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Other OPEN [M] Dusklands [OOC]

Started by PastelPhoenix July 19th, 2017 5:48 PM
  • 15 replies


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years


The old road lies before you; once alive and buzzing with merchants, now fallen into a state of disrepair. Few caravans travel these roads anymore, and you're more likely to find an ambush or lurking monstrosity than a fellow traveler. Still you've found your way into one of the few remaining packs of ambitious, or desperate, entrepreneurs who still walk the old road.

Ahead lies many dangers, for body and soul alike. Your killer may be lurking around the next turn, and what you must undertake to survive may very well leave a stain on your being. But you knew that before you began walking. Walking these lands is dangerous, but you willingly started in search of something. Be it knowledge, wealth, glory, redemption, or even just the safety of leaving this blighted place, it cannot be found except by walking. And so we find you here, on the Silver Hearth Caravan, heading towards the unknown.

They say there's safety in numbers, but the pasts of most of the caravaneers are as draped in shadows as the forest floors. You could be traveling with a priest, murderer, convict, scholar, or just someone looking to escape it all, and be none the wiser. But that's how they like it here, makes it easier to look a man in the eye the next morning if you know nothing about him. The runner of the caravan never even asked your name when you signed up after all.

But that won't do for this story, now would it? So why don't you introduce yourself?


Dusklands is a semi-sandbox dark-fantasy RP where the players are members of a caravan traveling the accursed land of Druica. Druica is a harsh place to live, and an especially harsh place to try and make a living. Large swaths of the land are inhospitable to all but the toughest of life, and the “reasonable” areas are overrun with monsters known as the Blightspawn, lycan packs, vampire courts, and even horrors from beyond the mortal plane. Traveling here is insane to most, but yourself and many others are driven to its roads, if only to escape.

This is an RP about surviving. There may be stories of great feats of both heroism and madness, but they are just legends. While you may not be playing as legendary figures, capable of taking on entire armies and juggernauts, acts of heroism and sheer willpower of man will be possible. Surviving in these lands takes tenacity, and possibly a bit of madness. You are not a static entity either, it is expected that you learn how to deal with threats more efficiently. And who knows, great power might await you; provided you are willing to pay the price.


As mentioned earlier, the RP is a semi-sandbox. Each stop of the caravan will open up a new area for players, each with their own sub-areas and troubles. You are not limited to my own creativity in coming up with troubles, however. You are free to pursue your own goals and adventures in each area. This method should help keep the cast together, help flesh out individual areas of the country, and develop greater story arcs.

There is magic in place, but I am not spending too long on a dedicated magic system (beyond the various schools and basic uses). This isn’t a dedicated magic RP, and a character surviving through entirely mundane ways through grit and sheer know-how is more than possible. The uses of magic also tie into the lack of grand heroism in the campaign. Magic is magic, but it isn’t wondrous. Magic can heal wounds, deal damage, influence people, invoke madness, and all sorts of other things, but great magical feats are not possible to the everyman. For a rough idea, a lot of my inspiration for spells comes from low level D&D/Pathfinder spells (level 0-3). But as always, feel free to discuss it with me.

Although I have mentioned free reign for the majority of the time, there will still be events that plague the characters, forcing one into… different situations. These plot points exist both to break up some of the monotony of constant aimless sandbox, as well as help larger plots and more major events to potentially shape the world around the players.

Ultimately, the convoy is headed towards the Capital, probably the most dangerous single location in Druica. There’s untold fortune in the capital, lost artifacts, and who knows what else hidden in the ruins. Your character's goal doesn’t directly have to lead them to the capital, they can be fulfilled any point along the way, but just a word of warning as to where the convoy’s ultimate destination is.

The Kingdom of Druica

Druica was once a prosperous trade nation settled on the eastern coast of the continent of Altea. A series of tragedies by the last royal line, House Drangolin, has lead to the corruption and decay of the once prosperous nation. Rumors of the House acquiring the throne through nefarious means, as well a suspicious of dark magic being practiced by the blood line plagued the lineage rule until the Fall.

While many claims against the house may be fabricated, much of the current state of Druica can be tied to their actions. The art of Necromancy flourished under one of the Drangolin Kings, his name stricken from the record due to his experimentation and fascination with the dark. The reliance of foreign mercenaries in place of the standing army also contributed to the purveyance of banditry in the nation, from both the disgruntled Druican soldier and the mercenaries when payments ran short. The Vampiric scourge can also be tied to the decadence of the Dragnolin court, the various nobles seeking eternal life to continue to parties during the Fall.

Perhaps the greatest mistake of all was the introduction to the Blight by the last Drangolin king, a cowardly and paranoid man who saw the entire world as out to get him. Through sabotaging a harvest festival’s ritual, he created the Blight that consumes much of the heartland. With important farmlands now struggling to produce crop in blighted soil, the kingdom soon fell to chaos. Cities and towns fell apart, and soon there was no unity among the people. Those who could leave did so, and others remain trapped.

The Caravaneers

There exist 9 more or less permanent caravaneers on the Silver Hearth, each with their own specialties. These NPCs man the major stores, maintain key positions in the convoy, and may have requests for the characters. They are as follows:

??? Fairen: The owner and leader of the Silver Heart. An aging, balding human who puts the safety of the caravan over all else. He commands respect among the long time travelers, having pulled all of them through danger at some point of another through his sheer dedication alone. Despite his grumpy attitude and disinterest in new travelers, he accepts almost everyone aboard the Caravan (under watchful eyes of course). He was well known for helping others out of Druica many years back, but something during the course seems to have changed him for the worse and towards bitterness. He has a first name, but he never tells any new arrival (or even tends to ask their name), nor do the old travellers reveal it.

Commander Alain Lovell: A foreign human ex-army captain serving as the captain of the Caravan watch. The watch is a loose organization of those able to fight, and Commander Lovell is a harsh captain when it comes to the protection of the Caravan. Despite his seriousness when it comes to his job, he is a charming, fun individual often passing his free time with a drink at his campfire. He enjoys telling stories, as well as old bar songs. He’s surprisingly upfront about his past, telling of leaving his duty to find all his old friends, loves, and family moved on, and not fitting in anymore. The outside world is odder than any beast, and he’ll happily stick with what he knows.

Katyr and Karnyl: Twin Elves who run the Taelin Family Store, a large cart filled with all manner of basic goods and odds and ends. Katyr is the brother; beautiful, long-haired, earrings, and usually at the front of the shop in his fancy robes. Karnyl is the sister; handsome, axe wielding, armored, and the primary acquirer of the odds and ends. They’d prefer you not mix them up. Katyr is the more reserved one, nice but not too keen on chatting. Karnyl, on the other hand, is boisterous and outgoing, liable to talk your ear off about anything she finds odd, interesting, or funny on her trips. They’ve never really talked much about their home or family, it seeming like a sore spot after all these years.

Salis: The resident wizard and collector of books. Salis is of mixed human-elven ancestry, although he seems estranged from both sides of his family. Technically a drop out from a prestigious magical college, there seems to be little that can’t be found in his tomes. He’s typically found inside his home-turned-library, reading up on some new book. He openly allows others to read his book and discuss the interiors (provided he isn’t trying to read at the moment), but kindly asks that the rarer parts of his collection don’t leave his house, and find their way to his locked chest when you leave. His specialization is in counterspelling, removing malevolent spells and curses from the members of the caravan.

Khouvic and Yori Flintview: Khouvic runs the mobile blacksmithy, repairing and making new tools, along with the occasional weapon. An older dwarf, content to spend his time alone, his being in public usually because he was dragged there by Yori. His caravan is a marvel of engineering, a fully functioning forge when fully extended. Yori is Khouvic’s daughter, and much younger than he is. Yori is the equivalent of a girl in her early 20’s compared to Khouvic’s 60’s, and her father’s apprentice. Yori is attractive and outgoing, with a keen eye for minerals and other fine materials. She’s a skilled smith in her own right, and would likely be done with her apprenticeship if it wasn’t for her father’s stubbornness. Despite never graduating her, Khouvic does tend to spoil his daughter.

Romre: A drow chef of the caravan, usually cooking up whatever the caravaneers capture or find. She’s pleasant and eager to help with any personal problems (willingness of the subject or not), however she can be overbearing. She’s a good cook when sticking to tradition, but her tastes can tend towards the more experimental and eccentric. The living styles of many Drow cause her not to shy away from anything technically edible, and she tries to explore new culinary paths. If she mentions that she had a great idea when making a dish, it’s probably best to eat everything else. As good of a cook as she is, the woman tends to lack any sort of taste.

Mydicyra (Mydi): The tiefling doctor. Caring about her patients, but has little tolerance for foolishness. Her Demonic blood tends to cause newcomers to feel anxious towards, or downright prejudiced against, her, but she heals everyone in the caravan all the same. Despite being a hardass at work, she often runs a poker circle at nights, where she usually wins (likely due to her race’s tendency towards non-facial expressions). She can use Radiant magic, although it tends to leave her sore and lightheaded due to her bloodline. Because of her sensitivity, she often relies on non-magical medicine for most issues, and is damn good at most treatments.

Schools of Magic

Arcane is the most basic school of magic. It is magic in it's raw form, and everyone starts with a little arcane magic. It can create magical projectiles, shields, it's the magic that infuses scrolls and various runes for power, and it can have some effects on the physical nature of objects (sharpening something, transmuting one metal to another, etc). It's often overlooked, but useful a general jack of all trades school. Arcane magic is also unique in it’s ability to destabilize sources of magic, potentially causing odd effects. It is also noted that most other magics tend to be overwritten by an equal amount of arcane magic.

Elementalist is harnessing elements, particularly the elements of Fire, Water/Ice, Lightning, and Rock. Most practitioners focus on one element, but it is possible to dabble in many. Creating their element, as well as morphing it is all within their realm of power. They also tend to be less affected by magic of their own favored element, allowing them to interact with some of the more harmful substances much more freely.
Radiant is the magic of the heavens, and the manifestation of light. The sacred light can heal wounds, illuminate the night, embolden allies, as well as it's offensive uses. Radiant magic is described as warm, a gentle warmth taking away the pains of battle, a numbing warmth remind people all is okay. Offensively, that warmth becomes all consuming, causing enemies to feel like they're burning alive while reliving their worst sins. Casters can also manifest the light into physical material, creating weapons and armor out of hardlight.

Necrotic is magic of undeath, of course. It's the magic of the flesh and bone, capable of causing flesh to move on it's own, as well as tearing it apart. Less... foul uses of necromancy can involve skin grafts and the like, fusing together flesh and bone in the living. It also deals with the soul, capable of dark rituals to rip the soul from the living, transfer consciousness, and even steal memories.

Void is a type of magic from a place outside the natural world. Void magic is cold, invoking feelings of helplessness and fear. Void can suck away life much like necromancy, but to no benefit of the caster. Void can also sunder materials, creating weakness in otherwise solid objects, as well as drain other magics. Void magic is used in the creation of Voidstone, which absorbs magic cast at it until it is overfilled and shatters. Various foul creatures live in the realm of the void, inspiring madness and corrupting the living. Void magic can temporarily cause madness, and deprive people of senses. Some high level void magics can even morph the caster’s body into foul and bizarre amalgamations of flesh, much like the creatures who inhabit the void.

Natural magic is the magic of plants and animals. It is used to manipulate plants, bring forth plantlife, commune and show minor control over animals, and even develop new mutations in natural life, such as new venoms or fruits with odd effects. It's a complex magic rarely taught in society, requiring years among nature to truly learn it.

Finally, Fey is the magic of trickery. It can manipulate people by making them oblivious, charm people, enrage them, as well as various effects on the caster themselves. Fey magic can be used to turn oneself invisible, manipulate objects at a distance, lay magical traps, and change one's appearance. It's an odd magic that is relatively new to study, and the full realm of possibility for the magic hasn't been discovered yet.

Sign Up Sheet

Name: You have a name, don’t you?

Race: What’s your ancestry? Not to judge you.

Appearance: Let me commit you to memory.

Personality: Tell me about yourself. Whatd’ya like?

History: Where’ya from?

Goal: Why’d you join up? Surely there must be something you want.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: You’ll need something to help you survive out there.

Skills: Even if you don’t have a lick of magic, there must be something special you can do. (feel free to use this space for spells, special maneuvers, or other special aspects about your character)

I will port over the current bestiary from the Interest Check and expand it at a later time. If you have a suggestion for a monster, feel free to let me know, I want to incorporate your guy's ideas.
Age 99
Seen October 29th, 2018
Posted October 29th, 2018
240 posts
3.2 Years

he serfs of Japhet shared tales of a shapeless killer. The settlement named this beast the Rasp, for it was known for the grating sounds it emanated shortly before it kills its prey. It was said that the Rasp eluded hunters by wearing the flesh of other beasts, including the faces of humans along with their relatives. It adopts a plethora of personas every time it assimilates a victim into its own being, and deploys each to accommodate a situation. Its mimicry was said to be so meticulous, it was believed that the Rasp even fell for its own disguise when it saw its reflection.

Very little was known about the Rasp outside its display of skulduggery. The beast was not inherently malicious for it did not terrorize the living impulsively, but farmers were still wary for the creature’s voracious appetite for livestock. Notwithstanding its infamy as an undetectable pest, the Rasp frugally acted within boundaries of reason. While it leeched off the settlement’s harvest, it only took what was necessary and never exceeded an amount that would have endangered the village.

Still, there was an inevitable amount of unease towards the beast. Mobs adhered onto the foreboding of their leader — a woodcutter by the name of Lorik, who fervently blamed the beast for his missing sister. Lorik was as stern as he was vindictive, and his ability to speak decisively through ultimatums helped instill a sense of urgency into the villagers. Though this helped rally manpower, the village began to suffer in sufficiency as workers abandoned their posts to support Lorik’s cause. And despite his prodigious efforts, the lack of any reliable method to lay bare the shapeless creature from its hiding ultimately rendered all of Lorik’s personal endeavors futile.

As Lorik and his followers continued to spread unease in the village, the clergy stepped in to intervene and repress the mob. Lorik had often quarreled with the pastor, Mortis, and their personal contentions only fueled the village’s disquiet. Despite Mortis sharing concerns for Lorik’s sister — his feelings were rarely subtle — the pastor frequently confounded Lorik’s accusations and instructed the mob to desist their search for the Rasp.

Mortis went as far as to rationalize that the Rasp’s presence was actually a boon for the village, a fact that aggravated Lorik but yet dubiously convinced a few others, including the other clergymen. Mortis extolled the shapeless creature as a harbinger for the Being of Light, and it was sent to the Inner Realm to purify their lands. He bespoke its actions were exclusive to the eradication of profligates and damned savages, such as brigands or even werewolves. He surmised that only the debauched and the ill incurred the Rasp’s wrath, and those who abided by the convictions of the Divine were given salvation.

Curiously, the Rasp became dormant after Mortis remodeled the clergy to tribute the Rasp as the village’s protector. His new religion was deemed a fanatical cult by Lorik and the rift between the clergy and the serfs grew steadily; the amount of religious punishment proliferated as Lorik’s men grew more violent. This inner turmoil raged out, decimating the dwindling hamlet from within until one day, everything abruptly stopped.

Travelers who came will meet Japhet barren of any life, but contrary to the tales of conflict, the hamlet itself was left in a serene state void of any struggle. The only evidence to these terrible skirmishes were the bloodstains inside the church, roughly made by three separate figures though there were no bodies to be found. The enigma behind Japhet and its deity intrigued a few to investigate though seldom did these ventures yield any fruit.

I / II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X

Today marks the preamble for my personal journey. Though my home in Vølkvald realized a luxurious life for myself, it was one that incessantly failed to appease my needs. My birthright as a Cardiam was more of a curse that predetermined my existence rather than allow me to rightfully validate its own worth. To simply put, I was bored. And all that greenery felt too saccharine for me.

Though I seek for an escape, I do not necessarily want to abandon my past like some melodramatic renegade who cavils about their hapless life. So I shall chronicle my recollection to ensure that I may never forget, and this entire movement serves as a means to progress. And should curious eyes stumble upon these pages, I highly advise you to cease reading and focus your efforts on fleeing; I’ve an affinity for the flesh of nosy thieves.

I’ve learned all I could from my birthplace. I was often given a wide selection of tomes on Fey magic. I was always told it was an art that fixated on illusions and seduction, turning a being's emotion into my own plaything. Even though these spells were incapable of bending wills completely, that didn't dissuade me from trying. As a magician, I’ve often competed with the prodigious efforts of another sibling. This sister, who I always mistook for an intruder barging into my family’s manor, showed feverish interest in the same dusty books I read. But her tenacity bordered obsession, and this proved to distract my concentration. Because of her, I was never able to further my advances in Fey Magic the same way she could, and for that, I harbored some acrimony for her in secret.

Still, the spells I did mastered had enabled me to play as a trickster. But the experience was limited to short-termed amusements, and ultimately, I felt such tactics were not of my taste. I was told to “peacefully” quell the rage of hunters, but I always preferred dominating all of my enemies with brute force.

As I clearly showed a fondness for battle, I was given many instructors who showed me the art of swordsmanship. Perhaps it was simple — maybe even cliched — but there was something satisfying when wielding just an arming sword with a buckler. Of course, my claws and fangs easily made any armament superfluous.

While I discarded the notions of chivalry and what-not, I did still impose my own code of honor. For every warrior I successfully defeat in serious combat, I felt it was courteous to clean their bones of every ounce of meat. I remembered the times my Father would harshly discipline me whenever I wasted food.

But now that I think back on his words, I’m not sure if he would apply that conduct on humans and their kinsman the same way he would on goat cheese and ogre meat. Anyways, I seem to be digressing; I've a journey to pursue.

I’ve not selected a destination, as I plan to be liberal in my pilgrimage. I had heard rumors about the ruined nation of Druica. One in particular revolved around a seasoned combatant known as the Armsmaster whose skills surpassed even the upper echelon of the Inner Realm’s finest warriors. I desire to duel this figure so that the following victory will sate me.

It’s been numerous weeks since my departure from home, and I made many unexpected detours through Altea. I've seem to made a terrible habit of neglecting this memoir of mine, for many pages were left unwritten. Alas, I feel as though my journey as yet to even near its peak until just recently. I simply lacked the zeal to lay out my experience on paper these past dawns and nights.

The humans along with their kinsman seem much stranger and stupider than the serfs that serve my family. Their lack of discipline is almost pitifully humorous, but at least there were plentiful of foolhardy warriors whose deaths helped my search for self-validation.

On my aimless travels, I’ve quarreled with a wide array of colorful eccentrics. Brigands and scavengers mostly, though there were a few who actively opposed me for my heritage — I had a propensity to flaunt my true form. Curiously, there a lot who expressed the strangest beliefs surrounding my race.

These hunters — as they could call themselves — had a propensity to address me as savagery given flesh; a “werewolf”. I can’t believe the audacity of these fools as they bluntly compare our impeccable physiques to that of a mere wolf’s! Why, I should compare these humans and their kinsman to deformed goblins. But I am above such pettiness.

It is incredibly amusing to see how outlandish and arbitrary these accusations grew over a course of time, but it was even more intriguing to see misguided resolve. These cults of fanatics were scattered across the continent, expending valuable resources for mundane tools. They believed silver to be more effective than steel when it comes to penetrating our thickened skins.

I suppose I cannot advocate for my brethren and sistren, but my claws were always capable of adapting to any blade. For they had this quirk of extending far beyond the size of a two-handed sword. Some have told me I exaggerate, but I do not lie about my own feats.

Speaking of which, there was also the belief that we “werewolves” were reduced to mindless beasts incapable of self-control once they undergo transformation — which they believed were done out of unwillingness — and there were far too many hunters who shamefully fell to my bite for underestimating my wits. I’ve even had one prospector assault me with fresh cloves of garlic; their efforts were in fact an earnest display of moxie rather than desperation.

Surely, this world is not trying to slay me with its unironic mirth?

But anyways, I’ve certainly established a niche for this life. I can accentuate on my superiority upon these amusing lessers, thus I’ve decided to prolong my coming for Druica in order to entertain myself.

I’ve quickly grown bored of these inferior beings who title themselves as warriors. But after my last kill, I had an epiphany on how to alleviate my stress. Inspired by the tales of the Armsmaster, I’ve decided to seek these lands of those who easily stood above the rest of the squalor. Perhaps if I brought enough meaningful victories, destiny should provide me the answer I’ve longed for and I could finally feel complete.

I shall dedicate this excerpt to my first rival, who I stumbled into while scouring a few abandoned catacombs in god forsaken land. It seemed as though I exasperated him by disturbing his place of slumber, or perhaps it was because I tried to claim his arms under the impression they were simply artifacts left unattended for eons. Nevertheless, we engaged.

Curiously, he was a being comprised of only bone. Simply put, I fought a living skeleton who lived within a sarcophagus for who knows how long. And yet his anatomical features were unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before. As this warrior refused to share a name — or perhaps he just was incapable of doing so — I will simply name him Godfrey, for that was a name I frequently heard on my travels.

Godfrey boasted tremendous speed. He was almost as nimble as I was, and his use of a sword and buckler was similar to my own. I still commended him for his crude imitation of my own technique, for it felt as though I was fighting a reflection of myself at times. I held off on my transformation until the battle reached its peak, for I enjoyed the two of us parrying in our naked forms.

Notably, he was very aggressive with his shield; I felt my head was in too many moments where it was at risk of getting caved in by the edges of that emblem. It was incredibly brutish and reminded me of one of my two younger siblings — I could not recall their names. They would often rely on cheap tactics rather than use their respective weapons as they were intended.

But as I’ve transformed into my true state, Godfrey revealed to me his own latent powers. I’ve discovered that his skeletal appearance was purposeful, for his flesh was deliberately kept dormant. Amazingly, Godfrey was an entity whose meat was forged out the hottest flames, and perhaps by pushing him beyond his limits had I ignited this spark within him.

Biting and clawing at this form were proven to be ineffective, and my advantages in reach did not provide any advantages. Godfrey was an animate conflagration, and just standing a few bodies before him was enough to scorch my fur. But it wasn’t just the excruciating heat that alarmed me. I felt as though my strength was being sapped by his very being, as if those flames weren’t producing warmth but devouring it from the surrounding environment.

I was only able to find victory with cunning. I was purposely stalling by consistently maintaining long distances as Godfrey constantly pursued me, and all the while I conjured the sharpest profanities to demoralize him. It was eventually evident that he was unable to maintain this form, and he eventually burned himself out. All that remained were his blackened bones, too charred for me to even gnaw at.

While Godfrey was indeed worthy, I was denied any satisfaction and I yearned for a better fight. Godfrey was mighty but what he showed in skill he sorely lacked in discipline, as evident in how his recklessness easily blinded him. I did seize his arms, for they were forged with stronger material compared to my own, and I fancied the emblem he carried during our battle.

My epic skirmish with Godfrey conveniently led me outside the catacombs, where I decided to set up my camp for tonight. I shall continue my quest in the morning, for I have not been fully sated; I yearn for a better battle. My burns were far worse than I imagined, but I will simply allow time to heal these wounds. I doubt they will be permanent.

I travelled to a human establishment on the outskirts of a kingdom known as Halcyon. During my visit, I restricted myself to my dormant form. For whatever reason, my burns refused to fade away and I had to conceal most of my powers to suppress an excruciating pain. Still, I took this opportunity to view the humans and their endeavors on their own level. Sadly, that experience was quite dull, for I found the contrast between the undying adulation towards their deity and their impassive devotions to be tragic but uninteresting. Though I’ve never cared for pious practices and the hypocrisy they spawned.

I was only here to seek a new contender. The tales of men who were exalted as their deity’s champions enticed me, for their magic was told to be lethal to my race. For that, I searched for one of these acolytes — or Paladins as they were colloquially called — to see how they fared in actual battle.

But to say my hunt was derailed would be a gross understatement. It seemed I stumbled into this city whilst it was in some sort of a muddle, and the only few acolytes could find were occupied with issue. It seemed as though a majority of them departed on their personal crusades, for I was struggling to find any that intrigued me. I wanted to explore the kingdom further, but this distinctive feeling discouraged me from going past beyond the borders. I’ve thought nothing of it, and just thought it was my body telling me I should rest.

As I was unable to find one of these acolytes, I decided to stay at an inn. Gossip flooded the streets, and I’ve frequently heard of a monster would harass the city’s borders at night. It was widely believed this was a vampire, or least something unholy. Often times, I heard the vicars whimper that such atrocity was a testament that their deity had abandoned them, and their divination was for naught.

Whatever this creature was, it was said that it would mark its prey with a curse, and those who were hexed will be turn up as withered carcasses a week later. Curious, I decided to pursue this monster. But it seemed this case was exclusive for the city’s dedicated arbiters, and any clues regarding the monster’s location were denied to mercenaries and travelers. Apparently, they thought any contribution from the outside would impede their cause, whatever that meant.

I would have departed had I not caught the attention of a woman who called notice to the emblem I carried. I vividly remembered her expression was of awe without fear. Supposedly, the shield I reaped from my previous rival belonged to an ancient demon known as the Irlicht, and he was a being who had similarities with the Armsmaster — the very same Armsmaster I initially sought for back when I first embarked on this voyage.

According to this woman, this emblem served as a testament to my credibility as a warrior. But as this gave me a moment to think upon hindsight, I realized that my battle with Godfrey — or rather Irlicht — was truly a farce. Nothing I recall was remotely satisfying or meaningful, and I never actually delivered the killing blow. This revelation maddened me, and it only served to fortify my resolve as a warrior.

Fortunately, this woman was able to place a special kind of faith in me. She was able to share with me crucial knowledge she among her compatriots spent weeks on their own investigation regarding this monster. And in exchange, she wanted me to pledge my word that I would slay this monster to avenge her husband. I cared not for the affairs of these peasants, but the confidence she expressed in me was a feeling that I never actually felt before.

I was given an special orb that would assist me in my endeavor; the orb lit whenever it felt the presence of the undead, for the monster I was hunting. After I bid the woman farewell, I embarked on this quest. The memory of that woman dissipated under my ulterior goal — the same zeal that has driven me to this day. My mind was fixated on killing this monster for my own sake.

My journey taken me deep within woods. There were so many trees, their leaves obscured the sky. I had not come prepared with any sort of light, save for the orb that illuminated a faint shine towards the forest.

I think I’ve finally killed my second rival. I’m bleeding far too much… and I don’t understand why. Are my skills diminishing? This entire journey was to help my progression and thus, should I not be improving? Perhaps writing this will clear my thoughts...

My latest opponent was of a female. Her depiction did not at all match the depictions of those kittenish vampires, with their compulsions with elegance. Her posture and movements were twisted, as if her bones were bending in every direction to desperately move themselves. This creature’s clothing was decrepit and reeked of death, and her unkempt long hair draped over her face. But when I saw glimpses of her countenance, I noticed there was signs of it being meticulously reformed to emulate a youthful look.

This faux beauty was clearly some sort of devious ploy used to lure in shallow beings — is it no surprise so many humans had fallen to her. But her wicked wiles failed to work their effect on me. Despite my injuries, I immediately transformed to quell the tension she exuded the moment we locked eyes.

It was a frustrating experience filled with agony and torture; she was nigh-invisible to all my senses and my feats meant very little if I could not find my prey. The forest shared the same rancid stench as her, and its environment became a labyrinth she constructed as she faded in and out of existence. She was like some sort of cruel spectre. The only way I could even keep track of this nightmarish succubus was the orb I carried, as it emanated the brightest light whenever I was in arm’s length of this fiend.

I remembered too many hands clawing out at me, and very frigid touch this witch left on me marked my body with deep gashes; the pain was sharper than any man-made weapon. And her wails gradually sounded like chortles, orchestrating this grating cacophony. It drove me insane, but I pushed forward anyway.

I resorted to flailing my claws around. I was not driven by mindless rage, though it did feel as such. I know for certain this was an intentional act. A cunning tactic. After all, I was able to land a few hits upon this wench with my unpredictable finesse.

At first, I thought I was finally winning. But the black tar that splattered over my body was unlike any blood I’ve ever seen, and it drilled into my being. It began to harden as it strangled my vital points. I eventually found myself constricted in this bile. And I suppose that was when this wench thought it was appropriate to confront me in my dormant state, face to face.

I remembered her expression. That outrageous look. That whimper feigning diffidence. It wasn’t one of triumph, it was just pity and disappointment. This soulless abomination had the gall to look down on someone like me? My entire essence was fueled by ire, and such animosity forced my body out of its confinement. I remembered lashing out, aiming my teeth into that vixen’s pale neck.

I ignored all the pain. I just tore into her until there was nothing but a sludge of black beneath me. When there was nothing but silence, I just stood there feeling empty. This didn’t feel like the victory I wanted. I just felt so underwhelmed.

I’ve lost my sword and that emblem during this squabble. I thankfully kept the orb throughout the fight, as its radiance would surely guide me out of this wretched forest.

I am just wandering through this forest aimless… I think the battle with that fiend led me astray from my path. To aggravate my issues, I still hear these grating noises in my head

I think for the first time, I find myself in a perilous predicament. I cannot revert back to my human form, for the injuries I’ve sustained are just too severe. I haven’t ate since my encounter with Godfrey. But Godfrey was only bones without meat, and that vampiric wench left nothing but rank ooze for me to slurp. I feel delirious. And the terrible sounds are growing worse.

But I wasn’t vulnerable. Certainly, I was not left helpless. I just had to hunt for some prey, and surely this forest had some game. Anything would suffice. I just want the noises to stop.

What is happening to me?

I just encountered a human girl near the edges of this accursed forest.

I wasn’t able to directly kill her; victory was only assured after she accidentally fell down some chasm, which was only possible through sheer happenstance and nothing more. In fact, I almost feel as though she nearly trumped me with her own cunning had it not been for that unfortunate accident. Her use of magic was so simple, it’s almost disgusting. I am willing to bet she was restricted to such spells because everything else was far too complicated for her...

I know I am injured. I know I am exhausted from starvation. But why am I allowing that to affect me so drastically? Why I am I not able to pull these victories as easily as before? I don’t understand.

This human girl, she was no different from the other humans I killed… I was in my beastial form, she should have immediately feared me. And yet she acted no different from that sister of mine; she even bared an identical countenance. Her demeanor was so conceited and too obsessive…

Like that wench’s look, as well as Godfrey’s wrath and the Paladins with their duties to a doomed city. I just don’t understand how people like them can exist. I just don’t.

I believe I am acting out of hysteria, I’m not even writing coherently. I think I see some sort of village up ahead. I think I will rest there in my human form. I need to give these wounds of mine some time to heal...

I’ve spent a few weeks in Japhet; the villagers here are abnormally kind, though I decided to capitalize on their generosity. It seemed this hamlet shared the same deity from my previous location, albeit their religious practices seemed different and their benedictions felt far more saccharine compared to the jaded outlooks I’ve witnessed from my time in Halcyon.

In some ways, this village reminded me of home. The serfs here were just as obedient, rarely did they search for trouble. The church was also rich in countless tomes in Fey magic, and I’ve even found a few that detailed Necrotic magic — however, these spells were admittedly too difficult for me to master, as they were written in a language I never even heard of. Since magic didn’t necessarily exert on my physical feats, I obtain a few additional spells if only to pass the time.

My affinity for Japhet may have derived from nostalgic fondness Still, I decided to only stay as a guest until I fully recovered. So as long as I performed a few menial jobs and paid for my temporary residence, I was able to freely stay without dilemma; nobody knew of my lycanthrophy, for I had no reason nor could I spare the strength to antagonize this entire village.

Somehow, I’ve extended my stay in Japhet far longer than I initially planned. I suppose I made that decision subconsciously, as my body is still too sore for long travels. As if to rub salt in these wounds, I’ve been getting harassed by several visionaries at night that shared me with a reoccurring nightmare.

I was being hauled by... something. A creature whose appearance was impalpable, yet its very essence somehow felt inordinate. Its grip was crushing, cold. I couldn't escape. All I could hear those terrible grating noises that tormented me back in the forest. This creature made out of terrible sounds would continue to attack me in my sleep, and I admit, there were a few times where I truly believed I would perish.

It seemed this experience was not exclusive to me. I’ve noticed the other villagers with drooping eyes, clearly showing they were robbed of any meaningful sleep. That, and I’ve heard a few mention similar noises on rare occasion. Curiously, they all act as though their weariness are but of a minor inconvenience. I feel as though I can tolerate sleepless nights far better than any human could, so this came off as highly unusual for me.

Honestly, this town is slowly starting to irk me with its propensity to ignore such dire issues. Why don’t they just acknowledge something is wrong? Though I ultimately do not care for this village’s fate, I could never stand such delusions. I’ve seen farmers collapsed from exhaustion yet the villagers choose to laugh at their own expense.

But the more I think upon the circumstances, it is very evident that something is amiss here. I am fooling myself into thinking otherwise, and perhaps I should leave first thing in the morning. I can no longer bear these grating noises anyway.

I had the most unusual yet pleasant dream last night.

In this dream, I’ve encountered my reflection. A perfect imitation in every detail, save for a tamed mind. From his malicious stance and empty eyes, it was clear that my doppelganger's mind was lost in some kind of madness. In this dream, I instinctively decided to put him out of his misery. And when I tore out his throat, I felt... alleviated of something. I was rid of impairment that weighed me down for so long; the feeling of regret, and the fear of my own weakness.

Then, I tumultuously celebrated by slaughtering every villager in Japhet. I had no idea why I decided to indulge in such abrupt acts of violence, but I knew it was only a dream. I do remember one odd detail about this dream: the way I devoured these villagers, it was far from conventional when compared to my norm. Their bodies were contorted, twisted and molded by a pair of invisible hands that seemingly acted on my accord. Their carcasses — a few still alive as their screams imitated thunder — were pulled into me, where they became a part of my own being.

This surreal experience... it was exotically exhilarating compared to the mundane ways of devouring flesh off bone. For the first time, I felt as though I was on the right path. I hope to have more dreams like this, for I may have find myself being addicted to such an intoxicating rush.

When I awoke from this fantasy, I was met with an abandoned village. I could not find a single soul nor any evidence that would help determine the fate of the villagers. While I was no stranger to solitude, to suddenly find myself standing all alone in that once lively hamlet brought upon me discontent. Even though I knew very little of Japhet and its people, I couldn't help but feel some vague loss.

Wallowing in my loneliness, my thoughts returned back to that sister. I remembered her name now; Devon. I came into realization that I've never bid a proper farewell to her, or anyone else for that matter. Out of nowhere, I grew this sudden compulsion to reunite with my family. No longer did I spite Devon and my other siblings, I instead longed for their everlasting company.

It was very obvious that I no longer have any purpose to remain in this empty hamlet. Now that I have fully recovered, I can return to my personal voyage. I’ve heard there were caravans that traveled to the heart of Druica. I feel more hopeful that I will find my true archnemesis there, for my battle to validate my existence has yet to be won.

(Background image from "")
(Village drawing was from Pininterest.)
("Shirley" was drawn by some trog.)


tl;dr version

Name: Shirley "Shard" Cardiam

Race: Placeholderian


Personality: insecure and impatient

History: Firstborn son of and heir to a lycan dukedom of Altea, Shirley "Shard" Cardiam left his home for Druica on a personal quest for self-worth and purpose.

Once upon a time he enjoyed something resembling a life of luxury, but one fraught with frustration. He was rigorously trained through his childhood in the way of sword and shield and the mannerisms of nobility to control his baser animal urges, while the maids trained him in fey magic to manipulate his victims' memories. Shirley was only able to truly relax in the company of his illegitimate half-sister, with whom he met in secret when sneaking out of the mansion.

The two became increasingly close, each acting as each other's pillar keeping them sane. She was his only support when each day felt like torture, when he thought he couldn't take any more.

But as years passed, it felt like nothing else changed. A stagnant life, and one Shirley couldn't accept if he was to rule over land one day. He needed experience. He needed a life of his own, unbound by the grind of what amounted to his days. The ongoing calamity to the east was the perfect opportunity, and so he departed, leaving his comfortable world behind for danger and excitement.

Maybe one day he could return; smarter, stronger, someone who could succeed his father for the better. Someone his sister could be proud of.

Goal: To make "amends" with his sister.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: sword and shield, killer looks

Skills: fey because super attractive

I was blackmailed into making this SU


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years
Consider me interested! Reserve please!
Sorry, I'm not a fan of spot reservations in RPs and I don't have a set amount of slots for Dusklands. I tend to just start when there's enough players and the IC is done, and accept for a little while after it starts.


Crobat is ProBat

Seen 3 Weeks Ago
Posted April 13th, 2019
3,414 posts
5.1 Years
Name: Fuu Guru

Race: Half-human. Half-elvish.

Appearance: Being of elvish descent, Fuu managed to inherit the height of his elven brothers. Standing at an impressive height of six foot-eight, Fuu is certainly towering over other races, even if he is half-human. He has pointy ears like his elven brethren but he sports a subtle stubble of facial hair, a showing to his human-side. His eyes are deep-set and brown in color, accentuated by thick eyebrows and very short eyelashes. His nose is tall and thin, further emphasizing the thin mouth he possesses. A huge scar runs from his left forehead to his right cheek, crossing the bridge of his nose horizontally.

He is not muscularly-set as he generally tends to sway on the lean and lanky spectrum of body shapes. His arms are toned, however, because of the years he spent practicing and using the bow. His skin is tanned because of his frequency of spending time under the sun. His legs, especially his thighs, are muscular too because of running.

For clothing, see armor and equipment.

Personality: Fuu Guru is somewhere in between a loudmouth and an introvert. When around his fellow travelers, Fuu could be seen to be animatedly talking and engaging with them, exchanging jokes or news, or just playing the local card game. During the night, he is seen volunteering in taking up guard even if he is not part of the official guard group of the caravan. He could also be relied upon when cleaning stuff up when the caravan decides to spend a little more time in a single area. He prefers talking more to the guards than the traders in the group, asking for battle tips, or for the latest news, or any other stuff a regular soldier could be able to know.

However, he prefers to have more alone time for reasons nobody knows. He is usually up earlier compared to the other people and is already away from the group to hunt for game or just shoot a couple of his arrows. He is also late to go to bed, usually the last discounting the designated watcher, as he always spends an hour or few sharpening his weapons with his whetstone. During any normal day where each traveler has each of their own things to do, Fuu just sits on top of a rock and scan the horizon. Or just lying in the shade of one of their tents. There are rare times where Fuu could also be seen as writing but nobody has seen any of his works or what he even writes during those times. When probed, he just insists that it is his daily record.

He is also a learned individual, showcased by his knowledge regarding various topics like botany, metallurgy, geology, and magic. He uses this knowledge to complement his battle style as he creates poisonous arrows made from local plants, arrows tipped with a certain metal or rock to penetrate even the toughest armors, or even flammable ones if he gets the right material to imbue some Fire-elemental. He is also well-versed in religion and lore but maintains a good distance away from it since, according to his words, it is not really a fundamental part of survival.

In battle, not that there is a lot yet during the travel, Fuu tends to stay back in the rear, being an archer. He provides support to the more melee-inclined warriors and fighters by incapacitating opponents with magic-imbued arrows. He can hold his own during a one-on-one fight but he prefers fighting at a distance.

History: Fuu Guru was an outcast for most of his life. He was descended from a line of pure-blooded Elves who took pride in not having to copulate with ‘lesser beings’ as they put it. However, Fuu’s mother was an adventurer and fell in love with a hunter during one of their adventures together. Fuu was born and was taken care off by one of the other adventurers when Fuu’s parents went off on their merry way. He never had the chance to know either of them. He only met them through various shady descriptions by other adventurers who have managed to interact them one way or another.

He grew up in the foster care of a certain elf, simply called Smithling. He was an old man as far as Fuu remembered who took up children abandoned by carefree and careless parents. Under his tutelage, he learned the arts of magic and archery, among various topics. Smithling is known to release children to the world once he feels they have learned enough.

Fuu had been on the road for a few decades already and he hasn’t been back to Smithling in that span of time. He developed his own identity as an arcane archer who goes from caravan to caravan, just taking in the sights. He learned to love the wind and the freedom given to him and reveled in it. Upon hearing that a certain caravan is headed for the Capital, said to be the most dangerous place in the whole of Druica, Fuu immediately jumped at that idea. He felt that the place was calling to him and he needs to answer the call.

Goal: Fuu’s goal about the travel has been shrouded in secrecy. He claims that even he doesn’t know why he’s on the road. He mentions something about finding the perfect recipe for an arrow but will not expound if pressed further. People just accepted that Fuu is just there for the ride, without any end goal.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: Fuu’s choice of weapon is the bow and arrow. He crafts his arrows himself by chopping wood from the finest and toughest trees in the land, or the lightest rock he could find. He could create a variety of arrows by exchanging the arrow heads he use in battle, or by dipping it in special ointments that could do different effects, ranging from slight poison to instant death. No armor is also impenetrable for Fuu as he learned the perfect arrowhead for each type of armor.

Being an adequate mage himself, Fuu also imbues his arrows with the Fire-element. He can manipulate it such that it can induce burns alongside with the regular damage it can deal. He is currently learning to channel the Rock element to further increase the durability of his arrows but isn’t having the greatest luck.

For armor, he wears a lightweight steel chainmain underneath his brown tunic. It serves as a deterrent to most attacks but Fuu knew that if he could evade an attack, he will. His hands are gloved with animal hide to prevent the friction from burning off the skin off of his fingers.

Skills: Elves in general have more longevity than most races. Being half-human, Fuu had the shorter end of the stick compared to his elven brethren but he estimates that he could at least live to be until 150 years. He is also pretty agile and dexterous, two traits that are needed for an archer and expected from an elf, even of Halfling origins.

He is exceptional with his use of the bow, a longbow to be precise, as it allows him to shoot larger arrows through longer distances. This bows vary in the material used as Fuu creates his own arrows and very seldom buys. He has a vast array of stones for the head and wood for the shafting. Needless to say, Fuu’s arsenal is very wide.

Aside from this, he is also a proficient Fire-elementalist. He can channel it towards his arrows to send burning ones into opponents. If ever he is faced in a situation where he cannot use his arrows, he prefers to use the destructive power of Fire to battle, usually imbuing it with whatever weapon he is using, be it a knife or a sword.


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years


The Inner Realm

The Inner Realm is the physical world, and the world all of you inhabit. The true size of the Inner Realm is unknown, but it has been theorized that lands other than Altea exist within this realm.

The most stable of the realms, the Inner Realm is where reality is at its most concrete. Time flows in steady increments, space between locations is constant and unchanging, and the rules of reality are firmly enforced. It takes a great act of magic or the presence of a particularly strong Outsider to change morph these aspects, and the wounds they leave in reality rapidly heal.

To some this may seem like the most boring of all possible realities, but stability has its own benefits. The Inner Realm is capable of supporting a far greater amount of life than the others. Despite being quick to heal itself, it is also a reality with much more rapid change. Since reality governs itself, it is not subject to the will of beings within itself, making the individual capable of greater change through their actions alone.

The Shroud

The Shroud surrounds the Inner Realm, providing refuge from the obscenity of the void. The Shroud is a looser reality than the Inner Realm, its inhabitants more prone to an occasional odd timeflow or spacial distortion. The stability of the Shroud varies greatly, being more stable in the areas closer to the Inner Realm, and less the closer to the Void that area is.

For most Alteans, the most important aspect of The Shroud is its hosting of the afterlife. The Divine Aspects that form the Gods of each culture can be found here, as well as their personal domains for their followers. The Paradise Realms of the benevelent Aspects and their followers are located closest to the Inner Realm, while the Twisted Hells are located in the furthest expanses. Petty squabbles between the Aspects are rare, but usually caused by wanting a better location for their domain; those seeking stability vying for a Paradise Realm, and the cruel wanting a part of the Twisted Hells.

Aside from the Aspects, other creatures that inhabit the Shroud include the vengeful Angels and the eternally hungry Demonkind. Angels prefer to guard the Paradise Realms, occasionally venturing into the Middle Expanses. Demons, however, find the eternally shifting aspect of the Twisted Hells pleasing, finding refuge in the spiraling caverns that sift from cold to hot, narrow to wide, and rapid to excruciatingly slow timeflow.

The Divine Aspects

Each culture sees their own gods and goddesses, each with different outlooks on life and personality. All of these Gods are different reflections of the Divine Aspects, beings of pure magic and will who change depending on the lens they are viewed from. Most Alteans do not worship the Aspects directly, preferring their own view on the aspects. Many who do not spend a significant amount of time learning other's culture and noticing the similarities between the god would never notice that the beings they worship are so similar, or just chalk it up to coincidence. As such, knowledge that the Aspects are even the Aspects is rare, and takes one who has dedicated much of their life to uncovering the mysteries of the divine to find the great truth that all religions are one in the same.

Some of the Aspects are listed below:

The Being of Light: The source of all Radiant magic, and one of the benevolent Aspects. Just as Radiant magic is capable of both great feats of healing as well as great feats of destruction, so too are the variations of this Aspect varied. Warrior cultures might see a noble knight or paladin in golden armor on the quest to destroy corruption, and the more peaceful cultures may see a kind healer, eager to assist the living. Many of these variants have a specific distaste for the necrotic, the infernal, and the abyssal; likely these reflect upon the actual Aspects feuds and hatred for the Aspects of these dominions.

The Guardian of the Wild: The Aspect who maintains the natural beauty of Altea, as well as regulates the users of Natural magic. Most often seen as bestial in some way, usually in the form of a great version of a local animal. Druidic circles in particular worship the variants of this Aspect, having a more intimate bond with their god than most. The Guardian of the Wild is more closely involved with the Inner Realm, often interfering if a great calamity to the balance of nature were to happen. The state of the Blight in Druica might be a sign that the Aspect is slowly losing goodwill with the "civilized", however practitioners of Natural Magic can be found on nearly any side of the Druican conflict.

The Disfigured Noble: The Noble appears as a highly respected member of the culture who usually has experienced an accident in some way or another leading to its vaunted injuries. The Noble is one of the less popular Aspects, and has dominion over Pain, oft requiring it's followers to inflict some manner of it onto themselves in exchange for Pleasure and Power.

The Bloodied Heir: An Aspect who relishes in suffering and bloodshed, usually depicted as a cruel prodigy. The Heir holds dominion over a large portion of Demonkind, and is one of the Aspects who can transfer them into the Inner Realm to feed and wreak havoc.

(Once more, feel free to add to this if you are making a particularly religious character. Schools of magic are often maintained by more than one aspect, or can be separate entirely, so don't feel you have to compromise a character idea for a narrow Aspect.

The Void

I don't know what's more frightening, the fact that these things exist, or the fact that some seem as interested in us as we are them.

By far the most inhabitable realm to the normal soul. The void is a vast expanse that lacks any sort of formal rules for reality, nor do time and space function in logical manners. Entities within the void are both Eternal and formless, host to great power but constantly having to combat with other Entities. It is unknown just how large or how populated the Void is, but it is assumed to be far greater than that of the Inner Realm and the Shroud.

Most Entities are content to continue to conflicts with themselves, seeing the beings of the Inner Realm and Shroud as far beneath them, but a few have taken an interest in the the other realities. Thankfully, the Shroud acts as a shield blocking most of the Entities from entering, and those that do are significantly weakened in power from their normal state. Despite this, chaos is sure to follow even in these weakened state. Most prefer to corrupt the native beings, however, forming elaborate cults to funnel their power through.

Some of the beings in the Void we have taken note of are as follows:

The Unspeakable: A creature oddly associated with the color yellow. It's cults prefer to use symbols, plays, and abyssal writing to convert others, spreading a madness through society. While it is mostly content to sow discord through madness, dark circles speak of the creatures real name. Names have a lot of power in the Void, and The Unspeakable has shown a willingness to protect its at all cost.

The Opener of the Way: A creature who is said to be perfectly omniscient and the keeper of all knowledge. Its cult seeks to hoard all manner of obscure and profane knowledge, seeking the ultimate truth of the universe that the Opener knows. The Opener of the Way rarely interferes with the Inner Realm itself, but is more than willing to impart with some of it's knowledge in exchange for loyalty and becoming another tool for whatever its master plan is.

The Crawling Chaos: A being that seems to spend as much time in the Inner Realm as it does in the Void. The Crawling Chaos is a monster capable of taking a thousand form, some even allowing it to walk among mortals unnoticed. Unlike most other entities, the Crawling Chaos seems to lack a deceptive grand plan, and maintains no almost no permanent cults. It seems just as happy to assist with the cults of other Entities to fulfill their plans, as well manipulating the native population for the occasional act of madness, such as a riot or even the overthrowing of at least one king, but seems to have no ulterior motives for these actions.

The Whisper: There exists an intoxicating song that overtakes the minds of those who hear it. The origin of that song lies in the Whisper, an Entity creating a ghastly chorus to release some terrible power within the song. The Whisper maintains few cults, preferring its indoctrinated insectoid species known as the "Speakers" to add more souls to its eternal chorus. Aside from the linking of the minds of the Speakers, The Whisper maintains little presence and shows little favor to its followers.

I will port over the current bestiary from the Interest Check and expand it at a later time. If you have a suggestion for a monster, feel free to let me know, I want to incorporate your guy's ideas.


Big brother... you're the worst.

Seen 1 Hour Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
515 posts
6 Years
Something smells sheety. Oh, no, that's just me.


Devon Sorensen

A maiden of lycan-ruled Vølkvald in the northwest, Devon is an illegitimate child of the reigning Duke Soren Cardiam, and a born lycanthrope herself. Along with her mother, Devon lived rather close to the duke's mansion as a result of her werewolf blood, though wasn't allowed near the main building herself. She never received any training befitting the nobility, and her home was positively diminutive by comparison, but she was taught how to control her inner wolf beyond the pull of the full moon well before it emerged, and never wanted for much. Perhaps a friend or two who wasn't taken away due to her mother's status as a mistress... or maybe it was because they lived so close to the most well-known den of wolves on the continent. Either way, her childhood was a somewhat lonely one for reasons not under her control.

The person to change that was one of Cardiam's heirs—her half-sister, Connor, stumbling upon Devon and her mother's little hovel while sneaking away from her practice being fancy. The two became fast friends, spending much of their time together, and Connor taught her more than a few tricks that she learned. Devon showed an aptitude for magic, and started learning more on her own time. Later on, she asked to borrow books on various schools of magic from the manor library, as well, among other things. Devon met her other siblings proper in those days—older brothers named Shirley and Leslie, and younger sister Robin—feeling much more at home the more she interacted with them. It was the first time for her. She wanted to learn more about magic, her family, the feeling of belonging she was experiencing.

Devon was quite attached to her sister the more they were together. Connor helped her understanding and control when her lycan blood first took its hold on her, and Devon acted as a best friend and study partner—a promise that they'd always be by each other's side made shortly after they met, and they'd only ever gotten closer with time. Knowing the Cardiams gave Devon some of the optimism she needed to break out of her shell, as well, joining Robin in making friends among the humans in their teens. She also found herself prone to getting into rather awkward shenanigans on a regular basis with her sisters and the local human girls. She's since grown out of it, but it still embarrasses her to remember.

As a teenager, her time with her siblings had finally gotten her access into the manor for a more formal cultivation of her abilities. She ignored a large portion of the Cardiams' weapons training, but made up for it with raw magical talent in hopes of standing toe to toe with a warrior's physical prowess. Though she tended to use incantations, the natural power she put into her spells was on par with even Shirley, the eldest of the children, finding some common ground in their teaching. She didn't get much chance to speak with him, sadly, as if he was avoiding her when she sought out his help, and he left for Druica before long.

In their early adulthood, it was made clear to Connor that she was third in line for her father's title, the elder brothers in front, with Robin behind her. But she was ambitious; she had no intention of sitting idly by and letting one of her brothers take their father's place without a fight. So, carrying a desire to prove her worth, Connor left the walled garden of her home, chasing Druica and its blighted lands in search of something that would cement her as future Duchess of Vølkvald. What that something was, she didn't seem to care. Devon, realizing her days would have soon gotten much emptier, wanted to put those years of practice to use for her and a chance to keep growing, and was able to convince Connor to let her come along. (It wasn't all that difficult, really.)

Their short time in Druica thus far has been quick to fix them up with troubles and detours, and although they at least had each other's company, a wayward vampire lord was happy to make things even worse. Looking for a way to add that little bit of extra spice to Druica's melting pot of horrors, giving a werewolf—i.e. Devon—a sudden penchant for drinking blood just seemed like a good idea to him at the time.


The Armsmaster & the Blade of Ages

The Armsmaster is an immortal duelist from years gone by, and a powerful figure in legends across Altea. Clad in tight, full plate armor, he has appeared seemingly at random in his Sanctuary, now found deep beneath the land. During his absence, the Armsmaster's Sanctuary is a shrine for the physical combatants and weaponsmiths of Druica who take a pilgrimage in hopes of receiving a blessing of sorts, and the sole place in Druica where a good blade and sharp wit are truly the only things one can rely on. When the Armsmaster is present, however, he accepts challengers himself.

Believed to be connected to the Void, the Armsmaster and his Sanctuary are known to nullify magic in its entirety, and can only be defeated in single combat. As a result, his appearance often results in bloodshed surrounding the Sanctuary if only for the chance to face him. To the final victor of their duel, if there is one, the Armsmaster grants a powerful artifact that remains with them to their death, then disappears to a place beyond space and time to wait.

The Blade of Ages, as the Armsmaster's gift is called, is one just as unattainable as it is wanted. The Armsmaster has watched—and oft accompanied—the rise and fall of kings, the Blade of Ages at the center of rites of passage and coups alike. Irreversibly linked to its new wielder, its wielder is likewise drawn to use it. A growing compulsion, where no other will suffice. The most powerful enchantments and most expert craftsmanship pale in comparison. In exchange, it proves to be their most reliable ally, an unbreakable weapon with a permanent bond, and neither the potential nor desire to betray them.

In truth, it's not restricted to only bladed weapons. Throughout its history, it has changed to suit its wielder to a T, ranging from swords to bows to replacement limbs. Over time, it continues to change as its owner does, making it difficult to find once it's been claimed; but everyone knows when its owner dies, because it means the Armsmaster has returned. Much like the Armsmaster, the Blade of Ages vanishes with its master's death, showing up in the Sanctuary from whence it came to restart the cycle. When it does, the Armsmaster is stronger than ever, and has new skills to match.

"His technique is unmatched, his aim unparalleled. Many have I seen approach him, as many have I seen fall, slain without remorse. I have watched the one they call the Armsmaster in this sanctuary for these last few weeks. He does not eat; he does not drink; and he does not sleep. At least, not while my eyes are on him. When he is alone with the corpses at the end of the day, that faceless mask looks in my direction with unyielding patience, as if he thinks me foolhardy enough to eventually take his challenge.

No. The fact I'm still here is a miracle in itself. These old bones lack the strength to overcome such a man—a thing in the shape of man. I am certain that the being in that armor is nothing short of combat incarnate, a manifestation of battle. Heed me, child, turn and leave, find your fortune elsewhere. This is no test for you to take. For anyone to take. I pray today that you spare me the sight of another promising soul cut down in his prime. For I know not what lies in the mind beneath his helm, but I know what lies in his hands: a divine reckoning waiting to happen."

-- Commentary by O.R.X., Artifacts of Altea, Chapter Six: “On the Blade of Ages”


Alisa | Unknown

“Big brother? Why do you look so sad?”

I was dipping my feet in the water when a little girl showed up, just dangling her legs out of the blossoming tree beside me without a care in the world. I knew not who she was, where she came from, nor why she called me her brother. We were nothing alike. She was small, looked about your age. Blonde hair to her chin, some breed of elven ears, big blue eyes not too different from yours, and light skin like a fae spirit. She had bandages on one side of her head, and all she wore was a long white dress. I thought she might'a been an orphan or abused or the like. I wanted to ask what she was doing there, but something in the back of my mind urged me to go along with her.

“My wife is ill,” I answered. She was pregnant with our first son, your father, and came down with a blight disease plaguing the countryside. Iron Vein; it infests you from below, slowly locking up your body from the inside out until you're a statue that can only rot.

It was curable in the first few weeks, but the ingredients were hard to gather. Some grew underwater—those I was able to get from Lake Callicier where I met the girl—but the most important one was called Shepherd's Dream with fluffy, cottony petals, that only grew in cliffsides. I could have risked her health and waited to pay the next merchant for a curative he may not have had, or risk my health to try to get them myself. I gladly took the second option, but I didn't even know where to start.

That's where she came in. “Call me Alisa,” she told me. She asked me to play, said she wanted to make me smile. She hopped down from the tree, fifteen feet like it was nothing, and started a game of tag, running past me on the rocky lakebed and atop the deep blue waters of Callicier with a magic all her own. When I made it around, she was already in the woods on the other side, calling for me.

We ran through miles of wolf and blight territory, yet we were both unscathed when we reached Gamassi. It felt like I was following her through a field of death traps, but my feet wouldn't turn back—and after a little more running, I don't think I would have remembered the way. I had no choice but to trace her glowing steps to the end, to the eastern cliffs overlooking the sea.

At the end, I saw them, the cotton petals I'd been looking for, growing on the very edge. At first I feared this girl was in truth a demon in disguise, relishing in helping me find what I needed through this ordeal only to push me to my death when I reached for it. Yet she took the lead, taking a seat with her legs off the end, and plucking one of the flowers from its root.

“You win, girl.” I joined her. Didn't have a reason not to anymore.

“That was a lot of fun! I'm really happy you played with me.”

Seeing beyond the flowers, beyond the ocean, was an island forest as vibrant as it was large. The trees maybe fifty feet tall and then some, leaves of all shapes and colors from green to yellow to red and everything in between, and a sunset behind it that illuminated the mists below. But I couldn't stay there forever. I gathered a bundle of the Shepherd's Dream, seeds and all, thanked Alisa for her game, and hoped to the gods they would guide me back to where I needed to be.

I must have run thirty miles that day, easy, chasing a child I'd never met before. I still don't know what possessed me to do it, and I don't know how I made it home, but when I did I passed out on the floor. Boy, did I scare the living daylights out of your grandmother. Oh, that's funny to ya, huh? Well, she wasn't even supposed to be out of bed, but the look on her face was pretty funny.... Don't, uh, tell her I said tha—hey hey hey, you wanna hear the end, don't you? That's what I thought, ya cheeky little brat. Anyway, somehow I got back on my aching feet after a bit of rest, and I ran to the apothecary before the sun reached its peak.

Master was amazed I had the ingredients, but we got to work right away. Between the two of us combined we had her medicine by the end of the day, and learned enough about the plants that we could grow more ourselves. A couple weeks of regular doses, and she was spry as a fox again. Since we were able to grow our own Shepherd's Dream after that, we were able to produce enough to spread it among the nearby towns, too.

Even now I don't know who she is, what she is, or where she is today. She could have been a reaper who decided it wasn't my wife's turn to die, or a messenger of the divines shining their favor on us. It's been fifty years since, and it remains a memory as important to me as your births, and the births of my children. But if I'm ever given the chance to meet her again before I pass from this world, I would thank her again with all I have, because she's the reason we have you.

Now go wash up. It's almost time to eat.


Dapper bowler hat

Age 28
Arizona, USA
Seen 10 Hours Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
1,365 posts
9.1 Years
Name: Biff Stronglock

Race: Half human, half troll (on his father's side)


At a towering 6'9" and nearly 300 pounds, Biff is a mountain of a man with massive muscles, a big belly, and a face only a mother could love. His skin is light brown and covered in scars, his spiky black hair is restricted to a tiny tuft atop his head, and his beady blue eyes are nearly hidden by his big ol' eyebrows. If you know what a troll looks like, then Biff's heritage is plainly written on his face, with the square jaw and wide mouth, oversized nose and ears, and small eyes under large eyebrow ridges.

He dresses rather plainly, as it's hard to find clothes his size and he can't afford a tailor to make fancy outfits for him. He's content with a pair of leather pants with a matching belt, metal boots and greaves for added protection, and a complete lack of a shirt (since they rip too easily). He wears a simple leather strap that crosses his chest, going from his left hip to over his right shoulder, crossing his back and connecting back at the hip. And finally, going against his plain and utilitarian motif, he wears a silver chain necklace, ending in a purple gem roughly the size of a(n average sized) man's fist.

Personality: A simple mind enjoys the simple things in life. For Biff, the simple truth is that he's stronger than anyone else he's ever met. And he enjoys showing off his strength, either by fighting, or doing manual labor (usually showing off in the process), or just one-upping someone at some physical task. He tends to be rather jovial as long as things are going his way, and will usually preface his feats of strength with the phrase "Wanna see somethin' cool?" He's confident, fun loving, and generally too dumb to even know what a grudge is, let alone hold one. While some might think he sounds like a good person, keep in mind that he's sometimes called a monster, and not just because of his looks. If there's one thing he enjoys (other than food, which he loves), it's fighting. He also, surprisingly, knows a lot about cooking. He's really good at soup, but his favorite food (both to eat and to make) is pie.

History: Originally from a border town outside of Druica, Biff's mother was an adventurer who went into the country in search of fortune and glory. Instead, she found the love of a moderately wealthy troll. Though they were only together for one night, she left with a large sum of treasure and a metaphorical bun in the oven to remember the monster by. Said bun eventually became Biff, an oversized and underintelligent child who was ostracized by the town, so he spent his childhood in the forest.

Biff never learned to read, but he learned how to catch, kill, and cook, which should give you an idea if what his childhood was like. As he grew older (and larger, and better able to take care of himself), he went into town more, and while people still didn't trust him (or even like him, many still feared him), no one tried to kill him. Naive as he was, he believed people would like him if he showed them how awesome he was. To that end, he decided he'd become an adventurer like his mother.

He avoided Druica itself for years, learning how to fight and training himself before he went straight to the most dangerous place on the continent. But eventually, he did go into Druica. By himself. He blundered about until one day, he fell in a hole. The hole led to an underground ruin, which was deserted and devoid of anything worth looting. At least until he found the secret tunnel. It led to a secret room, where he found a necklace on a pedestal. So naturally, he put it on.

The necklace was actually the phylactery of a lich named Koschei. Thousands of years ago, Koschei was known and feared for his necromantic pursuits, until a team of do-gooders came and slew him. True to form, his soul returned to his phylactery, and he would generate a new body and continue his reign. Unfortunately for him, the adventurers had access to powerful wishing magic, and wished that he would be unable to generate a new body. His spirit was trapped in his phylactery, unable to leave, an eternal living hell. Until he realized that his spirit could inhabit the body of anyone who wore the necklace.

Biff was the first to put on the necklace, but somehow, his will was indomitable, and Koschei was unable to take over Biff's body. In fact, the necklace somehow bound itself to Biff, so Koschei wouldn't be able to leave it until Biff died. He learned that he could communicate with Biff telepathically, though Biff had a hard time pronouncing his name, instead calling him "Coach". Coach is learning to make the best of the situation, and Biff is happy to have a friend.

After leaving the ruin, Biff decided not to go off on his own anymore. He found himself joining the caravan, eager to go explore the wretched wasteland that he finds himself drawn to.

Goal: For Biff, joining the caravan means having other people around he can show off to and share an adventure with. For Coach, the caravan provides an opportunity to recover old magic, and eventually escape.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: Biff's preferred style of combat includes punching, grabbing, throwing, or punching his enemies, so he wears metal gauntlets to protect his fists and inflict extra hurt. When that isn't enough, he also carries a maul, a large hammer with a flat bludgeoning side and a sharp spike on the other side of the head. The maul hangs at his back, supported by his cross strap, which doesn't leave room for a backpack, so he wears a satchel at his waist for carrying supplies, including some burlap sacks for extra carrying capacity.

Skills: As his massive size attests, Biff's main strength lies in his, well, strength. His thick skin is tougher than leather armor (but not as strong as steel), and he can simply shrug off damage from blunt weapons. While he may not have a troll's ability to regenerate lost limbs, his natural healing factor is faster than a regular human's. Years of living in the wilderness have made him a natural athlete, able to run faster, jump farther, and climb better than most, even before taking his sheer mass into account. He may not be very smart, but he's intimidating as hell, and in the heat of battle, when the adrenaline is rushing and the blood is pumping, his rage and bloodlust can push him to perform even more incredible feats.

On top of Biff's impressive physical might, Coach is still able to use some of his necrotic magic, hindered slightly by his decades of imprisonment and his host's... incompatibility with the arcane arts. At present, he can only conjure shadows, making semicorporeal constructs such as hands or spikes, or driving away light from an area with cold darkness.


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years
Fancy CSS comes later.

Name: Serafin Dzeidzic

Race: Tiefling (Descended from a human line)


Serafin is a teifling of roughly average height (5'8" 1.7 m) and of a decent build. Serafin, like most other Tieflings, possesses red skin (his particular shade more of a Merlot), along with a lizard-like tail, claws, and horns extending from his brow. Serafin's horns lacks a full ridge like other, more corrupted Tieflings, and the chitinous material making up said horns are also softer. His hair is a silvery-blonde, carried over from the human side of his bloodline, and he keeps it grown out similar to a noble's style. He's often bandaged up from some injury or another. Outside of his armor, he dresses in reasonably new clothing, loose fitting and with simple design.

Personality: Serafin is a proud man, often letting his pride cloud his judgement. He's a brawler at heart, the consequence of fights because of both his status as a Tiefling and his pride. He has little patience for ignorance, and although his affliction has lead him wary of giving blind trust, he is a loyal friend to those who have earned it.

He neither shuns nor embraces his Tiefling status. Truth be told, he would rather be fully human, but he is not one to bemoan his status in life. To this end he embraces his gifts, even more at home with claws, heavy tail slaps, and horned headbutts than he is with most steel. He lacks a great capability for magic, and doesn't have the magical education for it regardless. Not that it matters to him; the better man is going to leave the fight standing, and it just so happens to be him.

Growing up with a meager fortune, carried out of Druica by his father, that had to be rationed due to the lack of jobs for Tieflings, he is no stranger to some level of luxury one day, and then nothing the next. He rarely went without, but he often had to use his clothes, shoes, and other tools for longer than a human with his level of fortune did. He expects quality from what he buys, and each purchase is an investment to him.

He's also carries some snarkiness, from having to associate and fight with the human poor. Being able to joke about others and your own predicament helped make it more manageable. These experiences also lead him to a love of gambling and drinking, like the other workers. He enjoys telling stories (sometimes greatly exaggerated), and general mingling with the workers as one of them, unless one insults his race or noble heritage.

History: The Dzeidzic family was one of the minor noble houses in Druica, with many ancestors with vaguely important titles although the modern family doesn't do much of anything. The house suffered greatly prior to The Fall, their misfortune concluding in a disputed inheritance between the two surviving sons of the previous head of house. The youngest ended up gaining control over the house, and made several connections with several other houses during his massive parties, until The Fall lost the family their ancestral home, fortune, and the life of both heirs.

Serafin's father, the young child of the elder heir, managed to slip out of the country with one of the maids and as much fortune and heirlooms as the two of them could carry. After several hefty bribes, he ended up in the isolationist country of Pavarket. Unfortunately, Serafin's grandfather had taken to several demonic pacts to try and survive the Fall with his wealth intact and his actions damned his bloodline to live as Teiflings, the product of demonic taint in sentient creatures. Pavarket was not a welcoming home to a Tiefling after what had happened to their neighbor, but with enough money, once could almost forget they weren't welcome.

Serafin was born to an unknown mother, his father too ashamed to tell him exactly which woman out of many "consorts" it was. Gold was dwindling rapidly at this point, and several spending restrictions had to be made to save what little remained between infrequent paychecks. Serafin would grow up like a normal Pavaric child of a poor family, despite his condition. Training his body for an invasion that could come any day now, helping cart coal to the furnaces, and selling odds and ends that weren't fit for export. And so he continued, carrying on in his new home never daring to think about returning to his family's ancestral home. He would get a job in the mines or as a smith's assistant, barred from the military or becoming a blacksmith himself due to his corruption.

At least, until the years of mining caught up to his father, and a letter was left in his will that drove Serafin back to Druica.



It pains me to have to drop this news on you in your time of mourning, but I will not be able to rest unless you know. I have lied to you for so many years, we are not the last Dzeidzic. Our line did not perish in the fall like I told you so many times. Our wealth was not lost in some great tragedy as we fled the country.

I have long told you about the sins of my father, his ambition cursing us with the damnable forms, but I did not tell you the full reason why he made the pacts he did, and why he did not leave Druica. My Uncle still lives, our ancestral home still stands (despite my father's best attempts). We were not the primary branch of the family, the wealth was never ours. My father and uncle bickered endlessly over the money our ancestors earned; when Uncle said he would do anything to keep the wealth, he meant it.

The reason I never told you any of this is to protect you.. Our house lies as one of the many centers of darkness in Druica.

Yes... Your Great Uncle has established a Blood Court in the halls of our ancestors.

With this in mind, I beg of you to let this rest. He does not know of our existence. He believes that his brother died bitter and childless, and it would be best to keep it that way. You always placed so much value in your name, telling people that even though you were a Tiefling, you were from a Noble family. Let the name be a name, there is no honor to uphold anymore. Neither side deserves it after what we've done in the name of gold.

Please live your life, I don't want to see you in the Shroud until you have stories of the family you will build now.

Yet no matter what, I love you
- Father

Serafin seeks to kill his Great Uncle, a Vampire Lord ruling over a small blood court from his ancestral house. To this end he has joined the Silver Hearth to work his way towards his home, and gather the skills he will need to dismantle the court, brick by brick if he must.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: Serafin spent what little his father left behind on a suit of armor, decent leather over thin chain. It wasn't the best the smiths could make, but it was what he could afford, and it would have to do.

His sword is significantly more valuable. Noble houses would requisition custom Pavaric weapons for their houses, well aware of the quality. Serafin's father never sold the Dzeidzic family sword, a massive piece of Paravic masterwork steel. The sword itself was meant to be largely ornamental, too heavy for a normal human to swing. The weight is less of a problem for a Tiefling though.

His most unique possession is his shovel from the mines, technically stolen. It served him well down there, and he wasn't going to let any other bastard use it.


Pavaric Conditioning: Every citizen of Pavarket must be ready to take up the fight at a moment's notice. Citizens are trained to defend themself from a young age, even those who would otherwise be unable to serve in the Pavaric army. Just because you can't serve doesn't mean you can't fight!

Natural Weapons: Being a Tiefling has it's own perks. Chitinous claws and horns make excellent weapons, and a club like tail complete the trifecta to make every section of a Tiefling's body a weapon in and of itself.

Motivational Pain: Fight or Flight reflexes are strong in Tieflings. The harshness of Pavarket and Serafin's pride has conditioned him to Fight. Often. Each wound numbs the last, and the adrenaline keeps him in the fight longer.


A tiny nation situated just West of Druica. Home of a major city, and then lots of farmland and iron mines. Most of the paranoid nation's money comes from the arms trade. Long considered to be the finest makers of blades and armor. This lead to it's reputation as a fortress of blades, where the population is both heavily armed, and willing to take the secrets of their trade to the grave. They existed alongside Druica for most of it's history, passing weapons through the larger nation's ports and providing protection rackets for the caravans. Eventually Druica replaced much of it's standing military with Pavaric mercenaries. Skilled, but costly.

After the Fall, Pavarket was quick to close their borders, although many wealthier Druicans managed to buy their way into the country. They fear that it is only a matter of time before the darkness spreads to them too. And they will be ready when that comes.


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years
The BlightSpawn
These monsters breed within the blighted lands hidden away from civilized life. With much of Druica's nature being blighted, these monsters have been able to expand their numbers greatly.
The most common of the Blightspawn. Weak and short in stature, these monsters would be easy to defeat if it weren't for their numbers and suicidal lack self-preservation. Goblins make up most of the rank and file of more organized bands of Blightspawn, but they're just as likely to form their own little gangs to sow havoc wherever they see fit. Like most Blightspawn, Goblins have next to no proficiency with magic, but a few have shown competence with fire based spells. One fighting them should not underestimate their intelligence, many have fallen to Goblin traps from assuming their kind no smarter than simple beasts.

These hyena like creatures find pleasure in the suffering of others, and many a town has had sleepless nights listening to the cackles of the creatures in the distance and prayed they would just pass their home. Gnolls are probably the most clever of the Blightspawn, and take up supporting roles in the larger bands. Their nimbleness makes them natural archers, and their surprising strength in close combat has caught many a soldier off guard. Gnolls are also the most likely of the Blightspawn to show magical prowess, forming the bulk of the spawn's Witch Doctors. Gnolls also show an innate knowledge of tactics, capable of spotting weakness in enemies as well as opportune ambush and defense positions.

These brutes are the backbone of Blightspawn offenses, often leading the bands themselves through sheer power alone. These monsters fall into a bloodrage during prolonged combat, becoming nigh-unstoppable juggernauts until they are either defeated or run out of targets. They possess abnormal recovery, recovering from grievous injury seemingly overnight. Thankfully, Trolls are lacking in intelligence compared to their Gnoll counterparts, most comparable to Goblins in terms of cunningness. They also possess a unique weakness to fire, burn wounds do not recover as fast as other wounds. To this end one can often scare off a lone Troll with even a lit torch, however in number their courage bolsters.

The final member of the Blightspawn, and by far the dumbest, yet most destructive. Ogres are massive horned monstrosities as hungry as they are strong. Ogres are a unique menace of their own on the battlefield, other Blightspawn avoiding them out of fear that they will be mistaken for foes by the dumb brutes (aside from particularly suicidal Goblins, who prefer to ride atop them). It's not uncommon to see Ogres chained down in Blightspawn camps to prevent them from eating everything in sight, and their own kind when that runs out. The recommended course of action for fighting an ogre is not to at all, flee if one is loose. If conflict is inevitable, then one would be best served fighting it from a distance and wearing it out before it can get within melee range.

The Blood Courts
It's no secret that many of Druica's aristocracy turned to vampirism during the falls to preserve their life an wealth for eternity. Now they continue in isolation, living the same lives of lavish decadence they had before the blight. That is... until the hunt begins. After all, no wine can compare to delicacy that is fresh blood.
Vampire Lord
Every Blood Court is headed by a singular individual, the Lord or Lady. It is their venom that spawns other true vampires, and no one receives the gift without their approval. Lords rarely ever leave their manors, relying on their Counts, Countesses, and Thralls to cater to their every whim. That is not to say they should be underestimated in combat, the Lords are granted both incredibly powerful magic as well as an awful accursed strength from their blood. Their human like visage is just a cover for their true form, which they will only show during serious threats to their throne or life. The true form of a Vampire Lord is that of a massive bat-like creature, built like iron with knife-like claws and fangs. The only way another Vampire Lord is born is by another vampire defeating and drinking the blood of the original lord, gaining the powers of a lord himself. These duels always end in the death of one of the combatants, as no one can challenge the rule of another and live.

Vampire Count
Similar to the Lord, the Counts and Countesses are monstrous bat like beings (although not as large as their Lord) who the visage they had as a human. Counts contain venom capable of passing on the "gift" of immortality to other humans, but unlike the Lord they can only create Thralls. Counts are proficient with magic, and rarely leave the manor unless they feel the need to take care of a threat personally. Life in a Blood Court for a Count is that of decadence and scheming, most Counts fall into a system of alliances and rivalries within the Court, vying for the attention of the Lord... or his spot in the hierarchy.

Vampire Thrall
Thralls are humans who have not been cursed with a beastial form, but still maintain the immortality of their superiors. Counts find humans they favor to turn and serve them as Thralls, enticing some with power and commanding others with fear. Thralls gather the feasting stock for their masters as well as deal with the threat of other Blood Courts or outsiders. Thralls often possess a small amount of magic granted to them to complete their tasks. Faithful Thralls are offered the chance to become a Count themselves after currying enough favor with the Lord and Count, and disobedient ones are slain, or worse...

Withered are the remains of disloyal Thralls or Counts, deprived of the blood keeping them alive. Although the curse of immortality keeps them from dying from a lack of nutrition, their body withers the flesh and bone and the craving drives them mad. Withered who are not too far gone can recover to their original state when allowed to feed, well but otherwise scarred from their experiences. Withered kept from the Blood too long end up reverting to a primal state, no better than animals. These Withered are incapable of reason, and only seek their next meal with a beast like furor.

Another damned fate for disloyal Thralls include being turned into Beast-Bloods, locking them into the true form of a Vampire. These souls are permanently changed and unable to form a guise of humanity like Counts. Over time their mind degrades, similar to that of the Withered. These long insane Beast-Bloods are treated as pets of the Count, a grim reminder of what awaits disobedient Thralls.

The Undead
Necromancy always existed under the flag of Druica, long hidden behind locked walls and spoken of in whispered tones. The fall only brought this seedy underworld to the surface, no law to crack down on their experiments any longer.
Walking Remains (Zombie)
Reanimated corpses are the first step for any practicing necromancer, and even the experienced finds them useful as lesser soldiers for their army. These remains can only follow simple orders from their creator, such as attack or bring. Destroying the head is usually enough to do them in again, but one should probably burn the bodies to be sure.

When you sacrifice the little intelligence Zombies have in favor for increased movement and raw instinct you find you have created a Ghoul. Ghouls are faster and more brutal than their simple cousins, but lack the ability to do anything other than feed. Most Necromancers seeking more than unbridled chaos tend to avoid Ghouls, finding them more trouble than they're worth.

Revenants are intelligent undead fueled by hatred and the will of their creators. Revenants make use of armor and weapons in ways that their lesser brethren cannot, and often serve as the field commanders of larger Necromancer troops.

Flesh Golems
When raw power is needed, a large corpse, or many smaller ones, can be combined into a flash golem. Smarter than a Zombie or Ghoul, but not a Revenant, these golems make use of simple armor and weapons to smash whatever their creator needs gone.

Fleshwarped are the results of Necromancer's more creative experiments. Weapons and new appendages are often grafted onto Fleshwarped, trying to improve upon nature's perfection. Such "improvements" can include claws, tails, extra arms, extra legs, mandibles, etc.

Flesh Abomination
What happens when you have too many body parts, but not enough to quite form a whole person? You create a flesh abomination. Abominations are often shoddily grafted together bits in a mobile state. Their effectiveness depends on their shape, but they're often difficult to finish off due to the sheer amount of redundant parts.

Immortality is a common goal for those turning to the necrotic arts, and Lichdom is one of the paths to achieve it. Liches form when a person managed to extract their own soul and hide it inside another item, allowing their body to die, but their soul to live on. Until the container with the soul is destroyed, the Lich themselves cannot die, merely regenerating in a new body. Lichdom does not come without a great cost on the mind, Liches often lose positive emotions and caring aspects of their personality during the process. Memory loss is often common with Liches, forgetting why they sought immortality in the first place.

The smell of sulphur pervades the air, and the remains of a horrifying massacre hint at the intervention of these monsters.

Demons are monsters brought forth from the twisted hells from a sorcerer either seeking to harness their power or merely wishing to cause chaos. Demons can be bound to the will of a powerful mage, but it is a constant battle to maintain that control. Eventually the sorcerer will break, and the demon will be free to roam the land.

Demons come in many shapes and forms, from the simple Imp to inscectoid Banshee to even the tank-like Titan. Demons posses magic in some form, although many inhabit more monstrous form than humanoid. Killing a demon is an impressive feat that not many can boast, and the sight of one often causes chills and doubts to creep into the greatest of warriors, although many employ auras of fear to debilitate their enemies.

When defeated, some demons may even offer assistance or to bind to their would be slayers. This is most assuredly a trap, and deals with demons never end well for the mortal.

The Seelie Court
The beauty of nature has been destroyed by man and it's allies. The corruption and those who caused it must go at any cost. It is time to show that beauty and nature can protect itself.

The Seelie court is a faction of Fey beings and their druidic allies who seek to liberate Druica, and eventually the world, from those who brought about the blight. This war knows no innocents, those who refuse to submit to the superiority of the Fey are just as guilty as those who willingly spread the darkness in their eyes.

The Fey who lead the Court consist primarily of beings such as Fairies, Nymphs, Dryads, and the plants and animals of the Fey. Normally the Seelie court is sealed off to all non-Fey, but the scale of the war has caused them to form an alliance with the various non-Fey Druid Circles and practitioners of Natural Magic for a common goal... At least until the war ends.

The Unseelie Court
Bloodlines should be spread, not manicured in some short-sighted attempt to maintain "purity". The future of the Fey lies in change, uplifting other races with the gift of blood and bringing them into the Court.

The Unseelie Court is a faction of Fey beings who take advantage of the Fey blood's ability to take root in any creature to spread their progeny throughout the land. Whether through interbreeding with other species or raw injections of Fey blood into the local populace, merely possessing some quantity of Fey blood is enough to join the Court. The members of the Court see the blight as yet another method of change, and openly embrace "uplifted" members of Blightspawn.

Extensive corruption of the Fey blood within them as well as wanton interbreeding has left many members of this court grotesque and twisted. Primary members of the court include corrupted members of the Seelie Court species, Pixies (corrupt Fairies), Kelpies (corrupt Nymphs), Twigjacks (corrupt Dryads), Gremlins (Uplifted Goblins) and other uplifted creatures.

As with all who willingly intake the blight, madness runs in the veins of the Unseelie. They're often irrational, and cannot see why others wouldn't want to partake in their Fey ancestry like they do. While not as malicious in nature as their Seelie cousins, they present a unique threat all of their own.

Love they god, fear thy angel,

Angels are perhaps the deadliest of all beings in Druica. They vary rarely visit the mortal plane, but the blight has seem to have drawn their attention. Angels possess awful power, and a complete willingness to use it on any beings, good or evil, who impede their mission.

Most angels take the form of a multi-armed, multi-winged, featureless humanoid. A hole in their chest carries the sacred flame of radiance that fuels them. This is merely the preferred form for visiting the mortal plane. Their true form is often abstract and lacking any coherence between individual. One may appear as a collection of wheels circling the sacred flame, another as a mess of impossible shapes, and yet another as a mass of human faces.

If an angel is spotted, that mean that something or another is going to die before it leaves the plane. Trying to stop an angel alone is suicide, and armies have even only managed to make it retreat. The preferred method to engage an angel is to don't do it at all, just leave it be.


Age 19
Everywhere at the same time
Seen September 27th, 2017
Posted September 9th, 2017
1,447 posts
4.1 Years

Godfrey Borges

Name: Godfrey Borges; I go by Frey

Race: Human; Our family line has been kept pure for generations

I’m not the tallest man, not do I look as old as I am. I’m 17, practically an adult, but still treated like a child due to my looks, not that I mind. My clothing consists of yellows and greens, the colors of my family crest, which is embroidered onto everything I wear. My flowing locks are as golden as the sun, in stark contrast to both my mother’s and father’s dark black curls; I suspect my mother wasn’t entirely faithful as my seven siblings all share our parents hair. My eyes are emerald green, often considered to be a blessing by my mother along with my hair, as they are both our family colors. I often wonder if this was a sign that I was to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors and delve into an adventurous lifestyle.

Personality: A bit timid, very proper, your typical noble boy. I like to adventure, as travel has always fascinated me, and adding a bit of danger improves the experience. Helping others is often where my adventures take me, knowing I make a difference drives me to excel and go forward. I seek out danger and face it head-on, usually alone, but I have been known to ask friends for help when needed.


Frey is insane beyond repair, he’s been acting to cover up his true self for so long his mind seems fractured in two, his facade and true self split so evenly he can swap between them as suddenly as snapping his fingers. His facade is kind and compassionate, adventurous and bold, but his true self is greedy, ambitious, and not afraid to hurt others to better himself. He loves power and will do anything to get it, including manipulate those his facade calls friends in order to gain just a shred more. He loves the rush of adrenaline, and becomes easily caught up by the lure of a good fight.

History: The Borges family were once close relatives to the royal family, but after many years we grew further and further away, leaving us relatively low on the noble social ladder, but still much better off than any commoner family. I’ve learned a lot of combat, especially the rapier, in hopes that one day I would be given a chance to leave my small hometown and do some good in the world. I was raised as a proper young boy, always forced to memorize the ways of talking and interacting with those of equal blood. Although I’ve always abhorred the idea that we were any better off than others just because of our name.


Frey grew up greatly opposed to everything his mother tried to teach him. He was forced to become the perfect little noble boy, being the oldest of his siblings he was expected to be a model noble for them to admire and imitate. He was never close to any of them, and loathed his parents for refusing to let him get dirty and play with the common folk. In many ways his split personality may have started from childhood, his facade transitioning into a representation of his childhood desires of being social and happy.

At one point he found a way to sneak out of the house and practice swordplay with the blacksmith’s boy, who he developed a close friendship with. The boy’s name was Morden, and shared many of Frey’s twisted and dark thought he had kept hidden inside. Eventually the duo began to research The Bloodied Heir, their hobby quickly growing into an obsession. They began to get sloppy with hiding what they were up to, and soon both parents found them out. Within a day Morden was found dead, assassinated, but Frey’s parents refused to admit their guilt, although it was plastered all over their faces for the following weeks.

Frey’s fragile personality snapped after his friend’s death, adopting the name Morden for his true self, still calling his facade Frey. He imbued his rapiers with void magic, something he had learned with Morden, so their blades were able to absorb and weaken magic, while also corrupting and morphing his victims’ bodies almost beyond recognition. He enacted his revenge upon his parents, killing both of them, and then fled his home, seeking out a caravan to take him far away to start his new life.

Goal: Adventure! I’ve always dreamed of adventure, travel, and meeting people from vastly different places.


Frey seeks to find the means to summon and control an army of demons, and seize control of as much territory as he can and rule with an iron fist. While he specifically is obsessed with demons and The Bloodied Heir, he’s also open to the idea of siding with a creature of the void in order to obtain the power he desires.

Arms, Armor, Equipment:

-Two rapiers (imbued with void magic to inhibit magical healing abilities of the victim// one of which is also able to corrupt the victim’s flesh into a black slimy substance and hair into writhing tentacles)

-A protective vest (worn beneath his clothing but not strong enough to block more than grazing hits)

-A small satchel of expensive silver utensils, trinkets, and coins.



Dual rapiers- twisting and lunging, Frey is able to fight two foes at once rather effectively, after years of training.

Acrobatics- Frey has grown quite adept at running, jumping, and various nimble moves which come in handy for dodging and evading enemies.


Rapiers- Both inhibit magical regeneration of the wounds inflicted, but one also holds the ability to corrupt enemies into an eldritch-esque form, but only while Frey channels a large amount of his energy through it.

Maddening blood- Frey’s blood holds an intoxicating power which when consumed by or absorbed into another person’s body will cause them to become drunk, or in larger quantities, mad.



[progress-red=60]Blood Level[/progress-red]
Race: Vampire Countess

Personality and History: Aurelia is extremely shy and nervous. She has just recently been granted her countess position, but despises the politics of the vampire hierarchy. She’s joined the caravan in order to have a mobile source of prey, but is extremely hesitant and can’t bear to think about harming anyone. She hates to see people in pain, and sometimes tries to help if she can, but if you put any pressure on her she freezes up and goes into a state of shock. The Lord she left behind is aware of her betrayal, and has other counts tasked with capturing her, however they’ve so far been unable to find her due to her not leaving a trail of victims, as the few humans she did drink from were left alive and unaware of what she did, as opposed to draining them dry like many of her brothers and sisters would.

Aurelia secretly longs for a romantic relationship, but is constantly sabotaging her own efforts as she believes any relationship would endanger her lover’s life. In the same way, she keeps friends at an arm’s length, as they could be in danger if her pursuers caught up to her.

Before becoming a vampire she was a common farm girl, her family growing grain for a living as well as raising livestock. She was always working from an early age, until her father came across a small fortune after taking in an injured noble boy who had run away from home. His family paid her father a large amount of gold and forged papers that detailed Aurelia’s family to be related to the noble family in exchange for their son’s safe return. Her father took the deal, exchanging an extremely angry boy for the life of luxury he always wanted, pulling Aurelia from the farm life she loved.

When an opportunity to become immortal came along her father jumped on it faster than Aurelia could react. Forced into becoming one herself, Aurelia began to hate her father and the vampires who had tricked her. She longed to escape, but was never given the freedom she needed to do so. Eventually, she had pretended long enough that she rose to the position of countess. Immediately after she did so, she planned her escape, and through her newfound freedom was able to evade discovery until she was far from anywhere under the Lord’s control.

Goal: To escape from her former Lord, for a constantly changing source of blood, and to possibly find some way of ridding herself of her pursuers.

Arms, Armor, Equipment:

An enchanted tome- A book of magical secrets which detail her vampiric abilities, as well as a couple spells she was able to learn in addition to them. The book’s pages change based on the capabilities of the person in possession of the book, detailing any magical abilities of the current owner.


Charm- influences a target’s mind and causes them to become more friendly and respond better to romantic advances
[Aurelia can passively cause this to happen to people around her // drains her blood reserves faster]

Mind Wipe- erases the last X amount of time from someone’s memory
[Aurelia can cause this to happen by touching someone’s forehead // drains her blood reserves based on the amount of time erased]

Invisibility- causes Aurelia to become invisible
[Aurelia can passively cause this to happen to people around her // drains her blood reserves faster]

Bat form- Aurelia transforms into her true monstrous bat-like form, which has strong fangs and claws.
[Aurelia can swap between forms while she still has blood // drains blood reserves slower while in this form]

Fire Bolt- a small bolt of flame shoots from her palm, able to light fires or harm enemies.
[Can only be used while holding the book // drains her magical reserves]


Believe in the you that believes in cheese

Age 25
Seen May 21st, 2019
Posted May 21st, 2019
1,284 posts
8.3 Years

Buck Haversdale (Miles Angelus)

Race: Buck is a mutt with the majority of his ancestry being human but 'stained' by the influence of a few Elves, his family has even been accused of having Teifling and Fey blood within their line.

Appearance: Buck stands at a healthy 6'1 and never removes his armor, even to sleep. The only feature of his that can be understood through his armor apart from his relative size are his eyes, silver irises that glow brightly whenever he channels the blessing. Buck's voice is deep and rich enough that people often mistakenly assume him to be much older, aside from those who through magic or unique biology can predict such things more easily.

Personality: Buck is a man on a quest, one of the most stubborn bastards you'll ever meet and dedicated to his duty, but a farmboy at heart. Buck doesn't speak much with others when there's nothing to be said relevant to his quest, but when given a good enough reason to relax - or enough booze - he'll laugh as hard and tell stories as outlandish and fun as the best of them. The man has a genuine hatred befitting his station for beings that prey on the innocent, especially those of the unholy variety, but is open-minded enough to be willing to see the decent folks amongst even the races that nearly always conflict with humanity. Buck's preoccupation with not affiliating himself with people or tasks unrelated to his quest is mostly thanks to the main tenant of his oath: a questing paladin of Halcyon may never deny a plea for help from an innocent or for a good cause, regardless of its scope

As concerned as Buck may be with not getting involved in any extra trouble in addition to all the horror he's already sure to experience on his journey, Buck can't stand to watch people he believes to be good suffer. Thanks to his oath, his manners, and the knowledge that he can recover easily from most normal injuries, Buck is often the first to jump into danger when it openly announces itself. A stellar education and grueling training in both propriety, combat, and academics have forged the young man into an adventurous warrior scholar. Buck is always glad for any opportunity to learn more, especially rare knowledge that few others know, or anything related to holy artifacts and divine beings.

Whenever formality isn't a necessity of practicality Buck speaks like a commoner, and he treats women and men of all races the same until any individual gives him reason to believe otherwise, apart from vampires, lycans, and other races known for actively preying on humans.

History: Miles Angelus was born Buck Haversdale, the only son of a small farming family on the outskirts of the Holy Kingdom of Halcyon. The Haversdales by their own word were originally descended from the Dales, one of the founding houses of the kingdom brought low by rumors, treachery, and consorting romantically with other races. Whatever past glories the family had are now so far back as to be lost to memory, and no proof of connection to the great Dales remains, leading most to believe the family was chased completely out of the land upon their fall.

For the first dozen years of his life, Buck was raised like any other farmer, taught to sow the crops and care for the fields and animals, it was on the day of his thirteenth birthday that his family was given their chance at regaining their former glory. A patrolling knight and his squires happened upon young Buck healing the wounds of a cow that had been attacked by wolves merely by laying his hands directly upon it and wishing for its continued health, saving its life and assuring his family's supply of milk would last. As was customary, upon discovering the boy's talents the knight marched straight up to the parents and informed them that their son was being taken to Empyria - the holy capital city of Halcyon - for training as a paladin. No argument would have been heeded, none was offered and the knight's squires grabbed the boy and forced him into one of the family's few carriages, hitching their own horses quickly to it and spiriting him away.

In Empyria Buck was placed into a special training program intended to turn what few men of Halcyon to receive the blessing into paladins, and spent the next five years being given the best education the kingdom could offer and subjected to vicious trials many people would simply call torture for such a young man. Buck was confirmed not only to have the blessing of the Divine Lady but to have a stronger connection to it than had been found in centuries, as evidenced by his natural access to "The Laying on of Hands". Though his magic was otherwise quite weak, Lay on Hands was a spell many paladin-hopefuls took decades to master.

After five years of training, Buck was deemed worthy of graduation to a full-fledged paladin, and granted the noble title of "Miles Angelus". Before the young man could embark out to roam his homeland in search of worthy causes to fight for and innocents to protect, he was whisked away into the chambers of the royal cabinet of the holy kingdom, and given his next task. The years spent molding the boy into a holy warrior of the kingdom had confirmed their original suspicions of his blessing being stronger than any boy for the past three-hundred years, and the title he'd been given was more than just some way to make a farmboy sound like nobility. Buck was to receive two more years of intense training that would make his previous trials look like child's play and if he lived up to their expectations he would become Halcyon's new champion.

It was during this period of great learning and suffering for Buck that he was told one of Halcyon's greatest secrets. All who lived within the holy lands of the Divine Lady knew that the blessing once placed upon the kingdom and its people had been waning for over a millennium but only a select few ever found out that even the royal family of Halcyon itself had lost nearly all vestiges of the holy power they once wielded. Buck struggled through the Champion's Trials, and came out the other side Halcyon's new champion, and it was then that he was taught the true significance of his station. As long as Halcyon's royalty was made up of mundane aristocrats and mere descendants of once-great men, the kingdom had no chance of ever finding the path to holy glory once again. Buck would be sent on a quest like any other paladin, but his would not be that of a knight trying to better himself, but that of a prince-errant, becoming worthy of the title of king and returning to revitalize his homeland.

All of Buck's protests were completely ignored, he was given the best armor the kingdom's royal smiths could forge, as well as an equally high quality - if plain - hand-and-a-half crossguard sword, though the line of smiths within Halcyon had long since lost the ability to enchant their creations into holy arms and armor, this gear was inscribed with runes that would allow it to effectively channel Buck's blessings. After he had been properly armed, Buck was granted a boon only the champion of Halcyon could receive: the Shield of the Lady, and was sent off to gain the favor of the Lady in the part of Altea home to more abhorrent insults to life and the way of light than any other: The Cursed Kingdom of Druica.

Goal: The farmboy turned Prince-errant is on a quest to do whatever he can to return the once-holy kingdom of Halcyon to its former glory. The main tasks that make up this quest are to recover as many holy artifacts and scriptures as possible, to slay unholy creatures wherever he may find them, and above all else to find a way to restore the Divine Lady's original blessing to her shield, Halcyon's greatest treasure.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: Buck's equipment is high quality, but otherwise not far above the standard for any questing knight. He wears a full body suit of steel plate and chain mail over leather garments and wields a longsword weighted to be comfortable in either one or both hands, all inscribed with runes that can channel the power of Buck's blessings so they don't inhibit his magic.

The only truly special piece of equipment in Buck's repertoire is the Shield of the Divine Lady, an artifact given directly to the first king of Halcyon by the Being of Light - who Halcydic worshippers see as an impossibly beautiful lady clad in heavy armor - at the kingdom's founding. The Shield of the lady is a five-foot tall tower shield resembling a woman with a flowing dress and angel wings radiating light. While once incredibly powerful, the enchantments upon the shield have weakened alongside Halcyon's holy blessing, and the only remnants of its original power are its ability to absorb magical attacks and its divine imperviousness to being destroyed itself.

Otherwise, Buck has a versatile array of survival and traveling implements: cooking utensils, a tent, quills and parchment, and knives weighted for throwing.


Basic Radiant Magic

Laying on of Hands: The most unique spell Buck has at his disposal allows him to heal any living creature he touches with his hands over time while using very little of his own energy. The speed at which this healing occurs is based upon the strength of Buck's connection to the blessing, but the potency is almost unlimited. Any physical wound can be healed by Lay on Hands, as long as the target's life is stable enough.
Champion's Blessing: Buck can imbue some of his holy power into any of the equipment he keeps on hand, softening impacts against his armor, causing his weapons to burn any creature adverse to holy magic, even allowing the Shield of the Lady to let out a burst of light like a flash bomb when impacted. He can also bless water to become holy with more potency than most ordained priests.

Martial Prowess: Buck is skilled in several forms of combat as well as the use of most common weapons and excels at the sword and shield well enough to be called an exceptional duelist. He also has a comprehensive knowledge of many of Altea's different environments as well as the habitats, strengths, and weaknesses of many different sentient races, ready to adapt to whatever situation he lands himself in.

Royal Academics: Though the depth of his knowledge is limited by his young age, Buck learned much of Altea's other lands and inhabitants during his years as a paladin-in-training, and is aware of most publically available knowledge of the places and people his handlers thought relevant to his quest and status.

Blessed Blood: The Blessing of Halcyon is not purely immaterial, and in fact flows through the blood of those who possess it. This aspect of the blessing leads to those imbued with it to be immune to forced transformation of their bodies from most sources, including vampirism, lycanthropy, corrupted spores, it even renders their remains immune to necrotic revival. Blessed blood does have one drawback, however, and a serious one at that. One would usually expect 'holy blood' to absolutely repulse those that prey on human flesh, but the Halcydic Blessing actually makes the blood and in some cases the flesh of the blessed a delicacy to the various creatures that seek to feed upon humanity.

The Holy Kingdom of Halcyon
A seaside kingdom established when a nomadic society of humans with no land to claim for their own managed to slay a demon general with nothing more than their steel, their skill, and their courage. This act earned those heroes the respect of the Being of Light, who presented itself to them as an inhumanly beautiful woman clad in heavy plate, missing only a helmet to allow her golden hair to flow freely from her head. This Divine Lady granted the heroes her eternal blessing for their grand deeds, giving them strength and stamina beyond that of most mortals, and gave their leader, the great warrior Halcyon her own personal war shield, forged in the image of one of her more benevolent angels.

The beauty and radiance of the divine Lady were forever burned into the memories of those present, so strongly that even as they toiled and built up an amazing city to tower over the surrounding countryside, their ultimate goal was always to establish a home worthy of their goddess. The Divine Lady came to be worshiped as a god above all others in the eyes of the people, and so too was Halcyon her chosen champion hailed as a man above all other men, leading to the burgeoning country taking on his name even before he was crowned its first king. In a mere decade, the holy capital city Empyria rose up to claim its divine prominence as the center of a new society thanks to the blessing of Halcyon and the tireless effort of its small but nearly superhuman populace, dedicated to the light of humanity and servitude to the values of the Divine Lady.

The fervent loyalty and love for the Divine Lady attracted others to Halcyon, and though no other great cities were ever allowed to be built within its borders, many villages formed across the land, protected by the holy knights of Empyria, and sharing in the blessing placed upon Halcyon's people. The influence of Halcyon grew alongside its population, and eventually, it became the undisputed religious capital of all Altea for those who bow to the Being of Light, a relatively small land, but one granted power enough by the blessing and it's religious influence that no other country dare encroach upon it's borders for fear of the full might of the Divine Lady's blessing and the anger of those across Altea who worship her bearing down upon them.

Many thought the prosperity of Halcyon would be eternal, but as with all things bound to the fate of mortals, eventually, the blessing upon Halcyon withered. The country's religious importance brought it alliances and consequently the protection of other lands, but though few outside of Halcyon's borders knew it, the country's blessing continued to grow weaker and weaker. By the time of Druica's fall and ultimate corruption, the blessing upon Halcyon had grown so weak that only one in every ten thousand children was born with the holy radiance of their lady flowing through their blood. The nobility of Halcyon grew so desperate to keep their connection to the lady that conscription began across the land: all people discovered to have the blessing were to be brought to the capital and trained as Paladins, the last bastion of holy power within Halcyon, as well as its greatest warriors.

When the blessing became less and less common within the noble houses as well and even within the royal family itself, it became customary to send most paladins out on quests, seeking glory, fame and power for themselves and their homeland. These warriors would be granted various levels of nobility upon their successful return, some even adopted into the great houses of the kingdom. No amount of effort on the part of the people of Halcyon seemed enough, however, no matter how hard they fought or what accomplishments the questing paladins achieved, the blessing continued to wane until all the people of Halcyon feared it would die out.

Nowadays the Blessing of the Divine Lady is thought to be dead by many people of Halcyon and though their faith in their goddess is unwavering, even some of the most zealous believers have begun to think their lady cares not for them any longer.

"Ever looking forward, ever thinking back. Everywhere you've been, everyone you've met was another step on your path, shaping your future even as they become part of your past. One must never discount the pieces that have made up your journey until now but to lose yourself in them would be equally great folly, instead let them hoist you up, carry you on until you find the strength to walk for yourself. So it is that I continue towards that endless horizon. Ever thinking back, ever marching forward, inexorable as the history that brought me down this road. This Lonesome Road."


Toxic Terror

Age 28
Somewhere dark, cold, and quiet.
Seen 3 Days Ago
Posted April 10th, 2019
863 posts
7.8 Years

Morfran Cainsen

Race: Undead Elf (Half-Lich, Revenant Zombie, Demilich)

Appearance: When Morfran is in his disguised form, he has the appearance of his former self, up to the moment he performed the forbidden ritual of Lichdom. Flowing, silver hair, pale skin, and emerald eyes that seem to echo a sense of hollowness.
He’s a man of a slim-average build, and wears a black robe with white, intricate patterns. His speech is eloquent, and his voice is soft, but deep.

Personality: Morfran seems to act with minimal emotion, almost as if he’s merely a husk of what he once was. His attention is spent mostly on a worn, and partially burnt journal, along with his studies and time reading anything he deems of value. Information and untold knowledge is what he values above all else.
Morfran is not the type to engage in social interactions, but he isn’t above working with others. However, the reasons for Morfran joining the caravan are merely for his own interest. All of his actions are with purpose.

History: Before the fall of Altea, Morfran was an accomplished Mage, Alchemist, and a scholar in Druica. Morfran was born into a family of scholars, doctors, and mages. And just as his father, and fathers before him, Morfran had well followed the footsteps of his kin. He always showed a talent in magic, but none in physical combat. As he grew, he was already on his way to greater and higher accomplishments.
But, despite all of the blessings he had received, Morfran was hollow. He felt… empty. Among his peers, he felt as if he was on a different plane of thought. He cared not for gatherings, or parties, or intimate relationships.
The only thing Morfran lived for was the next spell, finding the next tome, discovering another secret of life. After several years, he had caught wind of a cult that worshipped The Opener of the Way, and of an “Eldritch Truth,” in his years of study regarding the Void. This had greatly piqued his interest, so much so that he abandoned all that he had, left his homeland, and joined Cult of the Way.
He was met with more than what he hoped for, but it wasn’t enough. The fact that he was ever in the presence of an Eldritch deity, he became more and more obsessed with this “Eldritch Truth,” the knowledge and wisdom of a god. Maybe even greater.

It was then that The Opener of the Way took notice, and had contacted Morfran alone. It spoke of a forbidden rite, a ritual that would give the power of eternal life, and of powers greater than any mortal could accomplish. Morfran had agreed to perform this rite, and was given the needs necessary to become a Lich. Unfortunately for Morfran… the Great One had decided to withhold a single piece of information. The reason why is still unknown, but this may be a part of his master plan.

Morfran had performed the ritual on the night of a solar eclipse, when it was meant to take place on a full moon, on a specific date. But he refused to doubt the words of the Great One. This had resulted in his soul being torn, only half of which remained in his phylactery. All of his memories, all that happened up to that moment had been torn, just as part of his soul had been sucked to the Void.
All that was left of Morfran was a half lich, and all he could remember was his name. He had, however, some magical power left. He took as many tomes as he could take with him, a gold coin, and a journal that laid next to him when he first awoke.
He burnt down the place of worship, and all traces of the cultists before Morfran had vanished.
Ever since then, he had travelled in secret, trying to blend back in. Although, without his disguised form, he would fit right into the blight and scourge the land was now under.

Goal: To uncover the Eldritch Truth, to confront The Opener of The Way, and to expand his own power and knowledge.

Arms, Armor, Equipment: Morfran carries no arms, or armor. He carries several tomes, a worn, burnt journal, and alchemy supplies. And strangely enough, a single gold coin.

Skills: Where Morfran lacks in physical aptitude, and equipment, he excels in Arcane and Necromancy spells. He has mastered the following spells:

Necrotic Spells:
Chill Touch - Creates a ghostly, skeletal hand in the space of a creature within range. Make a ranged spell attack against the creature to assail it with the chill of the grave. The skeletal hand clings to the target, until the caster makes another attack.

When attacking an undead target, it also has disadvantage, and is weakened.

Death Bolt - The caster hurls a dark ball at a creature or object within range, causing Necrotic damage.

Poe Reprise - The caster hurls two spheres of violet-colored flame, causing Necrotic damage. If the caster hurls another Poe Reprise at an already existing flame, it will cause an explosion.

Soul Drain - The caster places his hands on an opponent to sap their health.

Arcane Spells:
Acid Splash - The casters hurls a sphere of acid. Upon contact, the sphere will explode, and the opponent will be covered in acid.

Poison Spray - Extending his hand, the caster projects a fume of noxious gas from the palm.

Minor Illusion - The caster creates a sound or an image of an object. The sound can range from a whisper to a scream, and the object cannot be larger than five foot, such as a large chest, or muddy footprints.

Blade Ward - Tracing a sigil of warding with a finger, the caster creates a ward that is resistant against bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing weapon attacks.


A Princely Birb

Age 24
Seen 1 Day Ago
Posted 1 Day Ago
389 posts
3.3 Years
Sorry for not individually tagging everyone. I'm on a computer that isn't my main one, and copy + paste is awful here.

But Groc, Songbird, Wiz/Strange, Murkmire, and Sephear are accepted. Congrats, thanks, you're beautiful, and I'll update the list later tonight.

Unfortunately, I have a few hang ups about Fuu. It's not a total denial on the character, just a few minor issues. I think the biggest one for me is there isn't a solid hook or goal I can see. The one goal aside from aimless wandering is a secret (something also reflected in his other hobbies), which is fine for in character, but a little problematic when held back from the other players and especially the GM.

I also included the goal section as a means to help write around the character and engage players more, with lack of engagement an issue I see with many sandbox RPs. I've always been a fan of being proactive in including characters in the narrative, and a lack of a goal or a solid hook runs counterproductive to that.
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