within the man rare indeed.

While very reflective of the loss of his True Name, it has not stopped the Stranger from continuing to do what he does best: kill people for money. He doesn't openly advertise his skills anymore, nor does he go looking for work. Rather, a select few people have heard of one of his aliases, Kassim, and know of places to leave messages to contact him. He does not always return the contact, and if he does it is never right away. But the pattern has become a familiar: Kassim arrives in town, people die, and then the man vanishes.

Magic/Abilities
The man is gifted with an ability to change his face, and even blend in with his surroundings like a chameleon. Whether this unnatural ability is magical or otherwise isn't fully known or understood, but it certainly suits his personality and his line of work to a tee. There's little wonder why he is so unrecognizable in a crowd, and why people who have met him before can never seem to recall such a meeting. His face-changing abilities make him a very capable assassin. While his sword skills are nothing spectacular, it is his ability to slip into even the most heavily guarded locales unnoticed that have people lining up to hire him.

The curse has essentially stopped the hourglass of his life, leaving him perpetually in the body of a thirty-something year old. While he certainly can be killed, something about the particulars of this curse has prevented him from ending his own life. He no longer feels the urge to eat, drink or sleep. The subtler luxuries of life are lost to him.

The Curse
The man relinquished his True Name to a deceptive djinn years ago, for the promise of immortality and the freedom to be his own man. However, doing so actually enslaved him to the whims of the djinn and anybody who knows his True Name. More than once, people approaching the djinn looking to have someone murdered have been given this assassin's True Name, and thereby given complete dominion over him. When this occurs, he feels an irresistible compulsion to seek out the promised target and murder him.

While he is compelled to complete his assassination missions, the man hates servitude more than anything else. When his task is complete, he seeks out the person who wished the murder and kills him as well, thus completing the bloody cycle. The djinn's promise of one death is binding: the man never kills anyone else while seeking out his target.

While he does not know his own True Name, having given up all rights to it years ago, people can inadvertently learn it from him through gaining the man's absolute trust. It is this reason why the man hardly ever befriends others, for fear that they learn his True Name and thereby also gain dominion over him and potentially using him for their own purposes.

Relationships
None.

History
Born El-Tahir Fahid El'essi, and born a slave, this young man was raised as part of the servant quarters in a wealthy merchant's household, with a chain around his thin neck. His upbringing was characterized by brutality and woe, though the exacting lifestyle strengthened the youth like no other could.

When he was twelve, the merchant discovered his gift for changing his features and fading into his environment even in a crowded place, and sought to utilize the boy's powers for his own good. Unscrupulous characters from all corners of the world were brought to Essyrn to teach the boy the finer points of subterfuge and murder. When he became a man, he ventured out into the dusty streets of Essyrn to ply his trade for his master, infiltrating the compounds of the merchant's most hated enemies and killing them. He became very adept at his job.

But he yearned for freedom, so much so that one hot summer evening he finally escaped the confines of his master's estate and fled into the desert. The sandworms and the sandstorms would have ended his young life then, if not for his accidental stumbling across a cave that housed a trickster djinn. The desert spirit asked the man what he wanted most in life, and he answered: an eternity of freedom from the mortal bonds of servitude. The djinn granted this wish in exchange for his True Name. When he left that cave, he didn't know who he was, but knew that he was free.

Venturing back into Essyrn he found that nobody recognized him or remembered him. Elated, he settled down as a pottery maker in the slums of the city, intent on living a life of anonymity. It did not last long. The Djinn almost immediately doled out his True Name to another wishmaster who seeked the death of a longtime enemy. Compelled by the dominion over his True Name, the young man made his way across the city in the middle of the night, crept into the man's chambers, and murdered him. On the way out he encountered two surprised guards but managed to flee before they could catch him. When asked about this mysterious assassins, the guards were at a loss for an explanation. One said "He blew past us so quickly and so suddenly, like ten thousand winds gusting from the southern desert."

From that day, the man was known only as Ten-Thousand-Winds to the Essyrni, a nameless, faceless assassin. Nobody could figure out who he was, but whenever he returned town people died. The wishmaster who had prayed for that first murder was found dead soon after. For years the cycle continued: a man was murdered, and then soon after his rival (presumably the one who prayed to the Djinn for the murder) was also dead.

Since those early days, the assassin has left the boundaries of Essyrn and has traveled the length of the world, an unwilling pawn to the whims of whoever holds his True Name at the time. He has killed commoners, merchants, nobles, lords, even a Shah. While the man longs for the day that he can retrieve his True Name from the Djinn and end this farce of a life, until then he is at the mercy of fate, unable to settle down for long.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
Crumbs from the Bread King
Twisting Thorns

Complete Threads

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Jocelyn Sebastien Arhain III
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Serenian
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 175 lbs
Class: Noble
Occupation: Artifact Collector & Cataloguer, Cultural Liason, Scholar, Explorer
Residence: His birthplace is Arca, but his residence is the world.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Jocelyn is a handsome man who, if dressed properly, would easily not look out of place in a High Lord's ball room. Tall and lithe with a swimmer's body, his hair, light and yellow as the sun, falls to just the nape of his neck and curls around his ears. He has the strong jawline and pert nose that runs in his bloodline: one might say that he is a spitting image of his grandfather. His eyes though... while others of his family have flashing amber eyes, Jocelyn's are faded over with an opaque milkiness that can only signal his blindness. More often than not a thin white cloth is tied around his orbs, a cloth that seems to itself shimmer like an ethereal mist.

His attire depends on where he is currently located. While at home in Arca his wardrobe consists, naturally, of fine silks and lightweight fabrics, tailored to perfectly fit his lithe but muscled frame. The status of his family name affords him the sort of pampering that comes with wealth and renown.

He rarely returns home to be able to make use of such decadence, however. Mostly traveling the world, he has become accustomed to donning local garb. It is not uncommon to see him bundled up in swathes of robes that would otherwise look out of place if not for the popularity of such fashion in the current locale.

Personality
Unlike several of his older siblings and other members of his extended family, and unlike other members of the upper-echelon class to which his family belongs, Jocelyn is more reserved and unassuming in personality. He's a fine conversationalist and polite enough when he needs to be, but he much prefers to be out of the limelight. The exception must be when the conversation turns to the study and collection of ancient artifacts. An avid scholar and an eager explorer, he can become quite charismatic when it comes to his line of work. He loves learning the customs and languages of foreign people, and can always be counted upon to serve as an interpreter or liason with some foreign dignitary.

On more than one occasion he has been attached to either small military excursions or diplomatic exchanges, mostly for his expertise in unique cultures and magical artifacts. Despite his disability, Jocelyn is as brave and intrepid as they come. He travels willingly with such contingents, dispensing advice about magic and about the local culture of magic when needed. He's willingly engaged in fights before, especially when whatever band he travels with finds itself in trouble (though he'll be the first to tell you that he's not exactly the best person to rely upon in a fight).

His blindness remains the one topic that seems to have a negative effect on Jocelyn. He is very much aware of the limitations of his blindness, and can sometimes be goaded into taking unnecessary risks and challenges just to prove that he is as capable as a man with two, or even one good eye. His natural curiosity only adds to this problem. In addition, this chip on his shoulder seems to drive him even harder in his line of work. His father is the curator of the largest archive of magical items in Arca, and Jocelyn has eagerly followed in the man's footsteps.

Magic/Abilities
Jocelyn, though blind since birth, was born with an innate ability to sense and feel magical energies whether they be in people or stored away in artifacts. This gift allows him to study magic in a way that others are unable to do: he can "see" magic the way others might read. He senses complex patterns in the composition of enchantments that normal scholars of magic can only dream of doing.

His blindness has also enhanced the rest of his regular senses, as they often do with blind children. Jocelyn hears just a little bit better, and has just that extra refinement in his senses of taste and smell, than the average man.

The cloth that is often tied around his eyes is imbued with magical properties as well. An ancient magical item taken from deep within the vaults of Arca's archives, the blindfold ironically allows its user to "see" the outlines of shapes and objects around them. Because it only grants its wearer a general perception of the world around, it does not fully cure one of blindness. Nor can it decipher colors (a concept Jocelyn still does not understand) or read words printed on a page. All he can see is the outline of the book itself.

Lately Jocelyn has been practicing with a short sword, sometimes a necessity considering how often he finds himself alone in the wilderness, or attached to military outposts. Given the limitations of his blindness, he is only a passable swordsman with his blindfold on, and completely helpless without it.

Relationships
Jocelyn Arhain II: Jocelyn's father, and the curator of Arca's largest and most important archive of magical artifacts. The man in whose footsteps Jocelyn follows, though the two personalities are decidedly different. Jocelyn's father, while also an avid scholar, is more traditionally shrewd and calculating, like most upper-class families.

Andrei: Jocelyn's older brother, and firstborn of the family.
Katriona: Jocelyn's older sister.
Erissa: Jocelyn's younger sister, a budding mage.

History
The Arhain family has always been considered an important name in the political and familial intrigue of Arca, if not Serendipity itself. While the family's holdings are nothing compared to those of the most powerful families of the High Lords, it is the family's role as guardian and curator of the city's largest and most important magical archive that cements its status within the community. Arhains have increased the archive's vaults for the better part of seven generations, with every child at least expected to contribute to the cataloguing and collecting of magic for it. The latest curator of the Archives is Jocelyn Arhain II.

The man had three children, the first two of which were born without any magical abilities but also without any significant bodily defects. The youngest, however, was born blind. The surgeons and healers thought that a complex spell to heal the infant of that milkiness marring the traditionally amber eyes of the family could be fatal. Unwilling to possibly subject his youngest child and namesake to an early grave, the Curator sent the healers away.

Raising a blind infant is a difficult task, even for a family as well-resourced as the Arhains. Luckily, the Archives held thousands upon thousands of magical artifacts, each one catalogued carefully, with every magical property of the item explicitly detailed. It was here that the elder Jocelyn procured for his son the Cloth, an ancient rune-imbued artifact that would at least allow his son some limited vision, if not perfectly correct it. Through the ingenious use of block letters carved out of marble, the family governess was able to teach young Jocelyn to write, though he would never be able to read words on a traditional page.

What the boy could read though, was much more valuable to the Arhains and the Archives. He had an innate ability to sense other magic, both within people and within objects. He could "see" patterns in the intricately woven patterns of enchantments, and could identify the magical properties of an object much quicker than the traditional scholars they employed. Just being near another mage, he could almost instantly tell the general umbrella of abilities they possessed, and the means in which they produced magic. Even the most learned of mages considered him a prodigy in the study of the arcane, and many flocked to Arca to work with the youngster in unlocking the mysteries of the past.

As Jocelyn grew up, he became more and more intrigued by the winds of magic and how they blew. The work with his father entranced him, so much so that he often neglected his other duties as an Arhain, mainly to make appearances at social functions thrown by other noble houses and by the High Lords. Daughters from upper-class houses found him intriguing, some because he had a handsomeness to him that ran in the family, but most because he somehow always seemed to be distracted by his studies when he should've been paying attention to their pretty dresses and spiced perfumes. At the age of seventeen, before a match could be made for Jocelyn, he set out from home to further satisfy his own inquisitiveness and yearning for knowledge. His father disapproved in public, but privately he was eager to watch his youngest bring his Archives into a new period of enlightenment and growth.

Since then, Jocelyn has traveled to the corners of the world in the study of magic and the collection of magical artifacts. Whenever he finds something of incredible arcane power, or some artifact that holds clues as to how people of old lived in harmony with magic, he studies it incessantly. Once he has decided that he's completely unlocked the secrets to a magical item, he sends it back to Arca, where it can be added to the vaults.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads
Like Taking Candy from a...Corpse
Oh, My Goddess!

Complete Threads

What types of plots are you interested in playing?
I like to keep an open mind plotwise. Anything from political intrigue to old-fashioned adventuring, from a long-winded conversation to a no-holds-barred brawl. My favourite games are those with lots of human emotion and personality building. Feel free to contact me with ideas!

What types of plots are you not interested in playing?
My line is drawn at stories that have no value other than pure smut. I'm also not really interested in plots with god-type characters.

How often can you reply to any given thread?
I won't lie, I'm a very busy person. That being said, I'll try to reply within the week at the longest. If a particular reply may take longer than that, I will certainly let you know.

EDIT: due to the need to be an adult, the above timeframes may be even longer.  I'll still make a good faith effort to reply to my threads in a timely manner.

What is the longest you're willing to wait for a reply to a thread?
I understand that other people also have their own business to deal with. Take as much time as you want.

Are you open to RPing over instant messengers? If so, what's the best way to contact you and what times are you generally available?
I actually came here after over ten years of interactive chat roleplaying. I needed the switch because I don't have the time to sit and throw posts back and forth for hours anymore. If you really have the need to do so, throw me a PM and we might be able to work something out, but for the time being it's highly unlikely.

Are you open to post volleying?
Again, the whole time issue comes into play. And again, PM me to potentially set something up. No guarantees.

Anything else?
Just wanted to emphasize my heavy workload IRL. If I'm ever slow in replying, please don't take it personally.


What are you limits regarding powerplay/godmoding?
(For instance, do you mind if someone grabs your character? Picks them up? Punches them?)

Sometimes a story works a lot better with minor controlling of other characters, like picking them up and giving them a good bonk on the head. If you really feel it necessary, and it's within reason, I'm all for it. I have lots of respect for other gamers. If need be, I'll reciprocate within reason. I do draw the line at godlike machinations, or instant-death shenanigans and anything of that sort.

What are your limits in regards to romantic situations?

If it fits within a storylines and the two characters are compatible, I'm all for it. They can either be prearranged or can occur organically, I have no problems with either one. Again, if it's purely for smut, I decline.

What are your limits in regards to sex?

Aside from things that have absolutely no value story-wise, I am open to being as explicit or implicit as my writing partner. My PM box is always open if you need to clarify the level to which a thread might get graphic. That being said, if my writing partner is below the age of 18, then for obvious reasons I'm going have to strongly insist that we imply it at the most.

What are your limits in regards to pregnancy within plots?

I have no issue here. Again, the PM box is always open if my writing partner wants to plot one out, or wants to make sure it's okay.

What are your limits in regards to violent scenes?

Again, it all depends on how graphic my writing partner wants to get. I will defer to their wants and needs, but I am able to get reasonably detailed.

What are your limits in regards to abuse/rape in plots?

The same applies here as it does with sex. If you're below 18, it has to be implied. Otherwise, it's up to you, whether you want these sort of plotlines in the thread. I will never initiate something without first discussing it through PMs.

Are you okay with characters being transformed against their will?

I'd rather this not happen without my knowledge. But a little informed consent can go a long way, so do let me know!

What about healing?

Minor things like cuts and bruises, I can handle. But a lot of characters I've played in the past were memorable specifically because they had injuries or disabilities that played directly into their personalities and stories. I'd rather not have a crippled character suddenly healed. It kind of ruins the character.

Anything else?

My favorite ice cream is green tea. This has no relevance game-wise, but thought you should know.

__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Aryn "the Ironhand" Ohlund
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Connlaothian
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 250 lbs
Occupation: Sword for Hire
Residence: On the road

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description:
Ironhand is built like an ox, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a neck that seems to disappear into his torso. He's a homely looking man: large nose that's slightly crooked from being broken so many times, flashing green eyes, a devilish grin. His blonde hair is cropped close to his head, and an immaculately kept beard graces his square chin, except for the few patches where scars prevent the hair from growing.

He wears the typically mismatched armor of a mercenary, mostly comprised of leathers and buckles over a clean linen shirt, and a polished skull cap when he decides to wear it. A long grey cloak is fastened to his shoulders and drapes down his back, nearly to the ground. An assortment of weapons line his body, as expected. Several daggers strapped to his chest, maybe one or two more in his boot. A long-handled axe sits comfortably in a loop around his waist. He carries a thick wooden shield with him.

The most noticeable thing about this man has to be his right arm, which is completely missing from just below the elbow. In its place is a heavy metal prosthetic arm, strapped to the stump and to his shoulder with a complicated array of belts. Thick slotted metal fingers are designed to fit nicely into his shield. Clearly the prosthetic is the source of his name and reputation.

Personality:
Aryn the Ironhand can be loud and boisterous when he needs to be, but also aloof when he needs to be (though doing so is difficult for him). He's never afraid to back down from a challenge, evident from his missing limb and the amount of scars he's accumulated over a short lifetime. He's friendly to those who impress him with their skills and abilities, those who cut him a good deal (the man loves to haggle), and even those who can put up a good fight.

He prides himself in his own abilities as a capable fighter, and especially prides himself in the reputation he's gathered around taverns and inns, where many mercenaries find work. The nickname "Ironhand" has become almost a symbol for him, to the point where he takes great care in maintaining his image and his renown. The Ironhand has become synonymous with competence and a fair price.

Even despite his upbringing, Aryn remains a deeply religious man, wearing a small symbol of Angsar around his neck and praying to the God on a nightly basis.

Magic/Abilities:
The man very proficiently wields an axe-and-shield combination, honed over years living as a mercenary for hire. He's also not too bad of a knife thrower, though perhaps not the best. The additional tactical advantages granted by having an arm made of iron are also not lost on him. He's been known to bash a man in the teeth with it, or throw it across a tavern at an insulting drunk.

Relationships:
Aside from several barmaids across the land that have become captivated with tales of the Ironhand, he has no meaningful relationships.

History:
Born in the slums around Reajh, little Aryn really had no expectations of greatness or even of longevity. His upbringing was typical of those in his position: claw out a living however he and his family could. As a young man he learned the value of money and the importance of keeping a tight grip on every single coin he could. His adolescence was punctuated by street fights and small-time burglaries, the result of one such failed attempt which lost him two fingers from his right hand.

When he finally made it out of the city alive, he fell in with a crowd of wandering vagabonds, learning how to earn his keep by selling his natural strength and his ever growing ability with an axe. When he was twenty three, he was involved in a bloody melee between his gang and a group of bandits on the high road that left him with a severed right arm and an imminent meeting with his maker. A quick thinking surgeon brought him back from the abyss by cauterizing the wound with a red-hot poker. When he recovered, Aryn understood that he could not let such an injury slow him in his tracks, as he really had no other marketable skills of which to speak.

His first prosthetic arm was fashioned out of wood and was ill-fitting, to the point where it left rashes and splinters in the stump of his right arm. It was that first wooden arm though, along with the scars on his face, that had merchants believing him to be a grizzled old veteran of the roads. With the coin he gained from those first excursions, he was able to hoard enough to afford an upgrade to his prosthesis. The limbs increased in quality and in practicality as he earned enough to replace each. Along with the improvement to his arm, he also saw a marked improvement to his reputation as a sellsword. Today, if one asks around in any tavern around the nation, there is guaranteed to be at least one drunk who's heard of the Ironhand.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name: Luc Linden
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Connlaothian
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 180 lbs
Occupation: dissident mage
Residence: A tiny village called Knightsbridge, in southern Connloath along the border with Serendipity

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
He has a face that once might have been considered passable if not handsome, but for the effects of time. Nowadays the wrinkles of a furrowed brow sit atop piercing, calculating green eyes. His semi-curling dark brown hair, slightly streaked with grey at the temples, is mostly neatly kept, save the few disheveled strands that refuse to cooperate like the others. He has a strong jawline, a defined nose, and a day's growth of beard on his chin. If one looks close enough, one might identify a slight discoloration and disfiguration of the skin beneath and behind his left ear, though it's mostly covered by his hair.

Physically he a well-built man of a slim but tall frame. He carries himself well, standing straight enough to be distinguishable from within a crowd, but also with enough of a relaxed stature that he could just as easily lose himself in the same crowd. The clothing draped over his torso are the type one might find in any village or township: a simple linen shirt underneath a warm wool coat, perhaps a cap if the weather is particularly cold.

Personality
If there is a word that describes Linden, it most certainly has to be manipulative. He plays the part of a congenial man and mentor well enough, his natural charm and demeanor helpful in building (or coercing) the relationships he needs with the people around him. But he can just as easily be quick to anger and to show a more volatile, sociopathic and misanthropic side. He can be equal parts heart and heartless.

His entire life, he has struggled with his own need for superiority and selfishness, and the contrasting effect that it has on those with whom he surrounds himself. The man is not above lying for his own sake and, to a lesser extent, those he needs for his own uses. He is certainly not above sending his own people in to accomplish the goals he has set for himself, relying solely on the fact that he's built enough of a facade so that the ones he does sacrifice do so out of a misguided sense of loyalty and friendship. While he does occasionally show flashes of a genuinely softer side, it is often his purpose-driven nature that overrides any want of family and camaraderie.

Ultimately, the man is a mystery, a conundrum. Nobody can ever be sure whether or not he has aligned himself to a faction or to a cause. Nobody can even be sure if he truly fights for magi equality, or if he has his own secretive ambitions hidden beneath his purported causes. Those who are loyal to him, are loyal because of the honey he has poured in their ears.

Magic/Abilities
Linden is very adept in illusionary magic, very appropriate to his chameleon-like personality. He is able to manipulate the senses of those around him to suit his needs, and can trick others into believing things that either are not true, or are not real. His power of persuasion is helped by his ability to fool the senses, but is mostly a product of his conniving nature.

He has also become something of an expert in the art of inscribing runes, granting magical properties to otherwise mundane objects. While exiled to Serendipity, he spent a number of years learning the art while feigning apprenticeship as a runesmith. Lately he has begun experimenting with inscribing runes onto living flesh, both experimentally and in an attempt to find a way to bypass the magic-dampening effects of the Mordecai.

Physically he is a strong man who knows how to use a sword, though not at any real level of martial skill. He is known to keep a dagger at his belt, half for protection and half to carve his dinner meat.

Relationships
He had a daughter, who is since deceased. He does not know whether the mother of his child still lives or not, nor has he much drive to uncover such mysteries.

History
Luc Linden was born into a family of merchants in the eastern fringes of Connlaoth. His father, while not noble by any sense of the word, had amassed enough money for his family to live quite comfortably in a quaint little village some beaten paths off the main roads crossing the kingdom. It was at a young age that he discovered his ability to channel the magical energies forbidden by the laws of the land. Intelligent even at a young age, he knew to keep such things to himself, lest the local church snatch him away from his family and indoctrinate him in the ways of Angsar. His mother passed away from a winter chill when he was fourteen, and his father left for business one day and never returned, presumably lost to the bandit-filled roads leading inland. With nothing left in his town for him, he too left to find his own way in the world.

Travelling west along the roads and earning his keep however he could, Luc quickly became quite adept as both a confidence trickster and as an imposter, lying whenever he needed some extra coin or an extra loaf of bread. When he was twenty-two, he impersonated a wealthy merchant (like his father had once been) and became involved in a tryst with the daughter of a local wheat baron, impregnating her. The fiery romance could never last, he knew, and when the girl gave birth to a daughter, he used all of his tricks and magics to sneak into the estate and steal away his child. Keeping his magic hidden could not last forever: he became a wanted man, as a mage and as a kidnapper, with a hefty price on his head. Fleeing south, he was able to smuggle himself and his daughter out of Connlaoth and into Serendipity. There, he once again posed himself as whatever personality he needed to be in order to survive. Through his own resourcefulness, he was able to settle down as an apprentice to a runesmith.

The circumstances behind his daughter's birth could not have been kept secret forever, however. Too often he lied to her about her heritage and her origins. Too often he lied to her about himself. When she grew older, and found that she herself had the powers of magic, she undertook it upon herself to discover her roots. The fallout between father and daughter was less than cordial, and the girl, now seventeen, packed her bags and headed north back into Connlaoth to find herself. Linden, back turned, let her go without a word.

Several years passed, and the rift between father and daughter seemed to have at least narrowed slightly, if not completely mended. He occasionally received letters from her, detailing her search for her truth, and her astonishment at the way mages were treated by the general populace. The last of her letters detailed her commitment as an activist, to combat the deplorable treatment that mages received from those in power. After that, no more letters arrived.

A year after the last letter, Luc finally decided to trek back to the land of his birth, in an effort to find his now-missing daughter. It took the better part of a year to sneak his way back into Connlaoth through treacherous mountain passes and tunnels that had not been maintained for years. The patrols of Mordecai had increased tenfold since he'd last set foot upon the land, and the anti-mage sentiments had festered into something cancerous. Through this now hostile landscape he trekked, investigating the whereabouts of his daughter. Most of the people he asked did not know her, but some did. The trail of clues finally led him to a church of Angsar very near where he'd once stolen a baby from a baron's daughter. It was here that he learned from the priest that the girl he sought had been dead for some years, betrayed by another mage and given over to the hands of a high-ranking Mordecai. Whatever they'd done to her had been too much for the human body to handle. They'd hung her corpse in the town square for other dissidents to see. When enough time had passed, they'd buried her in a shallow grave outside of town.

That night, he stood in the darkness before his daughter's unmarked grave as a light rain pattered down upon his head. The rest of the night was a blur in his mind, but eventually he found that he had dug down to the wooden crate in which they'd placed his daughter. There was nothing left of her save the few possessions with which she had been buried: some worthless trinkets, a copper bauble. He took these up and left the town, never to return.

Since then, he has found his way to a small village called Knightsbridge, on the southern perimeter of Connlaoth. The village comprises of twenty or so families, plus individual residents. It's been whispered that the residents of the town are all mage sympathizers, helping to smuggle fleeing and persecuted people into Serendipity, away from the bloodshed that has since gripped the kingdom. It's also been whispered that the small town council, on which Luc Linden now sits, leads its residents in an underground resistance against those who would see mages exiled or killed. For his part, it is unclear whether Luc truly believes in the cause, or whether he is simply biding his time and gathering his resources to be able to exact his revenge on those who murdered his flesh and blood, whether they be mages or not.

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There's no ending to that joke, really.

My name is Cambie, a 26-year-old second year law student, originally from Vancouver but recently relocated to New York City. I've been roleplaying for about 13 years now, mostly through chat-based interactive story RP. This will be my first foray into forum roleplaying, but I specifically needed the switch because it comports with my schedule a whole lot better than chat-based RP (which can take hours at a time). I mostly played in very controlled settings with little to no magical influence, so this transition into a more open world will be both challenging and exciting. I read the background material for this site and really do look forward to being to exercise my creativity.

I haven't given a whole lot of thought to a specific character as of yet, but I've been browsing the Civil War material and think that I might make a character for that storyline. Perhaps a mage who runs an underground to get other mages to safety. His mage status and his activities would put him directly at odds with the status quo, but his questionable character would have other mages questioning his motives, methods, and personal agenda. Maybe a specialization in illusionary magic to go along with the whole vibe of untrustworthiness.

Of course, I'm brand new to all of this, so any suggestions for characters would be welcome. Also, since this IS the exam season (and law school is a doozy), I won't really be actively involved in anything until at least the 20th, my last final. But I do promise to pop in now and then to further develop something playable.

Anyway, I look forward to meeting all of you. Cheers.