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train · 2.2k rows

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22,700	653	14	179	5,683	Desalith a d'abord vu Oryx rendre hommage à la chute, puis a entendu Cerwis chanson. Eh bien, l'hommage fait partie intégrante de cette réunion. Il se souvint avec affection et tristesse en particulier son ami Concara ; ils avaient appris de l'autre des racines différentes. Il se joignit à Oryx à l'extérieur, leva sa propre coupe, et la versa au même endroit. "Reste en paix, vieux amis." Comme il pensait à ses vieux amis, d'autres pensées empiétaient. Les plus sombres. Des images de ce qu'il a vu dans l'esprit de Necromancer... des images de... mal... Il secoua la tête pour dissiper les pensées, mais elles s'attardèrent encore, et cela le trouble.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,701	653	15	2,540	72	Martox regarda un peu et termina sa boisson en écoutant les autres converser. Il sourit à l'intérieur, voyant comment, bien que dix ans se soient écoulés depuis qu'ils étaient tous réunis, ils étaient tous de bons amis. Ce n'était pas comme si des étrangers se rencontraient et posaient des questions bénignes, mais plutôt des parents qui se réunissaient pour célébrer la vie et les réalisations. Il marcha jusqu'au baril de bière et se versa un autre verre. Pendant qu'il prenait une longue gorgée, il entendit Oryx rendre hommage. Martox a apporté la coupe loin de ses lèvres et a commencé à se rendre à l'extérieur près d'Oryx quand Cerwi a commencé à chanter. Les mots lui étaient étrangers, mais c'était encore évidemment ce qu'il chantait. Martox s'était souvenu de l'avoir entendu auparavant, mais il ne pouvait pas placer où. Il a commencé à humer la musique comme il se trouvait à côté d'Oryx et de Desalith. C'est pour toi, mes vieux amis. Ceux que j'ai combattus à côté d'une bataille oubliée à temps. Ceux qui étaient perdus, et ceux qui restent. Nous nous souvenons de vous, bien que la plupart ne le soient pas. Les Trois Archers, que raconte le conte, pourraient tirer 30 flèches en une seconde. Ozirys, le prêtre qui pourrait bannir tout mal. Et... bien sûr. A vous Concara. Le plus grand sorcier que j'ai jamais eu la grâce de savoir. Qui j'étais trop stupide pour être capable de sauver pour ma négligence dans la magie de guérison. Vos derniers mots, et votre équipe, resteront avec moi jusqu'à la fin des jours. Je te retrouverai dans le Grand Au-delà un jour et je te saluerai comme un vieil ami. Martox a renversé sa boisson sur le côté avec un regard solennel sur son visage et a laissé la grande majorité de celui-ci déverser dans la terre où le sol l'absorberait, tout comme il l'a fait avec le sang en ce jour fidèle. Martox s'est retourné et est rentré dans la cabine, prenant une longue dose de sa boisson et essuyant sa bouche propre après. Alors qu'il reprenait son chemin vers le baril, il tapota Cewri sur son omoplate, voyant que c'est aussi haut qu'il pouvait atteindre sans orteil. Puis il a rempli sa tasse et s'est tourné vers les héros et a dit, "Ce n'est pas un jour pour pleurer nos frères morts." Il prit une gorgée : « C'est un jour pour se souvenir d'eux et de leurs réalisations. Célébrer la vie, plutôt que de se souvenir de leur mort. » Il étendit son bras et mit sa coupe dans l'air avec un sourire, gesticulant pour eux tous à clin d'oeil ensemble et à boire.	Character Sheet Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme) Character name 44 Character age Male Race/People Tundal A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair. Appearance Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground. Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip. The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red. Traits Skills -Master in fire magic -Proficient with ice magic and lightning -Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy -Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell -Good at sneaking and stealing -Skilled with staff fighting -Good with people Flaws -Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges -Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic -Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough -Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible Personality While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer. Background Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm. He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night. In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing. After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured. Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them. Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away. Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power. Items Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
22,702	653	16	179	5,683	Une façon positive de le regarder. Desalith a claqué sa cruche avec les autres. Il a commencé à se demander où était Celeste - tout le monde était ici. Des pensées non sollicitées couvaient encore à l'arrière de son esprit, mais il les éclaircissait encore une fois. Il regardait le soleil couchant dans le ciel.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,703	653	17	2,338	426	Oryx regarda sa tasse vide, puis Martox et se haussa. En mouvement par la fenêtre, le Vanguard s'est dirigé vers le Tundal et a claqué sa coupe contre sa cérémonie. "Pas besoin de gaspiller une bonne boisson sur moi," Oryx plaisanta alors qu'il plaça sa tasse sur la table. "Tout passe par moi. Pas besoin de faire le bordel." La pile d'os a fait son chemin vers le fauteuil qu'il avait réclamé avant et a donné à tout le monde un sourire et un pouce vers le haut. Il se sentait mieux maintenant, une partie de ce poids lui a enlevé la poitrine. Il pressait encore contre lui avec la force d'une bête de montagne ivre, mais il se sentait plus léger. Il s'est souvenu des Trois Archers avec tendresse. Triplet Royal Orcs, une race plus urbanisée et intelligente d'Orcs qui avait longtemps fait la paix avec Elfes et l'homme. Tous étaient à la fin de cent quatre-vingt-dix, avec de longues barbes grises panées qui rendaient les nains ouvertement jaloux. Les Trois étaient les maîtres de leur métier, capables de déchirer les armées en quelques minutes du sommet de l'arbre en utilisant seulement leurs arcs et leur esprit. Malheureusement, l'esprit ne les protège pas des rochers géants. Dans leurs voyages, le groupe a dû faire le voyage à travers les vallées de Deadstone de Reffio, une collection massive de vallées et de chaînes de montagnes qui ont divisé les côtes de Reffio à l'extrême est. La caractéristique la plus notable des vallées de Deadstone était qu'une grande bataille entre Golems avait eu lieu il y a cent ans. De vieux corps brisés de pierre pure ont été dispersés à travers le paysage. Le Necromancer était là, et corrompait les morts-vivants dès leur arrivée. Oryx a fait de son mieux pour nettoyer et protéger les corps les plus proches d'eux, mais cela donne encore une demi-douzaine de bâtards sous son contrôle. Les Trois Archers ont combattu vaillamment, trouvant une perche obscure côté falaise pour tirer flèche après flèche à l'Undead Golems. Malgré leur habileté et leur intuition, les trois Royal Orcs sont tombés dès que l'un des Golems a levé un vieux rocher et l'a jeté sur eux. Le résultat a été...viscéral. L'idée en a fait un écureuil d'Oryx.	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,704	653	18	2,778	353	Cewri soupira et s'inclina à la suggestion de Martox. Vous avez raison.Il a atteint et scoop lui-même plus de boisson pour le toast. Il a claqué son tankard surdimensionné contre les autres, à leur mémoire. Que le monde se souvienne de ce qui ne s'effacera jamais de nos esprits et de nos cœurs. » Il descendit la moitié du tankard d'un seul coup, et le fit descendre sur la table. Il a vu Oryx squirmer. Il doit penser aux triplets. La seule chose que j'ai vue l'a rendu si mal à l'aise – même les Rawheads ne l'ont pas eu aussi mal. Il a donc décidé de changer le sujet en quelque chose qui, tout en restant préoccupant, n'était pas aussi inquiétant. Dites-moi, quand pensez-vous que Celeste va se pointer? Il faudrait tant d'ennemis pour la garder attachée qu'on l'entendrait.S'il y a quoi que ce soit, il parie qu'elle s'est coincée sur le chemin de neer-do-wells.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,705	653	19	2,497	281	Comme si sur le signal, le bruit des pas approchants a atteint la fête à la cabane. Ou plutôt, des pas étourdissants. Une seule figure s'est détachée de l'ombre sous quelques pins et est venue s'installer vers la cabane. Le clin d'oeil et le clin d'oeil de l'acier ont révélé que la personne était blindée, et la lumière pâle de la lune se reflétait d'une épée étant traînée dans la terre derrière la figure. Au fur et à mesure qu'elle s'approchait, des signes de lutte ou de bataille devinrent apparents; l'épée fut tachée d'un éclat de rouge foncé, et le sang coulait du désordre enchevêtré qui était la tête des figures. Il s'arrêta à quelques pas de la fête, se baladant lentement de cette façon et cela, avant de lever enfin son regard. Il n'y avait pas d'erreur, c'était Celeste. Et d'après les apparences, elle s'était battue récemment. Difficile. Sa main gauche pendait boiteux et inutile à ses côtés. La seule partie d'elle avec n'importe quelle forme de vigueur gauche était sa main droite, serrée si serrée autour de la poignée de son épée que ses menottes étaient blanches. Alors que l'un des héros tentait de s'opposer à elle, elle sifflait audiblement et ajoutait, murmurait à travers les dents grimacées, s'éloignait de S! Je... Je ne... Je ne peux pas... Un violent spasme traversa son corps et elle pleura de douleur. Sa tête s'est effondrée de force vers l'arrière, puis vers le côté. De là, son regard fut une fois de plus tourné contre les héros, leur donnant un regard de côté. Il y avait quelque chose d'étonnant à ce regard. Elle souriait aussi cruellement, comme si elle connaissait un secret que les gens devant elle ne faisaient pas et qu'elle se moquait d'eux pour cela. Elle a parlé encore une fois, cette fois avec une voix calme et régulière. Ok, les gars. Voyons ce que cette salope fait. Sans aucun avertissement Celeste s'élança vers l'avant, pas plus étourdissant, mais apparemment en parfaite santé, et balança son épée sur celle qui lui était la plus proche!	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,706	653	20	2,338	426	C'est vrai! Woah le regarder!, Oryx cria alors qu'il se jetait sur le côté, esquivant la lame de Celeste et regardant qu'il coupait à travers son fauteuil. Le meuble glisse en deux, plisant sur le sol avec de lourds bruits. Ça semblait impossible! Celeste ne les trahirait jamais comme ça. Qu'est-ce qu'elle voulait dire? Ça ne pouvait pas être son dernier moment avant qu'elle attaque. Le Vanguard a roulé d'une autre balançoire rapide et a saisi son bouclier alors qu'il brouillait à la porte d'entrée, le tenant contre une troisième frappe lourde. La lame de Celeste s'enflamma contre le bois béni, ne laissant qu'un petit cran. Oryx recula contre le mur, tenant sa place pour qu'il puisse mieux se défendre contre d'autres grèves. Sa lame serait inutile ici, car il ne voulait rien faire avec un autre allié mort. Pas aujourd'hui! Oryx s'est laissé utiliser comme sac de frappe de Celeste, ou celui de son marionnettiste s'il avait la bonne idée. Distribuez les pouvoirs bénis de son bouclier, chaque balançoire fêlait et attisait ses mains et ses doigts. Trop de punitions comme ça, et il ne pourrait pas tenir un jeune chaton, encore moins un bouclier. « Quelque chose se passe ici », a annoncé Oryx et il a bloqué une autre attaque brutale. "Évidemment. Veillez à ce que vous soyez amis car ce n'est pas notre Céleste, et qui que ce soit est dehors pour nos cachettes. Si l'un d'entre vous pouvait la retenir, je pense que je peux aider! »	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,707	653	21	2,540	72	Martox a posé sa coupe sur un rebord, lui-même tourné loin de la porte, alors qu'il entendait des pas commencer à entrer dans la cabine. Sans tourner Martox s'écria: "Ah! Enfin, le dernier d'entre nous nous joignons à nous! » Il s'est tourné vers Celeste, mais elle n'était évidemment pas elle-même. L'expression de Martox est rapidement passée d'un jester à un soldat, stoïque avec un mélange de soucis. Il l'a regardée de près pendant qu'elle parlait au début, semblant avoir presque du mal à le faire. Alors qu'elle a balancé son épée, scindant la chaise en deux et qu'elle a presque pris Oryx avec elle, Martox a finalement bougé. Il courut vers son sac qui était assis à côté des barils de bière et sortit Ignes et Ice et se tourna de nouveau vers Celeste, qui faisait descendre son épée sur le bouclier d'Oryx. Pas beaucoup plus de temps avant qu'Oryx ne soit dans une mauvaise voie, elle était en train de tomber dur sur lui. Martox a essayé de penser à quelque chose rapidement, il ne voulait pas blesser Celeste, mais le temps était essentiel et planifier quelque chose n'était pas un luxe qu'ils pouvaient se permettre en ce moment. Martox a fait descendre son bâton avec un twud dur au sol, étendant la glace vers les pieds de Celeste, espérant la faire glisser si elle bougeait. Il a vite couru pendant que la glace se dirigeait sous elle et a essayé de trouver un bon tir pour frapper son épée avec une boule de feu pour l'arracher de ses mains. Mais elle se déplaçait trop vite, s'attaquant à vite pour qu'il soit capable d'aligner le tir. Il ne voulait pas manquer et brûler la cabine, ou, pire encore, frapper Oryx ou un autre coéquipier. Il a décidé qu'il devrait attendre pour voir ce qui se passerait, ou jusqu'à ce qu'une autre occasion se présente pour la désarmer.	Character Sheet Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme) Character name 44 Character age Male Race/People Tundal A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair. Appearance Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground. Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip. The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red. Traits Skills -Master in fire magic -Proficient with ice magic and lightning -Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy -Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell -Good at sneaking and stealing -Skilled with staff fighting -Good with people Flaws -Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges -Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic -Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough -Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible Personality While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer. Background Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm. He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night. In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing. After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured. Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them. Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away. Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power. Items Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
22,708	653	22	179	5,683	Desalith entendit des pas s'approcher de la porte. Celeste... enfin. Il a vite remarqué que quelque chose n'allait pas. La première fois qu'elle a balancé à Oryx, ses réflexes ont frappé. Il souleva son personnel et se prépara à envoyer un boulon qui ne ferait que l'étourdir, mais au moins l'immobiliserait. Malheureusement, sa prochaine balançoire l'a frappé droit sur la poitrine. Même s'il n'était pas fatal, il suffisait de frapper Desalith à l'envers dans une chaise, ce qui lui donnait un faux-fils presque comique qui lui entormait la cheville et lui frappait la tête sur la poitrine de la nourriture, l'étonnant.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,709	653	23	2,778	353	Cewri a été surpris d'entendre quelqu'un monter à la porte dès qu'il a mentionné Celeste. Ne réfléchissez plus à ça, je suppose. Il a réfléchi. Cewri a été surpris de voir du sang sur la lame et la tête de Celeste. Par les dieux, ce qui lui est arrivé!?, il pensait. Cewri a été surpris de voir Celeste attaquer Oryx. Il ne savait pas quoi penser. Après une demi-seconde de silence stupéfié, Cewri se leva de sa chaise – un morceau de bois, rien de tel que le inclinateur Oryx l'avait choisi – en le prenant en main pour l'utiliser comme arme. Il se joignit brièvement à l'idée de sauter pour aller chercher son épée, mais l'abandonna en un instant. Je veux la soumettre, pas la tuer. Il a failli gronder à Oryx, bien sûr que vous pouvez. Mais ne donne pas ça. Si son marionnettiste ne sait rien de ses capacités, ils n'ont peut-être pas vu cela venir non plus. Néanmoins, il n'allait pas être en mesure de la battre avec son épée se balançant autour—Desalith spectacle avait prouvé que, de sorte qu'il a choisi la ligne de conduite la plus naturelle: prendre son bras d'épée hors de la commission. Si les blessures étaient graves, Oryx pourrait la guérir après. Plongé vers l'avant avec la chaise, il s'est dirigé du côté – il ne voulait pas lui frapper la tête. La chaise était maladroite et difficile à contrôler l'arme, mais il pouvait y arriver. En supposant que l'attaque ait marché, il lâchait la chaise et grappillait Celeste afin que Oryx puisse faire sa guérison. Sinon, il resterait dans le combat avec la chaise—inwieldy ou non, il préférerait être armé contre Celeste que non.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,710	653	24	2,497	281	La chaise a frappé à la maison avec un crash et l'éclaboussure des os cassés, et a lancé Celeste dans un mur voisin. Elle criait alors qu'elle essayait de se lever, comme si c'était dur et qu'elle faisait très mal, mais son corps bougeait sans entrave. Le demi-giant l'a poussée, essayant de la battre, et une lutte intense s'ensuivit. Cewri a eu l'avantage de sa taille et de son volume, mais Celeste a mordu, griffé, frappé et s'est agenouillé contre lui sans relâche apparemment sans se fatiguer. Chaque geste a fait éclater ses os, et Cewri a pu voir la douleur exécrable se refléter sur son visage. Les autres se sont naturellement déplacés pour aider leurs amis, mais ils ont été distraits. On entendit du toit, et peu de temps après, le crépitement du feu! Une flèche errante flétrissait à travers la fenêtre et frappait le sol à l'intérieur, le morceau brûlant de toile d'huile attaché à elle mettant instantanément en feu les planches en bois sec. Quelqu'un leur tirait dessus de l'extérieur!	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,711	653	25	2,338	426	Vous vous moquez de moi, Oryx s'est plaint que des flèches enflammées commençaient à frémir contre la cabane en bois. "Le feu. Pourquoi a-t-il fallu que ce soit du feu!" Le Vanguard s'est précipité vers Cewri et Celeste, guérissant ses mains du mieux qu'il pouvait avec le focus qu'il pouvait rassembler alors qu'il aidait le grand demi-giant épingle vers le bas de la femme possédée. Oryx a posé sa main sur le visage de Celeste et a commencé à chanter, récitant tout ce qui venait à l'esprit. Le chant n'était pas tous les nessicaires, mais il avait l'impression qu'il était dans la zone plus rapide. L'énergie bleue et blanche s'est répandue dans son bras, tandis que Celeste s'est encore écrasé sous eux. L'énergie a échangé des hôtes, laissant le bras d'Oryx et entrant dans Celeste par sa bouche. J'espère que cela libérera son marionnettiste. Espérons. "Nous avons deux options," Oryx a suggéré. "Nous pouvons rester ici et mettre le feu et mettre fin à l'archer damné dehors, ou nous pouvons faire comme arbre-folk et feuille!" Juste alors une autre flèche perça par une autre fenêtre et frappa le carré d'Oryx, brisant son dos et logeant dans le vide de sa cage thoracique. L' Vanguard s'est immédiatement emparé de la flamme. Heureusement, il ne pouvait pas le sentir. "Par les Sept! Merde, je reviens tout de suite." Oryx courut jusqu'à sa cantine, complètement enflammé alors qu'il laissait de petites flammes à chaque pas. Le vieux pot d'eau était là où il l'avait laissé, juste à côté de son ancienne épée. L' Vanguard a ouvert le récipient et a versé sur lui, sans effet. "Oh, murmura-t-il, c'est étrange."	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,712	653	26	2,497	281	De vieux tours pour vieux chiens! Celeste a crié dans le visage d'Oryx, mais ça ne te fera pas de bien ici! Un symbole étrange a commencé à briller rouge chaud sur le côté de son cou. La femme s'est mise à convulsionner et à vomir du sang partout sur Cewri et tout le monde s'est battu pour la retenir. À l'extérieur, de faibles cris de shrill retentissaient sur le plateau, sonnant comme du goblin à l'oreille entraînée. Plusieurs autres flèches ont frappé le toit de la cabine, quelques-unes se trouvant à l'intérieur par la fenêtre ouverte. La fumée avait commencé à remplir la pièce, ce qui rendait difficile de voir et de respirer. La situation devenait désespérée.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,713	653	27	2,540	72	Martox regarda que Celeste était épinglé aussi par le grand demi-giant. Il a laissé un demi soupir de soulagement, pensant que le procès était presque terminé. Mais, alors qu'il commençait à se détendre, le toit s'est enflammé. Il a rapidement pointé son personnel vers le plafond et a commencé à l'utiliser dans la glace. Au fur et à mesure que les feux commençaient à s'évanouir, d'autres flèches commencèrent à s'introduire, mettant ainsi de plus en plus d'incendies. C'était trop d'essayer d'arrêter, alors Martox a tourné son attention vers l'Oryx toujours enflammé. Il courut vers son compagnon désossé et posa ses mains sur lui, l'eau se mit à dégouliner son corps, éteindre les feux qui commençaient à l'engloutir. Il toussait dur et ses yeux commencèrent à arroser : « Il faut sortir avant que la fumée et les flammes ne nous emportent. » Il a envoyé une rafale de vent à travers la maison, adoucissant la fumée pendant quelques instants. Martox s'est emparé de son sac et s'est enfui vers Cewri. Je vais la tenir ici pour l'instant, mais je ne pense pas pouvoir la déplacer seule. » Il a pointé son bâton vers le bas sur la poitrine de Celeste, priant qu'elle n'essaie pas de bouger ou de s'enfuir. Il ne voulait pas lui faire de mal, mais il n'hésiterait pas à essayer de l'assommer si nécessaire. Il a remarqué qu'un symbole commence à apparaître sur son cou, avant qu'il ne puisse inspecter de plus près, mais la fumée a commencé à brouiller sa vision une fois de plus.	Character Sheet Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme) Character name 44 Character age Male Race/People Tundal A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair. Appearance Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground. Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip. The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red. Traits Skills -Master in fire magic -Proficient with ice magic and lightning -Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy -Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell -Good at sneaking and stealing -Skilled with staff fighting -Good with people Flaws -Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges -Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic -Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough -Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible Personality While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer. Background Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm. He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night. In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing. After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured. Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them. Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away. Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power. Items Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
22,714	653	28	179	5,683	Desalith gémit alors qu'il s'empare du sol. Tomber sur une chaise et avoir une douleur sur sa cheville n'était pas une bonne façon de commencer un combat. A peine s'il s'était levé, une flèche est passée par le plafond et a allumé la chaise sur le feu. Il a aussi vu Oryx prendre feu. Sors d'ici! Il s'est mis à l'abri de la porte, se préparant à pleuvoir l'enfer électrique sur tout ennemi qui avait tiré sur les flèches.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,715	653	29	2,778	353	C'est pas vrai. Cela a besoin de mettre un terme au rapide — Les pensées de Cewri ont été interrompues par le sol attrapant le feu. Il maudit avec colère en plusieurs langues. Il a été soulagé quand Oryx est venu, mais les mots envoyés à travers Celeste par son marionnettiste a indiqué clairement que ce que c'était que Oryx vient de faire n'allait pas travailler. Puis le symbole est apparu sur son cou. Il était couvert de sang. Son sang... Distrayant tel qu'il était, il était encore un linguiste habile, et même si c'était loin de sa spécialité, et il n'avait pas le temps ou le soin de traduire – ce dernier étant uniquement concentré sur tenir le maintenant céleste avec sang Céleste encore – il l'a reconnu comme Goblin. La fumée s'épaississait. Il faut qu'on parte d'ici.[/i] La suggestion de Martox était comme un souffle d'air frais, et avec un clin d'œil, il laissa Celeste à sa garde. Il avait été sur le sol, mais maintenant sa tête était beaucoup plus près du toit. La fumée était épaisse autour de sa tête. Il s'est vite enfui pour voir, sinon à peine. Il retailla son épée à sa taille, et jeta son manteau — heureusement sans brûlures — autour de lui et sur lui. Avant de faire de même avec son sac, il l'ouvrit et sortit une bobine de corde et un boulon de tissu. Il était rapidement de nouveau du côté de Celeste, et la liait avec la corde. Si Oryx ne pouvait pas la libérer, a-t-il dit, nous ne pouvons pas garantir qu'il sera capable de la guérir. Un bras cassé est déjà assez mauvais. » Une fois que les fixations ont été finies, il l'a bâillonnée avec le boulon de tissu. Peut-être qu'elle m'a mordu. Même si nous n'étions pas évidemment en train de les sortir, il y aura un combat là-bas.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,716	653	30	2,338	426	Oryx a fait de son mieux pour guérir autant de sa moelle carbonisée et a cassé la flèche logée dans son dos. La tête et l'arbre de la flèche sortaient de sa cage thoracique et débarquaient contre le sol en bois. La tête de flèche était de conception étrange, faite pour percer à travers l'armure et couper en viande et faire autant de dommages qu'il pouvait. Une chose vraiment sinistre. Le Vanguard était complètement confus. Il lui avait donné des dons par les dieux eux-mêmes, et il était inutile de libérer Celeste. C'était un pouvoir bien plus sombre que les rituels du Nécromant. Ce n'était pas bon du tout. Rien de tout ça n'était bon. Oryx s'est précipité par la porte et s'est emparé de son épée, l'empoignant fermement alors qu'il continuait à retravailler sa propre forme. Les marques noires couvrent ses os, mais il vivrait. « Le temps est de l'essence des amis », a déclaré Oryx. "Il semble que nous devons une fois combattre côte à côte. Si on voit des morts-vivants, je vous jure que je m'en vais. Immédiatement."	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,717	653	31	2,497	281	Avec Celeste qui s'écrase et s'écrase sur Cewris, le quatuor est sorti de la cabane flamboyante dans l'obscurité de la nuit. Un vol de flèches s'est immédiatement détaché d'eux de la ligne de l'arbre, à une courte distance, et s'est abattu au hasard parmi eux. Les voix des arbres étaient plus distinctes maintenant, et incontestablement goblin. On dirait que c'est peut-être une douzaine d'entre eux, ou plus. Sur le dos de Cewris, Celeste s'est encore emparé, du sang qui lui sortait du nez et des trous dans le gag improvisé.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,718	653	32	2,540	72	Martox a attendu que Cewri se ligote et prenne Celeste : « Tout le monde a son matériel? Sortons d'ici!" Il s'est vite enfui dehors. Il se tourna pour voir leur ennemi, qui tirait encore des flèches sur le chalet. Des putains de gobelins. Ils viennent toujours aux pires moments. Il a pointé son personnel vers eux et a commencé à tirer des boules de feu sur eux, en prenant quelques-uns avant qu'ils remarquent qu'ils étaient à l'extérieur maintenant. Ils ont tourné leur attention vers leurs nouvelles cibles et ont commencé à tirer sur l'équipe. Une flèche est tombée et a frappé Martox dans l'épaule gauche, "Dammit!" Il s'est concentré directement sur celui qu'il pensait avoir tiré la flèche et a commencé à pleuvoir vivant en enfer sur lui. Bientôt, le corps du goblin se trouvait dans une foule de décompositions enflammées sur le sol. Martox s'est tourné vers ses coéquipiers alors que les flèches venaient encore pour eux, "Donc... sommes-nous les combattre? Je pense que nous pourrions facilement les envoyer tous." Il regarda en arrière les flèches et commença à intercepter celles qu'il pouvait en plein air avec des pics de glace tandis que les autres décidèrent de leur plan. On doit s'occuper de Celeste. Ça prendra plus de temps à se battre ou à courir?	Character Sheet Martox Orihime (Or-eh-hyme) Character name 44 Character age Male Race/People Tundal A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair. Appearance Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground. Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip. The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red. Traits Skills -Master in fire magic -Proficient with ice magic and lightning -Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy -Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell -Good at sneaking and stealing -Skilled with staff fighting -Good with people Flaws -Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges -Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic -Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough -Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible Personality While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer. Background Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm. He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night. In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing. After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured. Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them. Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away. Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power. Items Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
22,719	653	33	179	5,683	Desalith s'arrêtait derrière le groupe, et même si sa torsion de la cheville n'était pas une blessure fatale, cela le rendrait beaucoup plus lent par rapport aux autres. Il aurait naturellement besoin de se battre, après avoir esquivé quelques flèches et tiré quelques autres hors de l'air avec de petites charges de foudre. "Qu'est-ce que j'ai compris, si on les sort maintenant, c'est moins regarder en arrière plus tard." il se prépara à un sort de service lourd, en envoyant plusieurs orbes chargés de foudre pour aller dans toutes les directions qu'il était tiré sur pour créer un champ électrique. Son personnel commença à briller.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,720	653	34	2,778	353	Doucement, Cewri a placé Celeste aux pieds des mages. "Ce sont de petites cibles. Si je ne peux pas les effrayer, et qu'ils ressemblent à des gens compétents, ils essaieront de me manœuvrer. Ce sera votre meilleure ouverture." Bien sûr, cela le mettrait en travers de leurs sorts, mais ils connaîtraient sa résistance à leurs arts. "Une fois le combat terminé, regardez sur le corps de Celeste. La fumée l'a obscurcie assez rapidement, mais une marque s'est montrée sur son cou dès qu'elle a commencé à tousser du sang." La conclusion évidente n'a pas été entendue. Il s'est tourné vers les Goblins. Si l'un d'entre nous n'était pas blessé, ou quoi qu'il arrive à Celeste, le résultat ne serait même pas en question. Il tira sa lame et prit une position de garde élevée, et s'accroupit en préparation, mettant sa tête à la hauteur d'un homme régulier. Avec un rugissement, La Montagne chargée.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,721	653	35	2,338	426	Oryx se tenait près de Desalith et de Celeste, déviant les flèches à gauche et à droite avec sa lame et son bouclier. Les petits gobelins connaissaient leur chemin autour d'un arc, mais le Vanguard avait des années à traiter avec des archers non-morts sous sa ceinture. "Avez-vous besoin d'un ami d'assistance?", le squelette a demandé comme cassé son bouclier contre une flèche entrante et et a cassé le projectile en deux. Le sorcier n'était pas dans la meilleure condition, mais une guérison complète prendrait du temps qu'aucun d'eux n'avait. C'était comme au bon vieux temps.	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,722	653	36	2,497	281	Les gobelins étaient facilement expédiés. Ceux qui n'ont pas été tués directement par les boules de feu et les orbes de foudre dispersés de façon immédiate lorsque le demi-giant a accusé. Tandis que le dernier des méchants disparut dans l'obscurité, les héros furent laissés seuls sur le plateau avec le chalet en feu en arrière-plan, et le Celeste éraflant à leurs pieds.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,723	653	37	179	5,683	Desalith n'avait pas besoin d'utiliser son dernier coup de poing avec les orbes qu'il envoyait ; les gobelins ne valaient pas l'effort supplémentaire. Il relâcha leurs énergies et tourna son attention vers Celeste. Maintenant est venu la question ultime -- Et maintenant?	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,724	653	38	2,778	353	Maintenant, dit Cewri, son épée est revenue à son fourreau, "nous avons trouvé ce qui est arrivé à Celeste. Et nous le réparons." Il s'est agenouillé à côté d'elle, prenant ce qui était devenu de son ami. « Je crois que j'ai mentionné cela, mais je n'ai peut-être pas – vous savez comment je me bats avant un combat, même un tel... » Il secoua la tête. "De toute façon, quand on se battait dans le chalet, avant qu'elle ne commence..." Une pause, "...en train de piquer du sang, un symbole d'une sorte est apparu sur son cou. Cela pourrait nous en dire plus sur ce qui lui est arrivé." Doucement, Cewri a déplacé sa tête — et son corps si nécessaire — pour trouver l'endroit sur son cou où il avait vu l'icône probablement vile.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,725	653	39	2,338	426	Eh bien, il doit être assez fort pour que je ne fasse rien contre elle, Oryx a répondu comme il s'est agenouillé derrière Cewri, essayant d'obtenir un coup d'oeil. "Ça ou peut-être que je l'ai agité ou quelque chose comme ça. J'ai une intuition que notre marionnettiste en sait plus sur nous alors nous souhaitons." L' Vanguard Undead regarda en arrière vers la cabine pendant que les flammes prenaient l'ensemble de la structure. Il a pleuré sa chaise plus que le bâtiment lui-même, mais il a knwpew qu'au moins les deux auraient une crémation honorable, techniquement. Puis il s'est dit qu'il parlait d'objets inanimés, et qu'il se sentait comme une queue royale. « Que savons-nous des gobelins et de la magie noire? » demanda Oryx. "Je suppose qu'ils doivent travailler pour quelqu'un d'autre."	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,726	653	40	2,778	353	Si la compétence est une indication, le discours de Cewri était lent, car il cherchait toujours la marque sur le cou de Celeste, "alors il n'y a aucun moyen que l'un d'eux était derrière cela. Même si c'est un Goblin derrière cela, qui dans mon expérience ne vaut même pas la peine de considérer, alors au moment où ils étaient assez puissants pour faire quelque chose comme ce qu'ils ont fait à Celeste, ils nous donneraient soit un plus grand défi ou ont le sens de ne pas montrer s'ils le pouvaient." "Pour ce qui est de nous connaître, je dirais que mes sentiments vont de la même façon. Mais cela demande la question, pourquoi envoyer ces Goblins après nous si nous pouvions faire un si court travail d'eux?"	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,727	653	41	2,497	281	Celeste était encore en train d'arracher et de battre quand Cewri enquêtait sur son cou, mais le contour d'un symbole étrange était clairement visible sur son cou: Il semblait avoir été brûlé en place, peut-être avec un fer de marque. Pendant ce temps, Célestes regard a été fixé aux yeux de Cewris, et un sourire faible pouvait être vu sur son visage malgré le gag.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,728	653	42	2,497	281	Scog, un dur bâtard d'un goblin qui s'est aussi avéré être en charge de cette débâcle actuelle, s'est couché bas à l'ombre d'un pin et a observé le parti devant la cabane en feu. On ne lui avait pas beaucoup parlé de ces gens, mais on ne s'attendait pas à ce qu'ils soient aussi dangereux. Le géant avait été une mauvaise surprise. Ses guerriers étaient tous morts ou s'étaient enfuis, mais Scog était damné s'il ne voulait pas revenir à ces salauds avant de se replier. Il avait juste besoin d'une fenêtre, d'une supertunité... ...et c'était là. Ils s'étaient tous retournés maintenant, regardant de moutons la femelle au milieu d'eux. Scog ne savait pas pourquoi elle avait été attachée, mais il s'en foutait. Ils étaient distraits, et c'était tout ce qui comptait. Il a atteint son carquois et a produit une flèche, trempé dans un poison rare très méchant extrait d'une race seclusive de basilisk de montagne, et a pris le but. C'était un homme d'étrave habile, Scog. Pour un goblin. La flèche a laissé la ficelle avec un léger remous et a navigué dans le ciel sombre de la nuit. Avant que les héros ne le remarquent, il frappa Martox dans le dos, perçant son cœur. Il s'y tenait un moment, regardant de regards incrédules ses camarades, avant de tomber à genoux. La fumée noire et piquante a commencé à siffler de la blessure. Scog regarda silencieusement de sa cachette sous le pin. Un coup direct. L'humain ne serait pas long. Maintenant, il n'avait besoin que de sortir d'elle... SNAP Une brindille, à moitié enterrée dans la neige mais encore sèche et croustillante, s'est fissurée audiblement sous ses pieds. Il a regardé en arrière vers la cabane en feu dans la panique pour voir si quelqu'un l'avait entendu.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,729	653	43	179	5,683	Desalith fronçait, regardant la marque sur le cou de Celeste. Il ne pouvait pas le placer ; mais chaque fois qu'il le voyait, les pensées indésirables revenaient aux niveaux de sa mémoire. Il ne pouvait plus penser quand il entendait le bruit tranquille d'une flèche et d'un bruit à côté de lui. Il a regardé dans l'horreur quand son vieil ami est tombé, une expression sur son visage que Desalith avait vu auparavant dans la lutte contre le Necromancer. Rage a dépassé la confusion. Sans égard à sa propre sécurité, il a filé autour dans la direction de la flèche. Les buissons m'ont donné un coup de pouce. Roaring dans une voix qui ne pouvait pas être la sienne, il a levé son personnel et l'a amené s'écraser sur le sol, en envoyant des vagues d'énergie électrique dans la direction d'où il a entendu le coup vient. 10 secondes plus tard, il s'est effondré, ayant drainé toute son énergie et décidément surexercé. Le monde était flou autour de lui.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,730	653	44	2,778	353	La flèche venait de nulle part. Martox est tombé. Desalith est devenu fou. Desalith s'est effondré. Plus vite qu'il ne pouvait réagir. Il ne s'est pas écrasé sur Celeste tel qu'il était. Martox... Je ne peux pas l'aider. Je ne peux pas guérir. La vengeance. Si Desalith s'est épuisé, l'archer n'ira nulle part. Pas de temps à perdre sur un misérable cadavre. Aidez Martox. La vengeance. Martox. Cewri s'est déplacé du côté de Martox et a balancé son sac du dos, et il a touché le sol avec un bruit. La blessure était de fumer, et Cewri a commencé à craindre le pire. Il tailla doucement sur la flèche, et elle commença à céder. Pas barbelé. Une bénédiction, au moins. Mais quand la flèche est sortie de la chair de Martox, son cœur a coulé. Il a reconnu la façon dont la tête de flèche scintille dans la lumière de la maison en feu. Dans ses voyages, il s'était aventuré à la forêt d'Ashera'ak, où il avait été attaqué par une bête tombée dont les semblables n'étaient pas vus ailleurs : Asher Vothk dans la langue des Giants, mais la plupart le connaîtraient comme le Basilisk à double couronne. Son venin l'avait presque pris, les Géants qu'il recherchait ne l'avaient pas trouvé à la merci de la bête. Ils l'avaient ramené en bonne santé, mais ils n'avaient échappé à la mort qu'en quelques secondes. Ils lui montrèrent que lorsqu'il était exposé à la lumière, le venin s'épaississait dans de nombreuses couleurs vives comme un arc-en-ciel sadique ironique. Il n'avait aucun antidote. Il s'est souvenu comment le faire, mais ça prendrait du temps. Ils n'avaient pas le temps. "Oryx", ils avaient une chance, "c'est du venin. Basilisk doublonné. Nous avons des minutes." Le demi-giant s'est levé. "L'archer est tombé après le traitement de Desalith. Je n'ai pas l'antidote. Voyez ce que vous pouvez faire pour aider Martox." Même s'il ne pouvait pas guérir leur allié, même gagner un peu de temps aiderait. Cewri a commencé à faire de grands pas dans la direction de l'archer. "Il aurait pu être envoyé avec un antidote." Les gobelins sont stupides. Aucun maître ne leur ferait confiance sans prendre de précautions – et vous ne pouvez pas faire mourir vos minions avant qu'ils fassent le travail. Et si c'est vraiment vivant, nous aurons une police d'informations. Alors on le tue.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,731	653	45	2,497	281	Il ne restait plus grand chose du goblin. En fait, il était difficile de déterminer ce qui était goblin et ce qui ne l'était pas. La créature avait rapidement explosé face à une décharge de puissance aussi massive. Le pin voisin avait également pris feu. Quels que soient les objets ou les secrets que la petite bête tombée aurait pu avoir semblé à jamais perdu. Pendant ce temps, la contingence de Martox dormait rapidement. Le venin non seulement se répandit à travers son corps à un rythme alarmant, il était aussi corrosif et causait des dommages mortels au cœur et aux organes internes. Il avait des minutes, peut-être moins. Il semblait aussi tout à fait inconscient, probablement à cause de l'énorme traumatisme de se faire percer le cœur.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,732	653	46	2,338	426	Oryx s'est précipité sur le côté de Martox pour travailler sans rien dire. Il ne laisserait pas un autre ami tomber avec ses dons en main. L'Indead Vanguard a posé ses mains sur la blessure ouverte et a permis à ses alliés sang de bouillir ses mains tandis que les magies saintes faisaient de leur mieux pour guérir. Oryx s'était amélioré avec le temps, guérissant rapidement les blessures et localisant le poison. Les toxines ne se précipitaient pas à un rythme effréné, mais jamais moins il s'agissait d'une situation dévastatrice. "Damnit," le vieux squelette murmurait à lui-même, "réellement ne s'attendait pas à être de retour dans l'action comme celle-ci aujourd'hui. Pas comme ça."	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,733	653	47	2,497	281	Oryx ne pouvait que faire autant pour le sorcier blessé. Le poison avait déjà fait trop de dégâts, et son cœur percé manquait de la force pour garder son corps en vie. Dans l'étreinte froide de la nuit étoilée, à côté du feu rugissant de l'ancien chalet, la vie de Martox prit fin. Il passa silencieusement, la douleur ennuyée par l'énergie de guérison d'Oryx. De nombreuses questions ont maintenant besoin de réponses. Qui avait attaqué les héros, et pourquoi? Quelle était l'étrange marque sur le cou de Célestes, et pouvait sa magie être annulée? Qu'est-ce qui se passait? Ces pensées résonnaient à travers l'esprit des héros, trempés de colère et de chagrin. Cependant, avant de pouvoir leur répondre, Martox devait être enterré. Ils devaient alors trouver leur chemin vers l'établissement le plus proche pour se regrouper et trouver un plan - quelqu'un était responsable de tout cela, et cette personne devait payer.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,734	653	48	2,338	426	Oryx ne pouvait que regarder ses paumes ensanglantées. Ses amis du sang couvraient chaque fissure et pliaient ses os. Martox était mort. Un autre ami mort, et toute sa faute. Pourquoi n'a-t-il jamais pu faire plus? Il a été élevé par les dieux pour tuer le mal, mais n'a jamais pu sembler sauver le bien autour de lui. Oryx vient de se sentir vide, sa lumière s'affaiblissant dans la douleur. Honte à son être et à son chagrin engloutit son âme. Tout ce qu'il voulait, c'était pleurer ou gémir d'une façon ou d'une autre, mais il était sûr que tous les conduits qu'il avait autrefois étaient rivés il y a longtemps. "Pas encore", murmura le squelette, "Je n'arrive pas à y croire. Pas un autre damné. Pas un autre!"	Name - Oryx Young Age - Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer. Gender - Male Race/People - Undead Vanguard. Formally Human. Appearance - Traits: Skills - Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own. Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users. Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses. Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration. Faults - Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent. Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him. Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite. Personality - Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate. Background - Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power. Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature. Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones. Items Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts. Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man. Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned Misc - Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe. Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
22,735	653	49	179	5,683	Desalith se leva lentement, encore fortement affaibli par une surexertion de ses énergies. "Nous devons bouger..." il murmura, marchant en direction de Martox. "Nous devons l'enterrer... et... obtenir un peu de soutien..." Il a partiellement boiteux sur sa cheville et avait l'air plutôt endormi pour la situation.	Name Desalith Tharnon Age 164 Gender Male Race/People ¾ elven and ¼ normal human.. Appearance (I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description) Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case. Traits Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air). His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes. Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example). Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland). Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well). Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind. Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm. Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture. Background Human Roots Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer. The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery. Elven Roots All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin. City of Arakdin Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence. Family History Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him. Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith. Early Life Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it. At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care. Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer. Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle. The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion. The Järjestys Magi The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri. A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone. A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri. Items He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings. He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with. Other (Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
22,736	653	50	2,778	353	Après avoir trouvé le peu qui restait du Goblin, Cewri retourna du côté de Martox, et tomba à genoux avec un grand bruit. Sa bouche était sèche. Le demi-giant ne savait pas quand il a commencé à pleurer. Quand Martox a respiré son dernier souffle, il a essayé de parler, mais les mots sont morts dans sa gorge. Avons-nous le temps d'une cérémonie? La pensée lui est restée un instant dans l'esprit. Pas un grand. Pas comme il le mérite. Mais nous devons faire quelque chose. Il berça la tête de Martox dans sa main, et quand Desalith parla, quelque chose claqua dans sa tête. Ils sont connectés, dit-il, les Gobelins et ce qui est arrivé à Celeste. Il y a la même personne derrière eux, o-ou l'un savait à propos de l'autre.. Et si c'est le cas, celui qui a décidé de jouer à la marionnette avec Celeste semble infiniment plus compétent. On l'enterre. Nous marquons sa tombe sur nos cartes – nous nous en souvenons, comme nous l'avons toujours fait. Nous guérissons Celeste. Et nous traquons le bâtard qui a fait ça. Vous avez raison de dire que nous avons besoin d'aide, mais l'obtenir sera difficile. Surtout si nous, Reverently, il s'est reposé Martox's en retournant sur le sol. Il a déménagé pour se lever, mais a vu Celeste, toujours bâillonné. Lavé le cerveau ou non, s'il n'y a pas de risque de morsure, elle méritait d'avoir sa bouche libre. En entrant dans une position d'accroupissement à côté d'elle, il détacha le gag, ses mains tremblant. Il se tenait debout. Tout ce temps, ses larmes n'avaient pas cessé de couler.	Name: Cewri “The Mountain” Iorwerth Age: 34 Gender: Male Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human. Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet. Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking. Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy. Background: Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes. The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself. The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory. The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on. As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well. Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently. So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins. Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died. On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips. Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious. So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer. Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back. He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost. His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth, Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned. Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak. Miscellaneous: Nothing in particular.
22,737	653	51	515	4,616	La première nuit a été la pire. Un énorme orage avait laissé tomber sa fureur sur la terre insoupçonnée, et j'ai été pris au milieu. Il n'y avait ni abri ni feu. Le déluge inébranlable trempait chaque bout de pinceau dans les petits bois, et même son sortilège ne l'attraperait pas. "C'est génial, c'est génial." Aris pensait à lui-même. Il s'enroulait dans son grand poussoir en cuir noir, essayant de se protéger un peu du vent et de la pluie verglaçante. Les sorts moulés sur le cuir ont eu un effet secondaire pratique de rendre le manteau imperméable, mais il n'était pas imperméable et il ne pouvait que couvrir autant de lui. Il a passé la nuit mal à l'aise à dormir dans des allumettes et des cacahuètes. Mais le matin, la fureur de la tempête s'était apaisée et Aris s'était réveillée à temps pour voir un beau lever de soleil. Après qu'il eut séché le mieux qu'il pouvait, il s'assit et regarda le lever du soleil, réfléchissant sur ce qui l'avait conduit ici; les arguments, les combats et les règles strictes. « Je n'aurais probablement pas dû m'enfuir comme ça, sans même dire au revoir. Devrais-je retourner m'excuser?" Il s'est demandé. Mais une autre partie de lui a pensé "Non, je ne reviendrai jamais, pas après ce qu'ils voulaient de moi." Sa décision fut prise, et le soleil grimpant plus haut, il mangea un petit déjeuner rapide et continua sur la route qui s'éloignait de la maison.	Name: Aris Raith Age: 19 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Aris is about 5'9" with straight black hair and emerald green eyes. His featuers are anguler and striking, handsome in a rogue-ish way. He has a lean, skinny yet muscular frame. He has a distinguishing scar on the right side of his face that starts at his hairline, runs down, across his eye and ending at his chin. He wears a large black leather duster no matter the weather. Traits: Aris is young and naive, yet smart and logical. He is also headstrong, reckless and stubborn. He has a tendency to be a wiseass and make everyone he meets want to kill him. However he can be friendly to people he knows. He is a decent swordsman and he aims to be the best. His specalty in magic is lightning and he knows some healing magic. Backround: Character: Aris was born in Archades, the capitol city of the human country Elandis. He was the heir to a wealthy, noble family and the eldest of two. He was trained in magic and swordsmanship from a young age by some of the best. When he was young he had heard of the heroes that defeated the Necromancer and he wanted to be one of them. As he grew up, Aris hated being constrained and wanted nothing more than to be free. When his family's head died the title would have passed to him, however he didn't want it. Aris grabbed some basic supplies, a sword, his coat, some money and ran away, intending to finaly be free. Country: Elandis is a very powerful war-like empire that is currently trying to expand its borders. (Think Rome) It is ruled by an emperor and a senate. The current emperor is Ferrinas IX. Elendis is known for its powerful armies, and weapons of war. It had few natural recources, other then iron and coal. Because of this, it has invaded surronding countries and now has plentiful forests, farmland, and ports with a powerful navy. Items: He curently weilds a high-quality longsword. His duster is his own creation, it is interwoven with defensive spells designed to resist extreme heat, cold, electrictiy, as well as physical attacks. However, it is not perfect. Blunt impact go right through it, and if, for example, the heat is stronger than the defensive spells the heat will go through it. Misc: Aris is ambidexterous. He can play a mandolin. He loves apples.
22,738	653	52	515	4,616	Vers midi, trois jours plus tard, Aris est tombé dans une ville de taille moyenne au milieu d'un petit groupe de voyageurs aussi fatigués qu'il l'était. Aris avait l'intention de trouver un marché, d'acheter des fournitures et de passer la nuit dans une auberge avant de continuer. Il avait sans doute envisagé d'acheter un cheval pour rendre le voyage plus facile et plus rapide, il savait monter dispiter son éducation de la ville, mais il a décidé contre elle parce qu'il n'avait pas beaucoup d'argent et il n'avait aucune idée où il allait ou combien de temps il allait voyager.	Name: Aris Raith Age: 19 Gender: Male Race: Human Appearance: Aris is about 5'9" with straight black hair and emerald green eyes. His featuers are anguler and striking, handsome in a rogue-ish way. He has a lean, skinny yet muscular frame. He has a distinguishing scar on the right side of his face that starts at his hairline, runs down, across his eye and ending at his chin. He wears a large black leather duster no matter the weather. Traits: Aris is young and naive, yet smart and logical. He is also headstrong, reckless and stubborn. He has a tendency to be a wiseass and make everyone he meets want to kill him. However he can be friendly to people he knows. He is a decent swordsman and he aims to be the best. His specalty in magic is lightning and he knows some healing magic. Backround: Character: Aris was born in Archades, the capitol city of the human country Elandis. He was the heir to a wealthy, noble family and the eldest of two. He was trained in magic and swordsmanship from a young age by some of the best. When he was young he had heard of the heroes that defeated the Necromancer and he wanted to be one of them. As he grew up, Aris hated being constrained and wanted nothing more than to be free. When his family's head died the title would have passed to him, however he didn't want it. Aris grabbed some basic supplies, a sword, his coat, some money and ran away, intending to finaly be free. Country: Elandis is a very powerful war-like empire that is currently trying to expand its borders. (Think Rome) It is ruled by an emperor and a senate. The current emperor is Ferrinas IX. Elendis is known for its powerful armies, and weapons of war. It had few natural recources, other then iron and coal. Because of this, it has invaded surronding countries and now has plentiful forests, farmland, and ports with a powerful navy. Items: He curently weilds a high-quality longsword. His duster is his own creation, it is interwoven with defensive spells designed to resist extreme heat, cold, electrictiy, as well as physical attacks. However, it is not perfect. Blunt impact go right through it, and if, for example, the heat is stronger than the defensive spells the heat will go through it. Misc: Aris is ambidexterous. He can play a mandolin. He loves apples.
22,739	653	53	2,497	281	Le bâillon de Celeste est sorti, mais ce n'était pas longtemps avant qu'il soit remis en place. Les choses terribles qui sortaient de sa bouche étaient trop pour le grand cœur de Cewri. Quand la tombe avait été creusée et que les funérailles avaient été tenues, il était temps pour nos héros de passer à autre chose. C'était une petite ville minière au bord des montagnes à l'est; c'était la colonie la plus proche de loin et permettrait au parti de se reposer et de se regrouper avant de décider de leur prochaine action. La ville a également une auberge de bonne réputation, connue pour les nombreuses personnalités qui l'ont visitée au cours des années. Ce serait un bon endroit pour chercher de l'aide.	Name: Celeste of Bodou Age: 35 Gender: Female People: Human Appearance: Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates. Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent. Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible. As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong. Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior. Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest. The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong. She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion. Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
22,740	654	0	70	496	Dans le grand dojo vide, une silhouette chauve s'assit à pattes croisées au centre de la pièce, les yeux fermés dans la méditation. Il était comme ça depuis avant le lever du soleil. Récemment, l'air était plus lourd depuis quelques jours. Il connaissait très bien les leçons qui lui ont été données par sa famille... celui qui avait été scellé, le Maître Dragon, était libre et errant sur cette Terre. La figure tenait le bracelet de prière Jade, l'héritier de son ancêtre, essayant de voir dans les futurs possibles pour tout ce qui pourrait aider. Ce que le Maître Dragon avait prévu ne pouvait pas être vu, et il y avait trop d'événements flous pour savoir ce qui se passerait exactement. Mais les visages des Monks Réincarnés, étaient clairs comme le jour. Dès qu'il eut cimenté les visages dans sa mémoire, il ouvrit les yeux de la méditation, et il se tint debout. Il regarda l'horloge pour voir qu'il était huit heures du matin. Il sortit du dojo, et partit chercher les Monks Réincarnés... avec espoir avant que le Maître Dragon ne les trouve. Considérant que les visages qu'il avait vus semblaient être autour d'eux dans la vingtaine' (un seul d'entre eux était plus jeune que cela), il semblait que le meilleur endroit pour commencer à les chercher, était au collège le plus proche de cette ville. "Oi! Kay! C'est quoi, ça? Réveille-toi, tête endormie!" Kay s'est évanouie alors qu'elle ouvrait ses yeux d'argent terne vers sa colocataire (même si tout ce qu'elle pouvait voir c'est l'obscurité). Elle s'est assise et a attrapé sa canne comme elle a demandé "Marisa? Quelque chose ne va pas?" Elle a entendu sa colocataire répondre : "Nah, je vais bien. Toi, d'un autre côté, tu avais l'air de faire un cauchemar!" Kay a clignoté et elle a demandé "Vraiment? Je ne m'en souviens pas si c'est le cas », soupira sa coloc et commenta « Lucky! Si j'ai eu un cauchemar qui m'a fait jeter et tourner comme ça, je ne pense pas que je pourrais jamais le sortir de ma tête," Kay a ricané, avant qu'elle se rende compte "Marisa, quelle heure est-il?" Marisa a répondu "Il est 7h45 du matin", Kay a élargi les yeux et elle a paniqué "Oh non! Je vais être en retard pour le cours! Elle s'est levée du lit (un peu contente qu'elle soit encore en tenue normale d'hier), et était sur le point de se dépêcher de sa chambre de dortoir juste pour trouver son sac à dos, mais sa colocataire l'a empêchée de dire, "Woah! Calme-toi, Kay! Vous voyagerez si vous essayez d'aller trop vite. Tu iras en cours à temps, ne t'inquiète pas. Ici," Kay sentit Marisa lui remettre son sac à dos, avec tous ses livres et cahiers, et elle remercia sa colocataire, avant que les deux partent pour la classe. Elle s'est sentie coupable que Marisa ait senti qu'elle devait l'aider, mais Kay ne l'a pas dit à voix haute. Tout ce qu'elle pensait pouvoir, c'était essayer de s'occuper d'au moins quelque chose d'elle-même. Alors qu'ils se dirigeaient vers la classe, avec Kay tapotant sa canne blanche et rouge sur le sol devant son chemin et des lunettes de soleil couvrant ses yeux, Marsia a demandé "So, Kay. Quel club allez-vous essayer pour aujourd'hui, étant donné que le club de cuisine n'a pas fonctionné, et vous n'avez clairement pas aimé le club d'escrime?" Kay a répondu : « Eh bien... je pensais essayer pour Dancing Club. Qu'en pensez-vous?" La voix de Marisa a répondu avec un son de doute "Je ne sais pas... mais si c'est ce que vous voulez essayer alors qui suis-je pour vous arrêter?"	Name: Yue Uesugi Age: 23 Role: Dog Monk Powers: Enhanced Senses. This power is both a blessing and a curse. Even with one eye, Yue can still see far better than anyone else. His nose and ears are extremely sharp, allowing him to hear things from much further away than other people, and to identify people and things by their smell alone. Touch and taste are also much sharper than others as well. This also means that things that annoy the senses of a normal person effect him even more so. Areas like cities with lots of stuff going on at once can be overwhelming and he likes to avoid them. Preferred Weapon: Dual Claws Personality: Yue is an incredibly stubborn and strong willed individual. He's very loyal and will never betray those he puts his trust in, he would rather die loyal than live a traitor. He's not the smartest person around, but he is clever and bit on the playful side. He likes to mess with people in any way he can, but has the self control and discipline to know when enough is enough. He has enough energy for three people and finds it very difficult to sit still for more than a few seconds, despite his self control and discipline. He's impatient but knows the value of waiting. Despite his loyalty, he isn't afraid to question orders or disagree with the higher ups if their plan goes against something he believes in. At times he'll outright refuse to carry out orders and take whatever punishment comes with it. Bio To be revealed in RP. Appearance: Yue is a tall male, standing at a little over six feet tall. He has a lean, but surprisingly strong, build, due to his lifestyle and fast metabolism. He has long, messy, brown hair and odd gold colored eyes. Well, eye, he lost his right eye and now wears a patch over what's left of it. His mannerisms tend to be a bit dog like, he growls at people if he doesn't like them and will sniff new people in order to memorize their scent. Occasionally he'll bark at people just to mess with them, or threatens to pee on their leg.
22,741	654	1	1,895	2,726	Dépêche-toi, Junko. On va partir sans toi si tu ne t'énerves pas. Une voix agaçante appelée de l'entrée de la maison de Junko. C'est la propriétaire, une fille aux cheveux roses attachés au dos, et une autre fille, dont les cheveux foncés et teintés de bleu recouvraient ses yeux presque complètement et dans le dos tombait autour de ses épaules, se tenait à l'entrée en attendant leur amie. "Désolé! Je descends maintenant." Junko a appelé faible alors qu'elle jetait sur son uniforme d'école et a regardé à travers son sac scolaire pour vérifier deux fois son matériel. En bas, la fille aux cheveux roses continua : "Si tu ne te dépêches pas, Yuri ici va être puni." Il pointe son doigt dans l'épaule de l'autre fille. "Je descends de nulle part!" Junko hurla alors qu'elle sortait précipitamment de sa chambre et descendait les escaliers. "Ne fais rien de méchant pour Yuri!" Yuri a regardé la fille aux cheveux roses quelques secondes avant de dire, "Qui punissait encore qui, Kanae?" Même sans voir les yeux de Yuri, Kanae savait quand il y avait cette intention maléfique occasionnelle venant de son amie. "Punish? Je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles de Yuri." Kanae répondit alors qu'elle tournait juste à temps pour que les deux voient Junko glisser sur la dernière marche de l'escalier et faire à peu près une plante de visage. "Aïe. Ça va?" Kanae était content pour la distraction. "Owie." Junko murmura alors qu'elle commençait à se lever à nouveau, mais pas avant que Yuri ne soit à ses côtés pour aider. "Merci, Yuri." Avec l'aide de l'autre fille, elle s'est levée. Son visage lui a encore piqué un peu, mais rien d'endommager. "Allons-y avant qu'on soit en retard!" Il était tôt le matin, mais Junko n'était pas sûr de l'heure. Elle n'a pas porté de montre et ses parents ne pensaient pas qu'elle avait besoin d'un téléphone portable tout en prétendant qu'elle la perdrait, ou un enfant à l'école le volerait. Mais ça n'a pas vraiment d'importance pour elle. Ses amis étaient là avec elle et elle était prête pour l'école maintenant. "Une raison pour laquelle vous étiez en retard aujourd'hui? D'habitude, vous êtes assis à l'entrée de votre maison en train de mettre vos chaussures quand nous y arrivons." Kanae a demandé. Elle n'a pas vraiment brisé le silence, mais c'était l'éléphant qui marchait juste à côté d'eux. Junko n'était pas complètement sûr, "Je pense que j'ai fait un rêve hier soir. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Non, c'était un cauchemar. C'est vraiment effrayant. Je me suis réveillé quelques fois, mais je ne me souviens pas exactement de ce qui s'est passé. Je me souviens juste d'une femme dedans." Soit de ne pas savoir quoi dire, soit peut-être juste le respect de sa situation, Yuri et Kanae se contentèrent de l'annuler et de laisser tomber la question. Il n'a pas été trop longtemps après cela avant que le trio arrive à l'école, bien que dans le silence. "On est au moins à l'école maintenant." Junko a commenté tout en regardant vers l'avant avec un léger sourire. "Trop mauvais tu as une classe différente de nous Kana-- Eeek!" Junko a appelé quand un garçon s'est écrasé sur elle et les deux sont tombés au sol. "Hé! Stupide fille! Regarde où elle se tient! Il a appelé alors qu'il se poussait à se plaindre plus avant de réaliser à qui il parlait et pratiquement sauter en arrière. "Je-je-je veux dire, pardon?" Il murmurait à peine assez pour que n'importe laquelle des trois filles entende. Pendant ce temps, Junko se leva silencieusement et dépoussiéra sa jupe en donnant un léger chanfrein. Presque par instinct Yuri et Kanae marchaient vers l'école, sachant ce qui se passerait à ce stade. "Je pense que tu as juste besoin de regarder où tu vas boy-o. Tes parents ne t'ont pas appris les bonnes manières quand tu as abattu une dame? » Menacement, elle commence à craquer ses doigts en faisant un chemin droit vers le garçon. Il y avait pratiquement un feu enflammé dans ses yeux alors qu'elle fermait lentement la distance, mais finalement quand elle fut interrompue par le bruit de la cloche de l'école. Comme si elle rompait une transe, la fille sauta et se dirigea vers l'école. "Oh non! Je ne peux plus être en retard pour l'école!" Soulagé, le garçon ne pouvait tomber à l'arrière qu'en voulant se reposer en évitant pratiquement une balle.	Name: Kay Matthews Age: 21 Role: Crane Monk Preferred Weapon: Butterfly Knives and her Walking Cane Power: The Embodiment of Friendship. It seems useless at a brief glance, but this ability allows the user to make allies and friends, help lead said friends through whatever obstacle they face, allow her friends (who are fellow monks) to utilize techniques from their abilities that they could achieve by working together, and manipulate the energy that comes from those friendships. Personality: A generally kind and caring person. She is somewhat outgoing, willing to try and make friends, and she always strives to do her best in whatever tasks she decides to take on. However, due to her being blind, she always has doubts in regards to her own abilities, and she tends to be over cautious sometimes. If she ever fell, she always got back up and tried again, but she does tend to beat herself up for her own mistakes and if she feels as though everyone around her is always helping her. She will always try to help those who need help. Bio: To be Revealed Appearance:
22,742	654	2	1,159	3,534	D'accord, laisse-moi bien comprendre. Je vais d'être envoyé dans un endroit chaud à être un garde du corps au cours d'une nuit, me forçant à changer de vol la seconde dernière parce que...? Joshua a dit qu'il traversait les rues sur une moto barronne, parlant dans le Bluetooth de son casque. "Deux raisons. Tout d'abord, la rémunération était meilleure, croyez-le ou non. Et ensuite, Mère s'inquiète pour toi." Sa sœur Sakura a dit de l'autre côté de la ligne. "En plus, tu garderas une fille autour de ton âge..." "Je te jure, si tu finis cette phrase, tu le regretteras quand je rentrerai à la maison. Sides, je ne resterai pas ici longtemps? Une semaine ou deux au mieux?" "C'est indéfini. Ça pourrait être plusieurs années. Qui sait." "... Et bien merde." Joshua a dit avant de raccrocher, ne voulant pas entendre sa sœur le harceler sur la possibilité d'obtenir une petite amie. Sérieusement, les chances que cela se produise avec son occupation étaient très, très minces. Il allait probablement mourir avant même qu'il atteigne 30 ans, bien qu'il semblait que sa mère faisait de son mieux pour s'assurer que cela n'arriverait pas. Soupirant, il a tourné un coin et a continué son chemin jusqu'à ce qu'il arrive à la maison que son client a vécu. Après avoir franchi la porte, il a trouvé un endroit pour garer son vélo avant de descendre et de placer son casque sur les poignées. Attachant ses cheveux, il entra dans le manoir et regarda autour de lui, sifflant à la vue. Les propriétaires de cet endroit doivent être chargés. Pas étonnant que le travail ait bien payé. Tout comme il est allé examiner une peinture voisine, un serviteur est arrivé et l'a emmené à ce qui ressemblait à une étude avant de lui dire qu'un homme nommé Raiden arriverait bientôt. Voyant qu'il allait faire un peu d'attente, Joshua a pris place et a profité de l'occasion pour se détendre un peu.	Name: Joshua Tamashii Age: 20 Role: Reincarnation of the Rabbit Monk Preferred Weapon: Katana and/or wakazashi Personality: Joshua has a bit of a conflicting personality. He is a lone wolf by nature, preferring to keep to himself and interact with others as little as possible. Despite this though, he does care for people and is always willing to help them out if they need it. He is particularly helpful and protective of his friends, going out of his way to help them even if it means putting himself at risk. However, at the same time, he will not hesitate to call them out and stop them from their course if it will only lead to them hurting themselves. He also will not hesitate to kill them if he finds them heading down a dark path and turning into another person entirely. To his enemies, Joshua shows no mercy. He has no qualms with killing others if they try to harm him or those close to him. He will not hesitate to take any advantage he can and will attack them psychologically and physically, making sure they suffer. However, he will not hesitate to kill them quickly if the situation demands it, as he knows prolonging a battle to long will result in his own death or the deaths of those around him. Bio: (Optional) Appearance:
22,743	654	3	78	8,915	Une grande figure est entrée par les grandes portes d'étude quelques minutes après l'arrivée de Joshua et s'est rendue à l'aise. L'homme a été construit assez pour être considéré dans la compétition de l'homme le plus musclé de la quantité de muscles qui se sont montrés à travers le costume noir probablement très cher qu'il avait sur. Il a ajusté quelques cheveux lâches à sa place comme il s'est arrêté devant Joshua regardant vers le bas à partir de sa hauteur massive de 6'11 "Je prends votre garde du corps, celui qui m'a été assuré est le meilleur argent peut peut-être acheter...en plus d'une armée je suppose...Je vais couper à la Chase...Je suis Raiden Armeshia Yashia. Je suis un homme très riche pour toutes les affaires dans lesquelles je suis et moi-même. Vous êtes ici pour rester avec ma fille aînée pendant un temps inconnu. J'ai quelques règles on essaie de lui faire n'importe quoi et je m'assurerai personnellement que vous n'êtes jamais trouvé et la compagnie pour laquelle vous travaillez est effacée de la face de cette terre. Règle deux, vous êtes sous MES ordres pas celui d'Amaya. Elle va protester contre n'avoir besoin de personne et de choses en raison de sa nature aimable qu'elle obtient de sa mère. Et la règle trois, est la plus évidente. Ne lui laisse jamais rien lui arriver. En ce moment, elle est à l'abri local des animaux aidant à nourrir les animaux là-bas avant qu'elle aille à l'école qu'elle fait tous les jours pour une raison quelconque. Maintenant vas-y, dit-il. Etant rapide sur la mission de Josué alors qu'il se cassait les doigts, appelant l'un de ses serviteurs à escorter Josué sans autre mot. "Voilà Annabell, vous êtes tous prêts, tous les nouveaux banages et tout, alors ne vous embrouillez pas avec eux ou votre jambe ne guérira jamais" Amaya a dit doucement au petit chiot noir poilu dans ses bras. Elle a glouché quand elle a reçu un baiser maladroit en réponse "Je vais prendre cela comme un merci" elle a répondu à elle-même en mettant le chiot à nouveau dans sa cage pour qu'il puisse se reposer et aller mieux..	Name: Chleo Jones Age: 21 Role: Leopard Monk Powers: To make Barriers in any kind of form. Example being that the barriers could be anything from a simple rock wall, to a psychokinetic shell, to just binding words that would actually make someone not want to be around them. Preferred Weapon: Chakrams
22,744	654	4	2,781	78	- Un café. Ici. Tout de suite. « Oui monsieur. » Rae répondit, tournant silencieusement les yeux sur son employeur actuel. Elle avait été son assistant pendant cinq mois, et savait qu'il aimait son café à exactement 9 heures. Même quand elle tenait la coupe dans sa main, la lui donnant, il aboyait encore l'ordre. Si ce n'était pas pour l'excellent salaire et les connexions, Rae aurait quitté il y a des siècles. Elle était déjà en train de mettre des sentinelles pour la compagnie rivale, juste au cas où. "Girl. Avez-vous les dossiers que j'ai demandés? De plus, M. Gates s'est arrêté l'autre jour. Je lui ai dit que tu étais sorti, mais il n'était pas très content de ça. Il m'a dit de vous dire : « Il vous reste cinq jours pour payer, sinon... » ou quelque chose d'horrible comme ça. Il s'est claqué. Juste parce qu'il a un peu de chantage ne lui donne pas le droit de... Le reste de la phrase est descendu dans les grognements. Je suis le PDG d'une entreprise très prospère avec des connexions. Pourquoi n'y a-t-il aucun lien avec la police? Laisse-moi te le dire. La police est inutile. L'argent est là où se trouve le pouvoir. "Bien sûr que c'est monsieur." Rae a accepté, souriant. Elle s'est retournée et a quitté le bureau, toujours souriant. L'argent, c'est le pouvoir? Quel idiot. Elle pensait qu'il y avait plus que ça. Beaucoup plus.	Name: Rae Bai Age: 19 Role: Reincarnation of the Monkey Monk Preferred Weapon: Throwing Knives, (Knives in general) Personality: She acts kind and amicable, but is generally very cold to people, and doesn't like them getting too close. Her first priority is herself, and the people she cares about (a very small list), and she's willing to do literally anything to accomplish her dreams and goals. Treats people like pawns, not to their face, of course. Bio: To be revealed, but she betrayed many people for her dreams. She's actually kind of short, 5' 5" but typically wears a brown cloak, and a belt to hold her knives.
22,745	654	5	1,922	884	Olive Sweets lui ouvrit les yeux quand les rayons du soleil brillèrent sur son visage. Elle s'assit lentement, en train de courir une main à travers ses cheveux de lit sauvage dans une tentative de l'apprivoiser avant de glisser des nombreuses couvertures qui l'avaient gardée au chaud pendant la nuit. Avec un bâillement puissant, la fille maigre commence à s'étirer, à gronder un peu ici et là. Tout son corps a souffert et pour de bonnes raisons. Olive a eu un travail intense à la naginata dojo hier soir, en partant avec une multitude de bleus sur son corps. Elle ne s'en souvenait pas beaucoup après avoir fini les cours. Elle a dû trébucher dans sa chambre à coucher à moitié endormie et s'est évanouie une fois qu'elle a atteint son lit. La vie était bonne. Elle se détendait aujourd'hui, faisait une bonne tasse de thé à la camomille, regardait des vidéos d'animaux mignons, et faisait une sieste de chat plus tard. Elle a commencé à s'enfiler des pansements sur ses mains déchirées. Même si ses mains étaient maintenant calmées, elles se sont parfois fracturées en manipulant la lance trop souvent. C'était douloureux mais Olive se sentait toujours fière d'elle. C'était la preuve de son dur labeur. Avec un petit soupir, elle a jeté le bandage rouler sur son lit avant de se diriger vers la salle de bains. - C'est quoi, ça? La brune a soudainement gelé, tournant un peu la tête vers la gauche pour regarder son calendrier et puis à une horloge. Un regard de désespoir a traversé son visage. Olive Sweets était en retard pour le travail. Elle s'est vite enfuie, elle s'est nettoyée avant de jeter des vêtements et d'attraper son sac de gym en sortant. Le petit-déjeuner devrait être acheté dans le dépanneur de proximité. Et elle devrait trouver un moyen de l'apaiser pour toujours. Peut-être que des cookies aideraient! Il n'a pas fallu longtemps pour qu'Olive arrive au magasin au plein sprint. "Obtenez des cookies, puis allez-y", se répéta-t-elle. Elle a ouvert la porte du magasin et s'est précipitée. Malheureusement, elle n'a pas vu qu'il y avait une personne juste en face d'elle et juste comme cela, Olive s'est écrasé dans ladite personne. Une malédiction s'est glissée doucement de sa bouche alors qu'elle rebondissait littéralement sur le gars, trébuchant autour de lui avant de retrouver son équilibre. "Désolé de ça," dit-elle rapidement, regardant l'homme plutôt grand avant de se froisser le nez. Elle n'était pas étrangère à la puanteur de la sueur et de l'exercice, mais la bonté, il sentait comme un chien mouillé.	Name: Olive "Oli" Sweets Age: 24 Role: Tiger Monk Preferred Weapon: Sankaku yari (Spear) Powers: Weakness Detection (lmao chopper yay!): Intuitive Aptitude With this ability, Olive can determine stress points in solid material, objects, machines, and people based off of keen observation and/or intuition. With the lightest of hits, she could shatter a brick or even cause a person to lose feeling in an arm with a touch at the right nerve center. While destroying a mountain with a pluck of a finger isn't possible, it is conceivable that she can cause a building's collapse with an explosive planted at the proper spot. For her baby stages, she has a general feeling for finding a weak spot but she won't be entirely accurate. Focusing on this ability could be intentional or instinctive, but either way the result is the same. Once she becomes more skilled, she'll come to know where to strike to cause the maximum damage with the least effort. Personality: Olive is stoic, brutally honest and ever-enduring. She does not complain, or whine, or wish for a better life. She's cool and collected, though she is known to be very outgoing once she knows you. Olive is the type of person who will do what she believes absolutely needs to be done. She also studies fighting tactics quite a bit, leading to an iron-clad confident side of her that has yet to manifest. Inside, Olive has always longed for freedom from regulations and to travel the world. In that, she also has romantic ideals of heroism and adventure as well as a strong moral code which she cannot help but hold others to. She is extremely protective of the weak and innocent. Bio: tbr Olive is 5'8" with a muscular but lean build. She has dark brown hair and eyes. She is tanned from spending most of her time outside. Her daily outfit consists of plain t-shirts or tank tops, skinny jeans, and a hoodie.
22,746	654	6	2,784	32	La plupart des gens passaient sans lui accorder beaucoup d'attention. Elle serait la brebis noire dans une foule typique, mais ici elle avait plus en commun avec une statue, stoïque et sans vie. Assis avec ses jambes croisées sous elle, Xiao-Sheng s'assit dans une rue animée avec un bol avant qu'elle ne cherche à recueillir l'aumône. C'était une tradition qu'elle aimait. Elle a eu le temps d'éclaircir sa tête, de se concentrer sur sa respiration et de témoigner de la gentillesse dans le cœur des gens. Bien sûr, ce n'était pas toujours le cas. Parfois, le bol restait vide, ce dont elle était d'accord, car la plupart ne peuvent pas s'attendre à être charitable pour tout le monde. D'autres fois le contenu serait pris, et encore une fois elle serait d'accord avec cela, comme celui qui a pris aura moins à s'inquiéter. Il était presque midi quand elle a ouvert les yeux ici pour la première fois depuis des heures, ayant été profonde dans la méditation et l'oubli de l'action autour d'elle. Le bol a eu quelques changements lâches en elle, ce qui a apporté un sourire enfantin à son visage. Presque fini de recueillir ses effets, elle pouvait sentir un remorqueur sur le dos de sa robe. À la rencontre, elle a trouvé un petit garçon d'environ huit ou neuf ans. "Bonjour, mon nom est Xiao. Qui êtes-vous?" Le garçon était évidemment timide, il ne voulait pas la regarder dans les yeux et a balancé un pied en allers et retours. -- Etes-vous nonne? Xiao n'a pas pu s'empêcher de vomir un peu. "Oui, je le suis. Y avait-il quelque chose que je pouvais vous aider?" Le garçon secoua la tête et lui présenta un sandwich. "J'ai peut-être faim." – C'est très gentil de votre part, répondit-elle, en mettant les mains ensemble et en se prosternant avant de prendre l'offrande. L'enfant s'est enfui sans autre mot. C'était une bonne journée. Maintenant, avec de la nourriture et de l'argent, elle pourrait s'occuper d'elle-même pendant quelques jours. Démangeaisons pour un changement de décor qu'elle a pensé à se diriger vers le parc et trouver un bel arbre pour s'asseoir sous.	Name: Xiao-Sheng (Prefers Xiao) Age: 22 Role: Snake Monk Preferred Weapon: None, but uses Judge's Pens. Also carries a Sounding Staff. Personality: The worst thing that anyone can say about Xiao is that she is too nice, or more accurately, too selfless. She practices the Six Perfections, and does her best to be generous, proper, and tolerant. This does little good for her social life as she does not have many other interests, though she does enjoy music and dancing. There have been times that she has been taken advantage of due to her naivete, but if any wrong is done on her part, she is insistent to help make amends. As a pacifist she strives to avoid all acts of violence against others. Bio: To Xiao the greatest mystery has always been her birth. She was abandoned at around six months old and was taken in by a Buddhist monk that just so happened to cross her path. For as long as she can remember the temple monks shared what little they had with her, granting her support and kindness at her most vulnerable. Though they never forced it on her, she wanted to be just like them, and adopted their faith knowing it would be a hard road. Forever more she was a student, learning humility and self defense as well as acupuncture, which came strangely natural to her.
22,747	654	7	70	496	Yue est entré dans le dépanneur quand il est arrivé. Il se promène, se dirige vers l'endroit où se trouvait le lait et prend un gallon. Il s'est arrêté un moment, pensant, pour s'assurer qu'il n'avait besoin de rien d'autre. Il était presque hors de quelques choses, mais ceux-ci pouvaient attendre jusqu'à plus tard. Juste le lait pour l'instant le ferait. Il n'y avait qu'un caissier, et la foule du matin a fait la ligne de contrôle longue. Yue s'est retrouvé impatient de passer de pied à pied alors qu'il attendait dans la ligne dite. Finalement, c'était son tour, et il paya son lait et partit. Seulement quand il a atteint la porte, quelqu'un d'autre l'a ouvert et s'est barré en lui. Des instincts sont entrés. Dans un mouvement lisse, Yue a levé son bras gauche, donc le lait ne s'est pas fait abattre. Il s'est aussi replié avec la jambe gauche pour ne pas être renversé de l'équilibre. Le personnage qui l'a croisé a littéralement rebondi sur lui, ils se déplaçaient si vite, alors sa main droite s'est approchée pour les stabiliser. Son bout des doigts a à peine appuyé sur leur dos. On aurait dit qu'il était dans une pose de danse. La figure, une femme si la voix était quelque chose de s'en aller, s'est excusée pour s'être écrasée sur lui. Il a aussi remarqué la façon dont elle lui a ridé le nez. Ce n'est pas qu'il l'a blâmée. Il s'est stupéfié en ce moment. Il l'a examinée un moment, avant de répondre. Les yeux dorés balaient sa silhouette, surtout pour s'assurer qu'elle allait bien. Elle avait des cheveux brun foncé qui étaient plus courts que les siennes, et des yeux assortis. Yue a dû admettre qu'elle était plutôt jolie. Mais la romance était la chose la plus éloignée de son esprit en ce moment. C'était une simple observation, c'est tout. Il s'est détendu de sa pose, la main disparaissant de son dos et le lait revenant de l'air. "Ne t'inquiète pas pour ça. Essayez juste d'être plus prudent, tout le monde n'a pas des réflexes comme les miens." Bien que ça soit sorti comme tel, Yue n'essayais pas de la gronder. Il essayait vraiment de l'aider.	Name: Yue Uesugi Age: 23 Role: Dog Monk Powers: Enhanced Senses. This power is both a blessing and a curse. Even with one eye, Yue can still see far better than anyone else. His nose and ears are extremely sharp, allowing him to hear things from much further away than other people, and to identify people and things by their smell alone. Touch and taste are also much sharper than others as well. This also means that things that annoy the senses of a normal person effect him even more so. Areas like cities with lots of stuff going on at once can be overwhelming and he likes to avoid them. Preferred Weapon: Dual Claws Personality: Yue is an incredibly stubborn and strong willed individual. He's very loyal and will never betray those he puts his trust in, he would rather die loyal than live a traitor. He's not the smartest person around, but he is clever and bit on the playful side. He likes to mess with people in any way he can, but has the self control and discipline to know when enough is enough. He has enough energy for three people and finds it very difficult to sit still for more than a few seconds, despite his self control and discipline. He's impatient but knows the value of waiting. Despite his loyalty, he isn't afraid to question orders or disagree with the higher ups if their plan goes against something he believes in. At times he'll outright refuse to carry out orders and take whatever punishment comes with it. Bio To be revealed in RP. Appearance: Yue is a tall male, standing at a little over six feet tall. He has a lean, but surprisingly strong, build, due to his lifestyle and fast metabolism. He has long, messy, brown hair and odd gold colored eyes. Well, eye, he lost his right eye and now wears a patch over what's left of it. His mannerisms tend to be a bit dog like, he growls at people if he doesn't like them and will sniff new people in order to memorize their scent. Occasionally he'll bark at people just to mess with them, or threatens to pee on their leg.
22,748	654	8	1,895	2,726	Maintenant, si vous ajoutez les chiffres ensemble, vous verrez cela. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Le professeur s'est enrôlé. Junko n'avait pas encore pu faire attention en classe. Ce rêve de la veille était la chose la plus importante dans sa tête. C'était réel. Assez pour que la jeune fille continue d'y penser, mais elle ne pouvait même plus se souvenir du contenu du rêve lui-même autre que la femme. ". C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. - Non, c'est pas vrai. C'est ce que j'ai dit. ." Pourtant, c'était probablement juste un rêve. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Rien qui n'affecterait la vie réelle. "Inoue-kun." Une voix masculine a appelé. Retournant à la réalité de la situation, elle était toujours en classe. Avec un petit coup d'oeil, il semblait que la plupart de tout le monde la regardait. "Ça va? Avez-vous eu besoin d'aller à l'Infirmiry?" Junko a généralement accordé toute son attention à la classe de sorte que la première pensée de l'enseignant était quelque chose de mal. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Il semble. "Tu as l'air un peu bouffée, peut-être que tu devrais juste y aller." Avec un petit clin d'œil, Junko se leva et sortit de la classe. Le couloir semblait beaucoup plus long que d'habitude. Peut-être parce qu'elle était habituellement avec Yuri ou Kanae et les voyages à l'école semblaient plus courts avec ses amis. Enfin, elle est arrivée à l'Infirmiry avec l'infirmière de l'école non où en vue. "Je vais m'allonger un peu." La fille a pris une place sur l'un des lits et s'est tournée vers son côté, se reposant la tête sur un oreiller. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. La première chose qu'elle a remarquée quand elle s'est réveillée était que ses muscles étaient légèrement douloureux. "Est-ce que j'ai marché un tas d'escaliers dans mon sommeil?" Ça n'a pas trop d'importance. Peut-être qu'elle s'est usée d'elle-même. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Quelque chose. Pourtant, elle s'est sentie rafraîchie autrement, donc ça a dû être une très bonne sieste. "Quelle heure est-il?" Elle a sorti son téléphone de sa poche et a pris un pic à l'époque. "Attendez. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Euh, c'est vrai?" Le téléphone n'a probablement pas menti, c'était définitivement après l'école. "Très bien. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Je pense que je devrais rentrer chez moi. Je me demande si Yuri est toujours là. Kanae devrait encore être dans son club alors peut-être que Yuri est resté dans le coin. Elle s'est presque lassée de sortir du lit et a fait son retour en classe pour récupérer son sac. Une fois que Junko est arrivée, elle a remarqué un mot sur son bureau, "Hey, je t'ai vérifié pendant le déjeuner, mais tu dormais toujours. Tout ce dont vous avez besoin devrait être dans votre sac et j'ai laissé une copie des notes pour vous de nos cours. Souvenez-vous que vous me devez. C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit. Et un joli petit visage, comme elle, je crois." Elle était heureuse d'avoir une bonne amie comme Yuri. GRRRRGGG Son estomac semblait agité à l'heure actuelle. "Peut-être devrais-je trouver un endroit où manger sur le chemin du retour, peut-être un petit détour." Avec cela décidé, elle a fait son chemin vers une région avec de nombreux établissements alimentaires différents. La plupart des restaurants familiaux, bien qu'elle ait eu tendance à apprécier la sensation de ces types d'endroits plus que les restaurants en chaîne. "Je me demande ce que je devrais manger." Elle a dit à haute voix qu'elle regardait autour d'elle.	Name: Kay Matthews Age: 21 Role: Crane Monk Preferred Weapon: Butterfly Knives and her Walking Cane Power: The Embodiment of Friendship. It seems useless at a brief glance, but this ability allows the user to make allies and friends, help lead said friends through whatever obstacle they face, allow her friends (who are fellow monks) to utilize techniques from their abilities that they could achieve by working together, and manipulate the energy that comes from those friendships. Personality: A generally kind and caring person. She is somewhat outgoing, willing to try and make friends, and she always strives to do her best in whatever tasks she decides to take on. However, due to her being blind, she always has doubts in regards to her own abilities, and she tends to be over cautious sometimes. If she ever fell, she always got back up and tried again, but she does tend to beat herself up for her own mistakes and if she feels as though everyone around her is always helping her. She will always try to help those who need help. Bio: To be Revealed Appearance:
22,749	654	9	143	656	Coq Monk Akibara Japon - Restaurant Une bagarre s'est effondrée dans une ruelle de derrière, quelque part au Japon. Akibara se tenait au-dessus de trois hommes avec une batte de bois dans sa main, se reposant contre son épaule. Les trois hommes portaient des vestes en cuir similaires avec un design de serpent sur le dos, probablement un gang local dont il n'a jamais entendu parler. Une fois de plus, Akibara a été laissé indemne. "Oi, vous êtes morts?" Akibara est passé à chaque corps et les a mis à la légère avec la chauve-souris pour vérifier leurs conditions. Heureusement, les trois d'entre eux respiraient encore, mais tous souffraient de blessures graves. Quoi qu'il se soit passé ici, ces hommes auraient dû savoir qu'Akibara était un ancien champion poids lourd d'une organisation MMA nationale. Il aurait pu avoir une carrière à plein temps, mais ses problèmes de colère l'ont fait abandonner la ceinture et être libéré de son contrat. Maintenant, les punks comme les trois hommes qui ont été battus veulent se faire un nom en battant un champion qui n'a jamais perdu un seul match. Il y a eu des moments où le jeu de nombres l'a submergé, dont aucun n'a semblé ternir sa réputation, en fait, il vient de le rendre plus digne de confiance. Il a déposé la chauve-souris sur l'un des gars et est parti en silence étant plutôt ennuyé qu'il ne puisse pas passer un jour sans avoir été sauté par au moins un idiot. Juste quand il était sur le point de frapper les rues, un van blanc s'est tiré juste devant lui, révélant six ou sept de ces gars de veste de serpent sortant du van. Ils étaient tous armés d'armes contondantes comme les trois autres hommes. "Où vas-tu Akibara? Nous n'en avons pas encore fini avec vous! » Six hommes ont bloqué toutes les sorties d'Akibara, à l'exception du sentier de l'allée derrière lui. Akibara avait un regard terne sur son visage alors que ses yeux scannaient étroitement la situation actuelle. Même c'était trop pour lui, donc il a pris la sage décision de revenir en arrière comme il est venu. Normalement, il aurait probablement pris les six hommes sans une seconde pensée, mais il a déjà enlevé sa frustration sur les trois hommes plus tôt. Heureusement, il est beaucoup plus rapide que les six voyous. Merde, je n'aurais pas dû laisser tomber cette chauve-souris... ça n'aurait probablement pas fait la différence. J'ai faim de toute façon, je devrais trouver un endroit où manger après avoir perdu ces gars. Ce n'était pas la pensée du danger qui s'écoulait dans son esprit, mais la nourriture. Avec les six gars qui l'ont chassé de derrière, Akibara a fait un virage serré au bout de l'allée et a profité de cette occasion pour mettre son sweat à capuche afin qu'il puisse cacher ses cheveux roux terriblement longs pour se fondre dans la foule de la ville beaucoup plus facile. Il a déjà parcouru une bonne distance, donc il pourrait probablement glisser à l'intérieur d'un des bâtiments sans qu'ils le sachent. Quand les six hommes ont atteint le coin, ils ont été stupéfaits par la disparition soudaine d'Akibara. "C'est bon! Où est-il allé? "Il n'aurait pas dû aller loin! Séparez-vous et cherchez-le!" L'un d'eux a passé un moment devant l'une des fenêtres du restaurant local et a vu l'Akibara à capuche, qui était assis à une table le long du mur avec un menu à la main. Il ordonna alors occasionnellement torikatsu avec du riz pendant que le membre du gang passait par le joint pour poursuivre ses recherches. Ces gars n'étaient pas très brillants.	Name: Akibara Age: 23 Role: Rooster Monk Powers: Ethereal Wings- Angelic wings which cannot be physically touched, but they can be visibly seen. It does not use the air itself to fly, but instead it uses the energy/stamina that Akibara has in his body. Meaning his flight will not be disrupted by harsh winds or narrow spaces for example. Occasionally his feathers will fall off his wings, which provide an excellent camouflage for his needles. Preferred Weapon: Throwing Needles, disguised as his feathers. Personality: Akibara is a hot-headed individual who is currently going through various anger management techniques. So far, he only has very little tolerance for annoyance before he starts throwing things in anger. There is one word that instantly triggers his anger and that word is 'Troublesome'. That word will always remind him of...her... Aside from that, whenever he is calm, he appears to be pretty reliable and easy to talk to. His responses are rather blunt, not wishing to show any sign of compassion in front of people. Although there may be times where his emotions do get the better of him. There are times where he intervenes in something that doesn't involve him, only because he thinks it will be fun. Otherwise he just minds his own business. Bio: While Akibara was growing up as a young monk, there happened to be a troublesome girl who always got under his skin. That girl's name is Kasane, she is the reason why Akibara has a short temper. The two pulled pranks on one another and were often at each others throats. It was rumored the two were in a romantic relationship, but it was not exactly easy to tell judging by how Akibara reacted whenever her name is mentioned nor did he like being around her. At one point, Akibara made the sudden decision to give up his monk lifestyle and went off on his own to start a new ordinary life. His reasons were kept to himself. Appearance:
22,750	654	10	1,922	884	Collab entre Joshua et Amaya Amaya a fini par préparer une nouvelle literie pour tous les nouveaux arrivants qui pourraient être amenés pendant qu'elle était à l'école. Elle était sur le point de se lever quand l'un des autres volontaires de l'abri est venu en fermant la porte derrière elle "Il est de retour..." la fille a dit comme amaya se levait "Je pensais qu'il a été renvoyé à cette école de garçons... comment savait-il." a dit Amaya alors qu'elle entendait le sifflement familier alors qu'elle ressentait un frisson dans sa colonne vertébrale. "Ne t'inquiète pas pour lui, continue... ton travail, il te laissera... avec espoir ", a - t - elle dit en ouvrant la porte devant la fille pour aller mettre les provisions supplémentaires. Elle a soupiré de voir son motard vouloir être gangster d'un ex copain l'attendant à l'avant de l'abri. "Je ne m'attendais pas à te voir travailler dans un abri Ama." Il a dit : "Je suis volontaire pour votre information et j'ai pensé que mon père a fait comprendre de ne pas m'approcher de nouveau Kai" elle a dit mettre les provisions et réparer le comptoir arrière. "Votre vieil homme ne me fait pas peur, je suis surpris qu'il n'ait pas donné de coups de pied au seau et qu'il vous ait remis tout ce qu'il possède", a-t-il dit. "Allez-vous Kai, votre pas effrayant ou tout simplement ennuyeux et pour votre information mon père n'est pas si vieux et il sait que je ne veux rien avoir à faire avec son entreprise ou avec qui il est partenaire pour que je puisse être négligent et pourquoi êtes-vous même préoccupé par ma famille parce que vous n'aurez jamais un seul centime de cela" elle a dit. "D'accord, j'ai eu sa description générale. Merci Sakura."Joshua a dit, en raccrochant alors qu'il continuait à conduire dans les rues. Il avait bloqué une des voitures de Raiden. Et par barrow, il voulait dire prendre les clés et s'en aller avec, puisque conduire la fille qu'il était censé protéger sur une moto sans un deuxième casque semblait assez stupide. Après quelques minutes, il est arrivé à l'abri et a garé la voiture avant de se rendre à l'intérieur, sifflant à lui-même. Quand il est entré dans le bâtiment, il a repéré une fille qui correspondait à la description de celui qu'il était censé protéger en parlant à un autre garçon et s'est approché d'eux "Excuse-moi." Il a dit, en poussant Kai de côté avant de regarder vers le bas Amaya. -- Je suppose que vous êtes Amaya Yashia? Kai était sur le point de répondre quand il a entendu des pas avant qu'on l'ait poussé sur le côté alors qu'il s'est remis à pousser Joshua " hey mon pote qui diable pensez-vous venir ici, mettre un doigt sur moi et puis avoir les couilles de parler à ma fille sans ma permission " il a crié en colère. Amaya soupira en mettant sa main gauche sur ses yeux fermés alors qu'elle contrevenait doucement à dix pour se calmer avant de lui enlever la main des yeux avant de les ouvrir. " Oui, je suis elle... qu'est-ce que vous pourriez avoir besoin. Kai, je te l'ai dit avant que nous ne soyons pas ensemble et nous ne serons jamais ta petite amie ou ta propriété."Elle a dit très ennuyé avec lui alors qu'elle tournait son attention vers Josué. Joshua a repositionné ses pieds de sorte que quand Kai l'a poussé, il n'a pas bougé un pouce. Sinon, il a ignoré le petit homme. "Le nom est Joshua et ton père m'a engagé comme garde du corps. Et avant que vous ne disiez quoi que ce soit, il m'a dit que vous vous opposeriez et vous informeriez que vous n'avez pas votre mot à dire en la matière. Vous êtes coincée avec moi, Madame." Il a dit, lui donner un léger arc pour la formalité n'est rien d'autre. Il avait aussi l'impression que ça pisserait sur l'autre enfant. "Je n'arrive pas à croire qu'il ferait ça une fois de plus. Toute une stupide petite lettre liée à une brique... Je doublerai ce que mon père te paie si tu continues ta vie et que tu l'emmènes avec toi... Je dois aller à l'école et toi aussi je n'ai pas besoin de m'embêter... surtout toi, M. Joshua parce que je n'ai pas besoin que tout le monde me regarde et me demande si ton prochain petit ami traqueur...etc."elle a dit comme elle ne voulait vraiment pas traiter avec l'un ou l'autre de ces deux maintenant ou jamais. "Salut, je te parle. Tu ferais mieux de revérifier avec qui tu es dans la même pièce. Je vais vous faire écouter" Kai a dit d'être encore plus en colère. Il a atteint sa main gauche dans sa poche en tirant son couteau à lame d'interrupteur. Il l'a traîné dans sa main avant de frapper à Josué. Amaya a gâché en voyant Kai sortir la lame "Kai! Posez la lame et partez maintenant avant que j'appelle de nouveau la police" Amaya s'est exclamé plus inquiet de Joshua se faire blesser Joshua a vu la lame de l'interrupteur et a réagi instantanément, en reculant et en s'emparant du poignet de Kai avant de jeter le garçon sur le bras, toujours en tenant un pied sur le dos de Kai pour le garder à terre. Il a mis la pression sur le dos de Kai pour le garder à terre, il s'est tourné vers Amaya. "Écoute, je suis un professionnel. Je ne serai pas soudoyé pour que tu sois coincé avec moi. Je garderai mes distances, ne vous inquiétez pas. Mais je vais t'ombrer, puisque c'est mon travail jusqu'à ce que ton père, mon employeur, dise le contraire. Et si tu as des petites merdes comme celle-ci après toi." Il a tordu le poignet de Kai et l'a cassé sans effort. "vous avez vraiment besoin de la protection." "Je m'en fiche si vous êtes un professionnel ou pas, il est assez difficile de se fondre dans mon école publique" Elle a dit le regarder prendre Kai dans un mouvement rapide. Elle s'est déplacée vers eux de derrière le comptoir quand elle a entendu le bruit de fissuration de la taille cassée de Kai tout en entendant le hurlement de la douleur de Kai. Elle a la main de Kai libre de l'emprise de Joshua avant qu'elle ne ramène Joshua de Kai. Elle a regardé son poignet complètement silencieux avant de sortir son téléphone et a rapidement envoyé un texto à un numéro avant qu'elle ferme son téléphone. "J'ai dit à ton frère où te trouver, il n'y a aucun moyen que tu puisses conduire ou quoi que ce soit jusqu'à ce que ce soit correctement réglé parce que Rambo ici vient de te casser le poignet et ce sera douloureux une fois que ton choc s'est éteint." Elle a dit avant de déménager à Joshua. "Kai est un chiot inoffensif, il est tout l'écorce et pas de morsure, tu ne fais pas le tour et tu brises les poignets tout casual comme et oui il y a d'autres ex comme lui mais tous sont juste des garçons inoffensifs rien de plus!" Elle a dit de le mâcher alors qu'elle était contre la violence inutile. Il ne se souciait pas de Kai parce qu'il était inoffensif et ne méritait pas ce qu'il avait. "Un garçon cesse d'être un garçon inoffensif dès qu'il tire une arme sur quelqu'un et a l'intention de l'utiliser un seul. À ce moment-là, ils sont un ennemi qui a besoin d'être mis bas ou blessé au point qu'ils ne peuvent pas continuer le combat. Tu as raison, pour quelqu'un comme moi, il est inoffensif, mais contre n'importe qui d'autre, il pourrait les tuer. Et si je n'avais pas fait ça, il y aurait des chances qu'il ait continué à m'attaquer et j'aurais été forcé de lui casser le poignet de toute façon. Donc quoi qu'il en soit, ça allait finir ainsi." Joshua l'a dit franchement. Il haïssait les gens égoïstes et justes et cette fille était certainement la première et un peu de la seconde à certains égards. Pourtant, il a dû admirer l'âme douce qu'il pouvait voir en elle. De telles choses étaient délicates et facilement détruites dans ce monde. "Quant à savoir si tous vos ex sont inoffensifs ou non est mon appel, pas votre appel. Tu es le genre qui est trop doux et va réaliser le danger que quelqu'un pose jusqu'à ce qu'il soit trop tard. Quoi qu'il en soit, tu vas être en retard pour tes cours à ce rythme? Je vais vous emmener et ne vous inquiétez pas, je vais vous déposer à quelques pâtés de maisons pour qu'aucun de vos camarades de classe ne vous voie avec moi. Mais j'ai encore besoin d'un moyen de garder un œil sur toi tout en gardant assez de distance pour te garder heureux. Ça va être dur. Drone est hors de question, c'est un peu illégal et trop visible selon le modèle. Eh, je trouverai quelque chose." "J'ai grandi avec Kai... je le connais mieux que n'importe qui d'autre dans ce monde... c'est comme ça qu'il a toujours été. Vous devez être prudent ou vous allez obtenir la police sur vous, sa famille est aussi influente que la mienne... » elle a dit clairement colère avant qu'elle ferme les yeux en prenant quelques respirations profondes pour se calmer avant qu'elle parte derrière le comptoir attraper ses sacs « Soit, je m'en fiche si je suis vu avec vous, je suis sûr que Père vous a obtenu un laissez-passer pour être avec moi à l'école en tout temps... » Elle a commenté se dirigeant vers la porte en voyant une des voitures de son père « S'il vous plaît, dites-moi que vous n'avez pas volé cela... » Elle a ajouté : "Purrowed. Emprunté sans autorisation." Joshua dit qu'il a déverrouillé la voiture et est monté sur le siège du conducteur. "Je ne pensais pas que ton père apprécierait que je conduise sa fille en moto. En plus, je n'avais pas de deuxième casque. Ton père pourrait trouver que je l'ennuie autant que je t'ennuie. Mais je fais ce que je dois pour obtenir un travail fait, les opinions des gens sont damnées." Une fois qu'Amaya était dans la voiture et qu'elle s'est serrée, il a conduit la voiture loin et l'a arrêtée à une petite distance de l'école d'Amaya afin de ne pas l'embarrasser, mais a gardé un oeil sur elle jusqu'à ce qu'elle soit en sécurité à l'école. Se tenant à nouveau sur le siège, il s'est demandé ce qu'il pouvait faire maintenant. Son travail était de protéger la fille, agaçante comme elle semblait l'être, mais il ne voyait pas cela comme une excuse pour planter sur elle et ruiner sa vie. Il a dû trouver un autre moyen, légal, de garder un œil sur elle. Il devait aussi se demander quand Raiden appellerait pour la voiture, si jamais. Amaya soupirait dans ses yeux, elle ne savait pas si elle devrait lui gifler l'enfer pour avoir volé, mais elle a décidé de s'en occuper plus tard. Elle est montée dans la voiture et s'est bouclée. Elle a allumé la radio à sa station préférée. Elle n'a même pas regardé vers lui elle a juste regardé le scénario passer jusqu'à ce qu'ils s'arrêtent. "Tu sais que tu peux entrer, ton père t'a probablement autorisé à rester avec moi."Elle a dit avant de fermer la porte avant d'entrer dans son école, sans se soucier qu'il la suive ou non. Ce n'était pas comme si elle avait un groupe massif d'amis. Elle avait Annamaria takashi et c'était à propos de "vrais" amis.	Name: Olive "Oli" Sweets Age: 24 Role: Tiger Monk Preferred Weapon: Sankaku yari (Spear) Powers: Weakness Detection (lmao chopper yay!): Intuitive Aptitude With this ability, Olive can determine stress points in solid material, objects, machines, and people based off of keen observation and/or intuition. With the lightest of hits, she could shatter a brick or even cause a person to lose feeling in an arm with a touch at the right nerve center. While destroying a mountain with a pluck of a finger isn't possible, it is conceivable that she can cause a building's collapse with an explosive planted at the proper spot. For her baby stages, she has a general feeling for finding a weak spot but she won't be entirely accurate. Focusing on this ability could be intentional or instinctive, but either way the result is the same. Once she becomes more skilled, she'll come to know where to strike to cause the maximum damage with the least effort. Personality: Olive is stoic, brutally honest and ever-enduring. She does not complain, or whine, or wish for a better life. She's cool and collected, though she is known to be very outgoing once she knows you. Olive is the type of person who will do what she believes absolutely needs to be done. She also studies fighting tactics quite a bit, leading to an iron-clad confident side of her that has yet to manifest. Inside, Olive has always longed for freedom from regulations and to travel the world. In that, she also has romantic ideals of heroism and adventure as well as a strong moral code which she cannot help but hold others to. She is extremely protective of the weak and innocent. Bio: tbr Olive is 5'8" with a muscular but lean build. She has dark brown hair and eyes. She is tanned from spending most of her time outside. Her daily outfit consists of plain t-shirts or tank tops, skinny jeans, and a hoodie.
22,751	654	11	78	8,915	- C'est quoi, ça? Chleo a saisi son estomac pendant qu'il grondait fort, se sentant stupide à propos du fait que toute la raison pour laquelle elle avait quitté sa place ce matin était d'aller prendre le petit déjeuner et au lieu s'est distrait en se promenant dans divers endroits qu'elle a repérés sur le chemin. Cela l'a à son tour fait oublier complètement la nourriture jusqu'à ce qu'elle ait eu un grand soulèvement à son traitement cruel et a exigé de la nourriture cet instant. Elle regarda autour de lui, voyant de nombreux choix différents, mais décida du restaurant le plus proche et ne se soucia pas du genre de restaurant qu'il pourrait être. Elle s'est assise, prenant le menu pour le regarder et voir avec quoi elle devait travailler. Il semblait que quelques articles fonctionneraient et maintenant elle aurait juste à attendre une serveuse ou quelqu'un pour passer et prendre sa commande. Chleo s'est reposée le menton dans la paume de sa main alors qu'elle regardait sur le côté pour regarder par la fenêtre, en regardant que tout le monde marchait ou courait. Les gens de nos jours, toujours pressés d'aller quelque part... c'était un peu triste mais c'était comme ça. Les yeux de Chleo balayaient autour de ceux qui l'entouraient, un sourire léger jouant sur ses lèvres alors qu'elle regardait certains d'entre eux. Les familles étaient si mignonnes, riant et s'amusant tandis que d'autres que vous pouviez voir voulaient garder pour elles-mêmes. Comme c'était, l'homme juste en face d'elle avait même son capot à l'intérieur qui criait qu'ils voulaient être laissés seuls ou étaient en train d'éviter quelque chose. Ça n'avait pas d'importance pour elle, mais c'était intéressant par rapport au reste. "Watashi wa, anata no tame ni misu o nani o eru koto ga dekimasu ka?" Chleo a été un peu surpris par l'apparition de la serveuse, demandant ce qu'elle pouvait obtenir pour elle. Elle ne voulait pas faire attendre la dame trop longtemps pour sa commande alors elle a juste répondu boiteusement sur le thé vert et quelques Miso Ramen. C'est à mesure que la femme s'en alla qu'elle voulut claquer la tête dans la table pour être aussi claire. "J'aurais dû trouver quelque chose de mieux..." elle murmura sous son souffle.	Name: Chleo Jones Age: 21 Role: Leopard Monk Powers: To make Barriers in any kind of form. Example being that the barriers could be anything from a simple rock wall, to a psychokinetic shell, to just binding words that would actually make someone not want to be around them. Preferred Weapon: Chakrams
22,752	655	0	2,192	1,228	Le feu a explosé dans une averse d'étincelles alors que Martin a jeté une autre branche humide au milieu des flammes. Pendant un moment, il s'assit tout simplement en arrière et regarda le grumeau étourdir et sauter, l'eau bouillant à l'intérieur de la branche avant de brûler. Il était bon d'être de nouveau en terre sèche, surtout après si longtemps en mer. Il détestait toujours les océans et se sentait un peu plus à l'aise sous lui-même. Ne pas vomir toutes les dix minutes a aidé aussi. En détournant son regard des flammes, Martin laissa sa vision s'adapter lentement à l'obscurité ramassante. Il était trop tard pour partir ce soir, l'appel de Siren II avait croisé un Cetus en traversant la mer de Waking, qui les avait retardés pendant près d'une demi-journée. Même maintenant, s'il tendait l'oreille, le bruit des bois de sciage et des clous étant martelés a dit à Martin que les réparations étaient toujours en cours, bien qu'à ce moment-là, ce ne soient que des détails décoratifs qu'il fallait remplacer. Ou du moins ce qu'il considérait comme des éléments décoratifs, tandis que les marins maintenaient qu'ils étaient vitaux pour l'exploitation du navire. Autour du feu, le reste de la Compagnie réunie se réchauffait, plusieurs d'entre eux finissant le dîner qui avait été fourni à partir des provisions de la Siren. En prenant son temps, Martin les laisse manger, sans savoir quand ils auront une autre chance de manger si bien. Atteindre dans la poche accrochée à sa taille Martin a rapidement emballé sa pipe avant de l'allumer avec l'un des matchs dwarven modelés pour lui par leur artisan résident Henrietta. Dessiner la fumée dans ses poumons Martin s'est laissé profiter de la saveur pendant quelques minutes avant de finalement réveiller sa fête. « Le moment est venu de prendre une décision », a-t-il déclaré, « Les terres du sud ont fini avec nous, semble-t-il, pour l'instant au moins, et il est temps que nous fassions un nouveau chemin. » Produire une carte fournie par leur hôtesse pirate reine, dont le prix Martin s'était révélé très favorable, si un peu énergique pour ses os vieillissants, le vieux cheval de guerre le pose sur le sable, resserrant les coins avec des rochers alors qu'il tire sa dague de sa ceinture. Cliquez sur l'image pour f'king énorme version "Au nord se trouve Nevarra," a-t-il expliqué comme il a souligné la capitale avec la pointe de sa lame, sachant que certains de ceux dans la Compagnie avaient à peine traversé Orlais, et encore moins le reste de Thedas, "Un pays de chevaliers, d'honneur et de adorateurs des morts. Au-delà, c'est l'Imperium de Tevinter, rempli de mages de puissance, de magie du sang et de toutes sortes de maux, ou du moins c'est ce que la Chanterie nous ferait croire. Personnellement, j'ai de l'affection pour leurs liqueurs mélangées, pour qu'elles ne soient pas toutes mauvaises. » Déplacer son poignard sur Martin pointait vers les Marches Libres, agitant le point sur toute la région avant de descendre sur Kirkwall. « A l'est de nous se trouvent les royaumes criants et les « villes libres » des Marches, qui sont en ce moment autant en guerre les uns avec les autres que n'importe qui d'autre. Et comme le raconte le vieux conte de mercenaires, où il y a la guerre, il y a du profit à avoir. "De plus, Antiva, un pays riche et prospère, rempli d'intrigues et d'assassins, avec beaucoup de travail facile à avoir pour protéger les banquiers et leur argent de se tuer mutuellement. Le travail là-bas peut être dans le tour du luxe, mais les Crows s'assureront que vous payez pour chaque raisin avec du sang et de la sueur." En balançant le poignard de l'autre côté, Martin l'a agité vaguement sur une partie de la carte, avant de la déplacer vers le nord. « À l'ouest, nous avons Orlais, avec leurs masques, leurs sourires cachés et 'Games'. Toutes les intrigues de haute classe et les règles inutilement compliquées pour l'étiquette." En tournant la tête, Martin cracha une gorgée de flegme, qui siffla et éclata comme il brûla dans le feu. "Donnez-moi un combat franc pour ça à tout moment. "En direction du nord, il y a les Anderfels, remplis d'anciens thaigs remplis de trésors anciens, d'anciens darkspawn et de gardes gris. Ils prétendent que le roi des Anders règne là-bas, mais tout le monde sait que les gardes sont la vraie puissance. » Assis en arrière, en plaçant sa pipe entre ses dents une fois de plus Martin regarda autour de la Compagnie, regardant chacun d'eux soigneusement pendant qu'ils pesaient leurs options. "Alors? Par où devrions-nous aller? Où pensez-vous que nous trouverons le meilleur travail?"	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,753	655	1	402	1,144	De loin est venu un individu plutôt fatigué à l'aspect. L'être a été supposé être un homme en raison de son cadre- que et beaucoup de femmes n'ont pas vraiment les épaules larges. Le vent a soufflé ses cheveux sur le côté alors qu'il tombait sur le camp. "Je suppose que c'est là où rejoindre la Compagnie de Martin?" Le mâle a avancé bien au courant du risque. Mais où était son sens de l'aventure s'il craignait chaque personne. Il n'a pas pu s'empêcher de jeter un coup d'œil sur toutes les autres personnes. Les humains, les elfes, les nains, pas de gars corné... un nègre...? Donc c'est un nègre... vraiment mignon mais moche en même temps... comme Antivians? Le mâle s'est reposé les mains sous son menton, en souriant quelque peu au Nug. "Je suis désolé... mais quelle est l'expression....adorable?" Il a demandé de pointer de manière curieux vers le Nug. "C'est mal que je veuille le caresser?" Le mâle ne s'était pas encore présenté, et pourtant sa curiosité l'avait fait paraître comme un enfant véritable devant des étrangers. Bientôt le mâle a toussé une seconde. "J'ai complètement oublié... de me présenter, je veux dire. Je suis Cassius. Ce serait bien si je pouvais rejoindre votre compagnie. Ou l'expression 'ce serait un honneur'? " Il a été quelque peu étonné par la quantité de jeu de mots qu'il a été attraper lui-même dans.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,754	655	2	2,192	1,228	Secouant sa main grégèrement Martin a fait un geste pour que l'étranger prenne place par le feu. "Vous pouvez vous joindre à nous... Cassius, n'est-ce pas? Nous discutions juste de notre prochaine entreprise et nous serions plus que disposés à entendre votre propre opinion sur la question. Quel domaine pensez-vous fournirait le meilleur travail pour un noble groupe de guerriers, comme nous-mêmes? »	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,755	655	3	1,523	3,443	Tevinter Imperium, rempli de mages de puissance, de magie du sang et de toutes sortes de maux, ou du moins c'est ce que la Chanterie nous ferait croire. Personnellement, j'ai de l'affection pour leurs liqueurs mélangées, pour qu'elles ne soient pas toutes mauvaises. » Marcellus se leva de la bouteille brun foncé de rhum sloshing dans ses mains (peu cher, pire que tout ce que Fereldan a jamais produit) à la mention de sa patrie, presque comme s'il avait été entraîné à le faire. Souris sardonique en place, il attendait que le chef mercenaire s'occupe de l'étranger. Cassius était un nom de Tevinter, n'est-ce pas? Il a essayé de s'écraser la cervelle à travers ce qu'il se rappelait des Mages d'Altus comme ils étaient quand il avait été pour la dernière fois dans le pays, puis les Laetans. Il ne se souvenait d'aucun magister de haut rang par son nom et il fallait donc simplement espérer qu'il ne serait pas reconnu. (Si son accent ne lui a pas donné.) Ne pas Tevinter, Marcellus s'interjecta rapidement avant que l'étranger ne parle à nouveau avec une pause pour une autre perruque. Je suis tout pour plonger dans un Thaïg abandonné rempli de monstres et de crapauds, mais croyez-moi Minratous est bien pire que tout ça. Nous pourrions même nous faire prendre comme esclaves.La réalité était plus proche du stéréotype que la plupart ne le croyaient.	Vocula MagebaneBasic Information Species: Human (Half-Dwarf) Age: 32 Gender: Male Class: Templar Hunter (Warrior-Rogue) Appearance: Short, stocky but surprisingly swift on his feet, Marcellus seems to have inherited few characteristics of either his father's or his mother's side. While only 5'6" (from a maternal line of relative giants!) and with none of the mad, maniacal evil expected of Tevinter magi, he seems... average. Unusually friendly, for a 'Vint, with a near-permanent smile. Marcellus is conventionally handsome, more so as he ages. Brown (prematurely greying) hair, tan skin, a carefully cultivated beard and more than a few swoon-worthy scars – if the one running from nose to ear wasn't so eyecatching, or disfiguring. He is usually seen in more casual armor, expensive leathers with chainmail only on rare occasions. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Templar Assassin Shadow Notable Traits: Magic Resistance – Marcellus has the thick skin of his Dwarven father's side, albeit not to the same degree. He can shrug off weak bolts of magic from staves (at least when it comes to the Arcane... fire's a different story) and is far more resistant than a normal human and even a normal Templar when it comes to hypnotism or mind control. His mind is near-unbreakable, some might say. It might not be true. Light-Footed – Well, when he's not talking and is entirely focused on a fight. No matter what armor Marcellus is wearing, it's hard not to notice that he moves silently whether purposefully trying to be stealthy or not. Since he is, by nature, a cheeky bugger, he likes to use it to startle friends and allies. Flaws: Insomniac – Perhaps it's due to paranoia, a natural sort born from looking over one's shoulder all the time. Or, more likely, it's the lyrium. Marcellus allows himself to sleep rarely and when he does it's marked by terrible nightmares. Weak-willed – At least, when it comes to demons of Desire. Marcellus is a simple man of various wants, and he's made deals with both spirits and demons in the past, though none that have transformed him into an abomination. He thinks himself "careful". Lyrium Addiction – So it turns out that, like alcohol, it takes a lot of lyrium to give a half-dwarf a buzz of power. Despite the scarcity of the resource for the Templars in Tevinter, Marcellus sought it out himself... a contributing reason as to why he made it to his thirtieth year when so many other recruits didn't. He might not be having the memory loss and confusion yet but the pent-up aggression and withdrawal symptoms always loom over the horizon for when he runs out. And he runs out a lot. Skills: Cleanse Silence Wrath of Heaven Assassinate Inconspicuous Stealth Twin Fangs Backstory Biography: Not a sad story, but certainly not a happy one. The current head of the Vocula family is a woman by the name of Diantha, the mother of both Marcellus and an older son – the heir. While her lineage is preserved in Caius Vocula, Marcellus was nothing more than a mistake, though a passionate one. Requiring vast shipments of lyrium, most of which was delivered by the Carta, she dealt with one dwarf in particular so often that she had a short-lived and doomed affair with him... and she got a discount to boot. While Diantha Vocula is a woman of strange tastes and notorious promiscuity (not even mentioning the blood magic), it was probably not worth the social suicide that was carrying a half-dwarf child to term. (Her reputation eventually bounced back, mostly to do with the quality of her magical studies and raw power itself, but that doesn't matter much.) Marcellus was, of course, born without magic and only a slight connection to the Fade. It was a miracle he didn't take after his father more and was actually able to dream in the first place. While of course his Dwarven heritage was covered up, it was more of an open secret. Protection runes and barriers didn't stick to him as well as they did others, particularly when they were cast by his weak older brother to test him. Diantha did love her son, though, a strange woman no doubt, and wanted only the best for him. Naturally, she used her political sway to have him trained by the Imperial Chantry as one of the few templars they had there. Marcellus was not the only nobleman born without magic, after all. Lyrium was a commodity for mage-use only, of course, and so his Order did not rely on it as those in Fereldan or Orlesian orders did. That is likely a contributing reason to the absurdly high death toll of the Imperial Templars – just bodies to throw at an abomination until it gives up. Propaganda dictated that the Andrastian Chantry gave their Templars lyrium as a leash, but as someone with connections on the "outside", Marcellus found at least part of the truth: it made them more powerful. By securing himself to several different magisters (not a slave, but a faithful servant, no less useful than an Antivan Crow) he managed to acquire a supply of lyrium... Having no knowledge of the dangers of the substance, nor that the Templar abilities required training, Marcellus did nothing but acquire his fatal flaw: his addiction. By his early twenties, Marcellus was under the thumb of it with no recognisable rewards and mages were getting more dangerous by the day (or perhaps he was getting weaker) so he of course sought someone out to train him up. One of the Vocula slaves had been one, once, traded over from Fereldan during the blight though the man was now useless with withdrawal. He managed to teach Marcellus the very basics – how to call upon the lyrium in his blood, how to cleanse an area and how to stop spellcasting – in exchange for his freedom. Of course, once he was given it, he turned around and tried to assassinate Diantha, so he was forced to kill him. Unfortunate, but probably a relief to his suffering. Spooked by the knowledge that if he ran out of lyrium like the slave then he'd end up a wreck, Marcellus started to take more under the guise of "training his newfound abilities". Word started to spread of a templar with the ability to take away magic. A dangerous rumour in Tevinter, but undoubtedly profitable. Magisters asked the Imperial Chantry for the Vocula heir's services to quell an uprising or coup, and he did so, striking from the shadows and taking out those squishy little mages; the ones without good tuition and too much experimentation. This lasted up until his mid-twenties, when Marcellus met his "love" Sulpicia – the wife of a new magister with a lot of lyrium on hand. She had him as a guard for a year (since new magisters were notoriously prone to unexpected death) and if anything only made his lyrium problem worse. But she was beautiful, yes. Still, when the Vocula family started a feud of sorts with her husband, Marcellus picked a side – arguably the wrong one. His family. He murdered her husband using all those stealthy, sneaky mage-killing abilities for no real reward, cutting off his supply of lyrium. At the very least he was given fair warning to flee from Minrathous and Tevinter as a whole, so he did, full of self-righteousness and thinking he did what was best. Not his proudest moment, though not a move he regrets taking. It didn't take long for him to find out that life outside the Imperial Chantry was a lot more difficult – at least when it came to finding lyrium to take. For all his pride, Marcellus ended up a mercenary. It wasn't that much different to life before. Back then it was the Black Chantry taking on the jobs from the magisters and directing them out like loyal lapdogs. Sometimes, people just wanted mages dead, and he could help with that. So long as the pay was good. Motivation: When it comes to the short-term, Marcellus is painfully self-aware and honest with even himself. He seeks only drink and debauchery, with a few fights in between to satiate his appetite for battle. Coin isn't the true motivator behind his mercenary work; it's what he can buy with it – lyrium. Long-term? He's not so sure. He's not a mage, so living in Tevinter for the rest of his life is near-impossible, if only because there's no purpose for him there. Protecting the innocents is fun and all but in other lines of work it doesn't pay the bills. His pride is non-existent now, so life as a mercenary is for him, no matter how distasteful it can be at times. If a small part of him wants to settle down, find a partner... Well. There's always something more pressing, like an addiction, to cover first. Goals:Beat a Qunari in a drinking contest; Become Knight-Captain; Become filthy rich off adventuring like the Champion of Kirkwall; Buy enough lyrium to dose up into old age or senility, which ever comes first; And perhaps kill a dragon. That sounds interesting. Relations: The Imperial Chantry – Left of his own accord four years ago... Without telling anyone where he was going or why. Whether they are upset with him or not for leaving as he did during the dead of night, Marcellus doesn't particularly want to find out. House Vocula – His esteemed mother's family of Altus magi, of which he is the only non-mage (due to his status as a bastard and his unfortunate Dwarven blood). His mother is still alive, the head of the female-dominated family and flighty, though undoubtedly soft on her youngest son. House Caecina – Sulpicia's house, or at least the one she married into. To say that Marcellus is not on good terms with them would be putting it lightly. The Carta – Sure, it's a bit amoral name-dropping his father who he's never met in his life, but the man (if he's even still alive) seems to have no problem with it... if he knows. Marcellus deals with the Carta for his lyrium fix and has in the past gotten decent side-jobs from them, few of them legal. Secrets: His lyrium addiction itself. Probably the large numbers of dissenting mages in Tevinter he executed – the unsavoury sort, of course. Depending on who his allies are, it might be best not to have unwanted fireballs sent his way. As vehemently as he denies taking part in any sort of politics, he is aware of The Grand Game of Orlais as Tevinter has something... similar. Just with more slaves and necromancy and abominations.
22,756	655	4	2,049	6,940	Mon pari serait placé sur les Marches Libres. L'homme barbu connu sous le nom de Paxton a dit de son siège en face du feu, une plaque de poisson séché placé sur ses genoux. "Plus qu'assez d'ennuis là-bas que nous pouvons aider à faire face. La pièce doit être assez bonne deux, surtout si nous parvenons à être embauchés par l'un des dirigeants de ces villes libres. Ces bûcherons s'étouffent pratiquement sur leur richesse." Il a dit avant de prendre une bouchée de son poisson, un regard envolé venant sur son visage. Il s'est plaint avant de regarder par-dessus son épaule. "Voilà, la fille." Il a appelé avant de jeter le poisson derrière lui. Avant que le poisson puisse frapper le sable de la plage un flou de fourrure rouge l'a arraché de l'air et a commencé à le dévorer. La grande bête grinçait le poisson comme il était à côté des pieds de Paxton, il s'approchait et lui tapotait la tête. "Bonne fille."	"Let the blade pass through the flesh, Let my blood touch the ground, Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice. -Andraste 7:12" Paxton Arkwright Bloodwrath Basic Information Species Human/Abomination Age 33 Gender Male Class Mage/Warrior Appearance Paxton is a tall man, standing at 6'4 in height, with a muscular body build. His skin is slightly on the pale side and is peppered with scars from countless misadventures in his life, though there are a series of them that rack his arms that stand out among the rest. His hair is a dark, ash black and normally hangs down below his shoulders in a uncombed mess, though on occasion he has been known to tie it back into a loose ponytail. He has a slightly trimmed beard that covers the lower half of his face, left unattended for too long it will easily match that of a Dwarf's. His eyes are a bright amber color, on the verge of being yellow, and hold a certain sharpness to them. Unlike traditional mages Paxton does not wear robes, instead he wears a set of leather armor. The armor is colored in a mixture of dark grey and black. He wears an amulet of Andraste under his armor almost at all times. Paxton has a large slightly tattered collared coat he normally wears over his armor. Another thing that separates Paxton from the usual mage is that he does not carry a staff at all. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations Knight-Enchanter, Blood Mage, Reaver Notable Traits Master Of The Game Paxton had spent years mingling with members of the highest society as he served as one of the Divine's elite mage guards. As such he is more than use to surviving the cut throat politics that Orlesian call their Grand Game, in fact he was once quite the avid player. Paxton can exchange words as well as the most pampered and schooled nobles Thedas has to offer. He once prided himself on his skill to fool bards, who were supposedly the most skilled members of the game Andrastian Paxton is a devoted follower of the Chantry. He worships the Maker and his mortal bride Andraste. He has memorized most of the chant of light, which is no easy feat, and has even at one point sung through the whole chant, which took about three weeks to complete. He is known to throw a Chant line or two into conversation if it relates to the matter on hand, he has even been caught singing the Chant to merely pass the time. Though many may find it hypocritical for Paxton to call himself a follower of the Chantry given his choice of combat use, Paxton says what he does is a necessary evil that must be done. Elf-Blooded Though one may not guess it from merely looking upon him Paxton is actually indeed a half-Elf. His mother was a Elven maid and his father the inn keeper where his mother work. The two fell in love and the product of their romance was Paxton. Because of this Paxton has a soft spot for Elven kind and their plight, often times getting into bloody fights whenever he hears someone use the expression "knife-ear". Cat Person No offence to the Fereldans and their Mabari, but Paxton had always preferred felines over hounds. Paxton always respected the creatures' craftiness, not to mention found them quite adorable. Plus Paxton's dislike for dog slobber pushed him towards cats. You can only imagine what he thoughts when he came upon a group of bandits attacking what looked like a defenseless kitty. After a less than pleasant bout of bandit stomping Paxton went to treat the cat only to find out it was a red lion cub, apparently the bandits had killed her mother. Paxton did the only thing he thought was right and took in the cub, naming her Sasha. Ever since Paxton had been raising her, some say just as well as any other red lion parent could, and Sasha has grown into quite the deadly and beautiful creature. Flaws Battle Enthusiast Master of the Game or not Paxton has no problem jumping into battle, he rather enjoys it in fact. If one's first attempt at talking fails Paxton would more than likely already be moving in for his first, maybe even last, attack on whoever they were trying to convince. He is basically the equivalent of a battle harden Qunari with the short temper of a drunken Dwarf. Wanted By The Orlesian Chantry Paxton's past has left him as a wanted man of the Orlesian Chantry, he has to be very weary any time he sets foot on Orlesian soil do to the great and wide power the Chantry holds there. Wrath Within Paxton is not alone in his own body or mind, he is in a sense an Abomination. For he harbors a demon of Wrath in side of himself. Unlike other mages who harbor a spirit of the Fade inside themselves and allow themselves to be over taken by it Paxton has tamed this beast to a extent. The demon serves as a resource of immense power and knowledge, but always posses a threat. If Paxton is not careful with his emotional state the demon can and has taken control of its host, at which point it brings Paxton's inner hatred and furry down upon anyone or thing near by, regardless of friend or foe. Skills Fade Cloak Paxton shifts from a physical form to that of a cloud of blood mist. While in this form Paxton is invulnerable and can pass through enemies with out penalty. When he rematerializes he does so in a small crimson burst of blood that wounds and knock backs enemies. Spirit Blade Paxton's hands become surrounded by blood that form into monstrous claws that can cut as deep as any blade. Blood Magic Paxton uses the blood of his foes to fuel his power and continue his slaughtering sprees. Ring Of Pain Paxton claims his spot on the battle field and fights with the ferocity of a dragon, turning any foe foolish enough to come close into stains on the ground. Devour Paxton rips into his foes and uses their blood in order to heal his own wounds Dragon-Rage Paxton uses his dragon infused blood to strengthen the power of his claws. This power only increases with the damage Paxton endures. Backstory Biography Paxton's life started like all mage lives do, he was stripped away from his family at the tender age of six and sent to the Circle of Magi, though to his fortune the Nevarran Circles have much more freedom when compared to the rest of Thedas when excluding the Tevinter Imperium. He was quite the talented student when it came to his studies, accelerating ahead of his peers. He was even the youngest apprentice in the Nevarran Circle's history to go through the Harrowing, at only the age of fifteen. It wasn't long after his Harrowing that Paxton requested to be transferred to the Orlesian Circle of Magi, The White Spire, in the hopes to study the magic of the Knight-Enchanters. As a fully fledge mage his request was deemed acceptable and he was transferred to the White Spire. The years after that Paxton did nothing but train in the arts of the Knight-Enchanter, which eventually not only did he become one but he was also requested to become one of the Elite Knight-Enchanter bodyguards of the Divine herself. Needless to say Paxton accepted. Paxton spent years in service to the Divine, saving her life countless times from would be killers. He was held in high regard among the Chantry, they seeing him as what a mage should be, but all that changed once Paxton's secret came to light. It turned out for years that Paxton had not only been studying blood magic, but also practicing it actively, even going as for to drink the blood of a dragon and becoming a Reaver. All this was revealed when an assassin got the better of him, managing to fire an arrow through Paxton's shoulder, and was about to cut down the Divine. Paxton did the only thing he could think of to save her, he used blood magic to force the assassin to run his blade across his own throat. Though he saved her Paxton was labeled a Maleficar by the Chantry and was sentenced to become a Tranquil, though the Divine seemed remorseful about this verdict. He swore he never used the magic to manipulate anyone for his own personal gain, but no one cared about that fact and the matter was closed. The night before he was supposed to go through the Rite of Tranquility he managed to escape because someone left the door to his cell unlocked, something he questions to this day. Paxton wandered for months, hiding from Templars and chantry members alike. Paxton had become so desperate for survival he eventually made a deal with a powerful demon of Wrath for power, allowing the demon to enter this world through his body. The demon attempted to over take Paxton's will, but underestimated the mage's power. The result was that the two were now bound together in a single body. Though he now had a demon housed inside of him Paxton had become remarkably stronger. He used this strength to evade or scare off further pursues. Not long after Paxton found himself in league with a mercenary group. At first he aligned with them as they provided the perfect cover from Templars, but he eventually formed a bond and kinship with his brothers and sisters in arms. The group, along with Paxton, at some point were hired by the reformed Inquisition as soldiers, which Paxton greatly approved of. With the Rift Crises averted and their job done Paxton and the group of mercenaries are now on the search for coin and new adventures. Personality and/or Motivation Paxton is a sharp fellow born with a quick wit and quicker tongue. He is just as likely to make a smart remark comment as he is to deck you in the face. He is quite hardy, loving a good laugh and drink. He is no stranger to manipulation, having been on both ends of it, and knows that you have to be carful around everyone as they more likely than not are waiting to stab you in the back. Though under his rugged exterior Paxton is quite the noble soul, holding strong in his moral code of protecting the little guy and destroying wrong doers. Though he does know in order to do good one may have to do actions that most may label as evil. Player’s long term goals Paxton had felt lost and broken ever sense his life was turned upside down the day his secret was brought to light. He has found solace in the kinship of his brothers and sisters in arms of the mercenary group. He now tries to ensures the safety and well being of each of his comrades, even if it means putting his own hide on the line. Relations Many of the bridges Paxton had built over the years were burned when his being a Blood Mage was reviled. Though he may be able to come upon a old friend, be they mage or Templar, from his days in the towers who wouldn't mind showing him kindness. His main connections and ties happen to be the other members of the mercenary group. Secrets Though the rest of the group is aware of his given situation with Wrath, Paxton tends to keep the fact that he communicates with Wrath on a nearly constant bases to himself. He does not want people to think he is indeed being influenced by the demon.
22,757	655	5	402	1,144	Cassius a établi un contact visuel avec le chef avant de faire un léger sourire. "Pas l'Imperium... Tu ne veux pas y aller... Cependant... Les Marches Libres semblent être un meilleur endroit pour aller. Mais je serais prudent envers d'autres villes... la plupart parce que les lois peuvent être... » Il a mis un doigt sur sa bouche avant de réfléchir. Parler à d'autres était gênant pour lui d'une manière aussi ouverte. "Bizarre? C'est la bonne expression? N'est-ce pas?" Il s'inclina un peu la tête sans défense. "De ce que j'ai entendu... différents états de ville, ce qui veut dire différentes lois. Je ne sais vraiment pas trop être franc. Mais je sais qu'il est préférable de garder les choses controversées à un minimum. Des sujets que je veux dire!" Il s'est interrompu. "Mais avant d'entrer dans... n'importe quoi. J'aimerais poser quelques questions. Surtout... des opinions sur la magie. Et... Les cercles? Je ne sais pas grand-chose d'eux..." Il était clair à ce stade qu'il a été effectué par le manque de connaissance d'événements aussi larges. La plupart de ses souvenirs étaient des larmes dans le ciel et le monde. Au moins, il n'était pas vraiment stupide et avait la décence commune de demander plutôt puis de continuer à se demander comme un poulet avec la tête coupée... ou comme un rendez-vous de bordel aveugle se demandant si elle est payée pour.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,758	655	6	2,192	1,228	Peu importe où on va, tant qu'on n'est pas obligés de passer par FUCKING SEA. Pour l'amour du Créateur impie Andrastre Maker FUCK, si jamais quelqu'un essaie de m'amener sur le grand poisson bleu sentant l'océan putain, je vais artisanat un Eluvian de colère pure et les pousser à travers un autre monde plein de rien que de souffrance ET PAINE! Fredrick s'est arrêté pour arracher un peu de son poisson pour Mangy, qui l'a mangé heureux. "Je jure que j'ai vomi toutes les douze secondes. Va te faire foutre pour m'avoir fait souffrir, Martin!" Fredrick a écouté Cassius, et a parlé. Tant que tu ne fais rien de moralement discutable, le sang le migre, le seigneur de merde. Je m'en fous."	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,759	655	7	335	7,553	Je me fiche où on va. Lian a dit, caresser la tête de Snuffles. Elle a étudié l'homme, Cassius avec une lueur rapide avant de se concentrer sur le feu. Elle est devenue timide à la vue de cette nouvelle personne. Elle s'est cognée les cheveux dorés, essayant de couvrir ses oreilles. Même si elle était fière de ses racines dalish et de ses années de voyage, elle n'avait toujours pas compris comment la plupart des gens voyaient Elfes.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,760	655	8	892	1,259	Prenant son poisson avec une paire de pinces, tirant un tendon alors qu'elle regardait la queue bouger avec une expression d'intense intérêt, Henrietta se leva un moment, ses lunettes grossissantes toujours en place sur ses yeux. " Quelqu'un a-t-il dit des thaigs? J'adorerais voir ces vieilles ruines. Ils doivent être emballés avec toutes sortes de gadgets intéressants et gizmos pour que je puisse étudier." Pendant la majeure partie du voyage en mer, l'artificier dwarven avait passé son temps sous le pont, examinant chaque morceau de la Siren à laquelle elle pouvait avoir accès, et déjà son esprit bouillonnait avec de nouvelles inventions et gadgets pour ajouter à sa collection déjà impressionnante. Une sorte de machine qui pourrait naviguer dans le ciel, alors qu'un navire naviguait dans les mers peut-être? Cela aiderait certainement l'entreprise à voyager plus rapidement entre les emplois, ainsi que d'être plus confortable que de marcher partout dans le lieu de transport de tant d'inventions autour.	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,761	655	9	2,595	7,068	Gerald n'avait que récemment rejoint ce gang d'inadaptés pour acquérir une meilleure connaissance du monde et un sentiment de protection comme alors que les esprits lui disaient que ces gens n'étaient pas normaux, il avait le sentiment distinct qu'un autre groupe mercenaire finirait par le faire tuer. Il était assis croisé devant un feu séparé qu'il s'était fait lui-même. Il était cependant assez près d'eux pour qu'il puisse les entendre et leur parler au besoin. Son personnel était placé devant lui et ses robes sombres et voilées empêchaient la chaleur de l'échapper dans l'air froid qui l'entourait. Respirant à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur, il a écouté le discours de groupe et il a découvert qu'il y avait des idées qui circulaient. Bien sûr, tous avaient leurs propres défauts et des hauts, mais il ne pouvait pas s'empêcher de sentir qu'il y avait une meilleure ligne de travail à faire là-bas. Il a manqué les jours du cercle où il pouvait simplement ramper dans le lit la nuit après un repas et aller dormir. Bien sûr qu'il ne s'est jamais endormi facilement... jamais... les bruits dans sa tête se sont aggravés quand il dormait. La magie sanglante de l'enfer était une bénédiction, mais une malédiction profonde et grinçante. Surtout pour une personne comme lui qui a vécu cet âge agité comme une personne qui avait vu une magie sombre. Quels que soient ses malheurs personnels, il pensait... à l'endroit où aller et pourquoi. Ça en vaut la peine, comme si ce n'était pas un hasard. Après un moment de délibération, sa voix calme et douce a été entendue parler, "Antiva et Orlais, tout en étant rentables, nous gagneraient beaucoup d'ennemis, même au fur et à mesure que de simples mercenaires partiraient. Les thaigs ne valent pas la peine d'être explorés. Trop de dangers se cachent dans ces endroits. Trop de dangers n'ont pas été découverts pour de bonnes raisons. Pour des raisons personnelles, j'ai peur d'aller à l'Imperium nous placerait dans une position compliquée. Neverra et les Marches Libres sont les plus peu risqués. Nous faisons ce que nous devons, mais j'ai dit ma part. » Gerald a dit simplement indifférent comme l'eau qui coule à travers les ruisseaux. "Rappelez-vous qu'il s'agit d'un temps de changement massif. Nous ne pouvons pas simplement aller et nous attendre à rencontrer de l'argent sans risques massifs. Si je devais suggérer un remplaçant, je dirais qu'on se dirige vers Amaranthine. Le chef de l'ancien commandant de garde de fereldan. Cette terre brûle mais elle le fait à cause de vieilles blessures. Nous n'y trouverons peut-être pas de fortune, mais nous trouverons quelque chose. »	Name: Gerald Capet Species: Human Age: 22 Gender: Male Class: Mage Appearance: Gerald has a thin but not frail build that reflects his time of study and shelter in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. He has very little muscle having only gained such from his long walk back to Fereldan after the Kirkwall Incident. He has pasty white skin with very little color and dark grey eyes. His hair is blonde and is short cut but almost straw like in how it looks. He has a thin nose and is about the size of the average human male. He gives off a very nonthreatening presence due to his appearance however at will that can change as he can use his pure raw magical might to frighten most people with ease due to his training while visiting his family in Fereldan showing him how to project himself like a noble. Curriculum Vitae: Specializations: Spirit Healer Primal Entropy Creation Notable Traits: Extremely potent magi (he can cast powerful spells and he can cast a lot of smaller spells) Very talented in elemental spells mainly the fire Branch Very capable of learning quickly in regards to the magical arts Can adapt well in the middle of a battle Mentally strong (isn't easily seduced by spirits and people trying to break him). Flaws: Extremely poor stealth skills Average to poor levels of physical strength Untrained in physical weapons (bows, melee, weapons, shields, etc) Lacks charisma and leadership capabilities (meaning he can't lead anything smaller than a handful of people) Lacks armor training (meaning he doesn't move as well if in armor which piles on top of his already poor maneuverability) Has rather poor flexibility (movement wise) Skills: Arcane Bolt Arcane Shield Staff Focus Flame Blast Flaming Weapons Fireball Winter Grasp Lightning Shock Disorient Glyph of Paralysis Heal Group Heal Mind Blast Biography: Born in Kirkwall to the Noble House of Capet he was born to a family that needed an heir direly in Kirkwall. As first born he was to be heir to their house but there was a catch...he was born with an incredible magical power. His father Devon Capet was reluctant to give him up due to his own nightmares about his son's futures both in his sleep and in the political scene he kept this hidden from the Knight Commander. His mother agreed to go along with this and they chose to keep their son in their house with the family butler Alfred at all times except on rare occasions when they needed him to leave. His parents were extremely cautious with their young son and as such they had Alfred study spirits and other arcane things in order to help their son. Alfred comforted young Gerald as he grew up early in life with dreams of spirits of valor showing themselves to Gerald in his dreams as a young lad, and when he'd wake up in a panic at night through nightmares where pride demons tried to coax the young lad into letting them into him. Gerald came to view spirits as black and white and they were either good or evil as his father Devon told him. As he grew older he began to show more tangible signs of power when he nearly burned the clothes off his father in one incident and froze his pencils by mistake. His family took a apostate into the household in order to teach young Gerald about his powers only for it to lead to an incident where in the market where he confused an older Templar by using his magic for being a jerk to Alfred. The Templars went to his father and demanded to him that they release Gerald into their custody. His father reluctantly accepted and he went to the circle of magi with the man who'd later allow him to escape Kirkwall Harris Mackley. When he first entered the circle he was unsure and hesitant to talk to others but he soon gained many friends as he found peers who shared his powers. He also grew to hate elves as a certain group of mages taunted him for being a 'blue blooded craven' and taunted him constantly. As he started his new journey in the circle he passed his Harrowing after two years in the circle with minimal ease due to his past experience with spirits. His time in the circle was spent learning under Orsino's left hand Victor Stark, a human man born in the Free Marches who was sent to this circle due to the lack of teachers in Kirkwall. Under Victor's strict tutoring Gerald learned how to use his affinity for fire magic to quickly become a formidable mage of note in Kirkwall. He also slowly grew to have a distaste for the Knight Commander who was clamping down on mages ever more over the years. He grew to respect a few of the people who held him captive and understand why they were there exactly as he lost a friend to a harrowing when he turned into an abomination despite Gerald's warnings to the contrary. Having lost his friend he vowed he'd do better to warn people about the dangers of spirits and demons himself and began to tutor younger mages to their relief. It was not until the Blight started however that his life would change drastically. When people started to flood into Kirkwall the templars stationed there became more controlling over the mages causing some to chafe under their tightening collars and due to a surge in blood mages and apostates running around the island they became even more paranoid. Gerald on the other hand simply continued to teach the students who asked for help and those who were struggling with studies when he was informed that he had a new baby brother who was not a mage. He was mixed about this news and in the end chose to ignore it as it dealt about politics no longer of interest to him. He also ended up with a surge of new mages from Fereldan who were forced into his circle leading to more packed quarters and more people to deal with which stressed his mentor Victor. As the Qunari arrived things simply became that much worse as the templars and politicians grew more and more restless as with the surge in apostates, blood mages, Carta, and qunari deserters. Though he had few interactions with the Qunari he found them disgusting creatures as they served through the Qun which essentially made them all of one mind. No individuality among them and all of them served without question. Those who didn't became bandits who ravaged the coast. What good was being grouped together if there was no chance to diverge and evolve? Gerald gave little trouble to the templars due to his own fears of them cracking down on mages became more and more true. The mages who feared the templars only drove them to tighten the noose around them and caused scuffles between them. Orsino sought out Victor's council more and more leaving Gerald to tend to his own duties. However he had increasingly been visited by various spirits in the fade while sleeping who taught him many things including how to heal others. Gerald took this knowledge in hand but refused to use it primarily because he didn't trust spirits after the harrowing and his own nightmares with demons and on the side because he didn't want to be strung up like some sort of abomination. As his fame in the circle grew he met with the Grey Wardens who considered him for recruitment but were denied by Victor's objections and Gerald's own polite rejections. It was on the eve of the night when the poor quarter of Kirkwall was attacked by a mad elf the solidified the distrust between him and elves. Gerald already found them repulsive due to their pride and their insistence that the Dalish were better but now an elven mad woman had poisoned the whole part of a city. Anger welled up inside of him but thanks to his mentor he managed to calm himself down but he refused to take any more elven students. It was during the time that his dad managed to get approval by the viscount to visit his son in the circle. The two managed to get along well enough after a long time apart. He also met his younger brother Calvin for the first time. The two didn't interact much but Gerald was glad to have met him. After some time the Qunari suddenly snapped and attacked the city. Gerald was off trying to find a lost mage when he was attacked practically out of the blue by the qunari. He used his superior magical talents to simply kill off the small group of them with ease. After this he fled back to the circle where he found a group of young mages injured outside of the circle and on the brink of being slaughtered by the qunari. Disgust welled up inside of him and he slew a few more of them before forcing the others to flee. Seeing his friends dying he had no choice as he reluctantly called upon the spirits he had met in the fade and used their power to heal the wounds of the group as best as he could. After that he and his friend Harris used forced the qunari attacking them to back off. Harris was ushered off to the circle with the youngest of the mages with them and Gerald finished off the rest using a combination of funneling them through an alley, and paralysis glyphs followed up with fire magic to kill the remaining mages. He found out later that his younger brother was accidentally killed in the incident. Following the event he took no part in the mage-templar conspiracy despite requests to do so in Kirkwall viewing them as petty and only making the already horrific situation worse. He was sickened by the knight commander but understood her reasoning and he viewed Orsino as a fool by not making drastic measures to stop it from coming to the current state. It was on the night of the annulment of the circle of Kirkwall when he was to be transferred to another circle in Orlais. A sudden outbreak in fighting occurred after a massive explosion in the middle of the city. Unsure about what was happening Harris told Gerald to get back to the circle. However his gut instinct told him that whatever was going to happen in the city was not going to end well for him. Besides the fact that he was sick of this city and all that it entailed he fled the city leaving the city to burn in the moonlight as he sailed away. Instead of going to Orlais however he fled to his uncle in Fereldan's House Capet. His uncle informed him of what happened in the city and while he didn't know Gerald he was a strong believer that family stuck together and took Gerald in. There he took refuge as a court adviser to his uncle in regards to magical affairs keeping his magical abilities secret to everyone before deciding that he was tired of court in itself and traveled the land in search of a purpose. It was when he saw and heard of the mages had rebelled that he decided that he needed to not only become stronger but found a place where mages could not be hassled by templars but still be controlled by their peers. He didn't join the Inquisition formally but he helped them on the side with slaying dark spawn and rebels. Figuring he had nothing to lose he went to Cumberland where he joined up with an odd mercenary group just recently hoping that the odd group would allow him to find a way to become stronger and keep him out of the sights of people who preyed on lone mages as he had gotten sick of all the butchery in recent history. Player’s long term goals: Become an Archmage, Become a expert in elemental magic, become the head of a circle or found his own. Relations: House Capet of Kirkwall and Fereldan, Templars (he still has a few friends from his time in Kirkwall being a model mage), The former Circle of Magi, The Former Circle of Kirkwall. Secrets: Spirits are unusually interested in him due to his power and though he plays it off he actually is very much aware of how much they are aware of him. Demons are attracted to him as well and try to convert them into one of them in an attempt to make a very powerful demon. He is also the heir to the Kirkwall House Capet branch.
22,762	655	10	2,192	1,228	"Si je devais suggérer un remplaçant, je pourrais dire que nous nous dirigeons vers Amaranthine." Martin treuilla à l'idée de traverser à nouveau la mer de Waking si vite. Ils ne débarquaient que cette nuit-là sur la côte du Nevarran et se retournaient et se dirigeaient vers Ferelden semblait être une perte inutile de leur temps. En plus, Martin pouvait sentir son intestin squirm de la simple pensée d'avoir à chevaucher ces vagues à nouveau et préférerait beaucoup rester sur terre sèche aussi longtemps qu'il le pouvait. « Pendant que je comprends votre position, mon ami, » dit le vieux soldat avec un ton gentil et paternel, « Je pense que je parle pour Fredrick et moi-même quand je dis que je ne retournerai pas sur ce putain de bateau! » Pour souligner son point Martin a poignardé sa pipe vers l'endroit où le Siren s'étendait juste au large de la rive, c'est des lumières de cabine qui brillent sur le fond du soleil couchant. « Il vaudrait mieux rester de ce côté des eaux, du moins pour l'instant. » En arrière, Martin fermait sa pipe entre ses dents, ne voulant pas admettre la vraie raison pour laquelle il ne voulait pas revenir de Ferelden. Tandis que ses pensées commençaient à errer, il aperçut une ombre familière qui flottait à travers le sous-bois, juste à l'extérieur de la piscine de lumière du feu. Se hantant sur ses pieds le soldat a tapé ses bottes quelques fois pour faire pomper le sang dans ses jambes avant de déclarer à la Compagnie réunie, « J'ai besoin d'une pisse, si quelqu'un a besoin de moi, ils peuvent attendre que j'ai fini », avant de sortir entre les arbres et dans l'ombre.	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,763	655	11	402	1,144	Fredrick a regardé Henrietta jouer avec son poisson. Maker la bénisse, il y avait quelque chose qui ne va pas avec cette fille. Fredrick dirait qu'elle avait une vis lâche, mais ce serait trop un jeu de mots. "Pas de Thaigs. Non, et l'enfer non. La dernière fois que j'étais sous terre, j'ai dû apprendre à m'habiller d'une seule main. Non, et merde non. Et en outre, mon argument final et le plus convaincantement pensé, doux téton mamelon merdique FUCK NO." Il écouta ensuite Gerald et Martin, et soupira avec force les paroles de Martin. "Gerald, tu suggères encore une croisière et je mettrai tout ce vaisseau dans une crevasse de ton corps si rarement vu que même les cendres d'Andrastre ne pourront pas vous sauver. J'ai quelques choses à faire avant de retourner à Fereldan. De plus, Amarinthine craint." Il s'est arrêté. "Tevinter... sera quelque part à envisager plus tard. J'ai quelque chose que je pourrais peut-être vérifier là-bas. En attendant, les Marches Libres sont probablement les meilleures. Surtout parce que c'est un terrain, un itinéraire, et je ne sais pas si vous le saviez, mais les bateaux FUCKING SUCK."	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,764	655	12	2,595	7,068	Si vous aviez des oreilles idiotes, j'ai recommandé deux autres endroits avant Armaranthine. Je n'aime pas les bateaux non plus, alors arrêtez de crier comme un idiot. L'endroit où nous allons n'est pas pertinent tant que le voyage en vaut la peine. Gerald dit clairement qu'il a siroté de la soupe dans un bol qu'il avait mis sur le feu en notant qu'il n'était pas aussi chaud qu'il devrait être encore, mais qu'il y allait. Il regarda l'elfe qui marchait vers lui et il supprima un schowl. Les elfes et toutes leurs philosophies sur combien leurs anciens dieux étaient grands et ou combien ils étaient forts pour l'irriter. Cependant, il connaissait à peine cet elfe donc il s'est dit qu'il pourrait aussi bien donner au guerrier pointu l'avantage du doute. « J'ai entendu des histoires de mon bref séjour dans La Ville Blanche des Chaînes que les Antivians ne sont pas moins mortels que les Orlésiens si ce n'est plus. Ne sous-estimez pas l'imbécile qui porte une jolie robe juste parce qu'il agit comme une seule. Pour tout ce que vous savez, il a empoisonné votre nourriture avec douze gouttes de poison et attendant de signaler à ses gardes de vous tirer dessus avec des flèches. Les Crows d'Antivian ne doivent pas être jonchés. Peu importe ce qu'ils utilisent pour s'occuper des gens, je ne sais pas. Tout ce que je sais, c'est qu'ils sont vraiment bons dans ce qu'ils font. N'avez-vous pas entendu parler de cet ambassadeur tué au cœur du palais d'Orzammar? Pas un groupe de gens qui valent leurs centimes n'aurait pu faire ça facilement. Soyez prudent sur qui vous plaisantez." Gerald a dit qu'il prenait une autre gorgée de sa soupe. Il a respiré en prenant profondément dans l'air frais et a étendu ses doigts puis les a embrayés dans les poings quelques fois pour obtenir une certaine sensation à nouveau en eux.	Name: Gerald Capet Species: Human Age: 22 Gender: Male Class: Mage Appearance: Gerald has a thin but not frail build that reflects his time of study and shelter in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. He has very little muscle having only gained such from his long walk back to Fereldan after the Kirkwall Incident. He has pasty white skin with very little color and dark grey eyes. His hair is blonde and is short cut but almost straw like in how it looks. He has a thin nose and is about the size of the average human male. He gives off a very nonthreatening presence due to his appearance however at will that can change as he can use his pure raw magical might to frighten most people with ease due to his training while visiting his family in Fereldan showing him how to project himself like a noble. Curriculum Vitae: Specializations: Spirit Healer Primal Entropy Creation Notable Traits: Extremely potent magi (he can cast powerful spells and he can cast a lot of smaller spells) Very talented in elemental spells mainly the fire Branch Very capable of learning quickly in regards to the magical arts Can adapt well in the middle of a battle Mentally strong (isn't easily seduced by spirits and people trying to break him). Flaws: Extremely poor stealth skills Average to poor levels of physical strength Untrained in physical weapons (bows, melee, weapons, shields, etc) Lacks charisma and leadership capabilities (meaning he can't lead anything smaller than a handful of people) Lacks armor training (meaning he doesn't move as well if in armor which piles on top of his already poor maneuverability) Has rather poor flexibility (movement wise) Skills: Arcane Bolt Arcane Shield Staff Focus Flame Blast Flaming Weapons Fireball Winter Grasp Lightning Shock Disorient Glyph of Paralysis Heal Group Heal Mind Blast Biography: Born in Kirkwall to the Noble House of Capet he was born to a family that needed an heir direly in Kirkwall. As first born he was to be heir to their house but there was a catch...he was born with an incredible magical power. His father Devon Capet was reluctant to give him up due to his own nightmares about his son's futures both in his sleep and in the political scene he kept this hidden from the Knight Commander. His mother agreed to go along with this and they chose to keep their son in their house with the family butler Alfred at all times except on rare occasions when they needed him to leave. His parents were extremely cautious with their young son and as such they had Alfred study spirits and other arcane things in order to help their son. Alfred comforted young Gerald as he grew up early in life with dreams of spirits of valor showing themselves to Gerald in his dreams as a young lad, and when he'd wake up in a panic at night through nightmares where pride demons tried to coax the young lad into letting them into him. Gerald came to view spirits as black and white and they were either good or evil as his father Devon told him. As he grew older he began to show more tangible signs of power when he nearly burned the clothes off his father in one incident and froze his pencils by mistake. His family took a apostate into the household in order to teach young Gerald about his powers only for it to lead to an incident where in the market where he confused an older Templar by using his magic for being a jerk to Alfred. The Templars went to his father and demanded to him that they release Gerald into their custody. His father reluctantly accepted and he went to the circle of magi with the man who'd later allow him to escape Kirkwall Harris Mackley. When he first entered the circle he was unsure and hesitant to talk to others but he soon gained many friends as he found peers who shared his powers. He also grew to hate elves as a certain group of mages taunted him for being a 'blue blooded craven' and taunted him constantly. As he started his new journey in the circle he passed his Harrowing after two years in the circle with minimal ease due to his past experience with spirits. His time in the circle was spent learning under Orsino's left hand Victor Stark, a human man born in the Free Marches who was sent to this circle due to the lack of teachers in Kirkwall. Under Victor's strict tutoring Gerald learned how to use his affinity for fire magic to quickly become a formidable mage of note in Kirkwall. He also slowly grew to have a distaste for the Knight Commander who was clamping down on mages ever more over the years. He grew to respect a few of the people who held him captive and understand why they were there exactly as he lost a friend to a harrowing when he turned into an abomination despite Gerald's warnings to the contrary. Having lost his friend he vowed he'd do better to warn people about the dangers of spirits and demons himself and began to tutor younger mages to their relief. It was not until the Blight started however that his life would change drastically. When people started to flood into Kirkwall the templars stationed there became more controlling over the mages causing some to chafe under their tightening collars and due to a surge in blood mages and apostates running around the island they became even more paranoid. Gerald on the other hand simply continued to teach the students who asked for help and those who were struggling with studies when he was informed that he had a new baby brother who was not a mage. He was mixed about this news and in the end chose to ignore it as it dealt about politics no longer of interest to him. He also ended up with a surge of new mages from Fereldan who were forced into his circle leading to more packed quarters and more people to deal with which stressed his mentor Victor. As the Qunari arrived things simply became that much worse as the templars and politicians grew more and more restless as with the surge in apostates, blood mages, Carta, and qunari deserters. Though he had few interactions with the Qunari he found them disgusting creatures as they served through the Qun which essentially made them all of one mind. No individuality among them and all of them served without question. Those who didn't became bandits who ravaged the coast. What good was being grouped together if there was no chance to diverge and evolve? Gerald gave little trouble to the templars due to his own fears of them cracking down on mages became more and more true. The mages who feared the templars only drove them to tighten the noose around them and caused scuffles between them. Orsino sought out Victor's council more and more leaving Gerald to tend to his own duties. However he had increasingly been visited by various spirits in the fade while sleeping who taught him many things including how to heal others. Gerald took this knowledge in hand but refused to use it primarily because he didn't trust spirits after the harrowing and his own nightmares with demons and on the side because he didn't want to be strung up like some sort of abomination. As his fame in the circle grew he met with the Grey Wardens who considered him for recruitment but were denied by Victor's objections and Gerald's own polite rejections. It was on the eve of the night when the poor quarter of Kirkwall was attacked by a mad elf the solidified the distrust between him and elves. Gerald already found them repulsive due to their pride and their insistence that the Dalish were better but now an elven mad woman had poisoned the whole part of a city. Anger welled up inside of him but thanks to his mentor he managed to calm himself down but he refused to take any more elven students. It was during the time that his dad managed to get approval by the viscount to visit his son in the circle. The two managed to get along well enough after a long time apart. He also met his younger brother Calvin for the first time. The two didn't interact much but Gerald was glad to have met him. After some time the Qunari suddenly snapped and attacked the city. Gerald was off trying to find a lost mage when he was attacked practically out of the blue by the qunari. He used his superior magical talents to simply kill off the small group of them with ease. After this he fled back to the circle where he found a group of young mages injured outside of the circle and on the brink of being slaughtered by the qunari. Disgust welled up inside of him and he slew a few more of them before forcing the others to flee. Seeing his friends dying he had no choice as he reluctantly called upon the spirits he had met in the fade and used their power to heal the wounds of the group as best as he could. After that he and his friend Harris used forced the qunari attacking them to back off. Harris was ushered off to the circle with the youngest of the mages with them and Gerald finished off the rest using a combination of funneling them through an alley, and paralysis glyphs followed up with fire magic to kill the remaining mages. He found out later that his younger brother was accidentally killed in the incident. Following the event he took no part in the mage-templar conspiracy despite requests to do so in Kirkwall viewing them as petty and only making the already horrific situation worse. He was sickened by the knight commander but understood her reasoning and he viewed Orsino as a fool by not making drastic measures to stop it from coming to the current state. It was on the night of the annulment of the circle of Kirkwall when he was to be transferred to another circle in Orlais. A sudden outbreak in fighting occurred after a massive explosion in the middle of the city. Unsure about what was happening Harris told Gerald to get back to the circle. However his gut instinct told him that whatever was going to happen in the city was not going to end well for him. Besides the fact that he was sick of this city and all that it entailed he fled the city leaving the city to burn in the moonlight as he sailed away. Instead of going to Orlais however he fled to his uncle in Fereldan's House Capet. His uncle informed him of what happened in the city and while he didn't know Gerald he was a strong believer that family stuck together and took Gerald in. There he took refuge as a court adviser to his uncle in regards to magical affairs keeping his magical abilities secret to everyone before deciding that he was tired of court in itself and traveled the land in search of a purpose. It was when he saw and heard of the mages had rebelled that he decided that he needed to not only become stronger but found a place where mages could not be hassled by templars but still be controlled by their peers. He didn't join the Inquisition formally but he helped them on the side with slaying dark spawn and rebels. Figuring he had nothing to lose he went to Cumberland where he joined up with an odd mercenary group just recently hoping that the odd group would allow him to find a way to become stronger and keep him out of the sights of people who preyed on lone mages as he had gotten sick of all the butchery in recent history. Player’s long term goals: Become an Archmage, Become a expert in elemental magic, become the head of a circle or found his own. Relations: House Capet of Kirkwall and Fereldan, Templars (he still has a few friends from his time in Kirkwall being a model mage), The former Circle of Magi, The Former Circle of Kirkwall. Secrets: Spirits are unusually interested in him due to his power and though he plays it off he actually is very much aware of how much they are aware of him. Demons are attracted to him as well and try to convert them into one of them in an attempt to make a very powerful demon. He is also the heir to the Kirkwall House Capet branch.
22,765	655	13	892	1,259	"...donc des tétons de téton de merde FUCK NO." -- Vous me parliez? Etta a demandé à regarder de son examen du poisson un moment et de tourner la tête autour dans le puzzle. "Oh, c'est vrai... désolé, j'avais l'esprit de m'y promener une seconde... où en étais-je? Oh oui, si on se dirige vers les Marches Libres, j'aimerais vraiment pouvoir m'arrêter à Tantervale. J'ai entendu dire qu'il y a un arcaniste qui a développé une nouvelle forme de magie appelée technomancy, où elle utilise des machines pour canaliser les énergies magiques. Cela devrait s'avérer une diversion intéressante, n'est-ce pas? Pendant un moment, la naine regarda ses compagnons avant que ses yeux ne semblent perdre de vue un moment avant de retourner son attention vers le poisson éraflé dans ses genoux. "Fascinant, l'impulsion vers l'avant induit une pression sur les branchies, aidant à la respiration aquatique..."	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,766	655	14	402	1,144	Eh bien, je ne dis pas qu'on y va en vacances ou n'importe quoi comme ça! C'est juste que... tu sais quoi, disons juste que c'est de la merde personnelle, d'accord, Fredrick a dit à Cassius, "Et, hé, je peux me débrouiller, putain, ok? Toute putain de mages tevinter qui pensent qu'un elfe armé est facile à ramasser apprendra à quel point ils sont mal informés." Il s'est arrêté. "Ok, non, Tevinter serait vraiment dangereux et c'est probablement une chose que je devrais faire tout seul plus tard. Oublie que j'ai ouvert ma bouche stupide à propos de cette merde de bronto." Sa seule réponse à Gerald était de lever son majeur sur le mage. Mangy s'est approché d'Henrietta, cherchant par intérêt. Il écouta ses divagations, et aboya en parlant du poisson. "Mangy, d'une certaine façon je ne pense pas qu'elle va commencer à donner des leçons de science à un putain de chien." Mangy a pleurniché. "Ne la dérange pas. Elle veut clairement faire sa propre chose." Mangy a grondé. "Fais chier, Mangy, très bien! Je vais te laisser essayer d'obtenir des leçons de science du nain du cul fou! Je serai juste là, à écouter les mages se faire peur avec des histoires d'Orlesians et d'Antivan Crows." Freddy tourna la tête loin de Mangy, et Mangy retourna son attention à Henrietta, et regarda pendant qu'elle examinait le poisson.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,767	655	15	2,192	1,228	Revenant de l'ombre, fixant son pantalon à l'approche du feu, Martin s'est déplacé vers l'endroit où le mapo était sorti et a rapidement commencé à gratter les détails sur le parchemin. "Oui, donc je pense que la majorité est d'accord pour dire que nous nous dirigeons vers les Marches Libres. Et il y a trois itinéraires possibles que nous pourrions emprunter, selon l'endroit où nous voulons finir... » Orange - Routes terrestres; routes, chemins et traversées. Purple - Deep Roads. Blue - Voies d'eau; rivières, canaux et lacs. Vert - Autoroute Impériale. Big Red Spot - Vous êtes ici! "La façon dont les choses sont en ce moment il s'agit de choisir entre Starkhaven ou Kirkwall, puisque les tensions entre les deux villes signifient que ce serait une pression d'un trou du cul essayant d'obtenir de l'un à l'autre sans avoir à répondre à un tas de questions sur notre intention. Nous serions probablement enragés comme des espions avant d'arriver en vue des murs. » S'arrêtant pour faire un clin d'œil dans la direction d'Henrietta, Martin tapota son poignard sur la rivière au milieu des Marches Libres. "Si nous nous dirigeons vers Tantervale, alors nous devrions nous tourner vers Starkhaven, en voyageant le long de la rivière Minanter. Sinon, il y a la côte ou les routes de montagne qui nous mènent à Kirkwall. » Avec un rapide regard sur son épaule, retour dans l'obscurité d'où il venait de sortir Martin a ajouté à contrecœur : « Il y a aussi une autre route. Une entrée sur les Deep Roads pas trop loin d'ici qui pourrait nous amener à Kirkwall ou Starkhaven beaucoup rapidement, et une source... fiable me dit que les tunnels sont gardés à l'écart par un allié des gardes gris, donc il devrait être assez sûr de voyager en toute sécurité. Et je veux dire que nous serions probablement attaqués une fois par semaine, plutôt qu'une fois par jour." En s'asseyant, Martin a donné un moment à l'information pour s'enfoncer, laissant la Compagnie prendre ses propres décisions quant à ce que la meilleure option peut être sans que son interférence influence leur choix.	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,768	655	16	2,595	7,068	La simple mention du nom de cette ville a fait trembler la colonne vertébrale de Gerald. Il était parti avec raison et pour y retourner si tôt? C'est pas vrai. Pas maintenant. « La ville des chaînes n'est pas un endroit où nous devrions aller. Les rivières et l'eau nous empêcheraient d'y arriver. Et qu'est-ce qu'il y a à gagner là-bas? Rien. Va à Starkhaven. Les zélotes et les vers y vivent, mais ils pourraient probablement se permettre de nous payer plus qu'une ville qui se rebâtit encore à partir des événements qui se sont produits là-bas. » Gerald a dit clairement en remuant sa soupe. « Les routes profondes, comme je l'ai dit, sont pleines de mystères inconnus. Le Lyrium Rouge pourrait être là-bas et c'est ce qui a conduit beaucoup de templiers à la folie. Nous ferions bien d'éviter les routes profondes aussi longtemps que possible. En plus, je n'ai pas l'intention de m'approcher d'une crapule. Je jouis de ma liberté sans avoir besoin de devenir gardienne grise. Quoi qu'il arrive aux gardiens est directement lié à la fraye noire et alors qu'ils sont à la surface maintenant dans certains endroits, ils sont encore en vrac dans le sol. Les nains que nous trompons pour creuser trop profond et trop avidement dans un endroit longtemps abandonné par beaucoup. Ce n'est pas parce que les gardiens disent qu'ils sont clairs qu'ils le sont. Ou avez-vous oublié ce que l'Inquisiteur a dit aux gens du monde à propos de ce qu'ils pensaient qu'ils faisaient à l'amiable? Contraint par un culte pensé pour être leur salut."	Name: Gerald Capet Species: Human Age: 22 Gender: Male Class: Mage Appearance: Gerald has a thin but not frail build that reflects his time of study and shelter in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. He has very little muscle having only gained such from his long walk back to Fereldan after the Kirkwall Incident. He has pasty white skin with very little color and dark grey eyes. His hair is blonde and is short cut but almost straw like in how it looks. He has a thin nose and is about the size of the average human male. He gives off a very nonthreatening presence due to his appearance however at will that can change as he can use his pure raw magical might to frighten most people with ease due to his training while visiting his family in Fereldan showing him how to project himself like a noble. Curriculum Vitae: Specializations: Spirit Healer Primal Entropy Creation Notable Traits: Extremely potent magi (he can cast powerful spells and he can cast a lot of smaller spells) Very talented in elemental spells mainly the fire Branch Very capable of learning quickly in regards to the magical arts Can adapt well in the middle of a battle Mentally strong (isn't easily seduced by spirits and people trying to break him). Flaws: Extremely poor stealth skills Average to poor levels of physical strength Untrained in physical weapons (bows, melee, weapons, shields, etc) Lacks charisma and leadership capabilities (meaning he can't lead anything smaller than a handful of people) Lacks armor training (meaning he doesn't move as well if in armor which piles on top of his already poor maneuverability) Has rather poor flexibility (movement wise) Skills: Arcane Bolt Arcane Shield Staff Focus Flame Blast Flaming Weapons Fireball Winter Grasp Lightning Shock Disorient Glyph of Paralysis Heal Group Heal Mind Blast Biography: Born in Kirkwall to the Noble House of Capet he was born to a family that needed an heir direly in Kirkwall. As first born he was to be heir to their house but there was a catch...he was born with an incredible magical power. His father Devon Capet was reluctant to give him up due to his own nightmares about his son's futures both in his sleep and in the political scene he kept this hidden from the Knight Commander. His mother agreed to go along with this and they chose to keep their son in their house with the family butler Alfred at all times except on rare occasions when they needed him to leave. His parents were extremely cautious with their young son and as such they had Alfred study spirits and other arcane things in order to help their son. Alfred comforted young Gerald as he grew up early in life with dreams of spirits of valor showing themselves to Gerald in his dreams as a young lad, and when he'd wake up in a panic at night through nightmares where pride demons tried to coax the young lad into letting them into him. Gerald came to view spirits as black and white and they were either good or evil as his father Devon told him. As he grew older he began to show more tangible signs of power when he nearly burned the clothes off his father in one incident and froze his pencils by mistake. His family took a apostate into the household in order to teach young Gerald about his powers only for it to lead to an incident where in the market where he confused an older Templar by using his magic for being a jerk to Alfred. The Templars went to his father and demanded to him that they release Gerald into their custody. His father reluctantly accepted and he went to the circle of magi with the man who'd later allow him to escape Kirkwall Harris Mackley. When he first entered the circle he was unsure and hesitant to talk to others but he soon gained many friends as he found peers who shared his powers. He also grew to hate elves as a certain group of mages taunted him for being a 'blue blooded craven' and taunted him constantly. As he started his new journey in the circle he passed his Harrowing after two years in the circle with minimal ease due to his past experience with spirits. His time in the circle was spent learning under Orsino's left hand Victor Stark, a human man born in the Free Marches who was sent to this circle due to the lack of teachers in Kirkwall. Under Victor's strict tutoring Gerald learned how to use his affinity for fire magic to quickly become a formidable mage of note in Kirkwall. He also slowly grew to have a distaste for the Knight Commander who was clamping down on mages ever more over the years. He grew to respect a few of the people who held him captive and understand why they were there exactly as he lost a friend to a harrowing when he turned into an abomination despite Gerald's warnings to the contrary. Having lost his friend he vowed he'd do better to warn people about the dangers of spirits and demons himself and began to tutor younger mages to their relief. It was not until the Blight started however that his life would change drastically. When people started to flood into Kirkwall the templars stationed there became more controlling over the mages causing some to chafe under their tightening collars and due to a surge in blood mages and apostates running around the island they became even more paranoid. Gerald on the other hand simply continued to teach the students who asked for help and those who were struggling with studies when he was informed that he had a new baby brother who was not a mage. He was mixed about this news and in the end chose to ignore it as it dealt about politics no longer of interest to him. He also ended up with a surge of new mages from Fereldan who were forced into his circle leading to more packed quarters and more people to deal with which stressed his mentor Victor. As the Qunari arrived things simply became that much worse as the templars and politicians grew more and more restless as with the surge in apostates, blood mages, Carta, and qunari deserters. Though he had few interactions with the Qunari he found them disgusting creatures as they served through the Qun which essentially made them all of one mind. No individuality among them and all of them served without question. Those who didn't became bandits who ravaged the coast. What good was being grouped together if there was no chance to diverge and evolve? Gerald gave little trouble to the templars due to his own fears of them cracking down on mages became more and more true. The mages who feared the templars only drove them to tighten the noose around them and caused scuffles between them. Orsino sought out Victor's council more and more leaving Gerald to tend to his own duties. However he had increasingly been visited by various spirits in the fade while sleeping who taught him many things including how to heal others. Gerald took this knowledge in hand but refused to use it primarily because he didn't trust spirits after the harrowing and his own nightmares with demons and on the side because he didn't want to be strung up like some sort of abomination. As his fame in the circle grew he met with the Grey Wardens who considered him for recruitment but were denied by Victor's objections and Gerald's own polite rejections. It was on the eve of the night when the poor quarter of Kirkwall was attacked by a mad elf the solidified the distrust between him and elves. Gerald already found them repulsive due to their pride and their insistence that the Dalish were better but now an elven mad woman had poisoned the whole part of a city. Anger welled up inside of him but thanks to his mentor he managed to calm himself down but he refused to take any more elven students. It was during the time that his dad managed to get approval by the viscount to visit his son in the circle. The two managed to get along well enough after a long time apart. He also met his younger brother Calvin for the first time. The two didn't interact much but Gerald was glad to have met him. After some time the Qunari suddenly snapped and attacked the city. Gerald was off trying to find a lost mage when he was attacked practically out of the blue by the qunari. He used his superior magical talents to simply kill off the small group of them with ease. After this he fled back to the circle where he found a group of young mages injured outside of the circle and on the brink of being slaughtered by the qunari. Disgust welled up inside of him and he slew a few more of them before forcing the others to flee. Seeing his friends dying he had no choice as he reluctantly called upon the spirits he had met in the fade and used their power to heal the wounds of the group as best as he could. After that he and his friend Harris used forced the qunari attacking them to back off. Harris was ushered off to the circle with the youngest of the mages with them and Gerald finished off the rest using a combination of funneling them through an alley, and paralysis glyphs followed up with fire magic to kill the remaining mages. He found out later that his younger brother was accidentally killed in the incident. Following the event he took no part in the mage-templar conspiracy despite requests to do so in Kirkwall viewing them as petty and only making the already horrific situation worse. He was sickened by the knight commander but understood her reasoning and he viewed Orsino as a fool by not making drastic measures to stop it from coming to the current state. It was on the night of the annulment of the circle of Kirkwall when he was to be transferred to another circle in Orlais. A sudden outbreak in fighting occurred after a massive explosion in the middle of the city. Unsure about what was happening Harris told Gerald to get back to the circle. However his gut instinct told him that whatever was going to happen in the city was not going to end well for him. Besides the fact that he was sick of this city and all that it entailed he fled the city leaving the city to burn in the moonlight as he sailed away. Instead of going to Orlais however he fled to his uncle in Fereldan's House Capet. His uncle informed him of what happened in the city and while he didn't know Gerald he was a strong believer that family stuck together and took Gerald in. There he took refuge as a court adviser to his uncle in regards to magical affairs keeping his magical abilities secret to everyone before deciding that he was tired of court in itself and traveled the land in search of a purpose. It was when he saw and heard of the mages had rebelled that he decided that he needed to not only become stronger but found a place where mages could not be hassled by templars but still be controlled by their peers. He didn't join the Inquisition formally but he helped them on the side with slaying dark spawn and rebels. Figuring he had nothing to lose he went to Cumberland where he joined up with an odd mercenary group just recently hoping that the odd group would allow him to find a way to become stronger and keep him out of the sights of people who preyed on lone mages as he had gotten sick of all the butchery in recent history. Player’s long term goals: Become an Archmage, Become a expert in elemental magic, become the head of a circle or found his own. Relations: House Capet of Kirkwall and Fereldan, Templars (he still has a few friends from his time in Kirkwall being a model mage), The former Circle of Magi, The Former Circle of Kirkwall. Secrets: Spirits are unusually interested in him due to his power and though he plays it off he actually is very much aware of how much they are aware of him. Demons are attracted to him as well and try to convert them into one of them in an attempt to make a very powerful demon. He is also the heir to the Kirkwall House Capet branch.
22,769	655	17	402	1,144	Cassius a simplement roulé ses yeux comme les plaintes de Gerald. Bien que certains étaient valables et compréhensibles, mais faire partie d'une compagnie mercenaire à sa compréhension était de prendre des risques pour de grandes récompenses. Cependant, il savait très peu de choses sur les directeurs autres que ceux qui étaient très respectés. Les Blighters cependant qu'il avait saisi. "Je vois les routes profondes comme très minimes en termes de danger de ce que je peux évaluer. Le leader ici a déclaré que les gardes ont beaucoup dégagé les routes. Une rencontre par semaine ainsi que la découverte. Et si vous voyez quelque chose de dangereux, vous n'y touchez pas. Tu ne sauterais pas au-dessus du feu. Voudriez-vous?" Il s'est un peu moqué. « En plus de cela, il est plus dangereux au-dessus de la terre où la vie sauvage, les esprits, les hommes de l'autoroute, les bandes et les assassins sont susceptibles de vous frapper. Darkspawn sont les menaces les moins importantes quand il y a la probabilité de ces autres menaces que j'ai énumérées." Il s'est plié les bras. "En outre, notre adorable ami nain ici serait capable de sauver et de redécouvrir des choses utiles. Il semble honnêtement encore moins risqué... manque de temps, ce qui signifie que vous n'avez pas à vous soucier d'être pleuvé, enneigé, salué, éclair pour tous les objets métalliques que vous avez. Mais... Cassius s'est un peu tapé les lèvres. "Vous devriez également préparer plus de fournitures. Moins susceptibles d'être volés. Aussi. Pas de Tornado pour s'inquiéter." Il a plaisanté.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,770	655	18	2,595	7,068	Gerald s'est moqué et s'est moqué du commentaire de Cassius sans intérêt dans sa réfutation plutôt triste. "Mais pourquoi prier pour qu'un assassin nous cible? Et qu'est-ce que nous craignons des bandits ou des esprits avec un si grand groupe. En plus des forces d'Inquisition peuvent être rencontrées sur le chemin et ils pourraient nous aider au lieu d'espérer que nous ne courrons pas à la crasse. Les bandits et les hommes de la route sont des fourrages à moins qu'ils ne soient des restes des mages ou des rebelles templiers. Fodder, on peut tuer facilement. Si nous allons à Starkhaven alors nous allons le long de l'autoroute le plus probable. Nous pouvons rassembler des provisions de marchands de passage. Je ne dis pas que je ne fais pas confiance au directeur. Mais je me demande ce qu'ils ont vraiment fait et à quel point c'est vraiment efficace. Le roi Cailin pensait que ses hommes pourraient dégager la crapule à Ostagar et maintenant il est mort. Une armée dirigée par Loghain Mac Tir, un héros et un vétéran. Si cet homme voyait peu de chance dans les gardiens avec une armée à leur dos, je vois peu de raison de voir à quel point ils ont réussi sans une. Je dis prendre la route plus voyagé et espérer que nous obtenons un profit à Starkhaven si nous ne pouvons pas au moins faire un nom pour nous-mêmes là-bas plus que Kirkwall qui se tient dans l'ombre du Champion. En fin de compte, je doute que nous trouvions autre chose qu'un modèle de voyage et un danger plus rapides. Si les gardiens les épargnaient si soigneusement, tout ce qu'ils jugeraient utile à distance serait entre les mains de l'infâme Légion des morts qui les aide activement. Je vois peu de gain à l'extérieur d'un sentier de voyage peut-être plus rapide à travers les routes profondes à Starkhaven... ou Kirkwall..."	Name: Gerald Capet Species: Human Age: 22 Gender: Male Class: Mage Appearance: Gerald has a thin but not frail build that reflects his time of study and shelter in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. He has very little muscle having only gained such from his long walk back to Fereldan after the Kirkwall Incident. He has pasty white skin with very little color and dark grey eyes. His hair is blonde and is short cut but almost straw like in how it looks. He has a thin nose and is about the size of the average human male. He gives off a very nonthreatening presence due to his appearance however at will that can change as he can use his pure raw magical might to frighten most people with ease due to his training while visiting his family in Fereldan showing him how to project himself like a noble. Curriculum Vitae: Specializations: Spirit Healer Primal Entropy Creation Notable Traits: Extremely potent magi (he can cast powerful spells and he can cast a lot of smaller spells) Very talented in elemental spells mainly the fire Branch Very capable of learning quickly in regards to the magical arts Can adapt well in the middle of a battle Mentally strong (isn't easily seduced by spirits and people trying to break him). Flaws: Extremely poor stealth skills Average to poor levels of physical strength Untrained in physical weapons (bows, melee, weapons, shields, etc) Lacks charisma and leadership capabilities (meaning he can't lead anything smaller than a handful of people) Lacks armor training (meaning he doesn't move as well if in armor which piles on top of his already poor maneuverability) Has rather poor flexibility (movement wise) Skills: Arcane Bolt Arcane Shield Staff Focus Flame Blast Flaming Weapons Fireball Winter Grasp Lightning Shock Disorient Glyph of Paralysis Heal Group Heal Mind Blast Biography: Born in Kirkwall to the Noble House of Capet he was born to a family that needed an heir direly in Kirkwall. As first born he was to be heir to their house but there was a catch...he was born with an incredible magical power. His father Devon Capet was reluctant to give him up due to his own nightmares about his son's futures both in his sleep and in the political scene he kept this hidden from the Knight Commander. His mother agreed to go along with this and they chose to keep their son in their house with the family butler Alfred at all times except on rare occasions when they needed him to leave. His parents were extremely cautious with their young son and as such they had Alfred study spirits and other arcane things in order to help their son. Alfred comforted young Gerald as he grew up early in life with dreams of spirits of valor showing themselves to Gerald in his dreams as a young lad, and when he'd wake up in a panic at night through nightmares where pride demons tried to coax the young lad into letting them into him. Gerald came to view spirits as black and white and they were either good or evil as his father Devon told him. As he grew older he began to show more tangible signs of power when he nearly burned the clothes off his father in one incident and froze his pencils by mistake. His family took a apostate into the household in order to teach young Gerald about his powers only for it to lead to an incident where in the market where he confused an older Templar by using his magic for being a jerk to Alfred. The Templars went to his father and demanded to him that they release Gerald into their custody. His father reluctantly accepted and he went to the circle of magi with the man who'd later allow him to escape Kirkwall Harris Mackley. When he first entered the circle he was unsure and hesitant to talk to others but he soon gained many friends as he found peers who shared his powers. He also grew to hate elves as a certain group of mages taunted him for being a 'blue blooded craven' and taunted him constantly. As he started his new journey in the circle he passed his Harrowing after two years in the circle with minimal ease due to his past experience with spirits. His time in the circle was spent learning under Orsino's left hand Victor Stark, a human man born in the Free Marches who was sent to this circle due to the lack of teachers in Kirkwall. Under Victor's strict tutoring Gerald learned how to use his affinity for fire magic to quickly become a formidable mage of note in Kirkwall. He also slowly grew to have a distaste for the Knight Commander who was clamping down on mages ever more over the years. He grew to respect a few of the people who held him captive and understand why they were there exactly as he lost a friend to a harrowing when he turned into an abomination despite Gerald's warnings to the contrary. Having lost his friend he vowed he'd do better to warn people about the dangers of spirits and demons himself and began to tutor younger mages to their relief. It was not until the Blight started however that his life would change drastically. When people started to flood into Kirkwall the templars stationed there became more controlling over the mages causing some to chafe under their tightening collars and due to a surge in blood mages and apostates running around the island they became even more paranoid. Gerald on the other hand simply continued to teach the students who asked for help and those who were struggling with studies when he was informed that he had a new baby brother who was not a mage. He was mixed about this news and in the end chose to ignore it as it dealt about politics no longer of interest to him. He also ended up with a surge of new mages from Fereldan who were forced into his circle leading to more packed quarters and more people to deal with which stressed his mentor Victor. As the Qunari arrived things simply became that much worse as the templars and politicians grew more and more restless as with the surge in apostates, blood mages, Carta, and qunari deserters. Though he had few interactions with the Qunari he found them disgusting creatures as they served through the Qun which essentially made them all of one mind. No individuality among them and all of them served without question. Those who didn't became bandits who ravaged the coast. What good was being grouped together if there was no chance to diverge and evolve? Gerald gave little trouble to the templars due to his own fears of them cracking down on mages became more and more true. The mages who feared the templars only drove them to tighten the noose around them and caused scuffles between them. Orsino sought out Victor's council more and more leaving Gerald to tend to his own duties. However he had increasingly been visited by various spirits in the fade while sleeping who taught him many things including how to heal others. Gerald took this knowledge in hand but refused to use it primarily because he didn't trust spirits after the harrowing and his own nightmares with demons and on the side because he didn't want to be strung up like some sort of abomination. As his fame in the circle grew he met with the Grey Wardens who considered him for recruitment but were denied by Victor's objections and Gerald's own polite rejections. It was on the eve of the night when the poor quarter of Kirkwall was attacked by a mad elf the solidified the distrust between him and elves. Gerald already found them repulsive due to their pride and their insistence that the Dalish were better but now an elven mad woman had poisoned the whole part of a city. Anger welled up inside of him but thanks to his mentor he managed to calm himself down but he refused to take any more elven students. It was during the time that his dad managed to get approval by the viscount to visit his son in the circle. The two managed to get along well enough after a long time apart. He also met his younger brother Calvin for the first time. The two didn't interact much but Gerald was glad to have met him. After some time the Qunari suddenly snapped and attacked the city. Gerald was off trying to find a lost mage when he was attacked practically out of the blue by the qunari. He used his superior magical talents to simply kill off the small group of them with ease. After this he fled back to the circle where he found a group of young mages injured outside of the circle and on the brink of being slaughtered by the qunari. Disgust welled up inside of him and he slew a few more of them before forcing the others to flee. Seeing his friends dying he had no choice as he reluctantly called upon the spirits he had met in the fade and used their power to heal the wounds of the group as best as he could. After that he and his friend Harris used forced the qunari attacking them to back off. Harris was ushered off to the circle with the youngest of the mages with them and Gerald finished off the rest using a combination of funneling them through an alley, and paralysis glyphs followed up with fire magic to kill the remaining mages. He found out later that his younger brother was accidentally killed in the incident. Following the event he took no part in the mage-templar conspiracy despite requests to do so in Kirkwall viewing them as petty and only making the already horrific situation worse. He was sickened by the knight commander but understood her reasoning and he viewed Orsino as a fool by not making drastic measures to stop it from coming to the current state. It was on the night of the annulment of the circle of Kirkwall when he was to be transferred to another circle in Orlais. A sudden outbreak in fighting occurred after a massive explosion in the middle of the city. Unsure about what was happening Harris told Gerald to get back to the circle. However his gut instinct told him that whatever was going to happen in the city was not going to end well for him. Besides the fact that he was sick of this city and all that it entailed he fled the city leaving the city to burn in the moonlight as he sailed away. Instead of going to Orlais however he fled to his uncle in Fereldan's House Capet. His uncle informed him of what happened in the city and while he didn't know Gerald he was a strong believer that family stuck together and took Gerald in. There he took refuge as a court adviser to his uncle in regards to magical affairs keeping his magical abilities secret to everyone before deciding that he was tired of court in itself and traveled the land in search of a purpose. It was when he saw and heard of the mages had rebelled that he decided that he needed to not only become stronger but found a place where mages could not be hassled by templars but still be controlled by their peers. He didn't join the Inquisition formally but he helped them on the side with slaying dark spawn and rebels. Figuring he had nothing to lose he went to Cumberland where he joined up with an odd mercenary group just recently hoping that the odd group would allow him to find a way to become stronger and keep him out of the sights of people who preyed on lone mages as he had gotten sick of all the butchery in recent history. Player’s long term goals: Become an Archmage, Become a expert in elemental magic, become the head of a circle or found his own. Relations: House Capet of Kirkwall and Fereldan, Templars (he still has a few friends from his time in Kirkwall being a model mage), The former Circle of Magi, The Former Circle of Kirkwall. Secrets: Spirits are unusually interested in him due to his power and though he plays it off he actually is very much aware of how much they are aware of him. Demons are attracted to him as well and try to convert them into one of them in an attempt to make a very powerful demon. He is also the heir to the Kirkwall House Capet branch.
22,771	655	19	2,192	1,228	En les écoutant parler, Martin a arraché sa pipe de sa bouche et s'est plié vers l'avant avec un gémissement. Son âge lui arrivait et tout ce repos et ce déplacement faisait mal à ses os. "Rappelez-vous les garçons, c'est tout aussi dangereux à la surface avec les bandits, les bêtes sauvages et les putes remplies de varioles que dans ces tunnels. Au moins là-bas, vous savez que vous collez vos knackers dans un mixeur, plutôt que de découvrir seulement quand le pus commence à s'infiltrer." Alors qu'il parlait, il se déplaçait légèrement dans son siège, sa main se remorquant à son coquillage comme le souvenir désagréable d'une infirmière naine qui le regardait avec amusement dans ses yeux alors qu'elle appliquait les charbons chauds à des endroits où les charbons chauds ne devraient jamais être appliqués. « Quant aux autres de l'Inquisition, la plupart sont de retour à Orlais et Ferelden en ce moment. Je ne compterais pas trop sur leur aide à moins d'envoyer des cavaliers les chercher. »	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,772	655	20	402	1,144	C'est moi... ou j'entends des pleurnichers? Cassius a mis son oreille dehors dans une exposition plutôt moqueuse. "Fodder? C'est pas vrai. Arrogant et narcissique... compris. Ne pas vouloir trouver des matériaux perdus un alchimiste ou un Smith pourrait utiliser... "Vérifie." Il a réfuté.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,773	655	21	335	7,553	Bien que ce que je méprise le sous-sol les Deep Roads est un bon choix. Ce ne serait pas un court voyage si on prenait les Deep Roads? Lian a demandé de s'asseoir en avant et de se reposer le menton sur son poing. Son regard était encore focalisé sur le feu, sauf pour les regards occasionnels vers le haut du reste du groupe. "J'ai voté pour les Deep Roads." Elle a dit avec peu d'enthousiasme dans sa voix.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,774	655	22	2,192	1,228	"Bien que je méprise les routes profondes sous terre, c'est un bon choix. Ce ne serait pas un court temps de voyage si on prenait les Deep Roads? » "Il faudrait neuf semaines de marche pour nous emmener à Starkhaven d'ici. Les Deep Roads n'en prendraient que trois, bien que nous devions encore sortir sur la surface pour contourner le blocage que les gardes ont mis en place sur ce vieux thaig qu'ils ont fait hors limites." Martin répliqua, sans même s'embêter à regarder vers le haut alors qu'il bouffait sur sa pipe.	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,775	655	23	2,595	7,068	Fredrick regarda Martin, et cligne des yeux. "Fucking EW? PUS? Martin, pour l'amour de tout ce que je suis saint, juste et juste dans le monde, je pense que cette image ne peut jamais quitter ma putain de tête. Maintenant, quand j'aurai un mec que j'aime, je vais juste avoir cette image dégueulasse dans ma tête. Attendez. Surveiller." Fredrick écouta ses compagnons, et roula les yeux aux mages. Maker lui-même, c'était des petites salopes. Freddy était un peu une salope lui-même, mais au moins il l'a admis. « Autant que je déteste le sous-sol aussi, je dois être du côté de mon collègue elfe ici. On dirait que, contrairement à nos magouilles là-bas, elle a une bonne tête sur les épaules." Fredrick s'arrêta, et regarda Lian, "Pour l'amour de thr Maker, cependant, parlez-en. Je ne sais pas si vous avez fait face à un tas d'oppression humaine ou quelque chose comme ça, mais laissez-moi vous promettre ici que si quelqu'un vous donne de la merde pour être un elfe, je leur poignarderai les oreilles juste pour l'ironie de tout ça." Fredrick était, honnêtement, culturellement tout à fait humain. Cependant, il s'est souvenu avoir été victime de discrimination à maintes reprises dans le passé pour sa race. Il pensait que toute forme de discrimination était juste malade.	Name: Gerald Capet Species: Human Age: 22 Gender: Male Class: Mage Appearance: Gerald has a thin but not frail build that reflects his time of study and shelter in the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. He has very little muscle having only gained such from his long walk back to Fereldan after the Kirkwall Incident. He has pasty white skin with very little color and dark grey eyes. His hair is blonde and is short cut but almost straw like in how it looks. He has a thin nose and is about the size of the average human male. He gives off a very nonthreatening presence due to his appearance however at will that can change as he can use his pure raw magical might to frighten most people with ease due to his training while visiting his family in Fereldan showing him how to project himself like a noble. Curriculum Vitae: Specializations: Spirit Healer Primal Entropy Creation Notable Traits: Extremely potent magi (he can cast powerful spells and he can cast a lot of smaller spells) Very talented in elemental spells mainly the fire Branch Very capable of learning quickly in regards to the magical arts Can adapt well in the middle of a battle Mentally strong (isn't easily seduced by spirits and people trying to break him). Flaws: Extremely poor stealth skills Average to poor levels of physical strength Untrained in physical weapons (bows, melee, weapons, shields, etc) Lacks charisma and leadership capabilities (meaning he can't lead anything smaller than a handful of people) Lacks armor training (meaning he doesn't move as well if in armor which piles on top of his already poor maneuverability) Has rather poor flexibility (movement wise) Skills: Arcane Bolt Arcane Shield Staff Focus Flame Blast Flaming Weapons Fireball Winter Grasp Lightning Shock Disorient Glyph of Paralysis Heal Group Heal Mind Blast Biography: Born in Kirkwall to the Noble House of Capet he was born to a family that needed an heir direly in Kirkwall. As first born he was to be heir to their house but there was a catch...he was born with an incredible magical power. His father Devon Capet was reluctant to give him up due to his own nightmares about his son's futures both in his sleep and in the political scene he kept this hidden from the Knight Commander. His mother agreed to go along with this and they chose to keep their son in their house with the family butler Alfred at all times except on rare occasions when they needed him to leave. His parents were extremely cautious with their young son and as such they had Alfred study spirits and other arcane things in order to help their son. Alfred comforted young Gerald as he grew up early in life with dreams of spirits of valor showing themselves to Gerald in his dreams as a young lad, and when he'd wake up in a panic at night through nightmares where pride demons tried to coax the young lad into letting them into him. Gerald came to view spirits as black and white and they were either good or evil as his father Devon told him. As he grew older he began to show more tangible signs of power when he nearly burned the clothes off his father in one incident and froze his pencils by mistake. His family took a apostate into the household in order to teach young Gerald about his powers only for it to lead to an incident where in the market where he confused an older Templar by using his magic for being a jerk to Alfred. The Templars went to his father and demanded to him that they release Gerald into their custody. His father reluctantly accepted and he went to the circle of magi with the man who'd later allow him to escape Kirkwall Harris Mackley. When he first entered the circle he was unsure and hesitant to talk to others but he soon gained many friends as he found peers who shared his powers. He also grew to hate elves as a certain group of mages taunted him for being a 'blue blooded craven' and taunted him constantly. As he started his new journey in the circle he passed his Harrowing after two years in the circle with minimal ease due to his past experience with spirits. His time in the circle was spent learning under Orsino's left hand Victor Stark, a human man born in the Free Marches who was sent to this circle due to the lack of teachers in Kirkwall. Under Victor's strict tutoring Gerald learned how to use his affinity for fire magic to quickly become a formidable mage of note in Kirkwall. He also slowly grew to have a distaste for the Knight Commander who was clamping down on mages ever more over the years. He grew to respect a few of the people who held him captive and understand why they were there exactly as he lost a friend to a harrowing when he turned into an abomination despite Gerald's warnings to the contrary. Having lost his friend he vowed he'd do better to warn people about the dangers of spirits and demons himself and began to tutor younger mages to their relief. It was not until the Blight started however that his life would change drastically. When people started to flood into Kirkwall the templars stationed there became more controlling over the mages causing some to chafe under their tightening collars and due to a surge in blood mages and apostates running around the island they became even more paranoid. Gerald on the other hand simply continued to teach the students who asked for help and those who were struggling with studies when he was informed that he had a new baby brother who was not a mage. He was mixed about this news and in the end chose to ignore it as it dealt about politics no longer of interest to him. He also ended up with a surge of new mages from Fereldan who were forced into his circle leading to more packed quarters and more people to deal with which stressed his mentor Victor. As the Qunari arrived things simply became that much worse as the templars and politicians grew more and more restless as with the surge in apostates, blood mages, Carta, and qunari deserters. Though he had few interactions with the Qunari he found them disgusting creatures as they served through the Qun which essentially made them all of one mind. No individuality among them and all of them served without question. Those who didn't became bandits who ravaged the coast. What good was being grouped together if there was no chance to diverge and evolve? Gerald gave little trouble to the templars due to his own fears of them cracking down on mages became more and more true. The mages who feared the templars only drove them to tighten the noose around them and caused scuffles between them. Orsino sought out Victor's council more and more leaving Gerald to tend to his own duties. However he had increasingly been visited by various spirits in the fade while sleeping who taught him many things including how to heal others. Gerald took this knowledge in hand but refused to use it primarily because he didn't trust spirits after the harrowing and his own nightmares with demons and on the side because he didn't want to be strung up like some sort of abomination. As his fame in the circle grew he met with the Grey Wardens who considered him for recruitment but were denied by Victor's objections and Gerald's own polite rejections. It was on the eve of the night when the poor quarter of Kirkwall was attacked by a mad elf the solidified the distrust between him and elves. Gerald already found them repulsive due to their pride and their insistence that the Dalish were better but now an elven mad woman had poisoned the whole part of a city. Anger welled up inside of him but thanks to his mentor he managed to calm himself down but he refused to take any more elven students. It was during the time that his dad managed to get approval by the viscount to visit his son in the circle. The two managed to get along well enough after a long time apart. He also met his younger brother Calvin for the first time. The two didn't interact much but Gerald was glad to have met him. After some time the Qunari suddenly snapped and attacked the city. Gerald was off trying to find a lost mage when he was attacked practically out of the blue by the qunari. He used his superior magical talents to simply kill off the small group of them with ease. After this he fled back to the circle where he found a group of young mages injured outside of the circle and on the brink of being slaughtered by the qunari. Disgust welled up inside of him and he slew a few more of them before forcing the others to flee. Seeing his friends dying he had no choice as he reluctantly called upon the spirits he had met in the fade and used their power to heal the wounds of the group as best as he could. After that he and his friend Harris used forced the qunari attacking them to back off. Harris was ushered off to the circle with the youngest of the mages with them and Gerald finished off the rest using a combination of funneling them through an alley, and paralysis glyphs followed up with fire magic to kill the remaining mages. He found out later that his younger brother was accidentally killed in the incident. Following the event he took no part in the mage-templar conspiracy despite requests to do so in Kirkwall viewing them as petty and only making the already horrific situation worse. He was sickened by the knight commander but understood her reasoning and he viewed Orsino as a fool by not making drastic measures to stop it from coming to the current state. It was on the night of the annulment of the circle of Kirkwall when he was to be transferred to another circle in Orlais. A sudden outbreak in fighting occurred after a massive explosion in the middle of the city. Unsure about what was happening Harris told Gerald to get back to the circle. However his gut instinct told him that whatever was going to happen in the city was not going to end well for him. Besides the fact that he was sick of this city and all that it entailed he fled the city leaving the city to burn in the moonlight as he sailed away. Instead of going to Orlais however he fled to his uncle in Fereldan's House Capet. His uncle informed him of what happened in the city and while he didn't know Gerald he was a strong believer that family stuck together and took Gerald in. There he took refuge as a court adviser to his uncle in regards to magical affairs keeping his magical abilities secret to everyone before deciding that he was tired of court in itself and traveled the land in search of a purpose. It was when he saw and heard of the mages had rebelled that he decided that he needed to not only become stronger but found a place where mages could not be hassled by templars but still be controlled by their peers. He didn't join the Inquisition formally but he helped them on the side with slaying dark spawn and rebels. Figuring he had nothing to lose he went to Cumberland where he joined up with an odd mercenary group just recently hoping that the odd group would allow him to find a way to become stronger and keep him out of the sights of people who preyed on lone mages as he had gotten sick of all the butchery in recent history. Player’s long term goals: Become an Archmage, Become a expert in elemental magic, become the head of a circle or found his own. Relations: House Capet of Kirkwall and Fereldan, Templars (he still has a few friends from his time in Kirkwall being a model mage), The former Circle of Magi, The Former Circle of Kirkwall. Secrets: Spirits are unusually interested in him due to his power and though he plays it off he actually is very much aware of how much they are aware of him. Demons are attracted to him as well and try to convert them into one of them in an attempt to make a very powerful demon. He is also the heir to the Kirkwall House Capet branch.
22,776	655	24	892	1,259	"Si les gardiens les débarrassaient de façon si approfondie, tout ce qu'ils jugeraient utile à distance serait entre les mains de l'infâme Légion des morts qui les aide activement. Je vois peu de gain à l'extérieur d'un sentier de voyage peut-être plus rapide à travers les routes profondes à Starkhaven... ou Kirkwall..." "La Légion ne sera pas d'une grande aide si loin d'Orzammar, mais nous pourrions rencontrer certains de ces nouveaux Golems dont j'ai entendu parler." Henrietta a bourdonné sans regarder sa dissection de son dîner. Soudain, comme s'il était frappé par la foudre, la tête d'Etta s'est cassée, les yeux larges et scintillent avec excitation en jetant de côté la carcasse de poisson vidée. "Oui! Golems..." Elle a dit, presque brouillant avec l'anticipation, "The Deep Roads sonne comme une bonne idée. Peut-être pourrions-nous chercher une patrouille, ou mettre un piège pour une... non, pas un piège, qui donnerait une mauvaise première impression et je préférerais examiner un golem avant qu'ils ne soient brisés par Paxton... une sorte d'attrait alors, ou un enchantement..." Atteindre dans son pack voisin l'artifice sorti un grand carnet de croquis et des outils de dessin et a commencé à gribouiller des notes et des plans, faisant des calculs et des mesures à un rythme frénétique, murmurant à elle-même sauvagement tout le temps. "la teinture d'écorce de givre? Non, ça causerait trop de frictions sur les mamelons... Ahh... les dragonvines...	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,777	655	25	1,523	3,443	Vous allez Fredrick. Enlevez le petit elfe de sa coquille. » Une autre gorgée, puis un hoquet, honnêtement, ce n'était même pas lui donner un buzz! Des problèmes à moitié nains. Plus pressant que la question d'un autre mage dans le groupe maintenant, la magie batte contre le lyrique dans son sang. "Golems schmolems," Marcellus a dit, maintenant au fond de sa bouteille et content de parler. C'est comme ça qu'il était sorti de Tevinter et qu'il s'éloignait de Tevinter, bien sûr. À travers le réseau de tunnels, la Carta échangeait avec les magisters, les points de rencontre hors-chemin, le furtif, le subterfuge. Il aimait penser que c'était cette nébuleuse "Stone Sense" qui courait dans son sang, dilué mais toujours là pour lui donner du réconfort d'être profondément souterrain. Plus, la championne de Kirkwall a fait fortune dans les Deep Roads. Je ne vois pas pourquoi on ne peut pas faire la même chose sur le chemin. » Et puis, peut-être plus honnêtement, il a murmuré quelque chose qui sonnait comme, « Peut-être être des dragons aussi, au moins c'est ce que j'ai entendu. Juste des petits.	Vocula MagebaneBasic Information Species: Human (Half-Dwarf) Age: 32 Gender: Male Class: Templar Hunter (Warrior-Rogue) Appearance: Short, stocky but surprisingly swift on his feet, Marcellus seems to have inherited few characteristics of either his father's or his mother's side. While only 5'6" (from a maternal line of relative giants!) and with none of the mad, maniacal evil expected of Tevinter magi, he seems... average. Unusually friendly, for a 'Vint, with a near-permanent smile. Marcellus is conventionally handsome, more so as he ages. Brown (prematurely greying) hair, tan skin, a carefully cultivated beard and more than a few swoon-worthy scars – if the one running from nose to ear wasn't so eyecatching, or disfiguring. He is usually seen in more casual armor, expensive leathers with chainmail only on rare occasions. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Templar Assassin Shadow Notable Traits: Magic Resistance – Marcellus has the thick skin of his Dwarven father's side, albeit not to the same degree. He can shrug off weak bolts of magic from staves (at least when it comes to the Arcane... fire's a different story) and is far more resistant than a normal human and even a normal Templar when it comes to hypnotism or mind control. His mind is near-unbreakable, some might say. It might not be true. Light-Footed – Well, when he's not talking and is entirely focused on a fight. No matter what armor Marcellus is wearing, it's hard not to notice that he moves silently whether purposefully trying to be stealthy or not. Since he is, by nature, a cheeky bugger, he likes to use it to startle friends and allies. Flaws: Insomniac – Perhaps it's due to paranoia, a natural sort born from looking over one's shoulder all the time. Or, more likely, it's the lyrium. Marcellus allows himself to sleep rarely and when he does it's marked by terrible nightmares. Weak-willed – At least, when it comes to demons of Desire. Marcellus is a simple man of various wants, and he's made deals with both spirits and demons in the past, though none that have transformed him into an abomination. He thinks himself "careful". Lyrium Addiction – So it turns out that, like alcohol, it takes a lot of lyrium to give a half-dwarf a buzz of power. Despite the scarcity of the resource for the Templars in Tevinter, Marcellus sought it out himself... a contributing reason as to why he made it to his thirtieth year when so many other recruits didn't. He might not be having the memory loss and confusion yet but the pent-up aggression and withdrawal symptoms always loom over the horizon for when he runs out. And he runs out a lot. Skills: Cleanse Silence Wrath of Heaven Assassinate Inconspicuous Stealth Twin Fangs Backstory Biography: Not a sad story, but certainly not a happy one. The current head of the Vocula family is a woman by the name of Diantha, the mother of both Marcellus and an older son – the heir. While her lineage is preserved in Caius Vocula, Marcellus was nothing more than a mistake, though a passionate one. Requiring vast shipments of lyrium, most of which was delivered by the Carta, she dealt with one dwarf in particular so often that she had a short-lived and doomed affair with him... and she got a discount to boot. While Diantha Vocula is a woman of strange tastes and notorious promiscuity (not even mentioning the blood magic), it was probably not worth the social suicide that was carrying a half-dwarf child to term. (Her reputation eventually bounced back, mostly to do with the quality of her magical studies and raw power itself, but that doesn't matter much.) Marcellus was, of course, born without magic and only a slight connection to the Fade. It was a miracle he didn't take after his father more and was actually able to dream in the first place. While of course his Dwarven heritage was covered up, it was more of an open secret. Protection runes and barriers didn't stick to him as well as they did others, particularly when they were cast by his weak older brother to test him. Diantha did love her son, though, a strange woman no doubt, and wanted only the best for him. Naturally, she used her political sway to have him trained by the Imperial Chantry as one of the few templars they had there. Marcellus was not the only nobleman born without magic, after all. Lyrium was a commodity for mage-use only, of course, and so his Order did not rely on it as those in Fereldan or Orlesian orders did. That is likely a contributing reason to the absurdly high death toll of the Imperial Templars – just bodies to throw at an abomination until it gives up. Propaganda dictated that the Andrastian Chantry gave their Templars lyrium as a leash, but as someone with connections on the "outside", Marcellus found at least part of the truth: it made them more powerful. By securing himself to several different magisters (not a slave, but a faithful servant, no less useful than an Antivan Crow) he managed to acquire a supply of lyrium... Having no knowledge of the dangers of the substance, nor that the Templar abilities required training, Marcellus did nothing but acquire his fatal flaw: his addiction. By his early twenties, Marcellus was under the thumb of it with no recognisable rewards and mages were getting more dangerous by the day (or perhaps he was getting weaker) so he of course sought someone out to train him up. One of the Vocula slaves had been one, once, traded over from Fereldan during the blight though the man was now useless with withdrawal. He managed to teach Marcellus the very basics – how to call upon the lyrium in his blood, how to cleanse an area and how to stop spellcasting – in exchange for his freedom. Of course, once he was given it, he turned around and tried to assassinate Diantha, so he was forced to kill him. Unfortunate, but probably a relief to his suffering. Spooked by the knowledge that if he ran out of lyrium like the slave then he'd end up a wreck, Marcellus started to take more under the guise of "training his newfound abilities". Word started to spread of a templar with the ability to take away magic. A dangerous rumour in Tevinter, but undoubtedly profitable. Magisters asked the Imperial Chantry for the Vocula heir's services to quell an uprising or coup, and he did so, striking from the shadows and taking out those squishy little mages; the ones without good tuition and too much experimentation. This lasted up until his mid-twenties, when Marcellus met his "love" Sulpicia – the wife of a new magister with a lot of lyrium on hand. She had him as a guard for a year (since new magisters were notoriously prone to unexpected death) and if anything only made his lyrium problem worse. But she was beautiful, yes. Still, when the Vocula family started a feud of sorts with her husband, Marcellus picked a side – arguably the wrong one. His family. He murdered her husband using all those stealthy, sneaky mage-killing abilities for no real reward, cutting off his supply of lyrium. At the very least he was given fair warning to flee from Minrathous and Tevinter as a whole, so he did, full of self-righteousness and thinking he did what was best. Not his proudest moment, though not a move he regrets taking. It didn't take long for him to find out that life outside the Imperial Chantry was a lot more difficult – at least when it came to finding lyrium to take. For all his pride, Marcellus ended up a mercenary. It wasn't that much different to life before. Back then it was the Black Chantry taking on the jobs from the magisters and directing them out like loyal lapdogs. Sometimes, people just wanted mages dead, and he could help with that. So long as the pay was good. Motivation: When it comes to the short-term, Marcellus is painfully self-aware and honest with even himself. He seeks only drink and debauchery, with a few fights in between to satiate his appetite for battle. Coin isn't the true motivator behind his mercenary work; it's what he can buy with it – lyrium. Long-term? He's not so sure. He's not a mage, so living in Tevinter for the rest of his life is near-impossible, if only because there's no purpose for him there. Protecting the innocents is fun and all but in other lines of work it doesn't pay the bills. His pride is non-existent now, so life as a mercenary is for him, no matter how distasteful it can be at times. If a small part of him wants to settle down, find a partner... Well. There's always something more pressing, like an addiction, to cover first. Goals:Beat a Qunari in a drinking contest; Become Knight-Captain; Become filthy rich off adventuring like the Champion of Kirkwall; Buy enough lyrium to dose up into old age or senility, which ever comes first; And perhaps kill a dragon. That sounds interesting. Relations: The Imperial Chantry – Left of his own accord four years ago... Without telling anyone where he was going or why. Whether they are upset with him or not for leaving as he did during the dead of night, Marcellus doesn't particularly want to find out. House Vocula – His esteemed mother's family of Altus magi, of which he is the only non-mage (due to his status as a bastard and his unfortunate Dwarven blood). His mother is still alive, the head of the female-dominated family and flighty, though undoubtedly soft on her youngest son. House Caecina – Sulpicia's house, or at least the one she married into. To say that Marcellus is not on good terms with them would be putting it lightly. The Carta – Sure, it's a bit amoral name-dropping his father who he's never met in his life, but the man (if he's even still alive) seems to have no problem with it... if he knows. Marcellus deals with the Carta for his lyrium fix and has in the past gotten decent side-jobs from them, few of them legal. Secrets: His lyrium addiction itself. Probably the large numbers of dissenting mages in Tevinter he executed – the unsavoury sort, of course. Depending on who his allies are, it might be best not to have unwanted fireballs sent his way. As vehemently as he denies taking part in any sort of politics, he is aware of The Grand Game of Orlais as Tevinter has something... similar. Just with more slaves and necromancy and abominations.
22,778	655	26	335	7,553	Lian lui a tiré dessus. "Je peux être silencieux si je veux." Elle l'a frappé avant de regarder le feu. Elle n'était pas d'humeur à parler, être coincée sur un bateau avec eux avait froissé son calme normal. Elle s'est assise droite et a pris une profonde respiration.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,779	655	27	402	1,144	Cassius a ignoré les autres avant de passer à Lian. "Quelque chose qui t'inquiète..." Il chuchotait en essayant de prendre en considération d'autres personnes en fonction de leur sentiment et de moins de risque de tuer leurs compagnons. Quelque chose à son sujet a semblé qu'elle n'aimait pas les autres. Peut-être avec un seul bras, pour une contrainte émotionnelle, mais c'était juste basé sur son observation. "Je n'essaierai pas si tu ne veux pas que je le fasse. Mais je connais plutôt les préoccupations de ceux avec qui je travaille." Il s'est assis à côté d'elle en voyant deux personnes hors du groupe le voir comme un esquimau. Mais il ne pouvait pas leur en vouloir non plus.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,780	655	28	892	1,259	C'est de la merde! Henrietta cria soudainement, agitant son stylet en l'air pendant un moment et regardant les autres avec un sourire sur son visage, comme si elle s'attendait à ce qu'ils comprennent exactement de quoi elle parlait. Un moment plus tard, ses yeux s'évanouissaient de nouveau et son visage se fondait de nouveau dans une expression stupéfaite une seconde avant d'avoir le sourire qu'elle retournait griffonner de façon erratique sur son croquis. "Hmm... Je pourrais avoir besoin d'ajouter un agent stabilisant au mélange aussi..? Des champignons profonds, peut-être... non, ça ferait briller trop... Deepstalker Jizz... ça pourrait marcher, mais l'obtenir serait désordonné et ça aurait pris une éternité pour nettoyer ces trucs de mes gants la dernière fois... »	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,781	655	29	1,523	3,443	Henri – Un hoquet. C'est-à-dire? Qu'est-ce que tu travailles là-bas? » Marcellus était juste assez rusé pour être curieux, même s'il savait que des explications sur les inventions du nain s'envoleraient au-dessus de sa tête et jusqu'à Denerim. Ou quelque chose comme ça. Maker sait qu'il n'aurait jamais été un Smith s'il avait été un nain plein et non une monstruosité d'un demi-ling. Attends... Est-ce que ça a l'air amer? Quelque chose pour guérir une gueule de bois, j'espère? Non pas que je veux que Deepstalker j– cela soit inclus dans elle si c'est un...	Vocula MagebaneBasic Information Species: Human (Half-Dwarf) Age: 32 Gender: Male Class: Templar Hunter (Warrior-Rogue) Appearance: Short, stocky but surprisingly swift on his feet, Marcellus seems to have inherited few characteristics of either his father's or his mother's side. While only 5'6" (from a maternal line of relative giants!) and with none of the mad, maniacal evil expected of Tevinter magi, he seems... average. Unusually friendly, for a 'Vint, with a near-permanent smile. Marcellus is conventionally handsome, more so as he ages. Brown (prematurely greying) hair, tan skin, a carefully cultivated beard and more than a few swoon-worthy scars – if the one running from nose to ear wasn't so eyecatching, or disfiguring. He is usually seen in more casual armor, expensive leathers with chainmail only on rare occasions. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Templar Assassin Shadow Notable Traits: Magic Resistance – Marcellus has the thick skin of his Dwarven father's side, albeit not to the same degree. He can shrug off weak bolts of magic from staves (at least when it comes to the Arcane... fire's a different story) and is far more resistant than a normal human and even a normal Templar when it comes to hypnotism or mind control. His mind is near-unbreakable, some might say. It might not be true. Light-Footed – Well, when he's not talking and is entirely focused on a fight. No matter what armor Marcellus is wearing, it's hard not to notice that he moves silently whether purposefully trying to be stealthy or not. Since he is, by nature, a cheeky bugger, he likes to use it to startle friends and allies. Flaws: Insomniac – Perhaps it's due to paranoia, a natural sort born from looking over one's shoulder all the time. Or, more likely, it's the lyrium. Marcellus allows himself to sleep rarely and when he does it's marked by terrible nightmares. Weak-willed – At least, when it comes to demons of Desire. Marcellus is a simple man of various wants, and he's made deals with both spirits and demons in the past, though none that have transformed him into an abomination. He thinks himself "careful". Lyrium Addiction – So it turns out that, like alcohol, it takes a lot of lyrium to give a half-dwarf a buzz of power. Despite the scarcity of the resource for the Templars in Tevinter, Marcellus sought it out himself... a contributing reason as to why he made it to his thirtieth year when so many other recruits didn't. He might not be having the memory loss and confusion yet but the pent-up aggression and withdrawal symptoms always loom over the horizon for when he runs out. And he runs out a lot. Skills: Cleanse Silence Wrath of Heaven Assassinate Inconspicuous Stealth Twin Fangs Backstory Biography: Not a sad story, but certainly not a happy one. The current head of the Vocula family is a woman by the name of Diantha, the mother of both Marcellus and an older son – the heir. While her lineage is preserved in Caius Vocula, Marcellus was nothing more than a mistake, though a passionate one. Requiring vast shipments of lyrium, most of which was delivered by the Carta, she dealt with one dwarf in particular so often that she had a short-lived and doomed affair with him... and she got a discount to boot. While Diantha Vocula is a woman of strange tastes and notorious promiscuity (not even mentioning the blood magic), it was probably not worth the social suicide that was carrying a half-dwarf child to term. (Her reputation eventually bounced back, mostly to do with the quality of her magical studies and raw power itself, but that doesn't matter much.) Marcellus was, of course, born without magic and only a slight connection to the Fade. It was a miracle he didn't take after his father more and was actually able to dream in the first place. While of course his Dwarven heritage was covered up, it was more of an open secret. Protection runes and barriers didn't stick to him as well as they did others, particularly when they were cast by his weak older brother to test him. Diantha did love her son, though, a strange woman no doubt, and wanted only the best for him. Naturally, she used her political sway to have him trained by the Imperial Chantry as one of the few templars they had there. Marcellus was not the only nobleman born without magic, after all. Lyrium was a commodity for mage-use only, of course, and so his Order did not rely on it as those in Fereldan or Orlesian orders did. That is likely a contributing reason to the absurdly high death toll of the Imperial Templars – just bodies to throw at an abomination until it gives up. Propaganda dictated that the Andrastian Chantry gave their Templars lyrium as a leash, but as someone with connections on the "outside", Marcellus found at least part of the truth: it made them more powerful. By securing himself to several different magisters (not a slave, but a faithful servant, no less useful than an Antivan Crow) he managed to acquire a supply of lyrium... Having no knowledge of the dangers of the substance, nor that the Templar abilities required training, Marcellus did nothing but acquire his fatal flaw: his addiction. By his early twenties, Marcellus was under the thumb of it with no recognisable rewards and mages were getting more dangerous by the day (or perhaps he was getting weaker) so he of course sought someone out to train him up. One of the Vocula slaves had been one, once, traded over from Fereldan during the blight though the man was now useless with withdrawal. He managed to teach Marcellus the very basics – how to call upon the lyrium in his blood, how to cleanse an area and how to stop spellcasting – in exchange for his freedom. Of course, once he was given it, he turned around and tried to assassinate Diantha, so he was forced to kill him. Unfortunate, but probably a relief to his suffering. Spooked by the knowledge that if he ran out of lyrium like the slave then he'd end up a wreck, Marcellus started to take more under the guise of "training his newfound abilities". Word started to spread of a templar with the ability to take away magic. A dangerous rumour in Tevinter, but undoubtedly profitable. Magisters asked the Imperial Chantry for the Vocula heir's services to quell an uprising or coup, and he did so, striking from the shadows and taking out those squishy little mages; the ones without good tuition and too much experimentation. This lasted up until his mid-twenties, when Marcellus met his "love" Sulpicia – the wife of a new magister with a lot of lyrium on hand. She had him as a guard for a year (since new magisters were notoriously prone to unexpected death) and if anything only made his lyrium problem worse. But she was beautiful, yes. Still, when the Vocula family started a feud of sorts with her husband, Marcellus picked a side – arguably the wrong one. His family. He murdered her husband using all those stealthy, sneaky mage-killing abilities for no real reward, cutting off his supply of lyrium. At the very least he was given fair warning to flee from Minrathous and Tevinter as a whole, so he did, full of self-righteousness and thinking he did what was best. Not his proudest moment, though not a move he regrets taking. It didn't take long for him to find out that life outside the Imperial Chantry was a lot more difficult – at least when it came to finding lyrium to take. For all his pride, Marcellus ended up a mercenary. It wasn't that much different to life before. Back then it was the Black Chantry taking on the jobs from the magisters and directing them out like loyal lapdogs. Sometimes, people just wanted mages dead, and he could help with that. So long as the pay was good. Motivation: When it comes to the short-term, Marcellus is painfully self-aware and honest with even himself. He seeks only drink and debauchery, with a few fights in between to satiate his appetite for battle. Coin isn't the true motivator behind his mercenary work; it's what he can buy with it – lyrium. Long-term? He's not so sure. He's not a mage, so living in Tevinter for the rest of his life is near-impossible, if only because there's no purpose for him there. Protecting the innocents is fun and all but in other lines of work it doesn't pay the bills. His pride is non-existent now, so life as a mercenary is for him, no matter how distasteful it can be at times. If a small part of him wants to settle down, find a partner... Well. There's always something more pressing, like an addiction, to cover first. Goals:Beat a Qunari in a drinking contest; Become Knight-Captain; Become filthy rich off adventuring like the Champion of Kirkwall; Buy enough lyrium to dose up into old age or senility, which ever comes first; And perhaps kill a dragon. That sounds interesting. Relations: The Imperial Chantry – Left of his own accord four years ago... Without telling anyone where he was going or why. Whether they are upset with him or not for leaving as he did during the dead of night, Marcellus doesn't particularly want to find out. House Vocula – His esteemed mother's family of Altus magi, of which he is the only non-mage (due to his status as a bastard and his unfortunate Dwarven blood). His mother is still alive, the head of the female-dominated family and flighty, though undoubtedly soft on her youngest son. House Caecina – Sulpicia's house, or at least the one she married into. To say that Marcellus is not on good terms with them would be putting it lightly. The Carta – Sure, it's a bit amoral name-dropping his father who he's never met in his life, but the man (if he's even still alive) seems to have no problem with it... if he knows. Marcellus deals with the Carta for his lyrium fix and has in the past gotten decent side-jobs from them, few of them legal. Secrets: His lyrium addiction itself. Probably the large numbers of dissenting mages in Tevinter he executed – the unsavoury sort, of course. Depending on who his allies are, it might be best not to have unwanted fireballs sent his way. As vehemently as he denies taking part in any sort of politics, he is aware of The Grand Game of Orlais as Tevinter has something... similar. Just with more slaves and necromancy and abominations.
22,782	655	30	892	1,259	Levant le regard avec un sourire joyeux, sa main griffonnait toujours sans encombre dans ses genoux, Henrietta regardait en allers et retours un moment avant finalement de zéro sur Marcellus, sa loupe tournant dans sa direction. "Je suis en train de concevoir un Enceintement Golem pour quand nous descendons dans les Deep Roads. Il devrait être en mesure d'attirer un golem dedans et de les garder enthousiasmés par l'attrait jusqu'à ce que j'aie eu une chance de le disséquer... en profondeur l'examiner." Soudain, ses mains tirant le sketchpad vers le haut, laissant Marcellus voir les notes brouillées, les formules chimiques et le désordre fou des spirales et des formes géométriques qui semblaient former la forme d'un mabari piquant, ou si vous tourniez la tête sur le côté et piquant un petit amiral Isabela portant seulement un œillet et une mandoline soigneusement placée. « Le seul problème, c'est que je n'ai aucune idée de ce qu'un golem peut trouver assez séduisant pour être pris en émerveillement à sa vue. Peut-être devrais-je faire une étude d'une sorte avant d'essayer d'en capturer une, alors je pourrais apprendre ce qu'ils aimeraient... hmm, mais cela signifierait que je devrais en capturer une pour étudier d'abord... nous devrions essayer de rechercher une patrouille pendant que nous sommes dans les routes profondes, ou mettre un piège pour une... non, pas un piège, qui donnerait une mauvaise première impression et j'aurais besoin du golem vivant, pas éclaté par Cassius... une sorte d'attrait alors, ou un enchantement..." Déposer le tampon sur les genoux la naine occupée était à nouveau loin de ses mains et les yeux sautant d'un espace clair sur la page à l'autre alors qu'elle dessinait, griffonnait et annoté le diagramme avec encore plus de gibberish.	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,783	655	31	1,523	3,443	"Ça sonne grand," Marcellus a dit hochement, regardant comme si les rouages à l'intérieur de son esprit tournaient encore, la sciure brûlant dans une tentative de la traiter. Il était plutôt un type de type 'apprentissage par expérience', ou (dans la voix si sardonique de sa mère) un type 'peinture par nombres'. De toute façon, les lettres et les chiffres sur le bloc-notes étaient bien au-delà de sa scolarité. C'était une femme nue? C'était le capitaine? Sympa. Bref... Il s'est frotté à sa barbe dans un geste qui aurait pu sembler sage sur quelqu'un d'autre, mais qui n'a certainement rien fait pour Marcellus. Pour la partie 'enchantement', ne pourriez-vous pas utiliser – je ne sais pas – l'un de nous comme appât?	Vocula MagebaneBasic Information Species: Human (Half-Dwarf) Age: 32 Gender: Male Class: Templar Hunter (Warrior-Rogue) Appearance: Short, stocky but surprisingly swift on his feet, Marcellus seems to have inherited few characteristics of either his father's or his mother's side. While only 5'6" (from a maternal line of relative giants!) and with none of the mad, maniacal evil expected of Tevinter magi, he seems... average. Unusually friendly, for a 'Vint, with a near-permanent smile. Marcellus is conventionally handsome, more so as he ages. Brown (prematurely greying) hair, tan skin, a carefully cultivated beard and more than a few swoon-worthy scars – if the one running from nose to ear wasn't so eyecatching, or disfiguring. He is usually seen in more casual armor, expensive leathers with chainmail only on rare occasions. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Templar Assassin Shadow Notable Traits: Magic Resistance – Marcellus has the thick skin of his Dwarven father's side, albeit not to the same degree. He can shrug off weak bolts of magic from staves (at least when it comes to the Arcane... fire's a different story) and is far more resistant than a normal human and even a normal Templar when it comes to hypnotism or mind control. His mind is near-unbreakable, some might say. It might not be true. Light-Footed – Well, when he's not talking and is entirely focused on a fight. No matter what armor Marcellus is wearing, it's hard not to notice that he moves silently whether purposefully trying to be stealthy or not. Since he is, by nature, a cheeky bugger, he likes to use it to startle friends and allies. Flaws: Insomniac – Perhaps it's due to paranoia, a natural sort born from looking over one's shoulder all the time. Or, more likely, it's the lyrium. Marcellus allows himself to sleep rarely and when he does it's marked by terrible nightmares. Weak-willed – At least, when it comes to demons of Desire. Marcellus is a simple man of various wants, and he's made deals with both spirits and demons in the past, though none that have transformed him into an abomination. He thinks himself "careful". Lyrium Addiction – So it turns out that, like alcohol, it takes a lot of lyrium to give a half-dwarf a buzz of power. Despite the scarcity of the resource for the Templars in Tevinter, Marcellus sought it out himself... a contributing reason as to why he made it to his thirtieth year when so many other recruits didn't. He might not be having the memory loss and confusion yet but the pent-up aggression and withdrawal symptoms always loom over the horizon for when he runs out. And he runs out a lot. Skills: Cleanse Silence Wrath of Heaven Assassinate Inconspicuous Stealth Twin Fangs Backstory Biography: Not a sad story, but certainly not a happy one. The current head of the Vocula family is a woman by the name of Diantha, the mother of both Marcellus and an older son – the heir. While her lineage is preserved in Caius Vocula, Marcellus was nothing more than a mistake, though a passionate one. Requiring vast shipments of lyrium, most of which was delivered by the Carta, she dealt with one dwarf in particular so often that she had a short-lived and doomed affair with him... and she got a discount to boot. While Diantha Vocula is a woman of strange tastes and notorious promiscuity (not even mentioning the blood magic), it was probably not worth the social suicide that was carrying a half-dwarf child to term. (Her reputation eventually bounced back, mostly to do with the quality of her magical studies and raw power itself, but that doesn't matter much.) Marcellus was, of course, born without magic and only a slight connection to the Fade. It was a miracle he didn't take after his father more and was actually able to dream in the first place. While of course his Dwarven heritage was covered up, it was more of an open secret. Protection runes and barriers didn't stick to him as well as they did others, particularly when they were cast by his weak older brother to test him. Diantha did love her son, though, a strange woman no doubt, and wanted only the best for him. Naturally, she used her political sway to have him trained by the Imperial Chantry as one of the few templars they had there. Marcellus was not the only nobleman born without magic, after all. Lyrium was a commodity for mage-use only, of course, and so his Order did not rely on it as those in Fereldan or Orlesian orders did. That is likely a contributing reason to the absurdly high death toll of the Imperial Templars – just bodies to throw at an abomination until it gives up. Propaganda dictated that the Andrastian Chantry gave their Templars lyrium as a leash, but as someone with connections on the "outside", Marcellus found at least part of the truth: it made them more powerful. By securing himself to several different magisters (not a slave, but a faithful servant, no less useful than an Antivan Crow) he managed to acquire a supply of lyrium... Having no knowledge of the dangers of the substance, nor that the Templar abilities required training, Marcellus did nothing but acquire his fatal flaw: his addiction. By his early twenties, Marcellus was under the thumb of it with no recognisable rewards and mages were getting more dangerous by the day (or perhaps he was getting weaker) so he of course sought someone out to train him up. One of the Vocula slaves had been one, once, traded over from Fereldan during the blight though the man was now useless with withdrawal. He managed to teach Marcellus the very basics – how to call upon the lyrium in his blood, how to cleanse an area and how to stop spellcasting – in exchange for his freedom. Of course, once he was given it, he turned around and tried to assassinate Diantha, so he was forced to kill him. Unfortunate, but probably a relief to his suffering. Spooked by the knowledge that if he ran out of lyrium like the slave then he'd end up a wreck, Marcellus started to take more under the guise of "training his newfound abilities". Word started to spread of a templar with the ability to take away magic. A dangerous rumour in Tevinter, but undoubtedly profitable. Magisters asked the Imperial Chantry for the Vocula heir's services to quell an uprising or coup, and he did so, striking from the shadows and taking out those squishy little mages; the ones without good tuition and too much experimentation. This lasted up until his mid-twenties, when Marcellus met his "love" Sulpicia – the wife of a new magister with a lot of lyrium on hand. She had him as a guard for a year (since new magisters were notoriously prone to unexpected death) and if anything only made his lyrium problem worse. But she was beautiful, yes. Still, when the Vocula family started a feud of sorts with her husband, Marcellus picked a side – arguably the wrong one. His family. He murdered her husband using all those stealthy, sneaky mage-killing abilities for no real reward, cutting off his supply of lyrium. At the very least he was given fair warning to flee from Minrathous and Tevinter as a whole, so he did, full of self-righteousness and thinking he did what was best. Not his proudest moment, though not a move he regrets taking. It didn't take long for him to find out that life outside the Imperial Chantry was a lot more difficult – at least when it came to finding lyrium to take. For all his pride, Marcellus ended up a mercenary. It wasn't that much different to life before. Back then it was the Black Chantry taking on the jobs from the magisters and directing them out like loyal lapdogs. Sometimes, people just wanted mages dead, and he could help with that. So long as the pay was good. Motivation: When it comes to the short-term, Marcellus is painfully self-aware and honest with even himself. He seeks only drink and debauchery, with a few fights in between to satiate his appetite for battle. Coin isn't the true motivator behind his mercenary work; it's what he can buy with it – lyrium. Long-term? He's not so sure. He's not a mage, so living in Tevinter for the rest of his life is near-impossible, if only because there's no purpose for him there. Protecting the innocents is fun and all but in other lines of work it doesn't pay the bills. His pride is non-existent now, so life as a mercenary is for him, no matter how distasteful it can be at times. If a small part of him wants to settle down, find a partner... Well. There's always something more pressing, like an addiction, to cover first. Goals:Beat a Qunari in a drinking contest; Become Knight-Captain; Become filthy rich off adventuring like the Champion of Kirkwall; Buy enough lyrium to dose up into old age or senility, which ever comes first; And perhaps kill a dragon. That sounds interesting. Relations: The Imperial Chantry – Left of his own accord four years ago... Without telling anyone where he was going or why. Whether they are upset with him or not for leaving as he did during the dead of night, Marcellus doesn't particularly want to find out. House Vocula – His esteemed mother's family of Altus magi, of which he is the only non-mage (due to his status as a bastard and his unfortunate Dwarven blood). His mother is still alive, the head of the female-dominated family and flighty, though undoubtedly soft on her youngest son. House Caecina – Sulpicia's house, or at least the one she married into. To say that Marcellus is not on good terms with them would be putting it lightly. The Carta – Sure, it's a bit amoral name-dropping his father who he's never met in his life, but the man (if he's even still alive) seems to have no problem with it... if he knows. Marcellus deals with the Carta for his lyrium fix and has in the past gotten decent side-jobs from them, few of them legal. Secrets: His lyrium addiction itself. Probably the large numbers of dissenting mages in Tevinter he executed – the unsavoury sort, of course. Depending on who his allies are, it might be best not to have unwanted fireballs sent his way. As vehemently as he denies taking part in any sort of politics, he is aware of The Grand Game of Orlais as Tevinter has something... similar. Just with more slaves and necromancy and abominations.
22,784	655	32	2,049	6,940	Oh, les Deep Roads sont censés être ravissantes à cette époque de l'année. Dark, dank, avec une faible chance de mort ici et là. Les trois Ds que chaque aventurier devrait chercher. Paxton a dit avec un peu de chance alors qu'il abordait l'idée du groupe d'utiliser les fameux passages souterrains. Il s'est penché sur le jeune mage du groupe, le pauvre garçon a toujours trouvé le besoin de s'isoler de tout le monde dans la compagnie. Paxton a un léger clin d'œil aux affirmations du garçon au sujet des dangers des routes. "Bien sûr, les routes profondes sont dangereuses, seul un brumeur pourrait penser autrement. Darkspawn, vieux pièges de Dwarven, et tous les propriétaires de petits créateurs méchants qui aimeraient faire le dîner de nos cachettes collectives. Il a dit, levant un doigt comme il a énuméré les choses possibles qui pourraient mettre fin aux voyages du groupe prématurément. "Mais si ma mémoire ne me fait pas défaut dans ma vieillesse, la surface ne s'approche pas bien de nos jours." Il a ajouté en griffant sa barbe. "Maker ne sait que combien de temps avant qu'un autre trou géant dans la Fade s'ouvre dans le ciel et commence à émerger à nouveau des démons. Mieux vaut prendre les dangers que nous savons que nous aurons et aller à Starkhaven alors qu'il y a encore un Starkhaven à atteindre. Paxton a dit avant de mettre en place rapidement. "Bien que si c'était à moi de le faire, je préférerais tellement monter un griffon là-bas, mais quelles sont les chances de trouver un de ceux-là?" L'attention de Paxton a vite été attirée sur le nain cervical légèrement dispersé du groupe et sa fascination apparente pour les golems. "Golems... ces pauvres bâtards..." On pouvait voir un léger frisson passer par Paxton comme il l'a dit. "J'ai entendu dire qu'un peu de ces mauvaises herbes ont été forcées de devenir ces... choses. Je dois dire, cela semble être une façon assez difficile d'aller, piégé dans un corps de pierre et d'acier." Il a dit d'un ton plutôt sympathique, son attention s'est concentrée sur le feu de camp du groupe.	"Let the blade pass through the flesh, Let my blood touch the ground, Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice. -Andraste 7:12" Paxton Arkwright Bloodwrath Basic Information Species Human/Abomination Age 33 Gender Male Class Mage/Warrior Appearance Paxton is a tall man, standing at 6'4 in height, with a muscular body build. His skin is slightly on the pale side and is peppered with scars from countless misadventures in his life, though there are a series of them that rack his arms that stand out among the rest. His hair is a dark, ash black and normally hangs down below his shoulders in a uncombed mess, though on occasion he has been known to tie it back into a loose ponytail. He has a slightly trimmed beard that covers the lower half of his face, left unattended for too long it will easily match that of a Dwarf's. His eyes are a bright amber color, on the verge of being yellow, and hold a certain sharpness to them. Unlike traditional mages Paxton does not wear robes, instead he wears a set of leather armor. The armor is colored in a mixture of dark grey and black. He wears an amulet of Andraste under his armor almost at all times. Paxton has a large slightly tattered collared coat he normally wears over his armor. Another thing that separates Paxton from the usual mage is that he does not carry a staff at all. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations Knight-Enchanter, Blood Mage, Reaver Notable Traits Master Of The Game Paxton had spent years mingling with members of the highest society as he served as one of the Divine's elite mage guards. As such he is more than use to surviving the cut throat politics that Orlesian call their Grand Game, in fact he was once quite the avid player. Paxton can exchange words as well as the most pampered and schooled nobles Thedas has to offer. He once prided himself on his skill to fool bards, who were supposedly the most skilled members of the game Andrastian Paxton is a devoted follower of the Chantry. He worships the Maker and his mortal bride Andraste. He has memorized most of the chant of light, which is no easy feat, and has even at one point sung through the whole chant, which took about three weeks to complete. He is known to throw a Chant line or two into conversation if it relates to the matter on hand, he has even been caught singing the Chant to merely pass the time. Though many may find it hypocritical for Paxton to call himself a follower of the Chantry given his choice of combat use, Paxton says what he does is a necessary evil that must be done. Elf-Blooded Though one may not guess it from merely looking upon him Paxton is actually indeed a half-Elf. His mother was a Elven maid and his father the inn keeper where his mother work. The two fell in love and the product of their romance was Paxton. Because of this Paxton has a soft spot for Elven kind and their plight, often times getting into bloody fights whenever he hears someone use the expression "knife-ear". Cat Person No offence to the Fereldans and their Mabari, but Paxton had always preferred felines over hounds. Paxton always respected the creatures' craftiness, not to mention found them quite adorable. Plus Paxton's dislike for dog slobber pushed him towards cats. You can only imagine what he thoughts when he came upon a group of bandits attacking what looked like a defenseless kitty. After a less than pleasant bout of bandit stomping Paxton went to treat the cat only to find out it was a red lion cub, apparently the bandits had killed her mother. Paxton did the only thing he thought was right and took in the cub, naming her Sasha. Ever since Paxton had been raising her, some say just as well as any other red lion parent could, and Sasha has grown into quite the deadly and beautiful creature. Flaws Battle Enthusiast Master of the Game or not Paxton has no problem jumping into battle, he rather enjoys it in fact. If one's first attempt at talking fails Paxton would more than likely already be moving in for his first, maybe even last, attack on whoever they were trying to convince. He is basically the equivalent of a battle harden Qunari with the short temper of a drunken Dwarf. Wanted By The Orlesian Chantry Paxton's past has left him as a wanted man of the Orlesian Chantry, he has to be very weary any time he sets foot on Orlesian soil do to the great and wide power the Chantry holds there. Wrath Within Paxton is not alone in his own body or mind, he is in a sense an Abomination. For he harbors a demon of Wrath in side of himself. Unlike other mages who harbor a spirit of the Fade inside themselves and allow themselves to be over taken by it Paxton has tamed this beast to a extent. The demon serves as a resource of immense power and knowledge, but always posses a threat. If Paxton is not careful with his emotional state the demon can and has taken control of its host, at which point it brings Paxton's inner hatred and furry down upon anyone or thing near by, regardless of friend or foe. Skills Fade Cloak Paxton shifts from a physical form to that of a cloud of blood mist. While in this form Paxton is invulnerable and can pass through enemies with out penalty. When he rematerializes he does so in a small crimson burst of blood that wounds and knock backs enemies. Spirit Blade Paxton's hands become surrounded by blood that form into monstrous claws that can cut as deep as any blade. Blood Magic Paxton uses the blood of his foes to fuel his power and continue his slaughtering sprees. Ring Of Pain Paxton claims his spot on the battle field and fights with the ferocity of a dragon, turning any foe foolish enough to come close into stains on the ground. Devour Paxton rips into his foes and uses their blood in order to heal his own wounds Dragon-Rage Paxton uses his dragon infused blood to strengthen the power of his claws. This power only increases with the damage Paxton endures. Backstory Biography Paxton's life started like all mage lives do, he was stripped away from his family at the tender age of six and sent to the Circle of Magi, though to his fortune the Nevarran Circles have much more freedom when compared to the rest of Thedas when excluding the Tevinter Imperium. He was quite the talented student when it came to his studies, accelerating ahead of his peers. He was even the youngest apprentice in the Nevarran Circle's history to go through the Harrowing, at only the age of fifteen. It wasn't long after his Harrowing that Paxton requested to be transferred to the Orlesian Circle of Magi, The White Spire, in the hopes to study the magic of the Knight-Enchanters. As a fully fledge mage his request was deemed acceptable and he was transferred to the White Spire. The years after that Paxton did nothing but train in the arts of the Knight-Enchanter, which eventually not only did he become one but he was also requested to become one of the Elite Knight-Enchanter bodyguards of the Divine herself. Needless to say Paxton accepted. Paxton spent years in service to the Divine, saving her life countless times from would be killers. He was held in high regard among the Chantry, they seeing him as what a mage should be, but all that changed once Paxton's secret came to light. It turned out for years that Paxton had not only been studying blood magic, but also practicing it actively, even going as for to drink the blood of a dragon and becoming a Reaver. All this was revealed when an assassin got the better of him, managing to fire an arrow through Paxton's shoulder, and was about to cut down the Divine. Paxton did the only thing he could think of to save her, he used blood magic to force the assassin to run his blade across his own throat. Though he saved her Paxton was labeled a Maleficar by the Chantry and was sentenced to become a Tranquil, though the Divine seemed remorseful about this verdict. He swore he never used the magic to manipulate anyone for his own personal gain, but no one cared about that fact and the matter was closed. The night before he was supposed to go through the Rite of Tranquility he managed to escape because someone left the door to his cell unlocked, something he questions to this day. Paxton wandered for months, hiding from Templars and chantry members alike. Paxton had become so desperate for survival he eventually made a deal with a powerful demon of Wrath for power, allowing the demon to enter this world through his body. The demon attempted to over take Paxton's will, but underestimated the mage's power. The result was that the two were now bound together in a single body. Though he now had a demon housed inside of him Paxton had become remarkably stronger. He used this strength to evade or scare off further pursues. Not long after Paxton found himself in league with a mercenary group. At first he aligned with them as they provided the perfect cover from Templars, but he eventually formed a bond and kinship with his brothers and sisters in arms. The group, along with Paxton, at some point were hired by the reformed Inquisition as soldiers, which Paxton greatly approved of. With the Rift Crises averted and their job done Paxton and the group of mercenaries are now on the search for coin and new adventures. Personality and/or Motivation Paxton is a sharp fellow born with a quick wit and quicker tongue. He is just as likely to make a smart remark comment as he is to deck you in the face. He is quite hardy, loving a good laugh and drink. He is no stranger to manipulation, having been on both ends of it, and knows that you have to be carful around everyone as they more likely than not are waiting to stab you in the back. Though under his rugged exterior Paxton is quite the noble soul, holding strong in his moral code of protecting the little guy and destroying wrong doers. Though he does know in order to do good one may have to do actions that most may label as evil. Player’s long term goals Paxton had felt lost and broken ever sense his life was turned upside down the day his secret was brought to light. He has found solace in the kinship of his brothers and sisters in arms of the mercenary group. He now tries to ensures the safety and well being of each of his comrades, even if it means putting his own hide on the line. Relations Many of the bridges Paxton had built over the years were burned when his being a Blood Mage was reviled. Though he may be able to come upon a old friend, be they mage or Templar, from his days in the towers who wouldn't mind showing him kindness. His main connections and ties happen to be the other members of the mercenary group. Secrets Though the rest of the group is aware of his given situation with Wrath, Paxton tends to keep the fact that he communicates with Wrath on a nearly constant bases to himself. He does not want people to think he is indeed being influenced by the demon.
22,785	655	33	892	1,259	Pour la partie 'enchantement', ne pourriez-vous pas utiliser – je ne sais pas – l'un de nous comme appât? "Non, les golems sont inorganiques et n'ont pas besoin de manger..." Henrietta murmura alors qu'elle secouait la tête, ses yeux ne laissant jamais le croquis. « Ce dont nous aurions vraiment besoin, c'est de cette lyrique rouge, qui ferait un attrait très efficace. Sa composition minérale ferait une délicieuse gâterie pour la créature, tandis que ses propriétés magiques seraient en mesure de soumettre son âme pendant que j'ai mené mon évaluation. "Et j'ai toujours aimé la couleur rouge," Le nain a continué avec un soupir doux, "Ça me rappelle ma première copine... elle a fait un si joli motif sur le plafond après l'accident..."	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,786	655	34	335	7,553	"Rien n'est mal." Lian a dit tranquillement, elle n'a pas pris la peine de regarder Cassius. Bien que ce n'était pas vrai. Sa mauvaise jambe battait et un petit mal de tête s'était posé. Elle était également perdue, pensant à sa vie de retour avec son clan. La vie qu'elle avait laissée pour voyager et gagner de l'argent.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,787	655	35	402	1,144	Je n'y crois pas. Il secoua la tête au Dalish. "Si je devais faire une observation, on dirait que tu souffres. Vos yeux se demandent quand vous parlez, ce qui signifie que vous ne dites pas tout, ou évitez le point. Votre posture suggère que vous étirez peut-être vos jambes même si ce n'est pas trop." Il a pris note de la façon dont elle a dit que ses jambes étaient en avant. "Ça, ou j'ai tort et tu es juste mal à l'aise. Peut-être encore juste garder les muscles de la tension." Il s'est un peu moqué. "Désolé si j'ai l'air... naseux. C'est juste que tu sembles plus intelligent que la plupart des autres... juste un air sur toi, je suppose." Il chuchotait. Il lui offrit du gâteau de sa cartable qu'il avait sur le dos, accroché à sa taille; C'était un cuir plutôt agréable à cela. Le gâteau lui-même semblait être celui qui est presque la qualité de ce qui serait vu dans une boulangerie. Il avait même un doux envoyé à lui, ainsi que le glaçage. Ce qu'on pouvait noter, c'est l'organisation des biens dans la satchel, il avait des choses dans un petit contenant de fer étanche, ce qui n'était pas rare chez les chasseurs. Acceptez au moins cela comme une offrande de paix. Si c'était venimeux, je n'en aurais pas mangé autant que moi. » Il s'est ridiculisé.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,788	655	36	335	7,553	Lian a pris timidement le gâteau. Elle a concentré ses yeux sur lui un moment, avant d'étirer un peu sa jambe gauche. "J'ai blessé ma jambe gauche il y a des années et ça n'a jamais guéri à droite. Ça fait mal de temps en temps." Elle a dit doucement, puis a pris une petite bouchée du gâteau qu'il lui a donné. Elle ne se souvenait pas de manger quelque chose d'aussi doux dans ses vingt-sept ans de vie.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,789	655	37	402	1,144	Fredrick a lâché sur Lian. "Quoi qu'il en soit, j'essaie juste d'être un putain d'ami." Il s'est détourné, et a commencé à taper ses doigts sur Dragonslayer. Comme elle voulait clairement être seule, il n'allait pas la déranger. Ensuite, l'enfoiré a décidé de la déranger aussi et Freddy a roulé les yeux. Il n'arrêtait pas de prêter attention à Cass et Lian, écoutant un peu. Il était sur le point d'annuler complètement Cass comme un salaud arrogant, quand il a offert du gâteau à Lian. Fredrick a jeté un coup d'œil et a hurlé dans l'approbation. Ok, donc c'est peut-être un salaud arrogant, mais il avait au moins du bon en lui. N'importe qui qui a donné d'autres friandises au four ne pouvait pas être trop mauvais. Même s'il était possible qu'il soit un putain de type. Peu importe, Freddy voulait réserver ses opinions pour l'instant. "Mon Dieu, ça me donne envie de faire cuire..." Fredrick a grondé à lui-même. Pendant ce temps, Mangy lisait les notes sur les genoux de Marc. Il pleurait à la mention des dragons, et semblait trembler un peu. Il a regardé le bras manquant de son maître. Le chien de guerre a alors remarqué que Fredrick était grognon à propos de la fille elfe. Mangy s'éloigna à contrecœur du nain intelligent, avant de s'approcher de Lian. Il bâillait et plongait à côté d'elle, se couchant contre sa jambe. Qu'est-ce qu'il aboie? Mangy n'était qu'une garce.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,790	655	38	335	7,553	Lian étudia discrètement les cicatrices. "Ça ne me dérangerait pas d'être quelque chose qui a aidé un arbre à grandir." Elle l'a dit doucement en regardant sa jambe en arrière. "Quand j'étais plus jeune, j'ai été attaqué par un ours et ça m'a fait mal à la jambe. J'ai de la chance d'avoir ma jambe. Encore plus de chance que je puisse utiliser ma jambe." Elle a dit de fermer les yeux un moment avant de les ouvrir à nouveau.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,791	655	39	892	1,259	En montant de son sketchpad, Henrietta fixa la jambe de Lian pendant quelques instants avant de commenter : « Je pourrais probablement faire un appareil pour vous, semblable à mon harnais de combat, ce qui rendrait la marche beaucoup plus facile Lian. » En passant son attention sur Fredrick, l'artificier dwarven continua: «En fait, je pourrais probablement vous construire un tout nouveau bras trop Freddy... un avec une lame rétractable... et qui pourrait tirer des boules de feu...» Avec ses yeux vitré sur une nouvelle page de son carnet de croquis et a commencé maniaquement à dorloter des images de dragons ignifugés toasting darkspawn tout en volant au-dessus.	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,792	655	40	402	1,144	Cassius a un peu froncé l'histoire. "Mieux vaut que vous surviviez avec la marque de la rencontre plutôt que de mourir et d'accomplir rien dans la vie. Mais oui, les ours sont ténaces. Je suis désolé que tu aies dû faire ça." Il a donné un arc sincère avant de se lever pour offrir du gâteau au reste de la fête. Il est passé à Henrietta pour la dernière fois. "Qu'est-ce que Lyrium rouge au fait? D'après ce qu'a dit la personne zélée, cela semble dangereux. Mais toutes les ressources ne sont-elles pas dangereuses dans une certaine mesure? » Il leva un peu le front en plaçant le gâteau dans sa main. Les gâteaux eux-mêmes étaient généralement assez petits, mais faciles à rationner. Chacun des gâteaux était jaune et avait une crème de beurre givrée mélangée à l'extrait de vanille. C'était bien si on était fatigué et qu'on avait besoin d'un réveil, ou qu'on voulait juste une belle explosion d'énergie. Si on avait une bonne dent sucrée, ce serait bien aussi. Ou si juste avoir une mauvaise journée, ce serait généralement une grande lumière de lui.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,793	655	41	335	7,553	"Merci pour cette offre, mais je vais dire non. Avoir le boiteux est un rappel de mon passé. Et je suis tellement habitué à ça de toute façon." Lian a dit en poussant ses cheveux dorés derrière ses oreilles d'elfe. Malgré le gâteau, elle a retenu un bâillement. Elle dormait, mais resterait debout un peu plus longtemps.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.
22,794	655	42	892	1,259	Fredrick a froncé. "Voyez, Etta, je suis tenté de jouer oui parce que ce serait vraiment un putain de bad ass. Mais, je n'ai aucun doute dans mon esprit que vous l'alimenteriez avec le lyrisme rouge et les âmes des bébés morts. Et j'ai trop de problèmes avec la magie mystérieuse telle qu'elle est," Fredrick a dit, "Comme, littéralement, si je baise avec lyrique rouge ou toute autre connerie magique je vais probablement grandir une seconde tête ou quelques conneries stupides comme ça." Mangy aboie dans l'approbation. "Non, Mangy, je ne serais pas deux fois plus intelligente. Je serais deux fois plus malade que ce que je serais."	Henrietta Harrowmont . Madcap Mechanical MenaceBasic Information Species: Dwarf Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Like most of her race Henrietta is shorter than most other races, but she still stands a good couple of inches taller than most of her own people. Heavily influenced by the technologies of both the Tevinter and the Qunari, Henrietta has built herself a 'battle-harness' which incorporates any number of weird and wonderful gadgets to help her keep safe in battle. Vitae Specialisations: Artificer, Sabotage, Subterfuge Notable Traits:A Gadget For Every Occasion: Whenever the opportunity presents itself Henrietta loves nothing more than to dismantle and rebuild her battle-harness, upgrading and improving its design with her latest madcap invention. She always seems to have some sort of gadget to lend a helping hand to a situation, even if they don't always work in exactly the way she had intended them to. Mechanical Mastermind: Henrietta is a genius when it comes to mechanisms, machinery and motorised marvels of all kinds. There are very few devices which, with the proper instruments and time, she cannot discover the purpose, function and operation of. Mind Over Matter: Fully aware of her physical shortcomings, Henrietta's battle-harness has built-in strength enhancing gauntlets designed to increase the power of her punches and enable to to fight back against anyone who might try to take her inventions away from her. While this only makes her as strong as an average warrior, it still packs enough of a punch to help Henrietta out of tight corners. Duck and Cover: The only reason Henrietta has survived this long in her experimentations is her innate ability to know when something's just about to go dreadfully wrong, and having the speed and skill to make herself vanish just before someone asks the question "Who the hell blew up my forge?" Flaws:Fade-less: As a dwarf, Henrietta has no connection with the Fade and cannot use magics in their normal manner. While she has a resistance to lyrium in all its usual forms, she can still be affected by red lyrium over long periods or in large enough quantities. Loose Screw: While none can doubt her skills at forging and crafting components for her latest creations, Henrietta has a habit of missing out minor, but often key, components when constructing her devices. Nine times out of ten this isn't a problem, but the tenth time... DUCK! "What Does This Button Do?": When faced with a mystery, especially a mechanical one, Henrietta just can't stop herself from giving it a poke. Sometimes this habit of practical experimentation leads to great rewards and breakthroughs in knowledge, but at other times it can lead her and her comrades into trouble. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: Henrietta is obsessed with the number three and often has to do minor actions, such as stirring her broth, washing her bowl and tightening screws, in multiples of three. While this has no immediately detrimental effect should she not be able to complete the action, it will bug her for the rest of the day, until she can finally complete the sequence. Skills: Spike Trap, Elemental Mines, Caltrops, Hook and Tackle, Throwing Blades, Knockout Powder and Stealth Backstory Biography: Born on the surface, in a clan of dwarves living in Nevarra, Henrietta soon showed an inquisitive and curious nature which was only fed by the love of her blacksmith father. Quickly learning the ways of the hammer and tongs, Henrietta set out to discover new ways to make metal work, developing skills in precision crafting and forging which enabled her to build smaller, more efficient mechanisms each day. When the Nevarran Military discovered the young girl's gift they immediately travelled to her small settlement to make her an offer she couldn't refuse, to turn her skills towards constructing war machines which would make Nevarra the envy of the world. Asking for some time to think over their proposal Henrietta and her entire family swiftly scarpered, leaving their village behind them to seek out a safer, less intimidating place to set up shop. For several months the dwarves journeyed around the shores of the Waking Sea, passing through numerous countries on their way, the family eventually found themselves in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains with seemingly no way to pass. Settling down the dwarves began doing what they do best, mining. As they cut their way into the side of the mountains, uncovering ores and minerals which could be used to craft their wares, the dwarves were surprised to come across red lyrium buried deep within the rocks. Not realising what this strange material was they happily began forging it into their armour, weapons and trinkets as an adornment to their creations. Soon after they found themselves under the gaze of the Inquisition, who demanded to know where the red lyrium had come from. After revealing their mining endeavour the dwarves were quickly evacuated from the area, for their own safety. WHile the move was sudden the poor innocents were treated with the utmost respect and soon found themselves working their trade under the Inquisition's banner. CHurning out arms and armour each day held little interest for Henrietta though, so instead she set to work building herself the means to help the Inquisition more directly, and had soon created a working prototype of her battle-harness. When presenting the mechanisms to the Inquisition forces they were less than impressed, mainly due to Henrietta managing to accidentally demolish part of the kitchens in the process. Seeing the potential in the young and eager dwarf, and not wanting her anywhere near them when her mad inventions finally managed to reduce the area around her to a smoking crater, the Inquisition forces made enquiries as to the need amongst their allies for a blacksmith-come-death machine, and Henrietta soon found herself in the company of the Company, brave mercenaries who treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, from as far away as they could politely get. Personality and/or Motivation: Dreaming of nothing more than machinery, cogs and gears Henrietta seeks to learn everything she can about the physical sciences, and to be the first to build something spectacular. She doesn't know exactly what that something may be, but she is most definitely certain about the spectacular part. Player’s long term goals:Henrietta can be an important part of any quest, her skill with mechanisms and devices extending to locks, traps and secret doorways just as much as to machinery and engines. I'd like her to have the opportunity to build steam-aged machines to help out the party, if she can work out the science behind them first. Relations:Henrietta's family are currently sheltered by the Inquisition, working as blacksmiths and trader on their behalf.Although her family once had times with the Noble House of Harrowmont, as a Surface Dwarf Henrietta has no contact with Orzammar and only limited knowledge of dwarven beliefs and traditions. While not Andrastian herself she holds a deep respect for their faith and accepts many of their customer and rituals as her own.Henrietta is currently wanted by the Nevarran Military, although as they only wish to recruit her they wouldn't want to take any overtly aggressive actions against her, least they drive her into the hands of their rivals. Secrets:The power supply for Henrietta's battle-harness is a refined red lyrium reactor, which harnesses the power of the strange element in order to make her mechanisms function. The long-term effects of exposure to the material, even in its heavily shielded state, are currently unknown, and should the containment ever be breached the red lyrium could adversely affect everyone Henrietta comes into contact with.
22,795	655	43	402	1,144	Cassius a regardé comme un enfant alors que leurs parents leur racontaient une histoire de l'heure du lit. Plus son excitation grandissait, plus il l'imitait. Mais une substance dangereuse et volatile? Comme il ne savait pas qu'il était dangereux. « On dirait que si elle a été affinée correctement ou divisée en un composant plus petit, elle pourrait être utilisée pour quelque chose de bon et d'incorruptible. Mais d'après ce que vous avez dit, il n'a été utilisé que pour de bon dans un cas. Peut-être que dans notre vie même, nous pouvons le faire dans de nombreux cas. Mais d'une part, il peut aussi être utilisé à des fins fallacieuses." Il a dit carrément, montrant l'intrigue dans un sourire. "Amusez-vous bien. Pas besoin de le disséquer." Il s'est taquiné.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,796	655	44	2,192	1,228	Levant lui-même sur ses pieds, Martin fit un pas vers le feu de camp, lâchant sa gorge avec un soufflet tout-puissant comme il le fit. -- Très bien, bande d'aigots! Il a appelé pour s'assurer que toute la Compagnie, ou du moins ceux de la Compagnie qui ne s'étaient pas faufilés dans les maisons closes et les tavernes de la ville, pouvait entendre. "Je pense qu'il est temps qu'on se repose tous. Je veux être éveillée et tôt le matin, avec des paquets farcis et des chariots chargés à l'aube. » Pendant qu'il parlait, Martin vidait sa pipe, jetant les cendres dans le feu alors qu'il tapait le fond du canon. « C'est un bon deux jours de traverser le pays à l'endroit où l'Inquisition a enregistré l'entrée Deep Roads, et les cartes fournies par Varric devraient nous donner une belle route claire à partir de là une fois que nous sommes sous terre. Il y a eu des rapports de bandits dans ces collines, ainsi que des mages voyous et quelques Venatori toujours accrochés par leurs ongles, alors je veux que vous soyez tous bien reposés. » Tourner en rond en rond, regarder chaque membre du parti dans les yeux pendant un moment Martin s'est assuré qu'ils savaient tous ce que signifiait la déclaration suivante, probablement la chose la plus importante qu'il ait dit depuis qu'ils ont débarqué du Siren. -- Et s'il y a un problème, n'importe quel problème, assurez-vous que le monde se termine avant même de penser à me réveiller! Avec ça, le vieux soldat s'est écrasé à l'ombre, il avait fait rouler son sommeil et s'était couché. Quelques instants plus tard, le grondement sonore profond du ronflement du vieil homme commença à faire écho sur le camp, faisant savoir à tout le monde que la fête était faite pour la nuit.	Fredrick The Dog of FereldanBasic Information Species:Elf Age: 24 Gender: Male Class Warrior Appearance: Fredrick is missing his left arm, and has many, MANY scars. He has brown eyes and a very feminine appearance. He is muscular, and short. He stands at five feet.Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Berserker, Reaver, Spirit Warrior(used through anger) Notable Traits: First Trait: Despite not being a mage, Fredrick has an oddly powerful connection to the Fade. This makes him more of a beacon for demons and spirits than an average person, though no where near the same extent as a mage. Rage demons in particular are attracted to him, for obvious reasons. Second Trait: Fredrick's left arm was destroyed by a high dragon before. He has thus adapted his two-handed fighting style to use only one arm, and is very, VERY strong in that arm. Third Trait: Fredrick has learned to form a semi-corporeal arm using his reaver and spirit warrior skills. This arm cannot properly grasp anything, but its amorphic nature allows him to use it as a Swiss army weapon. Fourth trait Fredrick is VERY pro-freedom, and is always rooting for the underdog. He is also very sensitive if racism, and will willingly stand up to anyone who he feels is being unjust, common sense be damned. FlawsFirst Flaw: Fredrick is an ANGRY little bugger. He is more or less always bitching about something or someone, and during combat he has to constantly fight against his own anger for control. His rage is a double edged sword in a fight, as, though it powers all of his skills, it also makes him less rational(duh). He can be smart, but rarely will he consider the smart idea when he can just inspire pantshitting terror. Second Flaw: Fredrick is VERY hard headed. When he gets an idea in his head, he will stand by it, logic be damned. Third Flaw: Fredrick is really socially awkward. His foot has taken permanent residence in his mouth and will not leave. He has the amazing power to say the dumbest thing possible. Fourth Flaw HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING ARM. IT IS SO HARD TO DO THINGS ONE HANDED. HE NEEDS HELP UNSCREWING JARS. HE HAS ONE ARM. Seriously though, while his abilities can compensate, he is still missing an arm. Out of combat he has various issues, and in combat he has to rely on a constant assault to keep himself safe, as having only one god damn arm means he can't attack and defend at the same time. Skills Growing Fury: A combination of berserk, frenzy and spirit warrior skills. Fredrick's combat rage has multiple stages to it, depending on how wounded he is and his furious he is. His second arm is tied to his rage too, not manifesting until the second stage of his fury. 1st Stage, Berserk: Fredrick's usual combat stage. Frothing at the mouth berserk fury, with no magic added. Fredrick swings Dragonslayer one handed, ripping through his foes. Notable Skills: Various "two-handed" techniques, notably the very quick and powerful sunder arms and sunder armor, as well as Destroyer. He has a weakened version of frightening appearance, which is less Reaver powers and more being a terrifying berserk elf. He can use Final Blow, which exhausts his remaining energy and leaves him vulnerable. 2nd Stage, Unholy Frenzy: Fredrick rarely reaches this state.Fredrick's strength is further enhanced as he is wounded, and he begins to inspire bladder-failing terror with his warcrys and viscious attacks. He revels in blood, and regenerates if exposed to enemy blood. He can use frightening appearance to its true potential, and actually takes advantage of his terrifying nature to make his foes too scared to fight back. He can actively use Devour in order to heal further. He also forms a limb out of blood and fire in order to attack his foes. He gains use of overwhelm and dread howl while in this state of rage. Third Stage Rage Demon: Fredrick sinks partially into the fade, gaining potent defensive and offensive benefits. His attacks become significantly faster, and blood becomes gravitating toward him to heal him. His formed arm becomes even more versatile, and he learns to use Fade Burst and Blood Rage. He gains use of Frenzy, Peon's Plight and Massacre, and regenerates health more with each foe killed. This state actively drains him, however, and he has only successfully manifested it for five seconds before. When this form wears off, he is extremely vulnerable. He also has a Mabari named Mangy. The old wardog is good at harrowing foes and leaving them open to further assault, and is particularly good at taking down mages by overwhelming and murdering them. Backstory Biography: Backstory Biography: Fredrick's family was a slightly wealthy one within the Denerim alienage. They lived relatively decent lives, and were able to bring up their kids with a decent education. Fredrick has an almost idealic life for a while, with a protective, kindly older sister named Nora, a hard working and wise father, and a gentle and loving mother. He was STILL angry, of course. Fredrick was always short tempered. His reaction to anything was yelling. He was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a child to raise. The only reason he didn't get beat up by the other kids for his constant raging was because of the aforementioned older sister. That changed when his sister was taken by the Circle. A human had been hitting his elven servant, and Fredrick, smart kid that he is, decided that the best solution was to swing a stick at the man. Considering he was nine at the time, he was slightly unsuccessful, and the man tried to attack him too. Before the man could lay a hand on him, however, Nora did...something. She had held both of her hands out, and the man stood still. After a moment, he fell to the ground, unconscious. Though the servant said nothing of her tiny saviors, word still got around. It was a few weeks of stressed waiting, and then Fredrick saw some big armored humans come and take her away. His family later got news of her having been slain while attempting to escape the circle. Fredrick started getting into fights. A lot of fights. His parents constantly tried to get him to be more careful, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Fredrick did some good, however. While at first he mostly just fought the other kids, as he grew up he started fighting thugs, bullies. He has actually helped a decent number of people in Denerim. He even helped out a mabari breeder in Amaranthine while visiting family by driving off some thugs that were trying to steal some pups. Fredrick got a pup of his own for his troubles, whom he named Mangy. Mangy helped protect him, especially during the events of Tevinter slavers and other unrest in the alienage. Mangy even saved his life when they were helping protect the alienage. After the Blight ended, Fredrick decided to take up mercenary work to help fund the reparation of the alienage. He and Mangy set off and joined with a group of mercenaries for a time. They gained quite a reputation as doers of the impossible. They went all over Denerim, and later beyond its borders, doing great deeds. Fredrick's company was called the Dogs of Fereldan, so named for their Chasind leader, and because Mangy became their mascot. The leader took Fredrick under his wing, and taught him to harness his rage more efficiently. Eventually, they ended up hunting a rogue apostate in Kirkwall. They tracked the Maleficar to a house in town, fully prepared to confirm who she was and kill her. However, when Fredrick saw her, his heart stopped. The maleficar was his sister. She told him of how she had escaped and been named dead before her Harrowing. How she had turned to blood magic and unlocked the dalish secrets of the Arcane Warrior, and how she had dedicated herself to finding greater and greater power. How she planned on helping to free the mages. And that was how Fredrick's mercenary company ended up doing covert operations against the Templars. They mostly smuggled mages away from Tower confines, killing any Templar that came after them. It was dirty work, as most Templars were good people, but Fredrick was willing to do it for his sister, and his mercenary company stood by its own. Eventually, however, Fredrick found evidence of his sister's doings that he couldn't ignore. Kidnapped children, men, women, even a few grey wardens. So many innocent people, suspended in glass jars and studied, experimented on. His sister rationalized it. Freedom, at any costs. She was tired of being a slave, tired of being branded a criminal when all she wanted was freedom. Fredrick felt uneasy, but he allowed it. One day, his company for a job to collect regeants for the mages. It all went well, till they tried to get Drake scales. They ended up attracting the attention of the Female, a powerful high dragon. It slew most of them, and Fredrick ended up losing his right arm when it tore into him. After that, his rage boiled over. The details are hazy. He remembers climbing atop the corpses of his friends, piled as they were, and leaping into its snout. He remembers the haze of blood, and the rise and fall of his axe. He remembers a final swing of his great axe, and then rolling over, passing out in a pool of mixed blood. He awoke in one of his sister's glass jars. She told him that he had been gone for a few days before she found him, and that she had only managed to save him through powerful blood magic. She told him she had found him next to the mangled corpse of a high dragon. It was decapitated, one of its wings had been torn out, and its skull had multiple fractures. After that, Fredrick's short temper was even worse. For a few days, he had to seal himself off, as EVERYTHING sent him into a mad, raging fury. He worried that he had become an abomination, and his sister refused to tell him one way or the other. It took months for Fredrick to recover properly, learning to harness his rage as a tool once more. With his company destroyed, Fredrick and Mangy were the last Dogs of Fereldan. During the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick felt his rage boil over to a breaking point. He had been fighting a particularly skilled Templar, and had been losing. Every swing of his axe was deflected by the man's shield. His blows seemed to drain Fredrick in an odd way, sapping his strength. He only won that fight when he flew into a rage beyond what he had ever encountered before. Blood flew about him, another weapon to wield. He became an animalistic thing, attacking ferociously, smacking his armored foe about like a pebble. He tore into his foe's armor with an appendage made of blood, and tore out his heart with his teeth. He then turned on...everyone. Friends, allies, enemies, all were the same. When he finally came to, Fredrick was horrified at what he had done. What he had become. After the final battle of the Mage-Templar war, Fredrick's sister disappeared. He found her journal, left to him by her. She claimed not to want to be followed, that the war wasn't over. She told him the truth of how he had been saved. That she had taken the blood of all the other surviving Dogs of Fereldan, and that of the dragon, and used them to change him. She hadn't healed his wounds. She had changed him so he could do it himself. Fredrick sent Mangy home, and wandered about for a time, dissilusioned. He tossed himself into any fights he could find. His parents tried to contact him, but he avoided them. He was no longer their son. He was a monster. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just...tired. At one point, he passed through Denerim. He had gone months without eating, and was basically a skeleton with axe and armor. He collapsed on the streets, dying. He woke up in a comfortable bed, the smell of his mother's cooking wafting in. He felt Mangy lying next to him, and could hear his father talking about current events with his mom. For a moment, he thought he had died. Mangy's stinky breath in his face told him otherwise. His parents told him how Mangy had suddenly left, and came back dragging his armored form through the alienage. Fredrick stayed for a while, doing work for the Guard. He stayed, and he healed. He learned of the stories that had been told about him back home, of how he'd become the hero that elves told their children about in Denerim. How the Dog of Fereldan was upheld by the Chasind as one of their legends. How Fereldan took pride in its Dogs, and in their final survivor. Fredrick found a purpose again. His family knew that the truth was darker than the tales said. They didn't care. As much as he had worried and annoyed and irritated and ignored them, his family still loved him. He eventually left again, Mangy at his side. He took mercenary work again, with all his loved ones in mind. He would make them proud. And whether she wanted to be followed or not, he would find Nora, and bring her home. Personality and/or Motivation: Fredrick is an angry, short tempered and surly individual with a strong moral code. He's far less violent than he used to be, and tries to avoid physical violence whenever he can. He works out most of his frustration and temper through angry, sassy quips. Amd he never seems to stop talking. He is EXTREMELY protective of his loved ones. Especially Mangy. You hurt his dog, you die. Meanwhile, while he has some demons to face, he is actually happy about his life. He believes that there is good in the world, and he feels like it's worth fighting for. While he acts like a pessimist, he is VERY MUCH an optimist. He loves to bake, secretly. Player’s long term goals. A chance to absolute berserk massacre a large group of enemies. Mangy must piss on a lot of sacred artifacts to mark his territory Get a chance to embarrass himself in front of an entire royal court. Get ass kicked by a superior raging warrior. Win in the rematch through NOT losing control. Find his sister. Confront her over her actions, and work things out. Avoid a huge massacre by being REALLY FUCKING SCARY. Relations: Fereldan Adoration: Fredrick is well-thought of by his home country, who have received watered down tales of his exploits. Alienage: Especially Denerim's Alienage, who have received a LOT of money from him. They basically worship him there. Especially since the first act of his mercenary career was helping defend the alienage. ApostateMages: Many mages, especially in Kirkwall, owe him their lives. Chantry: For good reason, the Templars KINDA dislike him. Secrets: Fredrick keeps the darker side of his exploits under wraps. As far as anyone knows, he is just an angry, one armed hero. No one knows that the hunched beast that killed so many during kirkwall's final battle was him. Very few tales include the second stage of his fury, and no one knows about the third. The official story of him facing the dragon leaves out the part about him being healed with the lifeblood of his allies. He also tries not to let anyone know that his missing sister is a known and dangerous maleficar. Quotes: "Nora, sis, I love you and cherish you, you know this, but WHAT THE SHRIEKING TIT NIPPLE KINGLY SHIT FUCK ARE ALL THOSE TRIPLE DARKSPAWN ORGY FUCKING PEOPLE DOING IN JARS!?" "Fuck the rain! If I wanted water, I would have gone to a fucking well! Fucking Maker!" "TEN SILVER!? FOR A FUCKING POULTICE?!? YOU SHITASSED MOTHERFUCKING SHITASS!" "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKERS!" (To an arl) "FUCK YOUR COUCH, FUCK YOUR DOG CUZ MINE'S COOLER, FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR UGLY ASS WIFE, YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY LINE, YOUR WHOLE ARLING, YOUR DUMB ASS SON AND SLUTTY ASS DAUGHTER, AND MOST OF ALL, FUCK YOU!" "FUCK THAT!" "FUCK!" "SHIT!" "SHIT FUCK!" "For the love of the damned Maker. If another half assed fucking spider crawls out, I will shit out a rage snake and beat everyone in this cave ha fucking death with it!" And, most commonly of all, "Fuck you!"
22,797	655	45	402	1,144	Cassius s'est branlé, couvrant un peu sa bouche. Les gens de type autoritaire l'ont toujours amusé. Il n'a jamais entendu parler de Venatori, quelque chose à quoi il resterait inconscient. "Avant de me reposer. Pouvez-vous me dire ce qu'est un Venatori? Je suis curieux, mais quoi qu'il en soit, ça a l'air dangereux. Si vous avez un bestiaire, je pourrais probablement mieux comprendre." Il a encore gâché. Les argots sont pour les morts et pour la décomposition, quelque chose que nous ne sommes clairement pas... Je ne suis peut-être pas la plus intelligente... mais il y a de meilleures façons d'affirmer la domination plutôt que l'attitude ou de frapper quelqu'un. Il s'arrêtait lentement alors qu'il laissait respirer. "Et... y a-t-il quelque chose que tu voudrais que je prépare? Des provisions? Ces petits gâteaux pourraient aider à assouvir la faim et fournir une explosion d'énergie, même si seulement une petite quantité. » Il est allé lentement à Lian. Il se sentait le plus à l'aise par elle.	Name: Cassius Alexandros Svent. Nickname: Cas. Species: Half breed, Human and Elf. Gender: Male Age: 19 Class: Rogue/ mage hybrid. Appearance: Stands at 5'11 to 6ft, hour class frame, large feet, broad shoulders, scrawny arms. Cream colored skin, hazel green eyes, shoulder length dark chocolate brown hair. Somewhat of a straight nose, beak like. Wide hips, thick thighs. As for clothes he mostly wears Blue and Black Velvet like garments that are light and easy to move in. Most of which have clashing patterns that overlap in an elegant yet messy way. Specializations: Arcane Warrior, Spirit healer. Notable Traits: He tends to be observant as well as quiet, has a lisp, tends to fold his arms, move his hands and body accordingly when he speaks, and usually stares blank faced. Flaws: He has several minor scars on his face, to a dent in the middle of his forehead. His right fore arm has cut on it as well as the elbow. In terms of a personality flaw, he tends to take things too seriously at times, to just being snide and sarcastic. He also is tranquil in the sense of personality, but in truth he is very caring despite his sense of apathy. Skills: Healing, regenerative spells, revival, because of being an arcane Warrior, he can fight with a sword effectively as well as utalize all Arcane Warrior skills. Fade step, telekinetic weapons as well as mindblast. Occasionally he will do a low blow to throwing dirt in one's eyes. Tier two Lockpicking and pickpoketing,Dispell and Evasion. Outside of combat, he also knows a bit of alchemy. He can make minor tonics provided he has the materials. Biography: He was born as a slave to a family in the Imperium as he was sold off by his parents. Rather then being treated as a slave, he was treated as an apprentice on the estate he lived in, but he still witnessed jarring things that made him not feel as safe, such as torture of other hand maids of the lord of the estate. At times it would either be beheadings, to severe branding by magic, to entropy to drive others to insanity, the screams always made him feel unsafe and gave him the mentality he could be next, that they could snap on him relatively quickly. With fear being his drive to try to be proper and show no fear, he did whatever he was tasked, even if he was a failure at some relatively new task, such as forging items from materials, to being able to use major magics. He was only capable of minor magics, and his overlord took note of this. His overlord in particular and wanted to see the potential of halfbreeds, fortunately the results of his capability were better in terms of utility and flexibility. This pleased the overlord throughout the years he had trained him to do basic skills in his garden. In the gardens he had many plants to work with, wither it be in cooking, or alchemy, he learned just enough to get by. He did however enjoy cooking, this was something his overlord found amusing. "A halfbreed enjoying the arts of cooking?", it was funny for a while at how excited young Cassius was to learn how to make simple things like bread to small pastries, it was something even a bit heart warming to those around. When he cooked, he was considerate of the slaves, which raised many eyebrows on the estate. When he was inside, he enjoyed solving little puzzles from contraptions made, to disarming minor traps. It was fun to him, and amusing to see what triggers devices to what also disables them. When he was just seventeen, the Overlord of the estate left on a business trip to inquire about his next set of slaves, and to his dismay,the son of the lord watched over the estate in his absence. During this period, Cassius was sliced, bruised, and abused by the Young lord. Cassius had enough when he saw himself bleeding, to one of the maids being outright stabbed over trying to defend the teenager. Cassius put his skills and reflexes to the test, in which he killed the Lord's son, and left with several slaves. He even took one of the most expensive set of clothes for his new life, with a handful of gems, and a Saber that belonged to the house. He fled Tevinter where he'd escape to Ferelden, a land of opportunity. There, he heard legends of the land, events that he was sheltered from. It was clear to him his life was far from simply starting. To make it in life, he want to look for job opportunities. Personality: He is inquisitive, snide, caring, and ultimately tranquil in terms of mental state about most things, so he is passively neutral unless the situation directly effects him. Motivation:To make the most of his new life and break away from his innocence to do something with his life rather then sit down and do nothing.
22,798	655	46	1,523	3,443	Et avec ça, Marcellus a levé les yeux, la tête fouettant autour comme s'il avait entendu quelqu'un déclarer que les nègres n'étaient pas mignons ou boire était mauvais pour l'âme. Coucou! J'ai bien entendu? Vous ne savez pas ce que sont les Venatori? Avez-vous vécu sous un rocher? Peu importe, cependant, parce qu'aucune quantité de boisson n'aurait pu guérir ce mal de tête. Dormez seulement. Mais il n'arrivait pas à dormir en sachant qu'il était à côté d'une recrue complète. Et puis il a froncé profondément, sourcils sillonnant. Vous avez l'air d'un 'Vint, mais les Venatori sont – en quelque sorte – un secret ouvert à la maison. Et vous n'avez jamais entendu parler d'eux? » Marcellus était plus perplexe, assez pour souligner son point avec une autre répétition.	Vocula MagebaneBasic Information Species: Human (Half-Dwarf) Age: 32 Gender: Male Class: Templar Hunter (Warrior-Rogue) Appearance: Short, stocky but surprisingly swift on his feet, Marcellus seems to have inherited few characteristics of either his father's or his mother's side. While only 5'6" (from a maternal line of relative giants!) and with none of the mad, maniacal evil expected of Tevinter magi, he seems... average. Unusually friendly, for a 'Vint, with a near-permanent smile. Marcellus is conventionally handsome, more so as he ages. Brown (prematurely greying) hair, tan skin, a carefully cultivated beard and more than a few swoon-worthy scars – if the one running from nose to ear wasn't so eyecatching, or disfiguring. He is usually seen in more casual armor, expensive leathers with chainmail only on rare occasions. Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Templar Assassin Shadow Notable Traits: Magic Resistance – Marcellus has the thick skin of his Dwarven father's side, albeit not to the same degree. He can shrug off weak bolts of magic from staves (at least when it comes to the Arcane... fire's a different story) and is far more resistant than a normal human and even a normal Templar when it comes to hypnotism or mind control. His mind is near-unbreakable, some might say. It might not be true. Light-Footed – Well, when he's not talking and is entirely focused on a fight. No matter what armor Marcellus is wearing, it's hard not to notice that he moves silently whether purposefully trying to be stealthy or not. Since he is, by nature, a cheeky bugger, he likes to use it to startle friends and allies. Flaws: Insomniac – Perhaps it's due to paranoia, a natural sort born from looking over one's shoulder all the time. Or, more likely, it's the lyrium. Marcellus allows himself to sleep rarely and when he does it's marked by terrible nightmares. Weak-willed – At least, when it comes to demons of Desire. Marcellus is a simple man of various wants, and he's made deals with both spirits and demons in the past, though none that have transformed him into an abomination. He thinks himself "careful". Lyrium Addiction – So it turns out that, like alcohol, it takes a lot of lyrium to give a half-dwarf a buzz of power. Despite the scarcity of the resource for the Templars in Tevinter, Marcellus sought it out himself... a contributing reason as to why he made it to his thirtieth year when so many other recruits didn't. He might not be having the memory loss and confusion yet but the pent-up aggression and withdrawal symptoms always loom over the horizon for when he runs out. And he runs out a lot. Skills: Cleanse Silence Wrath of Heaven Assassinate Inconspicuous Stealth Twin Fangs Backstory Biography: Not a sad story, but certainly not a happy one. The current head of the Vocula family is a woman by the name of Diantha, the mother of both Marcellus and an older son – the heir. While her lineage is preserved in Caius Vocula, Marcellus was nothing more than a mistake, though a passionate one. Requiring vast shipments of lyrium, most of which was delivered by the Carta, she dealt with one dwarf in particular so often that she had a short-lived and doomed affair with him... and she got a discount to boot. While Diantha Vocula is a woman of strange tastes and notorious promiscuity (not even mentioning the blood magic), it was probably not worth the social suicide that was carrying a half-dwarf child to term. (Her reputation eventually bounced back, mostly to do with the quality of her magical studies and raw power itself, but that doesn't matter much.) Marcellus was, of course, born without magic and only a slight connection to the Fade. It was a miracle he didn't take after his father more and was actually able to dream in the first place. While of course his Dwarven heritage was covered up, it was more of an open secret. Protection runes and barriers didn't stick to him as well as they did others, particularly when they were cast by his weak older brother to test him. Diantha did love her son, though, a strange woman no doubt, and wanted only the best for him. Naturally, she used her political sway to have him trained by the Imperial Chantry as one of the few templars they had there. Marcellus was not the only nobleman born without magic, after all. Lyrium was a commodity for mage-use only, of course, and so his Order did not rely on it as those in Fereldan or Orlesian orders did. That is likely a contributing reason to the absurdly high death toll of the Imperial Templars – just bodies to throw at an abomination until it gives up. Propaganda dictated that the Andrastian Chantry gave their Templars lyrium as a leash, but as someone with connections on the "outside", Marcellus found at least part of the truth: it made them more powerful. By securing himself to several different magisters (not a slave, but a faithful servant, no less useful than an Antivan Crow) he managed to acquire a supply of lyrium... Having no knowledge of the dangers of the substance, nor that the Templar abilities required training, Marcellus did nothing but acquire his fatal flaw: his addiction. By his early twenties, Marcellus was under the thumb of it with no recognisable rewards and mages were getting more dangerous by the day (or perhaps he was getting weaker) so he of course sought someone out to train him up. One of the Vocula slaves had been one, once, traded over from Fereldan during the blight though the man was now useless with withdrawal. He managed to teach Marcellus the very basics – how to call upon the lyrium in his blood, how to cleanse an area and how to stop spellcasting – in exchange for his freedom. Of course, once he was given it, he turned around and tried to assassinate Diantha, so he was forced to kill him. Unfortunate, but probably a relief to his suffering. Spooked by the knowledge that if he ran out of lyrium like the slave then he'd end up a wreck, Marcellus started to take more under the guise of "training his newfound abilities". Word started to spread of a templar with the ability to take away magic. A dangerous rumour in Tevinter, but undoubtedly profitable. Magisters asked the Imperial Chantry for the Vocula heir's services to quell an uprising or coup, and he did so, striking from the shadows and taking out those squishy little mages; the ones without good tuition and too much experimentation. This lasted up until his mid-twenties, when Marcellus met his "love" Sulpicia – the wife of a new magister with a lot of lyrium on hand. She had him as a guard for a year (since new magisters were notoriously prone to unexpected death) and if anything only made his lyrium problem worse. But she was beautiful, yes. Still, when the Vocula family started a feud of sorts with her husband, Marcellus picked a side – arguably the wrong one. His family. He murdered her husband using all those stealthy, sneaky mage-killing abilities for no real reward, cutting off his supply of lyrium. At the very least he was given fair warning to flee from Minrathous and Tevinter as a whole, so he did, full of self-righteousness and thinking he did what was best. Not his proudest moment, though not a move he regrets taking. It didn't take long for him to find out that life outside the Imperial Chantry was a lot more difficult – at least when it came to finding lyrium to take. For all his pride, Marcellus ended up a mercenary. It wasn't that much different to life before. Back then it was the Black Chantry taking on the jobs from the magisters and directing them out like loyal lapdogs. Sometimes, people just wanted mages dead, and he could help with that. So long as the pay was good. Motivation: When it comes to the short-term, Marcellus is painfully self-aware and honest with even himself. He seeks only drink and debauchery, with a few fights in between to satiate his appetite for battle. Coin isn't the true motivator behind his mercenary work; it's what he can buy with it – lyrium. Long-term? He's not so sure. He's not a mage, so living in Tevinter for the rest of his life is near-impossible, if only because there's no purpose for him there. Protecting the innocents is fun and all but in other lines of work it doesn't pay the bills. His pride is non-existent now, so life as a mercenary is for him, no matter how distasteful it can be at times. If a small part of him wants to settle down, find a partner... Well. There's always something more pressing, like an addiction, to cover first. Goals:Beat a Qunari in a drinking contest; Become Knight-Captain; Become filthy rich off adventuring like the Champion of Kirkwall; Buy enough lyrium to dose up into old age or senility, which ever comes first; And perhaps kill a dragon. That sounds interesting. Relations: The Imperial Chantry – Left of his own accord four years ago... Without telling anyone where he was going or why. Whether they are upset with him or not for leaving as he did during the dead of night, Marcellus doesn't particularly want to find out. House Vocula – His esteemed mother's family of Altus magi, of which he is the only non-mage (due to his status as a bastard and his unfortunate Dwarven blood). His mother is still alive, the head of the female-dominated family and flighty, though undoubtedly soft on her youngest son. House Caecina – Sulpicia's house, or at least the one she married into. To say that Marcellus is not on good terms with them would be putting it lightly. The Carta – Sure, it's a bit amoral name-dropping his father who he's never met in his life, but the man (if he's even still alive) seems to have no problem with it... if he knows. Marcellus deals with the Carta for his lyrium fix and has in the past gotten decent side-jobs from them, few of them legal. Secrets: His lyrium addiction itself. Probably the large numbers of dissenting mages in Tevinter he executed – the unsavoury sort, of course. Depending on who his allies are, it might be best not to have unwanted fireballs sent his way. As vehemently as he denies taking part in any sort of politics, he is aware of The Grand Game of Orlais as Tevinter has something... similar. Just with more slaves and necromancy and abominations.
22,799	655	47	335	7,553	Lian a finalement laissé sortir un petit bâilleur alors qu'elle allait se coucher derrière où elle était assise. Elle avait décidé de dormir près du feu parce que cela lui rappelait son clan. Elle passait des nuits près du feu toute seule. Elle ferma les yeux alors que son Nug prenait sa place normale à côté de ses pieds. Ses cheveux dorés étaient tombés pour couvrir son visage d'un mince rideau. Elle ne s'est pas endormie, elle écoutait les conversations autour d'elle.	Lian Wai Lightning Slash Basic Information Species: Elf Age: 27 Gender: Female Class: Rogue Appearance: Curriculum Vitae Specialisations: Duelist/Tempest Notable Traits: Andrastian Despite being raised in a Dalish clan, Lian is a avid believer of the Maker and his wife Andraste. Though she doesn't openly say she does she does remember bits and pieces of the Chant of Light. Nature Resistant Lian is resistant to nature attacks due to being raised out in nature and being a friend to nature. Flaws: Has a younger sister who last she knew was still back home in the Dalish camp she lived in. Has a limp due to a old injury to her left leg. Is very sensitive about people being rude towards elves. Skills: Rouge- Twin Fangs Spinning Blades Dance of Death Tempest- Flask of Cold Flask of Fire Duelist- Throw the Gaunlet Vendetta Backstory Biography Lian was born in Northern Ferelden in a Dalish camp. She spent the first two years of her life living happily with her mother and father when her little sister was born. Sadly their happy little family didn't last long when her mother died a few days later from unknown complications. As Lian grew she worked her hardest to be the best Dalish Elf that she could be, taking it upon herself to care for her sister when her father was hunting and also learning about Dalish culture and history. When she was ten her life was once again changed when her father disappeared while hunting one evening leaving Lian with her sister and the rest of the Dalish camp. When Lian was ten she started to learn to hunt but had no real skill with a bow so she spent most of her time in camp. However when she was fourteen she was dared by one of her friends to go out and hunt a bear. That ended in disaster when Lian was attacked by the bear, she was lucky to escape with her life but in the process her left leg was badly injured and once healed left her with a permanent limp. A year later, shortly after she turned fifteen she left the camp to travel on her own, armed only with her smarts and a pet Nug, she named him Snuffles, her sister gave him to her as a going away present. She traveled from Northern Ferelden towards the Hinterlands to find work and to also learn how to fight. She was eventually taken under the wing of a rouge who taught her how to use two blades and taught her how to be a Duelist. Another man in the town she was staying in also taught her how to be a Tempest. Though the two men were murdered in front of her eyes, breaking her already shattered life apart again and ruining her innocence causing her to become twisted under her sweet and innocent exterior. When she was twenty-four she left the town and traveled again, taking mercenary jobs to earn money. She eventually ended up joining with the Inquisition shortly after she turned twenty-six, after spending two years taking jobs. After the events of Inquisition was over she was twenty-seven. She decided to stick with the group and that's where the rest is explanatory. Personality and/or Motivation: Lian on a good day is very smart and sharp, easily catching mean remarks towards her or Elfish kind. She's also very quick to anger and isn't afraid to start a battle if thinks it's right. She's a little shy when you first meet her despite the fact she's been traveling for twelve years. She's also protective of her friends and her clan and is willing to give her life to save others. Underneath her innocent and calm exterior however is a very twisted girl, willing to use that innocent exterior to make her enemies trust her and the to destroy them with slashing blades and a fiery potion. Player’s long term goals: Lian's long term goals aren't much. She wishes to return to her clan after a while and give any money she has made to them. She wishes to see her little sister again. Finally she also wishes to figure out what actually happened to her father when he never came back to camp, Relations: Lian has few relations despite traveling for many years. However, she does have good relations with her Dalish clan and people she's taken jobs from. Secrets: Lian keeps secret that she is terrified of bears, they're what caused her to earn her limp at the age of fourteen. She keeps the fact that her father may be alive a secret, not knowing if it's true or not.

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