The nations and races of Veen face their darkest hour. The powerful demon lord, Zruloh, has escaped the pits of the Seven Hells and has made his way to the mortal world. Ambitious and twisted as any fiend, he is different, possessing both cunning and patience, spending centuries under the radar of the Gods and his fellows. Slowly, he has built up his power, summoning lesser demons in their hundreds, planting agents to divide the kingdoms, seeding the south with rogue demons and corrupting as many temples and the clerics worshipping there as possible.<br/><br/>His greatest success was the pollution of the Death Cult. A multi-racial sect dedicated to the elemental force of death, the cult has been around since the beginning of time, collecting the recently departed, prepping them for the afterlife and carrying the bodies to their finally resting place. They once maintained a pair of graveyards; the first was the Barrowlands, the burial place of king and common alike. The second is the Hero’s Tomb, a mighty mausoleum carved into the side and top of a mountain. Because they didn’t serve a god, they had no defenses against the influence of Zruloh.<br/><br/>It could also be described as his greatest failure. After centuries unnoticed by the gods, his corruption of the Death Cult caught their collective eyes and reveled his plot. Unable to rally their followers, rather because they demons cloud the minds of the clergy or because the mortals cannot follow the instructions given to them, the gods desire. There is almost nothing they can do…….but maybe there is something. Working together, they might just be able to force Death to release several souls, heroes who might be able to save the world from a rogue demon lord.<br/><br/>They had to bargained and threaten the elemental force that removed life from their world but a price had to be paid. Death demanded that the souls he released from his house, have their memories sealed, which could only be broken once they touched the magical weapons or armor their original bodies had been buried with. Death also demanded that the heroes return to empty crypts with in the Barrowlands.<br/><br/>As Zruloh readies an army of demons, corrupted humans, enslaved gobliniods and enthralled giants in the wastelands of the north, the gods make their gamble. It may be too late already but they return heroes from the past to life, from different races, lacking their memories but each given a small ivory tablet with instructions to seek their new comrades and to find the Tomb of Heroes.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u">A sampling of races from Veen</span><br/><br/><strong>Elves</strong><br/>If you’ve seen one elf, you seen them all. As a general rule, an elf will be tall, slender, fair of skin and light of hair. Along with this delicate nature, their ears tend to be every long, with the top tapering into a point. If they are not killed or taken with sickness, most elves will live a good six hundred or more years.<br/><br/>Elves are an immensely proud people, believing themselves to be the favorites of the gods. They are quick to anger, over insults (real and imaged) or if touched by someone outside their immediate family and are even quicker to challenge the offender to a duel. As a result, most elven males carry a sword with them at all times. The blades differ from elven nation to nation but tend to be lightweight. Those elves living west of the Teeth prefer swords that are straight and narrow, where those that once lived in the east favor the saber. Elven women are even more prone to quarrel then the men but take their fights out of public view and settle the manner with daggers. Most often, elven women will carry a stiletto or a rondel.<br/><br/>It is written in the annals of elven history, that once there was by a single Elven Empire but that it collapsed millennias ago. It is recorded that the last Emperor had six sons, a set of sextuplets and when he died, he had not declared an heir. Each one of his sons laid claim to the throne, claiming it as their personal birthright. This of course led to a civil war, as elven lords declared their support to this or that brother. After years of bloody conflict, force of armors could not place even a single brother on the throne and it was agreed that each brother would take his follows and forge a new nation. The buildings of the imperial capital were crated away and used to lay the foundations of six new cities; Dagonnesti, Kagonnesti, Evernesti, Qilannesti, Ryadanesti and Pykonesti.<br/><br/><strong>Human</strong><br/>Where it is said that while elves, dwarves, goblins and even the bestial gnolls were created by the gods in some manner or another, humans were the children of Veen itself. The first humans, called the Dawn Men, appeared shortly after the gods breathed life into the elves. The story goes that the world created them as a counter point to the fae folk. Where the elves were long lived, the Dawn Men led short lives. Where the elves were cultured, the Dawn Men were primitive. Where the elves were quick to anger, the Dawn Men could go their entire lives without losing their tempers.<br/><br/>However, as the creations of the gods grew, claiming more space and learning the arts of war. The Dawn Men were forced to change, learning metal working and other skills to turn them from primitive barbarians into hundred of civilizations, They also had to become more violent, as peaceful settlement after peaceful settlement was razed to the ground. Their teachers in all of these things were the dwarves, whom were little more then accidents themselves and felt a kinship with the godless humans. Both races relied on one another for an age or more but with the shattering of the Dwarven kingdom of Kamrorim, the constant changing of human nations and the rather short generational memories of the humans, the two races drifted apart, although dwarven clans will honor bargains struck by the forefathers of the oldest human kingdoms and tribes.<br/><br/>Currently humanity is broken into many groups, ranging from the proud Plainsmen of the Sea of Grass, to the noble Silver Knights, the mighty Northmen, the dark islanders in the southern sea and to the barbaric Mountain Clansmen.<br/><br/><strong>Dwarves</strong><br/>When the world was still young, Reaxe, the god of metalwork, challenged all of his brothers to a wrestling match. During this contest, he was thrown down upon the Teeth Mountains and the jagged peaks cut open his back. The god’s blood seeped into the stone until one large drop merged with a lump of gold, which was roughly the shape of a squat man. The lump of gold spring to life, becoming the first dwarf, Dagr Goldbeard. He lived for some time, locked away in a small underground cavern, until he fashioned a pick of stone and began to tunnel his way out. As the first dwarf dug, he came across other drops of god blood and shaped them in his own image, creating the seven Thanes and their clans. As the years passed, the dwarves crafted a mightily realm under the mountains, which they named Kamrorim and added more clans to the kingdom.<br/><br/>One day, they broke through the mountain’s skin and were nearly blinded by the sun. It was a few years later that they met the Dawn Men and chose to teach them the secrets of working metal and t he ways of battle, which the dwarves had perfected from conflicts with the goblins. A few centuries later, they craved the great trade road, which connected the humans to their kin on the eastern half of Aveven. However, within a dwarf’s lifetime (which can last near eight hundred years) of the road’s finish, their great kingdom had plunged into civil war.<br/><br/>You see, the last of the Goldbeard line had taken no wife and had no heirs and had passed on to the hall of ancestors. Each of the seven great thanes laid claim to the empty seat of the king and sent their warriors to claim it. War raged in the underdark, as the clans clashed. After many decades and a good percentage of the dwarven population getting killed, the small folk abandoned Kamrorim, believing that their ancestors cursed the place. To this day, no dwarf will pass over, under or through the Teeth Mountains. As the dwarves drifted apart, they found new mountains and set about craving out new homes. Most of these were the work of a few clans banding together and electing one king from the gathered thanes.<br/><br/>Most dwarves reach a height around four and a half feet tall and are very heavily built. Hair color ranges from black to brown to red (no dwarf, save the Goldbeards, as every had blond hair) and is grown long, often braided. Dwarf men grow long beards, which they take great pride in, often taking hours to comb, oil and braid their facial hair. Dwarf women are said to be jealous of the men’s beards and grow their hair to come around their faces and braid it to appear as if they have beards. This has lead to most races believing that there are no dwarf women. Most dwarven warriors fight with axes and warhammers but those dwarf lasses, whom take to fighting, arm themselves with short, broad-bladed swords and lightweight throwing hammers.<br/><br/><strong>Goblins</strong><br/>Goblins are a race of short humanoids, standing no more then four feet all and having pale greenish/gray skin. They lack hair, save for the off, one in seven goblin male that can grew a slight beard of coarse black hair. Their eyes are small, normally green or yellow. Each goblin prizes their mouthful of fangs above all else and will spend hours sharpening their teeth. They tend to have a small, underfed looking frames but are strong. For the most part, goblins don’t make clothing but wear scraps of cloth and leather to cover themselves. As a rule, goblins are cruel but lazy beings, delighting in the pain of their victims and working their captives to death.<br/><br/>The goblins were once a race of large maggot or grub, which lived underground until the god of greed, Geaya, changed them into humanoids. He set his new creations to mining gold, silver and gems from the roots of the mountains. It was through this task, they the goblins came into conflicted with the dwarves. Geaya was forced to call upon his brother, Nomog, one of the gods of war, to teach his creations of weapons and their use.<br/><br/><strong>Hobgoblins</strong><br/>Hobgoblins are an offshoot of the goblins, created by Nomog. The god found that most goblins were too wild to correctly understand his lesions about warfare and was infuriated by it. Double-crossing his bother, he stole away several tribes and hid them away in the deep forests of the world. Over the years, he increased their height to match some of the tribes of men at five feet. He changed their skin from gray-green to an ugly mix of orange and brown. They grew more hair, oily and thin. They clothed themselves in leather and iron. Cruel they remained but no longer lazy, as their god turned them into an industrious and organized race.<br/><br/>Nomog told to his minions, through his clerics, that he meant for them to conquer their lesser kin, then the dwarves, men and elves. To this purpose, hobgoblins often raise mighty armies and march to war with great eagerness, often enjoying much success until the leaders of the army start infighting.<br/><br/><strong>Gnolls</strong><br/>Gnolls are a primitive race of humanoids, which could be described as spotted hyenas walking on their hind legs. A gnoll can grow over seven feet in height and are covered in a reddish-tawny fur with black spots, which is shorter around the face and hands. They tend to not wear clothing, only scraps of armor they might have collected over the years. There is little sexual dimorphism is gnolls, as the female genitals resembles the males. The only real difference is the females tend to be larger and have a pair of small breasts.<br/><br/>Gnolls are nomads, traveling in clans led by an alpha female. They are most commonly found traveling the Sea of Grass but conflicts between the clans and with the Plainsmen have driven some gnoll bands out into the rest of Aveven. Most of their weapons are stolen, made from bone or made from stone. If a clan should defeat men, elves, or any of the other races, they will feast upon the dead.<br/><br/>According to Gnoll oral tradition, they were created by Tlangtui, the Goddess of the hunt, to serve as her personal avatars.<br/><br/><strong>Giants</strong><br/>Massive, ugly humanoid primitives, Giants are violent brutes, found wondering alone or in small groups lead by the largest male. Often found raiding trade routes in their territory or encroaching around frontier settlements, they eat nearly anything but prefer to make their meals out of intelligent species. Their favorite meal is dwarf but since they can rarely catch the bearded folk, they make do with humans, elves and goblins. Unable to forge metal weapons, they weld wooden clubs or stone hammers. The giants are broken into three sub groups, based on height and general location of where they’re bands can be found.<br/><br/><em>Verbeeg</em><br/>The smallest and most numerous of the giants, they stand between nine and eleven feet tall. They are also the most normal looking, within only mild deformities, like clubfeet or extra digits. Verbeeg can be found across Veen, from mountains to forests. It is not unusual for a band of them to be dominated by one of their larger kin or for a lone Verbeeg to force it’s will on a small band of goblins.<br/><br/><em>Hill Giants</em><br/>The next tier of giant kind, Hill Giants are bloated brutes, their fat lumpy bodies get between twelve and fifteen feet tall. Dumb as rocks, their bands scratch out livings in the foothills around mountains and up into the mountains themselves. They tend to gather in groups of five to seven individuals<br/><br/><em>Mountain Giants</em><br/>The largest and rarest of the giants, Mountain Giants can reach between eighteen and twenty feet fall. Loners by nature, they attack and attempt to kill anything they come in contact with and prefer to live high up in mountain passes.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong>Characters</strong><br/><br/><div class="codeheader">Code: <a class="codeoperation" href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return smfSelectText(this);">[Select]</a></div><pre style="margin: 0; padding: 0;"><code class="bbc_code">[b]Name[/b]:<br/>[b]Age[/b]: (how old they appear to be)<br/>[b]Gender[/b]:<br/>[b]Description[/b]: (pics are okay but there needs to be a written part too)<br/>[b]Profession[/b]: (former king, warrior, healer, ect)<br/>[b]Equipment [/b]:<br/>[b]History[/b]:</code></pre><br/><strong>Current Roster</strong><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Cadeyrn</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: IrishWolf<br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Cadeyrn <br/><br/><strong>Age</strong>: late twenties<br/><br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Male<br/><br/><strong>Description</strong>: Cadeyrn is a tall man, standing six feet from heel to top of his crown. His body is muscled, from a youth spent training as a warrior and adulthood spent fighting hobgoblins, giants and other humans. His skin has been lightly tanned and bares eighteen blue tattoos, each consisting of an endless knot sandwiched between two thick bands. He has one wrapping around each ankle, each calf, each thigh, each wrist, each forearm, each elbow, each bicep, one around his shoulders and collarbone, one around his chest, one around his stomach and one around his hips. Scars dot his body, nicks from the blades of his enemies, old wounds received in training, the slowly fading makes of an exciting childhood. However the most outstanding and recent scar is on his right side, a thin slice, as if a narrow blade had been pushed into his body there.<br/><br/>His hair is thick and a dark red-brown in color. The sides of his head are trimmed down, near the scalp but the middle is grown long and allowed to hang free. A mustache of matching thickness and color hangs off his upper lip, reaching down to his collarbone and braided. Gray eyes stare around a slightly downwardly curved nose, which compliments his strong jaw.<br/><br/>Upon returning to life, he is dressed in a sleeveless tunic of a checkered yellow and blue, with tan trousers, leather boots, a leather belt and a red cloak attached with a gold brooch.<br/><br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Warrior King<br/><br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: Nothing as of now but the two handed sword Caladcholg awaits him in the Hero’s Tomb.<br/><br/><strong>History</strong>: Cadeyrn was one of the twin sons of Bricriu, king of Seanrath. He and his brother Lugaid grew up, doing everything together. They trained together, eat together and got in trouble together. Together, they could do just about anything they set their minds to, much to their father’s pride. In battle, they fought back to back, he welding sword and his brother welding a spear. When they were young men, an army of hobgoblins came out of the mountains and marched towards their father’s lands. They marched with their father and fought in van of the host, each slaying minor warlords and it was their raw courage, which broke through the bodyguard of hobgoblin warleader and laid open the way for Bricriu to duel the creature, to it's death.<br/><br/>Over the following decade, the brothers traveled across the lands their father claimed, clearing out infestations of goblins and verbeeg. They lead raids into the nearby kingdoms, stealing cattle and women. A few times, they lead warbands, taking over smaller lords in their father’s name. In all, life was good for the bothers, until word reached them that their father had fallen ill and lay upon death's door.<br/><br/>Racing home, Cadeyrn and Lugaid arrived in time to be with their father has he died. Bricriu spoke with them, telling them to move his throne and dig beneath it but he passed on before naming which of his sons was his heir. Choosing not to squabble for the crown, as a small company of the Death Cult arrived to bare their father off to the Barrowlands, the bothers decided to follow the instructions their father had given them.<br/><br/>Hidden deep in the ground, the floor nearly at the brother’s shoulders, they found a large stone chest. Inside they came across two weapons. The first, which was claimed by Cadeyrn, was a two-handed sword named Caladcholg, which could cut through almost anything. The second was a claimed by Lugaid, was a spear of bone, which was named Gáe Bolga and any wound it inflicted was fatal.<br/><br/>Deciding to rule together, the bothers expanded Seanrath and their own wealth for several years, before submitting to their noble’s desire that the kingdom should have an heir. Knowing that their children might be rivals, the brothers split the kingdom in half, creating Sean and Rath. Each of them had a crown crafted, setting their father’s crown and hall aside, not part of either kingdom.<br/><br/>Within two years, they were both invited to the hall of King Oisín for a feast and met his lovely daughter Assa. They both fell in love with her and sought her hand in marriage. Her father declared that he would give her hand to the man who could ride him of one of two problems. The first problem, which Cadeyrn took, was to clean out an infestation of goblins and verbeeg, which were lead by a hill giant out of the king’s gold mine. The second was to ride his only harbor of a terrible sea serpent.<br/><br/>When Cadeyrn arrived with the head of the hill giant and Lugaid returned with the head of the serpent, on the same day, King Oisín was at a loss and couldn’t decide which brother to give his daughter to. After a night of thought, he declared that the bothers were to go back to their capitals and the one to return with the better bride price would have Assa’s hand. Knowing that Oisín’s cattle herds has been ravaged by raids and wondering giants, Cadeyrn return with five hundred head and the best stud bull in the land. Lugaid returned with vast trove of gold and gems, hoping that the wealth would win his love’s hand. The King however, was most impressed with the herd, rather then the gold and chose to betroth his daughter to Cadeyrn.<br/><br/>However, Assa was in love with Lugaid and convinced him to steal her away, the night before she was to be married. Enraged at the betrayal, Cadeyrn tracked them down the following morning, catching his brother and his bride-to-be in the hall of Bricriu, where he challenged Lugaid to a duel to the death. For a day and a night they fought, neither able land a blow upon the other, until Lugaid knocked Cadeyrn to the ground and stabbed him in the side.<br/><br/>Believing his bother defeated, for any wound his spear made was fatal, Lugaid turned back and started walking to Assa But Cadeyrn wasn’t dead yet. Forcing himself to stand, the wounded king grabbed his sword and rushed towards his brother, the blade held before him like a lance. The woman of their affections noticed this and stepped in front of Lugaid, trying to halt Cadeyrn but it was too late. Before Cadeyrn could stop himself, Caladcholg pushed through Assa’s chest, out her back and plunged into Lugaid’s heart, killing both of them.<br/><br/>Racked with guilt over killing the woman he loved, Cadeyrn wept over the bodies, until he too left the mortal life. When the Death Cult appeared to take the bodies, Cadeyrn’s charioteer overheard one of them promise that the brothers would have another chance.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Lugaid</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: Irish Wolf<br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>:Lugaid<br/><strong>Age</strong>: late twenties<br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Male<br/><strong>Description</strong>: Marginally slighter and shorter than his brother, Lugaid still cuts a heroic figure, leanly muscular, with broad shoulders and long legs. His tanned face is decorated with a fine, braided beard, the same red-brown hair as his brothers kept long, swept back and tied with leather straps. A thin scar cuts below one eye the color of ice, an age old wound from a past duel, mirroring those across his body, showing the trials of a warrior born. Tattoos curl up both his arms, whorls and knots of black and blue starting at his wrists, over his veins, running up both of his arms before curling in and ending in an Ouroboros over his heart. Where his brother's eyes were gray, his are the pale blue of a early morning sky.<br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Warrior King<br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: none but the spear, Gáe Bolga, awaits him<br/><strong>History</strong>: Lugaid was one of the twin sons of Bricriu, king of Seanrath. He and his brother Cadeyrn grew up, doing everything together. They trained together, eat together and got in trouble together. Together, they could do just about anything they set their minds to, much to their father’s pride. In battle, they fought back to back, he welding sword and his brother welding a spear. When they were young men, an army of hobgoblins came out of the mountains and marched towards their father’s lands. They marched with their father and fought in van of the host, each slaying minor warlords and it was their raw courage, which broke through the bodyguard of hobgoblin warleader and laid open the way for Bricriu to duel the creature, to it's death.<br/><br/>Over the following decade, the brothers traveled across the lands their father claimed, clearing out infestations of goblins and verbeeg. They lead raids into the nearby kingdoms, stealing cattle and women. A few times, they lead warbands, taking over smaller lords in their father’s name. In all, life was good for the bothers, until word reached them that their father had fallen ill and lay upon death's door.<br/><br/>Racing home, Cadeyrn and Lugaid arrived in time to be with their father has he died. Bricriu spoke with them, telling them to move his throne and dig beneath it but he passed on before naming which of his sons was his heir. Choosing not to squabble for the crown, as a small company of the Death Cult arrived to bare their father off to the Barrowlands, the bothers decided to follow the instructions their father had given them.<br/><br/>Hidden deep in the ground, the floor nearly at the brother’s shoulders, they found a large stone chest. Inside they came across two weapons. The first, which was claimed by Cadeyrn, was a two-handed sword named Caladcholg, which could cut through almost anything. The second was a claimed by Lugaid, was a spear of bone, which was named Gáe Bolga and any wound it inflicted was fatal.<br/><br/>Deciding to rule together, the bothers expanded Seanrath and their own wealth for several years, before submitting to their noble’s desire that the kingdom should have an heir. Knowing that their children might be rivals, the brothers split the kingdom in half, creating Sean and Rath. Each of them had a crown crafted, setting their father’s crown and hall aside, not part of either kingdom.<br/><br/>Within two years, they were both invited to the hall of King Oisín for a feast and met his lovely daughter Assa. They both fell in love with her and sought her hand in marriage. Her father declared that he would give her hand to the man who could ride him of one of two problems. The first problem, which Cadeyrn took, was to clean out an infestation of goblins and verbeeg, which were lead by a hill giant out of the king’s gold mine. The second was to ride his only harbor of a terrible sea serpent.<br/><br/>When Cadeyrn arrived with the head of the hill giant and Lugaid returned with the head of the serpent, on the same day, King Oisín was at a loss and couldn’t decide which brother to give his daughter to. After a night of thought, he declared that the bothers were to go back to their capitals and the one to return with the better bride price would have Assa’s hand. Knowing that Oisín’s cattle herds has been ravaged by raids and wondering giants, Cadeyrn return with five hundred head and the best stud bull in the land. Lugaid returned with vast trove of gold and gems, hoping that the wealth would win his love’s hand. The King however, was most impressed with the herd, rather then the gold and chose to betroth his daughter to Cadeyrn.<br/><br/>However, Assa was in love with Lugaid and convinced him to steal her away, the night before she was to be married. Enraged at the betrayal, Cadeyrn tracked them down the following morning, catching his brother and his bride-to-be in the hall of Bricriu, where he challenged Lugaid to a duel to the death. For a day and a night they fought, neither able land a blow upon the other, until Lugaid knocked Cadeyrn to the ground and stabbed him in the side.<br/><br/>Believing his bother defeated, for any wound his spear made was fatal, Lugaid turned back and started walking to Assa But Cadeyrn wasn’t dead yet. Forcing himself to stand, the wounded king grabbed his sword and rushed towards his brother, the blade held before him like a lance. The woman of their affections noticed this and stepped in front of Lugaid, trying to halt Cadeyrn but it was too late. Before Cadeyrn could stop himself, Caladcholg pushed through Assa’s chest, out her back and plunged into Lugaid’s heart, killing both of them.<br/></div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Murrin Swift-Paw</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>:SugarAndSpice<br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Murrin Swift-Paw<br/><strong>Age</strong>: Late thirties<br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Female.<br/><strong>Description</strong>: By Gnoll standards Murrin is very beautiful. She stands at six foot six, her claws are long and black like sabres, her teeth razor sharp. Her body is covered in dark red hair, she sports a spray of black spots down her back, which have been described by some as looking like the milky way. Her eyes are a mix of green and yellow, and when she is angered they seem to flash with hidden fire.<br/><br/>Any scars she may have are hidden underneath her fur. Her most noticeable feature is a white patch just below her neck. It appears to be in the shape of a hand, though it is hard to say to which race the hand would belong.<br/> <br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Clan Leader and famed Thief <br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: Nothing but her own legs and claws, but her silk cloak waits at the tomb.<br/><strong>History</strong>: Murrin was the youngest child of an low family in an unknown Gnoll clan living on the edge of the Sea of Grass, she grew up knowing the feeling of hunger gnawing at her stomach. At the age of fourteen she suggested to her Clan Leader that they should move closer to the human settlements in order to prey on them and their growing numbers of livestock. The leader refused saying that Murrin did not understand the way the world worked. <br/><br/>That night Murrin set out alone to the human settlements. Moving swiftly and silently through the shadows she killed three sheep and dragged them back to her clan, covering her tracks behind her. When she arrived home she received mixed reactions, some were impressed that she had got so close to the humans, killed and got away with no opposition, others were shocked that she would dare disobey her clan leader. She was exiled from her clan, however several other young gnolls left with her. They all took the new Clan Name of Swift-Paw.<br/><br/>For several years they roamed the Sea of Grass, making prey of humans, and any other races who they happened across. In this time Murrin had three children, a son and two daughters, who she trained in the art of shadow walking as she called it. During this time she thought of ways to make her clan known and feared. She discussed a plan with her children and together they went to a large human town, after infiltrating it without trace they broke into a rich man's house and stole a fine silk blanket. The house's occupants woke long enough to see four gnolls towering over them but when they screamed for the guards they were already gone, from then on Murrin wore the blanket as a cloak.<br/><br/>They repeated this in many places, even managing to steal an Elven maid's diadem from her sleeping hands. Tales of them spread far and wide, the poor fearing for their lives, the rich for their treasure. This growing notoriety made Murrin bolder and when she saw a small village surrounding a large temple she couldn't resist. She and her children gained entrance and faced with four separate chambers they split up.<br/><br/>The chamber Murrin entered was the plainest and initially she was disappointed and considered turning back and helping her children remove what they may find. Then she saw a single statue, bathed in moonlight from a skylight. It was of a human woman, her arms raised high as if in prayer, it was pure gold and Murrin envisioned it atop her standard when she rode into battle against other gnoll clans. She crossed to it quickly and reached out to take it from the pedestal.<br/><br/>Suddenly a white figure, an ethereal copy of the statue appeared before her. The air filled with the howling screams of her children, Murrin tried to run to them but the figure placed its hand at the base of her throat, engulfing her in blinding pain. Her body and those of her children collapsed dead to the floor. When the priests of the temple discovered them they planned to bury the bodies far away from civilisation but a vision came to them telling them to cremate them with the full rites as one day one of them would return in an hour of need.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Volkar</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: Wheresmycow<br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Volkar<br/><strong>Age</strong>: Mid-thirties<br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Male<br/><strong>Description</strong>: Volkar is a giant amongst Gnolls.  Standing at eight and a half feet tall, he towers over his people and the smaller races.  Born to be a warrior, his body ripples with muscles, a powerful build hidden under short, coarse black fur with red lines streaking through.  With claws and teeth that are wickedly sharp and cruel, Volkar would resemble a wild and terrifying beast if not for the tall and proud bearing he has.  His golden eyes are not that of an animal, but are full of focus, determination and cunning.  Even after losing his memories, he has lost none of the stature that marked him as one of the greatest warlords in history.<br/><br/>Beneath his fur are a multitude of scars from harsh training and battles fought, each a testament to the trials endured.  While the front of his torso has many scars crisscrossing each other, there are only nine on his back, revealed by thin white lines on his fur where blades and spears had stabbed him.<br/><br/>When he is revived, he wears only a white loin cloth.<br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Warmaster<br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: None at the moment except for the loin cloth.  His weapon Sunder, and his black dwarven-forged plate armour wait for him in the hero's tomb.<br/><strong>History</strong>:<br/><br/>His tale would be a legend if any had been allowed to remember him; Warmaster. Scourge of the World. Blood Bringer. Wall Breaker. A Gnoll whose tale was so fearsome that all traces of it were removed lest it inspire generations to come.<br/><br/>Even his birth was significant. First born of his litter, he was twice the size of any other newborn pup anyone had seen, and his would-be siblings merely half-sized or still born. Such was the exertion of the labour that his mother had only enough time to name him before passing away. As he grew older, it was clear that he was no normal Gnoll. He stood a head taller than even the females, and his fur was the colour of blackened earth, with red lines streaking through his coat like cracked and erupting earth. Bigger and stronger, he dominated every challenger in training and contests alike. Upon reaching adulthood, he was bestowed the great honour of being mate to the alpha.<br/><br/>But he declined, and instead declared that he would settle for nothing less than being alpha himself, and she his mate instead. The Gnolls of his clan were shocked! This went against the very teachings of their goddess! Unheeding, he spat upon the ground and growled that if the goddess was so offended, she could come down and they could settle the argument. For his blasphemy, the young upstart was declared a heathen and exiled. His clan thought that with no pack of his own, he would die alone.<br/><br/>But the giant Gnoll would settle for no such mean fate.<br/><br/>Shortly after his exile, he encountered a large hobgoblin encampment. Instead of shying away, he boldly stepped forward and demanded they teach him. For his arrogance, the general ordered him to be killed, but he easily dispatched the hobgoblin warriors sent to deal with him. More were sent, and they were killed just as easily as the first. Impressed, the hobgoblin commander relented, and made the strange, savage Gnoll one of his soldiers. Thus, he cast aside the name his mother gifted him and was reborn as Volkar, strongest of Hobgoblins. From the hobgoblins he learned the art of war, proving himself to be an apt student. When Volkar had learned all the hobgoblins could teach him, he began to study the martial ways of other races, learning how their strategies could best be used and defeated. When it came time for a new general amongst the hobgoblins, Volkar killed the only other two contenders handily and took control. His first decision as general: to conquer the Gnoll lands under his banner.<br/><br/>And so, a mere decade after his ignominious exile, Volkar returned home, and returned not alone, but with one thousand hobgoblins chanting his name. <br/><br/>His old clan was no match for the veteran hobgoblin army. On only the second dawn of battle, the alpha was made to submit to Volkar as his mate. The other clans fell as rapidly before Volkar's disciplined horde, until soon Volkar had made himself a harem of all the alphas of all the clans of the Gnolls. With all of his kin laid before him, Volkar went on to claim the independent hobgoblins and their lesser cousins, the goblins, under his war banner. Finally, ambition unsated and with the might of three races under his command, he declared himself Warmaster Volkar. As his army marched, Volkar toyed with the notion of mounting himself and his Gnoll warriors, for he had always admired the goblin wolf riders, and the wargs the hobgoblins used as mounts. He knew that Gnolls could never be mounted on such creatures, but horses were neither ferocious enough nor inclined to accept Gnoll masters. His search for an appropriate creature was cut short when a giant lizard attacked his army as they traversed a ravine. With a thick hide, it shrugged off blows while it ripped apart Gnoll and goblins alike with terrible claws. Seeing the beast that he wanted, Volkar met it in battle, fighting for an hour before managing to subdue it. It took several more days of fighting before it would acknowledge him as its master, but when it was done, Volkar sat on his mighty steed and told his armies that they would find the eggs to these brutes and tame them like the goblins did their own mounts. Success was rare, but in the end, there were enough to mount an honour guard. <br/><br/>With terrifying savagery, Volkar and his armies swept down and conquered. First were the elves, and then the dwarves. With their finest craftsmen as slaves, Volkar ordered the two races to forge him a sword, one that would never break, bend or chip. What was created was a monstrosity that neither elf nor dwarf could lift, and whose edge was dull. His guard thought the work an insult, and were ready to execute the craftsmen, but Volkar stayed them. Lifting it up with one arm, he brought it down on a nearby anvil, smashing the steel in two. Naming it Sunder, Volkar finally had his weapon. With it, weapons were shattered, armour was smashed, and his foes cleaved asunder. <br/><br/>Volkar finally met his end not in combat, but in quiet treachery. Though feared by all, Volkar was loved by few. To the elves, he was Blood Bringer, who brought a screaming nightmare to their land on the back of a fell beast. To the dwarves he was Wall Breaker, who shattered the foundations of their mighty keeps and brought daylit fear to their most ancient strongholds. And to the Gnolls who remembered the day of his exile, so many years before, he was only Heretic, for still Volkar offered no worship to their goddess. He discouraged eating the flesh of the conquered dead, and he offered the opportunity for those conquered to live in slavery or serve in his armies instead of slaughtering them. They believed he was destroying their ways and traditions, and were trying to turn them into the hobgoblins he seemed to favour. <br/><br/>On the night before the final assault on the human capital; bastion of the remnants of dwarf, elf and humans; his supper was served with tainted meat. Poison ravaged his system when he awoke the next day, but he was not dead. Knowing that he had been betrayed, he still readied for battle nonetheless. This was the final hour, and he would see it through. With a roar that could have come from the depths of hell, Volkar fell upon those so cowardly as to poison him. The battle was titanic, and even weakened he slew many. But the poison took much out of him, and he eventually fell to the united might of the dwarven, elven and human kings who fought alongside the harem of chiefs he thought defeated. The morale of his forces broke, and without Volkar to lead them, his army quickly scattered. Not content to win the one battle, the humans, elves, and dwarves turned on their Gnoll allies, and hunted them as viciously as they hunted the goblins and hobgoblins, as if to scourge his influence away. The surviving Gnolls believed that this was divine punishment for straying, and so swore that Volkar would never be remembered. The hobgoblin's themselves tried to keep the memory of Volkar alive, but as time passed, it was forgotten that Volkar had been a Gnoll, and so in story became a hobgoblin instead.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sierra Del'un Vitra</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: Siereis<br/><strong>Name</strong>: Sierra Del'un Vitra<br/><strong>Age</strong>: 450 years upon death.  In her new life, Sierra appears to be in her early 100's.  Compared to humans, Sierra would appear to be in her early 20's.<br/><strong>Gender</strong>:  Female<br/><strong>Description</strong>: Sierra is beautiful, even by elven standards.  She stands at a solid 6 feet tall with long legs and a slender frame.  Well not particularly curvy, her athletic form and pale soft looking skin would look good in either armor or a dress.  The girl possesses long dark purple hair that she prefers to keep loose around her shoulders and would drape down most of her back.  Her keen blue eyes appear full of life and betray her intelligent mind.  Her features are immaculately clean, showing that she takes pride in her looks and takes care of herself.  She rarely smiles and is often considered too serious for her own good.<br/><br/>(http://oi39.tinypic.com/15meg5w.jpg)<br/><br/>In attire, Sierra would much rather wear a good suit of armor over a dress any day, but that does not mean she is without a distinguishing sense of fashion.  In general, the elven archer prefers to wear scale mailed tunics and tight fitting leather pants or shorts.  Because of the need to constantly position herself, the elf warrior prefers a sturdy pair of leather boots or sandals as opposed to stronger armored boots.  <br/><br/>Upon her rebirth, Sierra would be wearing what she was buried in - a rather ancient looking and regal dress and golden high heels.  Of course, the material has not faired well and is rather faded and tattered.<br/><br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Former royal guard to the princes.<br/><br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: A longbow awaits her in the tomb of the Heroes as well as a ring from her ancient family line.<br/><br/><strong>History</strong>:  Perhaps the hero from longest ago, Sierra is a figure long forgotten in history.  She lived in the time of the ancient Elven Empire that spanned vast lands.  Growing up as a noble, the elf girl knew little of struggle or despair and had every desire taken care of.  Her parents, close friends and nearly family to the king, always had Sierra attended royal dances and social events at the castle.  However, Sierra wished to be more than just another woman in a dress and never enjoyed the empty words of the ladies of the court.  Instead, Sierra preferred to spend time with the princes, six in total all the same age.  Because of her parent's close alliance with the king, Sierra grew up a close friend of all six Elven princes and in her youth had a crush on more than one over the years.  <br/><br/>It was because of this close alliance between the two families that when Sierra joined the royal army she was quickly advanced to a member of the crown prince's personal guard - a role that her parents were assured would mean she would never be in danger.  Despite attaining her rank through family ties, Sierra showed an aptitude for combat, particularly with ranged weapons.  Over the years of her service to the crown, Sierra grew to become a marksman of renown within the kingdom and it was rumored that she never missed.  With her parent's financial backing, the respect of her fellow warriors, and the awe of the people, Sierra was living the life.<br/><br/>With the death of the king, things could not have changed any more dramatically.  Tensions between the six sons before the king's untimely death were already high and each had tried to prove his superiority over his kin for years.  It was only a matter of time before each tried to claim the crown for himself - erupting the once peaceful kingdom into a war of a hundred years.  Sierra owed her allegiance to the crown and to each of the princes.  This cross pulling of her loyalties made the warrior doubt herself, especially considering how she saw her one time friends now were tearing the land apart all in desire for a crown.<br/><br/>Instead of assisting any of the princes and betraying the others, Sierra spent her days assisting the people of the fractured realm.  She spent the next hundred years of the war protecting the weak, or preventing one prince from gaining an unfair advantage over the other.  While Sierra was well known before the war, it was her attempts to keep the peace and prevent more widespread bloodshed that truly earned her reputation.  Had she been a daughter of the king, perhaps she might have been suggested to become Queen in place of the violent-prone princes.<br/><br/>After many years of war and unmoving battle lines, it was clear that none of the princes would be able to overcome the other.  Much to Sierra's relief the elvish princes eventually decided to call the war off and to simply found their own nations.  Sierra, as an old friend of the brothers, was invited to the meeting to settle the dispute.  However, before the meeting started, Sierra and her small band of warriors received news of some dark force attempting to disrupt the peace settlements.  What's more, only years before Sierra had heard rumors that this same unnamed dark force had been responsible for engineering the death of the king.  Loyal to the crown even after all these years, Sierra met the evil force with her small band of warriors.  <br/><br/>Nobody truely knows what happened in the battle against this unknown evil.  Days after it happened scouts found would find the bodies of Sierra, her warriors, and countless monsters surrounding them.  Surely enough though, Sierra's efforts had prevented the monster army from disrupting the peace talks, enabling the princes to come to peace and the realm to return to tranquility once more.  She, along with her band of friends, were buried with respect at the site of where the meeting had occurred.  The shrine and tomb over her resting place has long since disappeared with time.  The only thing remaining was the name of the forest clearing - Sierra Hill.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Daeryn</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: Jecter<br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Daeryn<br/><strong>Age</strong>: 32<br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Male<br/><strong>Description</strong>: Daeryn isn't exactly an impressive looking Hero. Not reaching six feet even in a thick pair of boots he does not inspire the same awe that some think heroes should. His hair is worn long, in direct contradiction with the warrior customs of his people, who shaved their heads to prevent their hair from being grabbed and to mark them out amongst the none warriors back home. Instead, Daeron has let his long thick blonde hair grow down past his shoulders in his arrogance. He needs no protection and all know him. Upon his body are a number of small scars, though they can easily be associated with the wear and tear his early life had left on him. On his stomach is the one scar that could have come from something other than the burns, scrapes and slipped knives of being a shepherd, a neat puncture wound that could only have come from a spear.<br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Warlord<br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: When he wakes up he is only wearing a poor set of clothing that he was buried in. His sword, Durend, and his shield, Bolos, is awaiting him in the Tomb of Heroes.<br/><strong>History</strong>: Daeryn was born the son of a shepherd and seemed doomed to live the rest of his life wandering the hills of Abhrim, following his sheep and warding off wolves. He was the youngest of seven sons, and the smallest as well. When the Halistans, a neighboring kingdom, declared war on Sirel, the writing was apparently on the wall. The Halistanians were coming from a large, rich land and had a well equipped veteran army. In comparison, the Sirelans were a nation of farmers and shepherds, with only the only city being the capitol of Dar. Still, the king was determined to fight the invaders as best he could, and called up the army. Daeryn was part of the massive call up to bolster the forces of the king.<br/><br/>The two forces met on the banks of the Garus river. The King of Sirel was a crafty man named Samwill, for all that he ruled a small impoverished kingdom. Riding his chariot out in between the armies, he called for the Halistanians to send forth their champion and let this day be decided by that fight. He called them cowards, women and fit for nothing other than cleaning the shit holes of real warriors. It was an incredible farce, and the Halistanian king Nager knew it. Still, he decided to send forth his champion to crush the Sirelan's, and order Nog to be brought forward. <br/><br/>Nog was a Verbeeg, kept in booze and slave women to hold his loyalty. Though he was only a small specimen, only nine feet tall. Yet he still towered over all the men in both armies. Striding forth, he bellowed out a roar of challenge. Sigar, the current Sirelan champion refused to fight. So did the next twelve men that Samwill approached. Finally, sick and tired of standing in the sun, Daeryn stepped forward. <br/><br/>He was greeted with laughter from the Halistan forces, and shocked silence from the Sirelan men. His brothers desperately raced to him to drag him back, but Daeryn had already stepped onto the battleground and it was forbidden to bring him back. Daeryn was armed only with a sling and a light throwing spear. He had no armour and though he was seventeen years old and well into manhood, he looked like a child. Not that Nog cared, the Verbeeg simply hefted his club and began to charge.<br/><br/>Calmly, as though in a trance, Daeryn loaded his sling and began to whirl it above his head. When Nog drew close, Daeryn shouted his own warcry, and was almost immediately drowned out by Nog's cry. This was what Daeryn was waiting for. He released his sling and the stone flew straight into Nog's throat, ripping into his windpipe and stopping the giant in his tracks. Now it was Daeryn's turn to charge, straight at the panicking Nog who was clutching at his throat. Daeryn leaped and drove his spear into the giant's throat.<br/><br/>Defeated, Nager withdrew his demoralized forces and Daeryn returned to the Sirelan lines to find a dozen men clamoring to pledge themselves to his service. King Samwill granted Daeryn the rank of warlord, and bid him to take the fight to the enemies of Sirel, giving him the gift of a fine steel sword.<br/><br/>For the next ten years Daeryn led his men against the Halistanian's, winning victory after victory and more men flocked to join him. Sirel experienced a golden time, free from enemies because of the military genius of Daeryn and his ever victorious army. Of course, this drew first the ire, then anger and finally jealousy of King Samwill, who finally snapped when his own son Jareth, joined with Daeryn's growing warband. <br/><br/>Declaring Daeryn an enemy of the state, he started a hunt for him. At the same time, the Halistanians attacked and drove the leaderless Sirelans back. Daeryn was urged by his followers to simply kill Samwill and take the throne. Hearing this, Jareth believed his life, as well as his father's to be in danger. Asking to see Daeryn, he plunged his spear into the belly of his leader and fled into the night. Daeryn died, surrounded by his men who stayed with his body until the priests of death came for it, then scattered, their sole reason for staying together dead on the ground. Sirel ceased to exist, and was absorbed into Halistan.<br/></div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button"> Cecilia Sevandir</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Player</strong>: EndofDivine <br/><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Cecilia Sevandir/Marishkanya<br/><strong>Age</strong>: 27<br/><strong>Gender</strong>: Female<br/><strong>Description</strong>: In the form she finds herself stuck in - that of Cecilia Sevandir - she appears to be a human female, roughly 5'8" and slight of frame. Her skin is a pleasant tanned color and almost seems to glow under the sunlight. Her hair is a mixture of wild blonde curls when left to hang at her shoulders but it is instead typically pulled back and braided in a short ponytail. For the most part, her typical demeanor is a stoic gaze; her soft blue eyes often drifting off and staring off into the distance.<br/><br/>She wears a shirt of poorly fitted chainmail over a featureless linen top. Her armor is decorated by a flowing white cloth tabard that features the symbol of her order. The tabard's length covers her shoulders and flows down her chest and back, ending as it meets her white knee-length skirt. Sandals are worn on her feet - offering only the slightest bit of protection against harsh terrain - with leather strips wrapping around her lower calf to secure them. She has a few basic weapons and rudimentary combat training to protect herself with though she still has a long way to go to be considered proficient enough to be a templar of her order.<br/><strong>Profession</strong>: Oracle, Templar in training<br/><strong>Equipment </strong>: The gauntlet that created her, stripped from her by the gods, awaits her at the tomb.<br/><strong>History</strong>: A demonic hand - clad in a dark steel gauntlet with pointed fingertips and engraved with various scenes depicting demons tormenting mortals and ending their lives - poured through a pile of ash, the flakes falling between the twisted hand like sand. This was all that remained of those that stood in his way and yet he still desired to torture them further, make them suffer greater torment than a mortal body would allow. And so, the demon lord began squeezing the ashes between his hands, the gray powder clinging together in his grasp and taking on shape and substance. It was in this way that his child was born, the final remains of his fallen foes giving life and shape to the being that would drive the final hateful spike into the heart of humanity. <br/><br/>She was given the name Marishkanya as well as her father's gauntlet - the very same item that had crafted her from the ash that gave her skin its gray hue. With it, she was able to sculpt herself in anyway she saw fit, a cruel imitation allowed by the dark bond she shared with the humans. She was to be part of a grand scheme, the role she was created to complete thanks to her unique abilities and strange connection to human civilization. She would infiltrate the ranks of what remained of humanity's clergy, take on the form and life of a spiritual leader, and use her position to spread unrest and uncertainty into those who worked as the right hands of the gods.<br/><br/>The task was performed admirably for years. A young woman named Cecilia Sevandir - a prophet and oracle of great renown - met her end to Marishkanya's wicked claws. With this shape she had the ears of the superstitious, those yearning to hear the words of the gods and their plans. Instead, she subtly fed them feelings of fear, hopelessness, and abandonment. Cecilia's prophecies suddenly foretold dark omens, tragic defeats, and hopeless struggles. Many became distraught and turned from their faith, frustrated that Cecilia saw that the gods had no plan to stop the ever encroaching darkness. It was all going so well.<br/><br/>But the changes in Cecilia's character and demeanor did not go unnoticed by certain eyes - templars that would converse with her and catch her in small lies, unable to properly recall events Cecilia had shared with others. The case against her built behind the curtain until there was no doubt. Cecilia had been lost...and it was the job of the templars to cleanse the demonic invasion. <br/><br/>She was pulled from her bed in the dead of night by dozens of armed men and dragged to what should have been an execution. Instead, it was a rebirth - the gods stayed the executioner's hand and offered the assembled group their final desperate plan. The creature before them, born from humanity by demonic hands to destroy mankind, would be reformed by their hands to destroy her demonic kin. The demon's mind was wiped clean, a blank slate with no memory of its origins, what it was, or what purpose it had been created for.<br/><br/>Months passed and as far the demon knew, she was Cecilia Sevandir, oracle, priestess, and the newest trainee of the templar order. The amnesia was explained away as a mind shattering divination - a divination of humanity's last glimmer of hope and her true purpose. They trained her and educated her for a task they said she had foretold for herself; to aid the greatest figures history had ever known as they fought to rid the world of demonic taint. <br/><br/>Messages of peace and holy text were drilled into her mind, words she was told she would need to bring the heroes together and guide them down the right path. But these words were meant more for her; the templars knew all too well the gods' curse would not last forever. She would regain her former self in time...they could only hope the lessons they taught her and the companionship of the mortal realm's finest figures would be enough when the time came for her to choose a life for herself. <br/></div></div><br/><br/><strong>Current Game Threads</strong><br/>Return of Heroes: Quest for the Tomb (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=190304.0)