Logo
View unanswered posts | View active topics It is currently Sat Feb 17, 2018 11:09 pm



Reply to topic  [ 31 posts ]  Go to page Previous  1, 2
Groups 
Author Message
Slave (off the Altar)

Joined: Sun Feb 05, 2012 3:17 am
Posts: 18
Location: Texas
Announcements

No Announcements other than WE ARE LIVE!

House rules


House rules include rolling dice during certain actions, per Group OOC thread: "Die determine the outcome of many actions in game. A skill you have or a high stat will give a reroll, good posts and favorable conditions give you a bonus to your roll. This may change in play as I haven't done dice before outside of D&D."

Character Details

The following five (5) people are in Group 37.


Player: MiniGrift
Name: Nathra Severain
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 90lbs
Age: 82
Class: Shade

Description: By Druchii standards Nathra could be considered a beauty. Her skin is alabaster in hue, so pale as to be almost transparent. Midnight black hair hangs down to her bum in twirled, messy strands, it is adorned with various fetishes, finger-bones of slain adversaries and, most notably, the talon of a Harpy broodmother. Piercing, luminescent green eyes give her grim, heart-shaped face a predatory quality. Twin tattooes, of war and the hunt, adorn her cheeks and an elaborate tribal-dragon design covers her entire left leg. Her lithe body is criss-crossed with numerous scars, mostly on her stomach, arms and back. Her long leather sandals are strapped tightly down from the knees, with attached shin and knee guards. She wears a simple leather belt with a darkened red sash flowing down from between her hips. Leather guantlets and shoulder pads adorn her otherwise bare arms, and she wears minimal leather armour about her torso. She also wears a bra made from the same material as her belt and sash. And, she wears a circlet of black material around her neck, emblazoned with a single golden skull.


Background: Born into one of the ruling families of Karond Kar, Nathra was ever dissatisfied with life in the city. Her father was a strict, militaristic captain of the docks and oversaw the many slave ships coming and going. She has no recollection of her mother – but she has heard of rumours abound that she was killed by her father for not siring him a male child. From a very young age her father began to teach her of politics and intrigue, and fighting as well, to a lesser degree. She attended classes with many other noble-born Druchii children where she primarily learned to fight and obey. She quickly outstripped many of the other children with her skill and fury. At night Nathra watched the slaves being tortured and she became inured to their suffering.

After many years she began to tire of her father’s antagonistic ways, every time he looked at her, though he tried to hide it, Nathra could feel his animosity and see the disdain he held for her in his eyes. School, was also becoming easy, and she began to grow complacent from the lack of challenge. Until one day an older pupil took her by surprise and almost killed her, but she retaliated and slew her ambusher. Nathra’s instinct, which she had come to rely on, had saved her life. After this spectacle she had decided that enough was enough. She was tired of living only by others wishes, following commands, obeying her superiors, and even being chastised for being ‘better’ than some of the pupils from higher ranking houses.

Before she left the city she had one task ahead of her – she needed to have a chat with her father. Nathra knew she could easily dispatch him while he slept, but fearing that feat too comfortbale for her talents, she opted to confront him face to face. And, she needed an answer. While Naireth watched the arrival of another slave ship from his room in the tower, Nathra confronted him with a question: “Did you kill my mother?” Naireth neither confirmed or denied it, but his sly smile told Nathra all she needed to know. The two fought when Nathra, blind with anger, lunged herself at him. Naireth barely managed to draw his longsword to defend himself, so surprised was he by his daughters sudden vehemence. The fight was long and strenuous, but ultimately, it was Naireth’s age and his heavy armour that proved his undoing. Nathra straddled him as he lay on the floor dying, she looked into his eyes and saw his fear as she pushed her dagger into his throat. She left the jewelled dagger behind, still imbedded in Naireth’s throat, so that all of Karond Kar would know of her deed.

Nathra travelled south-west toward Arnheim, with no real destination or plan in mind. The woman revelled in the knowledge that she was alone, that she was in command of her own fate. In her many months of travel she learned to live off the land. Which berries to eat, which prey to hunt, how to set traps and how to survive the harsh climate of Naggaroth. She was in no particular hurry to go any place, so it was some time before she ancountered another sentient being. Only, he had friends. They were human slaves, she knew not where they came from, they were just as surprised to see her wandering the woods alone. They studied each other, Nathra was curious, the slaves were terrified. After a few seconds, they attacked her but she easily slew all but one of them. The survivor fled and Nathra followed at a leisurely pace.

The slave eventually fell awkwardly,crying out in surprise and pain, a barbed bolt impaling itself in his leg. Nathra entered the clearing. Two Druchii confronted her and began to interrogate her, but soon gave up at the lack of answers. Nathra then asked who they were and they clamied to be from a band of mercenaries, returning some escaped slaves to their camp. Telling them of her encounter, the elves got angry but Nathra managed to persuade them to take her to their leader. Back at the camp, on the outskirts of The Black Forest, Nathra asked to join them, only to be met by laughter. After killing two of them, their leader agreed, but only if Nathra could pass a test. He asked her to gather the claw of the mother of a clutch of harpies that nestled on a nearby mountain. Nathra readily agreed to do this. She knew the task was folly, and that the leader thought her stupid for undertaking such an assignment.

Back in Karond Kar she had often watched the flocks of harpies as they stole away slaves and fought amongst themselves. Their screeches mingling with the shrieks of tortured captives. Nathra had a plan. It took three days to reach the top of the mountain, where the harpies dwelled. Brazenly she walked towards the nest, eyeing down any of the creatures that tried to frighten her away. One of the braver furies attacked, Nathra quickly leapt upon the creature, slit it’s throat, then threw it’s sorry carcass back at the nearest group. She knew that harpies were cowardly creatures by nature, she had to show them she was boss. Any sign of weakness from her and they would likely rip her to shreds. Another few steps, two more attacked only to be slain just as easily as the first. Nathra reached the nest after killing two more, the Matriarch screeched and flapped about wildly, but none of the harpies dared attack. Nathra then slew her easily, cut off several talons and carefully stashed them about her person.

Bloodied and smiling, Nathra settled down to camp halfway down the mountain. In the distance she could just make out the outskirts of the mercenaries camp, so she stayed to watch their movements. As she waited Nathra fashioned herself a cloak from the wings of the harpies she had slain, just to pass the time. After another day some of the mercenaries left the camp with their slave prisoners, so she made her way back down the mountain and headed back to the camp. She asked the guards to take her to their leader, recognising one of them. The leader approached her from the tent, she threw him the harpy talon and asked if she was now a member of his party. He looked bemused, and said that she was. As he turned to leave she threw the other talon and it hit him sharply in the back – this, was much like throwing a gauntlet.

He drew his short sword as she attacked him. He was extremely skilled, and Nathra was hard pressed to gain an advantage over him. The rest of the group watched with some interest, their leader and their newest recruit fighting each other intensely. The guardmaster had scored several cuts on Nathra, thankfully, his weapon was not poisoned. While Nathra, in return, had only marginally scratched her opponents armour. After a deft parry he thrust his sword at Nathra’s heart, but she moved marginally to the left and caught the weapon in her shoulder. This gave her the opportunity she needed, she lashed out, inwards of his sword arm, to pierce the flesh in the opening of his armour, into his arm pit. She pulled him closed with her other hand and fiercely headbutted him. He fell to the ground with her landing on top of him. Nathra quickly pulled a small dagger from her boot and pushed it into his neck. In the same manner that she had killed her own father.

Nathra, having inducted herself into the group, was well within protocol to challenge anyone within that group. And since he was their leader, now she would have that privilege. She led them for many years after that incident, but not one ever knew her real name, or where she had come from. Eventually, as with life within the city, she grew complacent of the life she had given herself, and left to pursue her destiny.


Weapon Skill: 5
Strength: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 3
Equipment: Short Sword; Dagger; 2 Sets of Shurikens; Harpy Cloak
Skills; Acrobatics


Note: In game terms the shurikens are throwing daggers and the Harpy Cloak is a shade cloak. Renamed them to fit the flavour of my character :)

====


Player: Nightcall
Name: Ithilsyn Khadathaibh.
Sex: Female.
Age: 170.
Height: 5 foot 10 inches.
Weight: 9 ½ stone.
Appearance: Slim, with curves in all the right places, Ithilsyn has long flowing dark hair, pale skin, and black eyes that glint with the promise of terrible things. To make the most of her natural attributes, she wears very little; typically a wrought iron circlet, a light set of shoulder guards that have been crafted to complement her flowing gown, and a belt around her waist which is decorated with a skull shaped clasp. Made of red silk from far Cathay, the gown is slit to reveal her legs and knee high boots, and light armour pads are sewn into the fabric of the corset area of the gown so as not to spoil the appearance. She also wears a pair of light bracers, ornately crafted, to protect her forearms.

Character Class: Mage.
Character Statistics: WS3, S2, T4, D4, I5.
Starting Equipment: Staff, Dagger
• Starting Skills: Awareness, Power of Shyish (1)

Character Background: Born in Naggarond, Ithilsyn was plucked away with her two sisters to learn the arts of Dark Magic. After mastering basic skills of scrying and utilising dhar within the Convent of Naggarond, she and her sisters were sent to the fortress city of Ghrond, far in the north, where they were used to keep watch over the shifts in the Chaos Winds and invading hosts from the Wastes. Sending warnings or news from premonitions back to Naggarond, the sisters soon became drunk on the power resonating all around from the Chaos Wastes. Isolation from the more urbane of their kin allowed the three sorceresses to focus their attentions to dangerous, and sometimes forbidden arts, un-noticed.

Character Ambitions: Thirsting for more knowledge, Ithilsyn left Ghrond, claiming that her departure was foreseen in winds as being necessary to prevent a wider catastrophe. She craves power, seeking to collect knowledge and artefacts from her travels. Wishes to advance in lore of Shyish and Ulgu, Urban Lore, and Graverobbing.

====

Player: Arturo
Rafan Ashpacer
Male
180 years
5’11”
143lbs

Appearance:

Ravenblack hair tied to a ponytail with several dark brown straps, as it was usual for the males of his Shade clan. His eyes are an unusual mix of green and grey, rare even amongst his clan and despite his other facial features being those common to an elf, not something you’d remember afterwards, few forget his eyes. He also has a tattoo on the inside of his left arm few inches under the wrist: the rune for revenge.

He wears a light brown leather vest over a beige cotton shirt, covering the scars on his right flank and black cotton pants with leather patches on the knees, also a leather belt. On top of these is his trusty shade cloack with it’s many patches, minor cuts and other marks left by the wilderness, it might not be much to look at, but more than enough to keep it’s wearer hidden from unwanted eyes if necessary. His leather boots are sturdy, fit for the rockiest terrain, raising halfway up his shins; though living in the wilderness has taken it’s toll on them, constant maintanance has kept them in a surprisingly good condition.

Shade

Ws 5
S 2
E 3
D 4
I 4

Skills: Precision Fire

Equiptment: Crossbow, Short sword, Shade cloack

“Stubborn, but many mistake it for being courageous.”

Backround:

Born into a clan of shades on the foothills of the mountain range known as Spiteful Peaks as a son of one of the clans hunters Rafan was not particularly popular among the youth nor was he really looked down upon. From his father he learned the advantages of engaging the target from afar, but also the pros and cons of different ranged weapons. While most of his clan preferred the volume of fire created by the repeater, Rafan favored the regular crossbow, which in addition to longer range and added punch, was far easier to maintain. This of course caused some odd looks, but when he eventually ended up hunting with his father and started to bring game back to the clan, most were satisfied with his efforts and tolerated his weapon of choise, for it ment that they could engage in the clans main business: Shades for hire.

The clan mainly worked as hidden escorts and scouts for the minor families in Har Ganeth and Ghrond. They favored no-one, turning down only those contract involving unreasonable risks, which kept them relatively safe from the feuds between rivaling families. Or so they thought.

House Lyanther in particular had taken a grudge on the clan for many of their contract had been turned down all the while their main competitor’s contracts had been accepted multiple times in row in a short period of time. Now this was all because of the fact that Lyanthers tried to hire the clan for near suicide missions while the other contracts were relatively safe, but the Lyanthers didn’t see it that way, or simply refused to see the flaws in their planning. They though the clan had been bribed by the others so they wouldn’t have the access to the clan’s services, leaving them in a disadvantageous situation compared to the other houses. This, they thought, left them with one option.

It had been a wretched day for Rafan. Nothing seemed to work for him that day, he had been gloomy, even while hunting. Eventually his father had grown tired of him and parted ways to hunt alone. That hadn’t happened for ten years. It had continued when he returned to the camp and it had ended with Rafan yelling at his father and eventually taking off to the [hills] infuriated, walking on for miles. When his fury had settled he had turned back to apologize, for it was bad hunting with someone you were angry at. He thought about what to say on the way back over and over again, but all that vanished from his mind the moment he saw the still burning remains of what used to be his clans camp.

He had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even seen the smoke raising against the clear sky, but that mattered no more. His clan was dead. That wasn’t the thing that drove him over the edge though. Wandering around the corpses of his clanmates was nothing. Falling to his knees in front of his fathers mutilated corpse; that did it. The world was swirling around him. The weight crushing his chest was unbearable. His father, no, more like a brother. So close they had almost heard each others thoughts before a word was spoken. No more would he hunt with him. No more. He felt himself tumbling to the ground. He welcomed the darkness.

Waking up was a curse, having to realize the nightmare was reality. All around him were the remains of what had been a proud clan of shades. He remembered not the name nor did he care. Not much did he remember of his life, nor the people in it. Mattered not. What he did remember was hunting and the most important part of the long years spent tracking and ambushing prey: his father.

Raising up and turning his back to his father gave him a new purpose. Revenge. The tattered banner on the ground gave him a target. Lyanthers. Walking away from the charred remainders of his past gave him a new name. Ashpacer.

Ambitions:

Revenge against the Lyanthers, and while he thirsts for it he is going to take his time. One elf is not going to bring down a whole merchant family. He made a promise to himself to return one day to the campsite of his clan, and when that day comes the end of Lyanters is nigh. Not the whole organization perhaps but those responsible would die.

Before that day comes he wants to train his skill with the crossbow as well as his skills at hiding and evading pursuers. He also wishes to make allies he can trust with his burden, not to mention the need to gather information, every bit might be crucial.

After many long years in the wilderness honing his skills with his trusty crossbow have also made him realize it isn’t quite the optimal place to seek allies. Nor can he resupply on anything else than food. So off he went into the dark streets of cities to seek mercenary work to maybe find a suitable employer who would help him. Another merchant family perhaps and if that turns out to be an impossible quest then maybe a band of adventurous druchii would do the trick. Thus far he hasn’t had much luck but hopefully that will change soon enough :D

Skills Rafan wants to learn: Sniper, Basic Stealth -> Stealth, Evasion

=====


• Player: Lokil
• Name: Akish (Dawnbringer) Shadowborn
• Sex: Male
• Age: 101
• Height: Tall 6”2
• Weight: Average 75Kg / 160lbs
• Appearance: Akish’s skin is just pale enough to count as a member of the superior elven race. If he had any hair it would be blond, although he keeps it shaven to avoid unwanted attention. His eyes are a deep black color that turns into dark brown on a sunny day. He is of average build and height, though he does look out of place frequently due to his little experience in “real” Druchii society. Akish wears outdated light armour without any noticeable features to its origin or maker. His short swords don’t match and look used but well maintained. He has a big pale scar on his back which he can’t explain and an Asuri tattoo on the inside of his biceps that is covered by his armour.

• Character Class: Khainite
• Character Statistics: WS4 S3 T3 D4 I4
• Starting Equipment: 2 Short Swords, Throwing Dagger, Light Armour,
• Starting Skills: Basic Stealth

• Character Background: His mother, Alana (Dawnbringer) Sorrowsong, and father, Euron (Dawnbringer) Shadowborn, were nagarothi spies in Ulthuan. She gave birth during her work as a spy and subsequently he was raised among Asur. His parents didn’t tell him about their real identity as it would only threaten their mission and safety. He was trained in poetry and art before he ever touched a blade. His friends mocked him often because his art would always find a way to include something cruel and disturbing into otherwise completely serene images such as a sundown over the ocean. His poetry always seemed to be melodramatic and full of sorrow, often ending in death and tragedy. It wasn’t long until he began to wonder if he was in the wrong place, after all his skin was rather pale and his eyes darker than the usual Asur…
He went looking for answers in their little mansion when no one was around. It was then that he discovered a secret door in the deepest catacombs of their residence. In it he found a shrine of a bloody handed god, strange looking double hooked weapons, two sets of old armour fashioned in a style he didn’t recognize and letters in a foreign language. He was enchanted by the stature of that murderous god and came back as often as possible. This soon became his favorite place and it didn’t take long until his parents discovered that their secret Druchii chamber had been discovered by their very own son. Impressed with his ability to learn the Druchii language and his natural skill with blades his parents schooled him in the ways of Khaine. They themselves being masters of stealth, illusion and murder began to teach him the fundamentals of the old knowledge of what they learned many years back in the temple of Khaine. Planning to make him the assassin who would fulfill their mission and buy their way back home they spent most of their time teaching their adolescent child. Akish however wouldn’t forget nor forgive how long they made him live a lie. Years past and the final day came for Akish to fulfill the mission that would redeem his parents, but Akish, carrying out his long planned revenge, arranged everything so that after he fulfilled his mission the city guards would trace the murder back to the Dawnbringer residence. Taking his most treasured equipment Akish left his parents behind to be executed and made his long and treacherous way back to Naggaroth.
Soon after arriving in Naggarond he realized that even though his parents had taught him all they knew, he still didn’t quite understand Druchii society. Finding no place in the noble infested cities and being rejected from the temple of Khaine he heard of a place where any Druchii could make a fortune and become a legend. It didn’t take long before he found his way to Vikarh. Here, so it seemed, he would have enough opportunities to improve his murderous skills. He knew this style of life would inevitably bring him enemies and who knows, perhaps even some friends. Breathing in the foul stench of yet another city he cast his eyes on the vast number of mercenaries walking though the bustling square. A wicked smile crossed his face as he slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

• Character Ambitions: Stealth, Assassination, Masteful Stealth / Power of Uglu (1), Acrobatics.
Increasing weapon skill and dexterity is most important to Akish.

====

Player: smiler666
General character:
Name: Valeth One-eye
Height: 6'9"
weight: 165 lb
Age: 502
Class: khainite
Description: Old, even by druchii standards, Valeth has black hair streaked with grey and pale, wrinkled skin. His eyes are bronze like most that pass through the cauldron, however one is glass with a scar running down from hairline to mid-cheek passing through it. Usually he affects a stoop and limp, but shows his true vigour when he enters combat. He is rarely seen without his walking stick.

Background: Valeth was born to a noble elf in a small city near the far north of Naggaroth, however his father was a wanderer and a con-artist, who had robbed his mother and left her, making Valeth far from her favourite family member. He lived as an outcast on the house estate, hated by them, but too close to be thrown out onto the streets, he learned how to fight and survive from the constant attacks of siblings and cousins, who sort to gain favour with the head of the house by getting rid of Valeth. At the age of 94, after almost a century of narrowly avoiding being murdered by ambitions family members and almost falling to an assassination attempt by his brother, Valeth decided to escape the dangers of his house. He joined a corsair crew, hoping to win his own fortune and glory through raids. However his ill luck was set to follow him.

Valeth managed to secure hisself a place aboard a black ark, the Palace of Despair, which had returned successful from its voyages for the last dozen years. On this trip though misfortune dogged them. Less than a week out of port the sea was wracked by storms that sent event the black ark far off its course to Bretonnia, ending up dangerously close to the Blighted isle with only a handful of its escort ships at hand, the rest lost or wrecked in storm. The captain decided this was a sign from Khaine and ordered all ships to make landing on the shores of Nagarythe. However luck was still not with them, and a fleet of elven ships was waiting for them as they came within sight of Ulthuan. In the fierce battle that followed most of the raiding fleet was destroyed, including the black ark, one ship though escaped and returned to Karond Kar with barely the resources to buy its way back into the city. Valeth was among the survivors.

Valeth then stayed in Karond Kar, hoping to avoid bringing any further attention to hisself he scraped a living doing a variety of thankless jobs from guarding the slave-markets to cleaning the web of streets in the city. However, eventually Valeth's ambition got the better of him and, as the call went out, he joined one of the regiments Karond Kar was to form ready for the witchking's attack on Ulthuan. Now 185 Valeth arrived on the shores he had only glimpsed once before, when an entire fleet of corsairs had died around him, now though the landing was more successful, with the entire strength of Naggaroth arrayed against them the high elves could not hold them back. Valeth and his new regiment were held back to defend the beached black arks in Nagarythe, a duty envied by very few. Although as the attack slowly petered out and druchii were forced back to the land where they had first arrived they were extremely grateful for the aid of these fresh troops. Valeth's regiment fought at the front of the last fight, now called The Battle of Finuval Plain, and suffered heavy casualties, the warriors selling themselves dearly until only Valeth remained, holding the line with only a few remnants of other regiments. Misfortune stuck again during this fierce battle, and Valeth was brought down by a vicious slash down his face, which put out his right eye for good. When Valeth awoke he was still on the battlefield, however now he was being borne away by a mob of witch elves, he soon realised his current situation was probably worse than the one he had just left. The witches were running for the shore, and they carried several other elves beside him. None of the others were druchii. And most of them were dead. Valeth was to be sacrificed to Khaine, and once his terrible palanquin reached thier ship that’s exactly what happened.

Valeth was fed, struggling, into a cauldron of blood as an appeasement to Khaine. However, Khaine recognises potential, even among sacrifices, and Valeth was saved, emerging unscathed from the cauldron now bearing the symbol of Khaine's servants in his bronzed eyes. He was taken in by the temple and taught the ways of the assassin, in which he excelled in practice, but whenever Valeth's skills were put to the test the ever-present bad luck that had followed him since before his birth raised it's foul head and foiled him. Still Valeth tried, and managed a few minor successes, but after botching a handful of assassinations his face began to become known amongst the underhand and well-off, so the temple decided to move him to a position where noone important would get the chance to recognise him and link him to them. Valeth was stripped of his position as assassin and moved to the temple library in Vikarh as a scholar. Thus Valeth grew old in obscurity, sorting tomes and scrolls and finding details on ancient rights for demanding hags and priests. Until, centuries later, misfortune deemed that he deserved to be struck down again.

Valeth was delivering the translation of a scroll to the chambers of the death hag Uldenai, however what he saw would once again throw his life down a new course. The death hag was in her bedchamber with a noble that Valeth didn’t recognise, but it was obvious from the quality of the garments strewn across the floor that he was someone important. Valeth immediately fled the hag's chamber, but did not escape notice and ran to his own room with the raging voice of the noble behind him. Valeth knew that a bride of Khaine breaking her vows of celibacy was the utmost heresy; he also knew that he was extremely expendable in his current situation. So he gathered up his old assassins blades, now dull and rusty from over a quarter of a millenia laying idle, and a rough cloth robe to disguise hisself and left the temple, heading toward Mercenary square. I need to get out of the city, if not Naggaroth, before I'm caught was Valeth’s last thought as he dashed away from the temple...


Valeth one-eye
Stats: WS - 4 S - 2 T - 2 D - 5 I - 5
Equiptment: Longsword, Punch Dagger; Throwing Daggers (4); Khaine, the cleverly named walking-stave
Skills: Acrobatics

Edit: Added Smiler666/Valeth One-Eye to Player Roster.


Wed Feb 15, 2012 7:14 am
Profile
Malekith's Personal Guard
User avatar

Joined: Wed Jan 25, 2012 8:16 pm
Posts: 844
Location: England
Post 
Group 38 Checking in...

House rules, notable characters, important information, is all contained within the OOC thread.


Participating Characters:
Kailleth Blackthorn
Cade Thanal (True Name: Gaelus Stormscythe)
Nathra Severain
Heldrana Doomtide


Name: Kailleth Blackthorn
Class: male warrior
Stats: 5ws 4s 3t 3d 3i
Age: 121
Height: 5’10 (short in elf terms)
Build: lean and muscle,
Face: dark steal blue eyes
Raven black hair to mid back length
Fare pale white skin (typical of an inside life of the city)
Tattoos: 1 tattoo on each forearm
On the rite the rune of loyalty
On the left the rune of discipline
Equipment: Light armour, shield, 2 long swords
(All his equipment is of good quality and is well maintained)
(All robes and small closes are black in the style of Hag Graef and rather worn)

Kailleth Blackthorn was a young elf in the city of Hag Greaf, he was born to a simple life with his father being a high ranking retainer and family guard to one of the Nobel Families of the city, Kailleth never know his mother and learned at an early age not to ask his father about her. Kailleth was trained in his duties as soon as he was able to hold a sword and aim a crossbow. In the hope he would one day fallow his father’s footsteps. As a youth he spent half his waking day in the training yard, drilling and sparing with other young druchii and off duty guards. The other half he spent in his studies of history, war and his favourite obsessions, the dogma and texts of Kaine. Kailleth was trained in the art of the sword the spear and crossbow and to diligently respect his armour and weapons, and above all to obey ones master and to lay down his life if asked without question.

On his 100 year Kailleth became a family guard to the Nobel family, just like his father. He performed his duty for 10 years with without question until one tragic night.

It was just past the hour of the wolf when Kailleth was harshly ripped from his chamber by other house hold guards. Confused and disorientated from a blow to his head during the struggle in his chamber, Kailleth was dragged in to the mane courtyard and Thrown to the cold marble yard. As he got his baring he looked around and saw the just under half of the other guards were also in the yard some seemed to have been yanked from bed like him, the others looked to have been in fights and were wounded.
His eyes took little time to august to the night time gloom, as he scanned the perimeter or the courtyard he made out the figures of other druchii with cross bows standing solder to shoulder, he didn’t recognize there heraldry, but after a minuet he realised that not all the soldiers were unfamiliar to him. He counted about a third of his follow guards with them. Backstabbing fiends he spat. Before he could cures them any further a tall Druchii walked out onto the balcony from their masters bed chamber, he had his war helm under his arm and blood dripping from his gauntleted hands, he looked out over the mass of broken and beaten guards, With a wicked smile he began to speak.

Welcome to my new home! He said opening his arms in a sign of welcome. I am fain tairnis your new master, I have just taken this estate to settle an old debt. He weekly chuckled to himself then continued. As you might see . . . some or your fellows have already swore their oaths of loyalty to me, I will now give you the opportunity to do the same. He paused for affect then looked over his shoulder and nodded, then one of the guards was dragged out to the balcony and thrown on to the railing so his head and arms daggled over, (it was Kailleths father) with the same smile he spoke again. If you chose that old loyalties die hard like this old wretch. Producing a small dagger Fain pulled back the head of Kailleth’s father, so be it! Then opened his throat.

Kailleth has never forgotten that night. Most of him died that night as he whacked his father’s exaction.
He mindlessly went throw the act, he swore his oath and carried on as a guard, for a time, after some months Kailleth made his escape it wasn’t grand spectacle or daring feat, he simply on duty one night said he heard something outside the main gate and went to check it out and never turned back.
From that point on Kailleth has played the trade of a mercenary not caring weather his life has purpose or if he’ll ever have a family, he has never tried to fill the void in his life with vengeances because he knows it is pointless. So now spends his days looking to kaine for a path to travel, and money to fill his purse, the only think Kailleth has left is fight for is to stay alive.


Name: Cade Thanal (True Name: Gaelus Stormscythe)
Sex: Male
Age: 98
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 180lbs
Appearance:

Noble in face and lithe in figure, Cade does not have the characteristic look of a dockside reaver. His dark hair appears recently and haphazardly cropped to a shorter length in a manner that covers some aspects of the smooth, alabaster skin of his forehead, neck and ears. His dark eyes show obvious intelligence and are constantly on the move, sizing up his situation. His equipment appears worn, though careful examination would reveal that they are in fact new and made to appear used.

Character Class: Warrior
Character Statistics: WS3 S4 T3 D4 I4
Starting Equipment: Light Armor (EP2), Short Shord (EP1), Repeating Handbow (EP3), Helmet (EP1)
Starting Skills: None

Character Background:
Gaelus Stormscythe was born the 5th son to a lesser nobleman of Karond Kar. Because of this, his status in the household was barely above that of the servants, of which is brothers and sisters frequently reminded him. He used his higher intellect, and when necessary, speed and brawn, to survive growing up in the Machiavellian circumstances that were his home. His father and brothers were no where near as sharp of mind as he (causing unspoken whispers about his mother and a possible indiscretion), and as such it eventually became a mundane and almost reflex task for him to outwit them. Regardless, constant scorn, hostile treatment and lack of favor resulted in a well cultured hatred, envy and ambition against his father and siblings.

When he became of age, his parents looked to match him with a family for political gain, as was normal among the nobility. Unfortunately, due to a mismanaged venture by his second oldest sibling, much of the family's fortune was lost. His father's fury resulted in Gaelus's brother being sent to Har Ganeth as a gift to the temple. To add insult to injury, he decided to arrange a marriage with a wealthy slaver with ambitions of nobility in order to refill the family's coffers. This infuriated Gaelus, the thought of having to wed a lesser and for him, it was the last straw.

His bride to be met an unfortunate "accident" whilst on the way to be presented to his family and upon investigation, Gaelus was nowhere to be found. Selling off his few prized possessions, Gaelus fled to the docks and disguised himself as a reaver named Cade. Knowing he could never return until he gained some leverage in either wealth or power, he focused on finding a ship bound for adventure. He made a vow that, once his fortune is made, he would return. His house was due for some new management anyways.

Character Ambitions:

His ultimate goal is to take control of his house and elevate its status from the lesser houses. To see out this goal, he knows he must gain power, wealth and influence. He is extremely ambitious and will use whatever means necessary to see any goal he makes.

He also suffers greatly from envy. If he sees something he wants, he can become very manipulative. If he comes to envy a person, his hatred towards them can be quite vitreous.


Name: Nathra Severain
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 90lbs
Age: 82

Description: Nathra’s skin is alabaster in hue, so pale as to be almost transparent. Her hair is midnight black and hangs down to her bum in twirled, messy strands. Her hair is adorned with various fetishes, finger-bones of slain adversaries and, most notably, the talon of a Harpy broodmother. Piercing, luminescent green eyes give her grim, heart-shaped face a predatory quality. Twin tattooes, of war and the hunt, adorn her cheeks and an elaborate tribal-dragon design covers her entire left leg. Her lithe body is criss-crossed with numerous scars, mostly on her stomach, arms and back. Her long leather sandals are strapped tightly down from the knees, with attached shin and knee guards. She wears a simple leather belt with a darkened red sash flowing down from between her hips. Leather guantlets and shoulder pads adorn her otherwise bare arms, and she wears minimal leather armour about her torso. She also wears a bra made from the same material as her belt and sash. And, she wears a circlet of black material around her neck, emblazoned with a single golden skull.


Background: Born into one of the ruling families of Karond Kar, Nathra was ever dissatisfied with life in the city. Her father was a strict, militaristic captain of the docks and oversaw the many slave ships coming and going. She has no recollection of her mother – but she has heard of rumours abound that she was killed by her father for not siring him a male child. From a very young age her father began to teach her of politics and intrigue, and fighting as well, to a lesser degree. She attended classes with many other noble-born Druchii children where she primarily learned to fight and obey. She quickly outstripped many of the other children with her skill and fury. At night Nathra watched the slaves being tortured and she became inured to their suffering.

After many years she began to tire of her father’s antagonistic ways, every time he looked at her, though he tried to hide it, Nathra could feel his animosity and see the disdain he held for her in his eyes. School, was also becoming easy, and she began to grow complacent from the lack of challenge. Until one day an older pupil took her by surprise and almost killed her, but she retaliated and slew her ambusher. Nathra’s instinct, which she had come to rely on, had saved her life. After this spectacle she had decided that enough was enough. She was tired of living only by others wishes, following commands, obeying her superiors, and even being chastised for being ‘better’ than some of the pupils from higher ranking houses.

Before she left the city she had one task ahead of her – she needed to have a chat with her father. Nathra knew she could easily dispatch him while he slept, but fearing that feat too comfortbale for her talents, she opted to confront him face to face. And, she needed an answer. While Naireth watched the arrival of another slave ship from his room in the tower, Nathra confronted him with a question: “Did you kill my mother?” Naireth neither confirmed or denied it, but his sly smile told Nathra all she needed to know. The two fought when Nathra, blind with anger, lunged herself at him. Naireth barely managed to draw his longsword to defend himself, so surprised was he by his daughters sudden vehemence. The fight was long and strenuous, but ultimately, it was Naireth’s age and his heavy armour that proved his undoing. Nathra straddled him as he lay on the floor dying, she looked into his eyes and saw his fear as she pushed her dagger into his throat. She left the jewelled dagger behind, still imbedded in Naireth’s throat, so that all of Karond Kar would know of her deed.

Nathra travelled south-west toward Arnheim, with no real destination or plan in mind. The woman revelled in the knowledge that she was alone, that she was in command of her own fate. In her many months of travel she learned to live off the land. Which berries to eat, which prey to hunt, how to set traps and how to survive the harsh climate of Naggaroth. She was in no particular hurry to go any place, so it was some time before she ancountered another sentient being. Only, he had friends. They were human slaves, she knew not where they came from, they were just as surprised to see her wandering the woods alone. They studied each other, Nathra was curious, the slaves were terrified. After a few seconds, they attacked her but she easily slew all but one of them. The survivor fled and Nathra followed at a leisurely pace.

The slave eventually fell awkwardly,crying out in surprise and pain, a barbed bolt impaling itself in his leg. Nathra entered the clearing. Two Druchii confronted her and began to interrogate her, but soon gave up at the lack of answers. Nathra then asked who they were and they clamied to be from a band of mercenaries, returning some escaped slaves to their camp. Telling them of her encounter, the elves got angry but Nathra managed to persuade them to take her to their leader. Back at the camp, on the outskirts of The Black Forest, Nathra asked to join them, only to be met by laughter. After killing two of them, their leader agreed, but only if Nathra could pass a test. He asked her to gather the claw of the mother of a clutch of harpies that nestled on a nearby mountain. Nathra readily agreed to do this. She knew the task was folly, and that the leader thought her stupid for undertaking such an assignment.

Back in Karond Kar she had often watched the flocks of harpies as they stole away slaves and fought amongst themselves. Their screeches mingling with the shrieks of tortured captives. Nathra had a plan. It took three days to reach the top of the mountain, where the harpies dwelled. Brazenly she walked towards the nest, eyeing down any of the creatures that tried to frighten her away. One of the braver furies attacked, Nathra quickly leapt upon the creature, slit it’s throat, then threw it’s sorry carcass back at the nearest group. She knew that harpies were cowardly creatures by nature, she had to show them she was boss. Any sign of weakness from her and they would likely rip her to shreds. Another few steps, two more attacked only to be slain just as easily as the first. Nathra reached the nest after killing two more, the Matriarch screeched and flapped about wildly, but none of the harpies dared attack. Nathra then slew her easily, cut off several talons and carefully stashed them about her person.

Bloodied and smiling, Nathra settled down to camp halfway down the mountain. In the distance she could just make out the outskirts of the mercenaries camp, so she stayed to watch their movements. As she waited Nathra fashioned herself a cloak from the wings of the harpies she had slain, just to pass the time. After another day some of the mercenaries left the camp with their slave prisoners, so she made her way back down the mountain and headed back to the camp. She asked the guards to take her to their leader, recognising one of them. The leader approached her from the tent, she threw him the harpy talon and asked if she was now a member of his party. He looked bemused, and said that she was. As he turned to leave she threw the other talon and it hit him sharply in the back – this, was much like throwing a gauntlet.

He drew his short sword as she attacked him. He was extremely skilled, and Nathra was hard pressed to gain an advantage over him. The rest of the group watched with some interest, their leader and their newest recruit fighting each other intensely. The guardmaster had scored several cuts on Nathra, thankfully, his weapon was not poisoned. While Nathra, in return, had only marginally scratched her opponents armour. After a deft parry he thrust his sword at Nathra’s heart, but she moved marginally to the left and caught the weapon in her shoulder. This gave her the opportunity she needed, she lashed out, inwards of his sword arm, to pierce the flesh in the opening of his armour, into his arm pit. She pulled him closed with her other hand and fiercely headbutted him. He fell to the ground with her landing on top of him. Nathra quickly pulled a small dagger from her boot and pushed it into his neck. In the same manner that she had killed her own father.

Nathra, having inducted herself into the group, was well within protocol to challenge anyone within that group. And since he was their leader, now she would have that privilege. She led them for many years after that incident, but not one ever knew her real name, or where she had come from. Eventually, as with life within the city, she grew complacent of the life she had given herself, and left to pursue her destiny.

Nathra Severain
WS:5 S:3 T:2 D:5 I:3
Equipment: Longsword; 2 Sets of Shurikens; Harpy Cloak
Skills; Acrobatics


Name: Heldrana Doomtide
Gender: female
Age: 97
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 100 lbs soaking wet
Appearance: Her face is hard and determined, her skin is weathered, but still has a shred of the freshness of youth. Exposure to the elements is unkind. Her face is unblemished, aside from the stylized Shade tribal tattoos on the left side of her face, and the puckered arrow scar on the right cheek. She wears her midnight hair in a corsair's topknot, her hair streaked with red highlights. Under her sea dragon cloak, she wears close-fitting leathers, thigh-high boots, and a wicked blade on her hip. Her eyes are a deep blue like the sea in a hurricane.

Character Class: Warrior
Character Statistics: WS: 4, Str: 4, T: 3, Dex: 4, Int: 3
Starting Equipment: Sea Dragon Cloak, Leather Armour, Buckler, Short Sword, Throwing Daggers (4)
Starting Skills: none

Character Background: Heldrana Doomtide was born to a pair of corsairs on the Black Ark Fortress of Eternal Torture. Unfortunately, her mother died during childbirth, leaving her father as the sole parent. She was raised by a human slave aboard the ark, while her father went about his duties, seeing her very rarely. On those rare occasions, her father did take note that the girl took to the sea with a natural aptitude, jesting to his peers that his daughter could swim before she could walk.

As Heldrana grew, her father taught her the way of the corsair. He taught her ruthlessness and contempt for the lesser races, creatures little more than animals. He taught her the proper way to net a slave, the correct methods of torture. She did not always succeed, and her father was a harsh taskmaster, but with every failure, she would stand defiant, dust herself off and take to the task with renewed fervor. It was times like that when her father felt pride.

Unfortunately, this was not to last. Shortly after her thirtieth birthday, her father was slain during a raid on coastal temple city in Lustria, poisoned darts through his eyes. She took the news with stoicism. If her father was meant to live on, he would not have shown such weakness. She had other matters to attend to. Heldrana was training to be a raider herself, learning the way of the sword. She soon established herself as a competent swordswoman, wielding shortsword and buckler with both finesse and brutality. Her style was as unpredictable as shipboard combat, making quick, measured strikes with sword, turning blades and back-handing with buckler. Over the years, she developed a fearsome reputation, leaving many of her opponent writhing on the floor, alive . . . most of the time.

Her reputation caught the attention of the officers on board the Black Ark, and at a mere fifty years old, she was selected to go on raids. Those were the best years of her life. She was gaining wealth, a small semblance of influence. Other Druchii were paying attention to her career and saw potential. Of course, not all potential was good potential.

The son of a minor noble house within the Ark itself, one Driahal Wrathbane, began to take notice of her, began to take a liking to her. Try as he might, though, Heldrana would have none of him. He was of no interest to her. Little did she know that one does not scorn a Druchii noble. He used his own influence to cause her wealth to drain away, to shatter her reputation. She was disgraced, fleeing the Black Ark she had called home for Seventy years.

For the past twenty seven years, Heldrana has been drifting from ship to ship, crew to crew. While her name still bears the black marks she suffered at the hands of Driahal, her skills are well known on the docks of The Corsair City, her skills, and her burning hatred.

Character Ambitions: Heldrana is out for two things: money and making Driahal Wrathbane pay for what he did to her. To that end, she would need to work on her sword play, likely develop stealth skills, and beat the living crap out of anyone who stands in her way. She is a patient hunter. She will acquire the wealth, influence, and skills necessary to get close to Driahal and destroy him.

_________________
Casaythe Blackstorm - Warrior (Corsair) - Group 22
Skills: Awareness, Endurance
Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Medium Armour, Sea Dragon Cloak, Repeater Crossbow, clip of bolts [11/20], 405 gold, Talisman of Darkness, Tool Kit, 2 months' rations
Stats: WS4, S4, T5, D3, I4

Mod, Group 38


Fri Aug 31, 2012 8:02 pm
Profile WWW
... And Hell Followed
User avatar

Joined: Tue Feb 10, 2009 10:52 am
Posts: 1418
Location: Scotland
Post 

Group 39 now consists of:

Players:

Smiler666
Kensou
Jcitalia4
Khalrthi
lordfalco

Characters:

Name: Ignat Thermios
Sex: Male
Age: 144
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 73 Kg's
Appearance: Ignat always tries to dress as stylishly as possible. Due to the punishment (torture) he has endured, and some failed experiments, he is left with lot's of scars, but none of these are in plain view. He wears mostly robes and carries around a simple, yet elegant staff.

Class: Mage
Stats: WS4 S3 T4 D3 I4
Equipment: Staff, Short Sword.
Skills: Power of Aqshy(1), Defensive Fighting.

Background: I am Ignat. I was born under a different name. I was to be the heir of a noble family in Ghrond. I was raised to be as such. However, I didn't agree with the teachings of that family. I liked the style that came with being highborn, but I never liked the tricking and treachery. I always used a more direct aproach, one that my opponents could see coming, and when they failed to do anything about, rub it in their face as hard as possible.

For this I was thoroughly punished. I underwent many forms of torture that lasted for a decade and a half. My body endured enough to break most elves, but my spirit never broke. I may have lost a part of my sanity, but with that loss I had gained something as well. From the pain came power. A power that was discovered accidentally when I burned my parents bed to cinders. When I realised what I did, I of course told them off. No longer would they have a hold over me. I got another half a decade of torture for that.

The torturers were an unimaginative lot. Soon I could put the pain in a little corner of my fractured mind. That left me to experiment with the power that had put me in this predicament. Did I mention the torture lasted only half a decade? That's because no one wanted to torture me after I had burned several elves to death.

My parents still tried to control me. They must have seen a way to use my power, otherwise they would've killed me for sure. They didn't seem to understand that I was one who is to be free. Also, they didn't really make me love them. So, after another failed attempt to break me, and I must give them credit, for this time they did it personally, I left their house.

Assassins? I've never seen one targeting me. That may have something to do with a lack of orders. Charcoal can't give any orders. However, living on my own was harder than expected and soon whatever resources I had, were spent. After a few weeks of malnourishment, I fell unconsious.

When I woke up, it seemed some depraved soul took mercy on me. Or he was being exceptionally cruel, I haven't figured it out yet. I was lying in a gutter in the City of Hope. With a bit of the thievery that I despised so much, I managed to survive.

And that's my story barkeep. Now give me that drink, you'd pour me if I told you a story.

Ambitions: Get a political position much like the Witch King; Everyone knows you. You rule all. No one can do anything about it.

___________________________________________________________________

Name: Taldein, the Draich'Arha
Sex: Male
Age: 193
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 215lbs

Appearance: From a distance, his white hair, bronze eyes and pale skin mark him as one touched by khaine. However, at closer distances the tones of his skin, hair and eyes all darken. In fact, face to face it can be hard to pick out his features in low lit situations. He is dressed in a simple travelling robe and carries his large draich over his shoulder. Ever close to him, the draich seems to forever cast it's shadow across Taldein's face, hence the nickname given to him, the Draich'Arha, Draich's Shadow.

Character Class: Khainite
Character Statistics: WS4 S3 T4 D3 I4
Starting Equipment: Draich (EP4), Helment (EP1)
Starting Skills: Power of Ulgu (1)

Character Background: Taldein comes from neither humble nor extravagent beginnings. His father was a weapon's master for the nobility of Ghrond and his mother worked to heal those in the training grounds, ensuring Ghrond's regiments recovered quickly and were ever fit to fight. He looked much like his mother, dark blue-black hair and dark eyes. From an early age, Taldein took to his father's calling and took a keen interest in the blades he kept for his trade. Socially, he was quite reserved. Always brooding and seeking solace in the shadows. In fact, many muttered that he was so gloomy that the shadows seemed to follow him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with his mood. Taldein took notice in this as well. He found that sometimes, when he was alone in the dark and lit a candle, it's shadow would follow his hand. He kept this a closely guarded secret, for he knew that the druchii with the best kept secrets usually fared the best.

One day, an upstart slave managed to touch one of his father's masters, begging for release. The slave was quickly butchered by the noble's guards. The noble, in a rage, demanded the head of the slave's handler for letting such filth get so close to him. Taldein doesn't remember quite the specifics of what happened next. He remembers the flash of the great blade in the light. The sound it made as it cut through the air. The clang it made as it hit the stone. And the blood. He remembers the blood. The blood was everywhere but at the same time, clean and neat, like the wound on the now headless handler. Not a drop was on his executioner nor anyone gathered around. Taldein dreamed of the blood from that day on, in pleasure.

From childhood to when he began to be of working age, he frequently worked with his father wanting to learn more and more about weapons requiring two hands to bear. Once he was older he began to work alongside his father, training the troops of Ghrond in the use of the heavier weapon styles. His father and his pupils noticed that he was always in the shadow of his weapon when fighting. In what started initially as a joke, he came to be known as Draich'Arha amongst the training grounds, as many thought he might have well just been wielding only a draich since he liked to fight with nothing else than the largest of weapons.

Still, the dreams of blood were ever there. He slipped one evening in a night of revelry, indulgence and wine, lots of wine. He mentioned his dreams to his parents and how they came about when his father asked him why he insisted in only handling the two-handed weapons.

The next day his parents left, not saying where they were going. When they returned another day later, they told him that they had asked for guidance from the temple and deemed that they would send him on his way to Har Ganeth to train with the executioners of khaine. Initially, Taldein was taken aback, but after consideration, accepted his parents decision. Upon departing, his father presented him with the weapon that had become his namesake, the draich. If druchii kissed and bid there parent's farewell when leaving home, this is where Taldein would have done so, instead, he merely looked them over, bowed and left to begin the next chapter in his life.

12 days later on the road, wrapped up in his bedroll and safe in the shadows he knew so well, Taldein tossed about in a fitfull dream. The blood, so much blood. More than was normal for these dreams. He felt the glory of it. The exhultation. The swiftness of a clean death. Many many deaths. Amongst it all he heard and felt a voice within him. It told him not to continue to Har Ganeth. Har Ganeth would wait. He was to find his destiny elsewhere first, and bring the death to the enemies of the druchii and Khaine's subject on their own lands. And the blood continued to fill his mind and vision.

He awoke with start and found he had sweat through his bedroll. He quickly jumped out of his sodden sleeping place and stumbled towards a nearby frozen stream, his mind both racing and still befuddled from his dreams the previous night. He cracked a hole in the ice and splashed his face in an attempt to clear his head. He then started with a gasp. There staring back at him in a floating piece of ice were two bright bronze eyes and hair as white as the snow nearby. Taking this in, he went back to his campsite to gather his things. With new resolve, he turned from Har Ganeth and set off in another direction.

Character Ambition:

To kill the enemies of khaine and the druchii in their own lands. He means to do this as cleanly and swiftly as possible. He understands that the winds of ulgu follow him closely and he will use this to his advantage in fighting. He will continue adventuring until he, as he believes he will, receives a sign to end his pilgrimage and return on his journey to Har Ganeth.

___________________________________________________________________


Name: Valeth One-eye
Height: 6'9"
weight: 165 lb
Age: 502
Class: khainite
Description: Old, even by druchii standards, Valeth has black hair streaked with grey and pale, wrinkled skin. His eyes are bronze like most that pass through the cauldron, however one is glass with a scar running down from hairline to mid-cheek passing through it. Usually he affects a stoop and limp, but shows his true vigour when he enters combat. He is rarely seen without his walking stick.

Background: Valeth was born to a noble elf in a small city near the far north of Naggaroth, however his father was a wanderer and a con-artist, who had robbed his mother and left her, making Valeth far from her favourite family member. He lived as an outcast on the house estate, hated by them, but too close to be thrown out onto the streets, he learned how to fight and survive from the constant attacks of siblings and cousins, who sort to gain favour with the head of the house by getting rid of Valeth. At the age of 94, after almost a century of narrowly avoiding being murdered by ambitions family members and almost falling to an assassination attempt by his brother, Valeth decided to escape the dangers of his house. He joined a corsair crew, hoping to win his own fortune and glory through raids. However his ill luck was set to follow him.

Valeth managed to secure hisself a place aboard a black ark, the Palace of Despair, which had returned successful from its voyages for the last dozen years. On this trip though misfortune dogged them. Less than a week out of port the sea was wracked by storms that sent event the black ark far off its course to Bretonnia, ending up dangerously close to the Blighted isle with only a handful of its escort ships at hand, the rest lost or wrecked in storm. The captain decided this was a sign from Khaine and ordered all ships to make landing on the shores of Nagarythe. However luck was still not with them, and a fleet of elven ships was waiting for them as they came within sight of Ulthuan. In the fierce battle that followed most of the raiding fleet was destroyed, including the black ark, one ship though escaped and returned to Karond Kar with barely the resources to buy its way back into the city. Valeth was among the survivors.

Valeth then stayed in Karond Kar, hoping to avoid bringing any further attention to hisself he scraped a living doing a variety of thankless jobs from guarding the slave-markets to cleaning the web of streets in the city. However, eventually Valeth's ambition got the better of him and, as the call went out, he joined one of the regiments Karond Kar was to form ready for the witchking's attack on Ulthuan. Now 185 Valeth arrived on the shores he had only glimpsed once before, when an entire fleet of corsairs had died around him, now though the landing was more successful, with the entire strength of Naggaroth arrayed against them the high elves could not hold them back. Valeth and his new regiment were held back to defend the beached black arks in Nagarythe, a duty envied by very few. Although as the attack slowly petered out and druchii were forced back to the land where they had first arrived they were extremely grateful for the aid of these fresh troops. Valeth's regiment fought at the front of the last fight, now called The Battle of Finuval Plain, and suffered heavy casualties, the warriors selling themselves dearly until only Valeth remained, holding the line with only a few remnants of other regiments. Misfortune stuck again during this fierce battle, and Valeth was brought down by a vicious slash down his face, which put out his right eye for good. When Valeth awoke he was still on the battlefield, however now he was being borne away by a mob of witch elves, he soon realised his current situation was probably worse than the one he had just left. The witches were running for the shore, and they carried several other elves beside him. None of the others were druchii. And most of them were dead. Valeth was to be sacrificed to Khaine, and once his terrible palanquin reached thier ship that’s exactly what happened.

Valeth was fed, struggling, into a cauldron of blood as an appeasement to Khaine. However, Khaine recognises potential, even among sacrifices, and Valeth was saved, emerging unscathed from the cauldron now bearing the symbol of Khaine's servants in his bronzed eyes. He was taken in by the temple and taught the ways of the assassin, in which he excelled in practice, but whenever Valeth's skills were put to the test the ever-present bad luck that had followed him since before his birth raised it's foul head and foiled him. Still Valeth tried, and managed a few minor successes, but after botching a handful of assassinations his face began to become known amongst the underhand and well-off, so the temple decided to move him to a position where noone important would get the chance to recognise him and link him to them. Valeth was stripped of his position as assassin and moved to the temple library in Vikarh as a scholar. Thus Valeth grew old in obscurity, sorting tomes and scrolls and finding details on ancient rights for demanding hags and priests. Until, centuries later, misfortune deemed that he deserved to be struck down again.

Valeth was delivering the translation of a scroll to the chambers of the death hag Uldenai, however what he saw would once again throw his life down a new course. The death hag was in her bedchamber with a noble that Valeth didn’t recognise, but it was obvious from the quality of the garments strewn across the floor that he was someone important. Valeth immediately fled the hag's chamber, but did not escape notice and ran to his own room with the raging voice of the noble behind him. Valeth knew that a bride of Khaine breaking her vows of celibacy was the utmost heresy; he also knew that he was extremely expendable in his current situation. So he gathered up his old assassins blades, now dull and rusty from over a quarter of a millenia laying idle, and a rough cloth robe to disguise hisself and left the temple, heading toward Mercenary square. I need to get out of the city, if not Naggaroth, before I'm caught was Valeth’s last thought as he dashed away from the temple...


Valeth one-eye
Stats: WS - 4 S - 2 T - 2 D - 5 I - 5
Equiptment: Longsword, Punch Dagger; Throwing Daggers (4); Khaine, the cleverly named walking-stave
Skills: Acrobatics


Name: Kulrik
Sex: Male
Age: 412
Height: 6'7''
Weight: 12 stone
Appearance: Kulrik's aged face is lean, water-beaten and drawn. Many scars criss-cross his skin, the most noticable being across the bridge of his nose, to the side of his left eye and another running down from his cheek across his mouth. His right eye is missing and covered with a dwarf hide patch. Both his ears are studded with small gold, silver and jade iron hoops, however the top of his left ear is missing. He sports long sideburns and his grey hair is worn down past his shoulders, with a section at his crown tied into a tail with a leather strap. His body is lean and strong. Kulrik has an aged kraken tattoo over his heart. Kulrik carries with him an ancient sea dragon cloak, a breast plate of light armour showing evidence of more than a few battles. He also carries a thin, black bladed dagger on the inside of his boot and a heavy iron cudgel at his waist.

Character class: Warrior
Character statistics: WS:4 S:4 T:4 D:2 I:4
Equipment: Light armour, Sea dragon cloak, Mace, Dagger.

Character background:
Born into a childhood of abject poverty and violence in the kitchens of one of the great houses of Hag Graef, Kulrik knew he must escape. At the age of 15 he ambushed his master, losing his eye in the process, and fled to the harbour, seeking refuge on the first ship that would take him.
A life at sea suited him well, his ruthlessness and cunning were well rewarded. He was trained in the ways of the corsair and became adept at negotiating the treacherous paths of the ocean and mapping their routes. Kulrik's youthful affection for casual violence and his short temper meant he was not welcome aboard any ship for too long, but his exploits and expirence earnt him a reputation as a wise navigator and ruthless purveyor of destruction and his presense onboard was grudgingly accepted.
Over the course of the next 348 years Kulrik had grown powerul and rich. Killing any who stood in his way he rose to become a feared and arrogant corsair lord, with a vast crew and dozens of ships at his disposal. However, killing rivals and stealing their vessels comes at a price. He had returned home one morning to find his vessels and properties put to flame, his gold and treasures missing and the bloodied bodies of his crew and all those loyal to him hanging from the masts.
No house had claimed this act of war as their own, there even being talk that the gods had administered this punishment for not recieving any thanks for the gifts they had provided. Who ever ordered for Kulriks downfall has thus far left him unharmed. Ever since, any business venture, any voyage comissioned or led by Kulrik has ended in diaster.
From his magnificent fall from grace Kulrik has spent the last 49 years haunting out-of-the-way taverns, working as a cut-throat and mercenary to make ends meet.


Name: Meneth Blackfire
• Sex: Male
• Age: 90.
• Height: 200 cm (We Dutchmen are tall and if an elf is taller then us simple humans, it should be around that)
• Weight: 65 KG
• Appearance: Meneth is an tall elf from the north, his skin became paler and more frozen then the dark elves of the south. He has blond hair and ice blue eyes. He has a long scar around the left sid eof his face and misses some hair there. He has a leather armor and owns also dark purple(lich purple with some chaos black) colored clothing (pants, shirts etc.). His buckler is a bit dented and his plain ordinary short sword has nothing special. His posture is strong and stalwart.

• Character Class: Warrior
• Character Statistics: Ws 3, S 4, T 5, D 4, I 2
.
• Starting Equipment: light armor(2ep) short sword(1ep) buckler(1ep) skill point (3ep)
• Starting Skills: ride (1sp)

• Character Background: Meneth Blackfire, a 90 year old was born when his parents were on a campaign in the Ironfrost Glacier. His parents being lowly shades needed to free a noble with their group. When Meneth became ten years old he saw a small group of the famous cold one knights. This had him inspired for the rest of his life. He asked the few dark riders to teach him to ride, learning how to be stalwart and how to effectively strike from a mount. When he was old enough he joined his group infantry and went with them on mission, during one mission they got ambushed. Meneth fought with a few of his close friends till the end, barely defeating the Marauders. One of the Marauders struck with his sword on Meneth left side of his head, slicing and scarring him for life. With a lot of luck Meneth's best friend, Dzerkan, saved him and Dzerkan killed of the last few Marauders that still stood there. When Meneth came back to conscious he saw Dzerkan laying in front of him, he bled to death. Searching Around he found his parents also died on the ground with his other friends. He felt guilty for this slaughter since he had tripped the ambush. After this moment he swore to become the cold one knight he wanted to be, so he could protect his friends and family better, searching for a way to own a mount and someday even a cold one.

• Character Ambitions: Meneth wishes to become one of the cold one knights. Hoping someday to even be even strong as Malus Darkblade. Meneth will focus a lot on mounted combat. With a cold one Meneth realizes he can become like a small one person fort for his teammates so he will also focus on defense. Good armor and shield is where his eyes are focused on first after that melee weapons that are useful on a mount.


_________________
Nathra Severain - Shade (Group 38)
WS:5 S:4 T:2 D:6 I: 3
Skills; Acrobatics; Basic Stealth; Free Running
Equipment: Longsword; Shurikens (6/10); Shade Cloak; Asur Arm & Leg Armour Plates; Misericorde; Gutting Knife
Inventory; Ornate Tiara; Sword Belt; Asuri Orb; 106 gold


Mon Oct 01, 2012 9:35 pm
Profile
... And Hell Followed
User avatar

Joined: Tue Feb 10, 2009 10:52 am
Posts: 1418
Location: Scotland
Group 39 is closed. This is group 40:


Zarathi, female shade
(as a lowborn, she has no second name)

Age: 120 - fairly young
Height: 177 cm / 5 feet 10 inches (a bit under average)
Weight: 70 kg / 150 lbs / 11 stone (she is strong and muscles are heavy)

weapon skill: 4 (a bit hard to justify, I want to leave open the path to defensive fighting)
strength: 4 (lots of hard work shows)
toughness : 4 (same)
dexterity: 4 (mostly natural talent, it seems)
intelligence: 2 (she never trained to use her wits and she knows little about the world outside the estate of her former landlord; once she gets accustomed to it, it goes up to 3)

starting equipment: short sword, buckler, light armour, four throwing daggers
starting skills: endurance

planned advancement: defensive fighting, unarmed combat, intelligence up to 3, improving strength and toughness and deciding between stealth and masterful endurance. Or some weapon training maybe.

Appearance:
Most of the time, Zarathi is very easy to overlook. She is of average height, her build is a bit robust, enough to make her wish she were more slender, by far not enough to distinguish her from all the other poor girls without perfect measures. Her brown hair falls to her shoulders and is kept from getting into way by a simple headband. She has nice eyes, soft features in the upper part of her face resemble a noble woman. The effect is spoiled by her lips, though. They are thick and sensual, something quite appealing by itself, but it does not fit to the rest of her very well. Someone with the right taste could find her beautiful, but for most, she is just another uninteresting face in the crowd.

She has strong muscles, but they are hidden under clothes and body fat most of the time and do not look overly impressive even if revealed by a proper movement. She has an athletic look of a female boxer, not the enormous musculature of a bodybuilder.

She wears very simple clothes in hard to describe shades of brown and grey. She adjusted most of the pieces herself. It is a simple work, but it feels comfortable, allows all kinds of movement and gives her a nice figure. If expecting trouble, she protects herself with a light armour, which again she has probably found on a dead body and adjusted to fit her size. The only fine part of her equipment is her sword. Not only is it a good weapon, there are fine engravings on the blade, showing a black ark racing at full speed on one side and a luxurious palace on the other. Zarathi has found it on a dead body, and as she had no idea who might be the rightful owner, she decided to keep the weapon for herself. She depends on her sword with her life, after all.

She wears a pendant on her neck, in the shape of a snowflake. It is a remembrance of her home and the only thing she owns she is really attached to.



background:
Zarathi was born as a lowly servant on the estate of lord Kaladhar. The lord was more a legendary figure than a real person for the poor, as he rarely leaved his chambers and was spending his days plotting political machinations. He was rarely seen and did not really care about what was happening in his palace. It was the guards who managed the everyday life in his estate.
For the servants, it was a harsh living. They had to work hard day after day for long hours, hungry and frozen most of the time. They had to fight other poor for the small amounts of food, clothing or medicines the guards gave them. They were punished harshly for every mistake. And often someone was dragged to their barracks by the guards to serve as their entertainment.
The servants lived in eternal fear and hatred. And they nurtured the fact that they were druchii, if only in name, not real slaves, for it was the only thing they could be proud of.

This was the world Zarathi was growing in. Her life was not as bad as it could. She was strong enough to endure all the work without much effort and belonged to a group of servants which was able to seize enough food for its members most of the time. She was left alone by other poor, for whom she lacked any significance, and by the guards as well, because they were always choosing someone prettier for their games. Here she realized how much of a blessing being average can be. Still, she had to endure many beatings and often she went to sleep without having eaten for the whole day.
On the other hand, even as an almost-slave, she enjoyed her share of nice moments. She had a family, she belonged to a group where they cared about each other. She dated a few boys and it was one of them who gave her the snowflake-shaped necklace. All feelings to him are long gone, but the trinket is a symbol of someone caring for her and of the happy days she could enjoy.
She was always dreaming that one day, she could run away from the estate and start a new life. But, like everyone else, she never actually did so. What kind of a new life could a lowborn hope for?

One day, something broke in the servants. It started with an unremarkable incident, a slave was once again harshly punished for a minor offense. A friend pleaded for him and was punished as well. But in this case, the guard guilty of this mistreatment was found dead the next morning, and in revenge, several randomly chosen servants were publicly tortured to death. The servants were angered - they were druchii, after all, not slaves - and several more incidents later, one of them stood out and explained that they have nothing to lose when they fight, because they are being killed and tortured anyway. A rebellion broke out, which the guards were unable to end quickly. And then some of the servants got the clever idea to inform a neighbouring landlord, an enemy of their master. This foe took advantage of the fighting, killed everyone, slave or master, burned the estate to the ground, and then executed the traitors. Because traitors deserve no better treatment, even if he profits from their betrayal.

Somehow, Zarathi was able to hide somewhere and survive all this. Then, standing in the ruins, she realized she had not many options. Ideally, she would like to settle down for a decent life as a merchant or craftsman. But she did understand neither trade nor handwork. And seeking for someone to adopt or marry her, with no money and a questionable past, would be quite desperate. But she could fight a bit and there were some weapons on the dead guards around her, so she decided to try her luck as a mercenary. The plan was to pick easy jobs, run away quickly if things seem grim, change names often and get some understanding of the outer world before deciding for some long-term approach.
But again, what kind of a new life can a lowborn hope for?

Personality:
She was raised as a lowly unimportant servant. Now she is trying to adopt another behaviour patterns and show more confidence, but overcoming hundred years of obedience is nothing easy. She shows respect to authority and tries to avoid its attention. She sees herself as someone less worthy than others - if not common craftsmen, then surely witch elves, guards and soldiers.
She finds no enjoyment in fighting and tries to avoid it if possible. She dislikes unnecessary violence, too, for she has seen very well where it leads.
She still feels she is one of the poor. Therefore, instead of despising them, she cares about them and will try to help if she can. On the other hand, she is very well aware she has to take care about herself in the first place.
She is very pragmatic and down to earth. In free time, she would probably repair her clothes, seek for something cheap and useful in the market or just lie and rest. As entertainment, she likes songs, dog fights and to an extent dexterity-based hazard games.
And she still feels as one of the druchii - one with a low position, but still one of them - and is unquestioningly loyal to the Witch King and the nation as a whole.

Ambitions:
To find a new life, preferably a secure and comfortable one. Burgher social class would be perfect, higher than that she would have too many enemies for her taste.

________________________________________________________________________________________


Name: Valin
Sex: Male
Age: 287
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 58kg

Appearance: Short of stature and lightly built Valin does not conjure a threatening air. His dark hair is long, usually worn bound at the nape of his neck for comfort. Blue eyes gaze out from beneath brows unusually heavy for an elf though they somewhat lack the innate cruelty typical of the druchii. His cloths are functional but not overly well made. A short brown robe is typically worn. The robe is slit high along the leg to avoid it impeding movement and dozens of small pockets adorn it in a seemingly random pattern, clearly sown on after the robe was made. Hanging from his belt in place of traditional swords or knives are a collection of pouches. His staff, often carried in a sling on his back is made from sturdy hardwood, capped at both ends in darkened iron. Along its length are several recessed iron bands to allow it to turn aside blades with relative certainty.

Character Class: Mage
Character Statistics:
WS:3
S:3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 5

Starting Equipment: Staff, Blowpipe

Starting Skills: Alchemy, Power of Ghyran (1) [Life]

Character Background: Born of minor and utterly inconsequential parents Valin was always expected to be a minor warrior or perhaps a slaver if lucky. This was to prove not to be the case. As he grew he found he could call upon the winds of magic. This presented an unenviable problem as male users of magic were likely to end up swiftly dead at the witch king's displeasure. To make matters even worse the wind he could tap into, the one he had the most affinity for, was life. Possibly the least respected lore for a druchii. This in and of itself did not particularly bother Valin as simply learning how to make things tick and continue to tick was interesting enough as it was. His side interests in making items melt, explode or turn vivid purple by way of chemicals reinforced his position. Realizing at a young age, forty or so, that sooner or later he'd be found out he stole some equipment from the local shop and headed out into the mountains to continue his experiments in both magic and alchemy.

247 Years later....

Behind a small boulder lies the entrance to a cave. A relatively unremarkable cave, but one which was called home by one Valin the mage. Reasonably deep and possessing a roughly made wooden door, the cave seemed to be perfect for a mage who was more interested in his own study of the arcane than normal druchii society. Within the cave an elf stands leaning over a small table. Behind him, a bed occupies the far wall with a small chair balanced upon it to keep the floor clear. The figure bending over the table carefully inserts a dull somewhat metalic rod into a yellow liquid. For a moment it holds its breath as if unsure of the outcome before allowing a smile to flit across its face. A smile wiped away by a rapidly rising tide of smoke which sears his lungs and eats at his eyes.

Jumping backwards away from the smoke and into the area the chair would have occupied if it had not been moved, Valin coughs wildly. The smoke continues to billow from the beaker holding the yellow liquid and Valin turns and stumbles towards the door, dodging by habit the rocks sticking out of the cave floor and bursts outside. Even clear of the smoke his lungs continue to burn, refusing to draw breath and he falls to his knees. Calming himself he reaches for Ghyran and directs the life energy towards his seared lungs, healing them, before doing the same for his eyes. Kneeling there outside the cave he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small journal. Flipping to the most recent entry he begins to write with the stub of a pencil, talking to himself as he does.

"Ok, metal compound 675, introduced to liquid suspension 879 results in noxious smoke. Vigorous reaction. Lethal when inhaled, possible long term visual damage. Airing out cave required . . . again. Heat produced is minimal so no need to make a new table." Closing the book with a snap he slipped it back into the deep pocket he uses it for and stood up, brushing the leaves from his robe.

As he looked around he saw five humans watching him from nearby. Their clothes made them out to be slaves. Which is really the only humans I'd be likely to see up in these mountains to be fair. They all looked half starved and hatred shone from their eyes. The four men and one woman clutched an assortment of weapons, a couple of stolen swords, a wood spear and clubs. And here I am without weapons. Always bring a weapon with you Valin. I should make a note of that in my journal later. His thoughts began to wander as is often the case but he was brought back by a harsh word in the humans tongue. He understood it reasonably well from when he parents hoped he be a slaver and forced him to learn it, though it had been over two hundred years since he spoke it.

"Oh come now, no need for language like that. What would your mother think? Assuming she survived the raid of course, and was capable of rational thought, as opposed to your standard sub-elven peasant mother. . . ." Valin trailed off as his thoughts skipped ahead and realised this was perhaps not the most diplomatic train of conversation to have with the slaves, a thought which was vindicated, albeit too late, by the shout and charge of the man who had spoken.

Valin stumbled backwards patting at his pockets as the slave charged. "I know I have it somewhere here, I was using it last week. Made the cave smell of peppermint." He muttered as his hands flew across his pockets before dipping into one and pulling free a blue powder which he flung into the face of the charging man. Unable to stop the slave ran into the powder, inhaled it in shock as it stung his eyes and then collapsed in agony, frothing at the mouth. "Most unusual" he muttered before raising his voice to talk to the other slaves. "Do you know it doesn't do that to druchii? At least I don't recall frothing at the mouth. Just goes to show, you never can tell. I'll have to make a note of it. The other slaves were slightly shocked by his chatter but quickly gathered themselves for an all out attack. All save the woman who nursed a deep wound to her side.

As the three slaves charged forwards Valin drew his power to him and focused it on one of the bushes he had trimmed back from the mouth of the cave. Before the slaves knew what was happening, the bush, once only a minor impediment as the charged through it, began to grow rapidly. In moments they came to a staggering stop, the bush too thick to push clear of. A moments later the rapidly growing branches began to piece their skin. The screaming was long and drawn out, several minutes before the last one died and Valin let the magic slip out of the bush. Rubbing his forehead after so much magic so fast he looked over at the last slave. She was pale and seemed hardly able to stand.

"You know this realy will not do? I was going to heal you all you know? I do need the practice, how else could I improve? There is only so much you can learn from rabbits, deer and the . . ." he paused for a moment, ". . .eh, things, that hang around in the valleys." Waving his hand he let some more magic free and roots burst from the ground to wrap around the last slaves feet. She dropped the club she was holding as he approached. "Ah, a willing subject! Just stand there while I see to your side, not that you could move, but just think positive standing there thoughts!" Reaching into his pocket with his other hand he pulled clear another powder which he sprinkled onto a part of the wound. The woman cried out as the powder burned and her legs nearly gave way. "Oh, that's interesting, works the same way on humans as druchii. Bad thing to get on wounds. What one should we try next? He began rummaging for another powder to test on his new subject. Seeing him rooting around for another powder to test and realizing this healing was more animal testing than charity the woman bent forward quickly, dragged his hand to her mouth and licked off the residue of the lethal blue powder. As she collapsed the look on her face seemed particularly smug.

"That, is plain cheating!" Looking around his heart sank. He hadn't really been finding anything new for the last few years, nothing interesting anyway for his magic. He was putting it off, heading back into society but it seemed it couldn't be avoided anymore. Remembering tales of his childhood he decided to go to the city of mercenaries. Signing on there would be sure to show him the world and learn interesting new things. He collected his more required possessions from the cave, holding his breath as he did so. As he left he buried a seed outside the mouth and gave it a little pulse of magic. In a few days a tree would block the cave. He could always cut it down when he came back.

Character Ambitions: Learn more interesting magic and alchemy and test subjects to use them on.

________________________________________________________________________________________




• Name: Clavisson.
• Sex: Male
• Age: 300 (mature).
• Height: 1m80 (average). (5.905511811 feet)
• Weight: 75kg (slightly bulky for an elf). (11.810478331 stone UK)
• Appearance: When he is sent investigating in The Empire, Clavisson is often mistaken for a Witch Hunter. His long, white hair is covered by a large hat of indecisive shape, hiding his slim scarred face where investigative blue eyes seem never to close. He wears a large dark cloak, somewhat similar to Shades, but urban in style. Large boots protect the feet.
Under the cloak, a small silver badge shows the coat of arms of Black Guard contractors, a tower with a fence, topped with a simple crown. This is the kind of badge that silences any interrogation that officials could have regarding Clavisson's sometimes disturbing behaviour.
His staff ends with a large crystal stone, cut like a very large diamond, which catches the slimmest light and reflects it like if it was amplified.

• Character Class: Mage (Light).
• Character Statistics: WS3 S2 T4 D4 I5
• Starting Equipment: Staff (with crystal stone), dagger (throwing, with silver ornaments); in addition, diverse lighters, candles and black powder.
• Starting Skills: Power of Hysh (1), Urban Lore

• Character Background: Graduated 2nd class auxiliary inquisitor, commissioned by the Black Guard. Available for private investigations. Treasure hunter and paparazzi in his free time.

Black Guards are merciless when confronted to those who break Malekith’s laws. Still, some BG prosecutors refrain sometimes from jailing offenders when they hope that it will lead them to catch bigger game. This is true not only for some drug dealers, syndicate members or slavery abolitionists, it happens sometimes with a very few male arcane practitioners.

Clavisson has developed a passion, or rather, an obsession for investigation. Finding out the true nature of souls and objects is his quest. His first inquiry, at the age of 10, concluded that his parents were hidden Slaaneshi cultists. Orphan at 11, he was adopted by coronel judge Dredge, the influential Black Guard prosecutor who jailed and tortured his parents for a year before ending their lives. He was given the name Clavisson, "the son of the jail". He was trained thereafter to develop his innate talent, and was used several times as an unsuspected auxiliary of Malekith’s justice. He soon found out the moment when truth is revealed to be a source of unlimited joy – especially when that truth proves to be embarrassing. Each time he discovered a truth, a bright light illuminated his brain and dissipated all the mists of lies and errors. Light was his friend. Light was his tool.

Clavisson worked on Light in its raw form. Early in his permanent quest for the hidden truth, he realized that his inspiration would grow with the influence of some kind of ethereal winds. He could feel their influence, but found out that nobody in the garrison noticed. He solved the mystery by himself: it was a wind of magic. Studying freely the Black Guard’s rich library of confiscated documents, of which he had found the concealed entrance, he found descriptions of Hysh potential. In this forbidden library, he learned all the details of his parent's prosecution. He read also the consequences of being caught as a male practitioner, but he knew the prosecutor’s methods and found ways to live around them. That is why he carries all the time some black power in small powder horns, despite all elves hating the smell: when he needs to create a light effect, he tells it comes from the powder, which is partially true.

He investigated the power of Hysh over arcane creatures. Alone at night in his dark cell, he could experiment at will. Soon, he realized that small night creatures, invisible to the mortal sight, were present by the gazillion under his bed, behind curtains and even flying everywhere in the air. He liked when he realized that the power of Hysh would frighten them away of a Hysh candle. He loved when he discovered that he could corner a few of them inside a pentacle of such Hysh candles. The true fruition came when one of such poor creatures was so much terrorized by Clavisson’s lights that it implored mercy and pledged to pay for its freedom with whatever wish Clavisson had. That night, Clavisson also learned painfully that these creatures are very fickle. It took him years before he could tell when such creature’s promises would be true.

When judge Dredge noticed that Clavisson’s skills went beyond anything mundane, he jailed him for a month. Left alone with nothing to do else concentrate, Clavisson realized after a week that he could accelerate time. The next three weeks elapsed like three hours. Then Clavisson realized that time so consumed would never come back and was wasted. He learned to reverse the process, and the last three days provided him with three weeks’ worth of time to experiment. After this month, his life would never be the same. At night, when Hysh was strong, he would sleep half an hour, lasting for him a full night’s rest. The extra time, he would play with Hysh. He learned to go back and forth as long as he could hold his breath, during what other people would perceive as a blink’s time.

As Dredge interpreted wrongly that Clavisson’s grasp over unnatural forces was remaining teneous, he decided to keep business running, knowing that Clavisson was on the right, approved side. However, he knew that his adopted son would better not remain permanently in the towers. He still uses him as an auxiliary and recommends him to other prosecutors. As long as his expertise of magic does not become embarrassingly visible and BG get concrete benefits from his talents, Clavisson knows that he will find safe haven in the chief prosecutor’s office in most BG towers. But some day, things might change.
Clavisson was relieved to be sent away. He knows that two persons are responsible for his parent's death: his adopted father Dredge, and himself. He cannot claim revenge from himself, but sooner or later, Dredge will pay. Clavisson will be the one who finds the proof which will make Dredge guilty of some crime.

• Character Ambitions: Barred from progressing amongst the official prosecutors because of the very extensive soul examinations, Clavisson works for a career in the private sector.
Skills to consider: Awareness , Endurance, Power of Hysh (2), Toughness 5, Thievery, Masterful Endurance, Heliomancy , Graverobbing, Power of Hysh (3).
He considers to get to use a pair of handbows.

_______________________________________________________________________________________


Name: Se'alara
Sex: Female
Age: 115
Height:5'9”
Weight:9 stone (quite slender though not absurdly so)
Class: Khainite

Statistics: WS-5 (Khainites will be Khainites)
S-3 (Stronger than she looks though training but nothing special)
T-2 (Rather frail, that's witch elves for you)
D-4 (nimble and agile enough for most, temple training is diverse)
I-4 (Very intelligent academically but with some serious areas of ignorance)

Equipment: Two daggers (Dusk and Dawn). Each about 18” in length.

Skills: Two Weapon Fighting
: Evasion
Note- 3EP traded for SP

Appearance: As you would expect from a young witch elf, or indeed from most young elves, Se'alara is more than passingly pretty with the usual alabaster skin and high cheekbones of a well born Druchii. She also possesses the tightly wound body of a fighter with very little in the way of excess fat. Her hair is red, the dark red of ox blood freshly spilled, and she habitually wears it up when trouble is expected. If she is ever seen with her hair down it means she is very relaxed indeed, not a common occurrence.

Knowing that by the rules of Khaine and her order a witch elf is to face battle clothed only in the protection of her faith Se'alara wears a simple breast band and loin cloth of black silk. When outside of battle she covers this with a simple white hooded robe of quilted silk so that she does not freeze to death. The sigil of the temple of Bloody Joy is sewn discreetly onto the front and is the only remarkable thing about her clothing.

When not wearing her robe (I.E when in combat) one may also notice a tattoo on her upper left arm. It is of a single golden rose surrounded by black thorns. Far from being simple ornament it is as it were a magical scorecard reflecting the number of kills she has to her name (see background).

Weapons: Se'alara caries two daggers each about 18 inches long and with a straight blade rather than usual curved Druchii designs. One has a hilt bound in black leather, the other in red. They are unremarkable to the uninitiated but are of great personal value to Se'alara.

Background: Born into a distinguished though far from noble family of tailors and other craftsmen of local repute Se'alara had a more comfortable upbringing than many in the Land of Chill, which is not to say she did not endure her fair share of beatings and school yard fights. From an early age however she showed evidence of great faith in Khaine, the one true god of all Druchii. At the age of 45 she was formally admitted into the temple of Hag Grief as an initiate and progressed well enough in combat classes but where she truly excelled was the subject of theology, quickly mastering all of the basic principles. Acknowledging that she had the potential to become a theologian of note at the age of 90 she was sent along with a party of other hopefuls to the isolated Temple of Bloody Joy on the plain of Spiders. It was a place of holy sanctity far away from the mundane troubles that often mire the church. A breeding ground for the future intellectual leaders of the temple.

As a neophyte Se'alara learned much there and shortly after attaining her century began the long series of tests to make the leap from Neophyte to full Witch elf. Always stringent these tests were far more so at the TOBJ with written and oral exams on politics, history, scripture and philosophy along with tests of physical skill and endurance. But Khaine is not a scholars god and after 14 years of tests one still remained, the greatest of them. To leave the temple clad only in faith and return with proof that she had been blessed by Khaine. The traditional proof of such blessing being one hundred 'worthy' kills. To this end she received the golden rose, a tatoo fed by the souls of those whose lives Se'alara took. The first rose was free, only when she had 101 would she be allowed to return and join her sisters in the temple again. To help her on her task she was given two plain daggers, a warm robe and passage on a supply caravan back to the relative civilisation of Hag Grief. From there she would have to make her own way in the world, and find worthy lives to take.

Personality: Although intense in her faith Se'alara is not a fanatic nor more than usually aggressive for a dark elf. She is very well educated but has been somewhat sheltered from the realities of life for the last few decades, two things which have unfortunately given her something of a superiority complex. She hates to admit when she does not know something and when such occasions arise is likely to try to bluff her way through rather than ask for clarification. Although she does not view herself as a leader as such she often has very strong opinions as to the proper course of action and will rarely keep them to herself, a trait which did not earn her a great many friends in the temple. Although often irritating and cold on the surface Se'alara is also possessed of a lively (occasionally deadly) sense of humour particularity when practical jokes are involved.

IC ambitions: To obtain 100 worthy kills and the company of those who will help her get them. She also seeks to better understand the will of Khaine though I can't see that coming up very much.

________________________________________________________________________________________


Name: Taldein, the Draich'Arha
Sex: Male
Age: 193
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 215lbs

Appearance: From a distance, his white hair, bronze eyes and pale skin mark him as one touched by khaine. However, at closer distances the tones of his skin, hair and eyes all darken. In fact, face to face it can be hard to pick out his features in low lit situations. He is dressed in a simple travelling robe and carries his large draich over his shoulder. Ever close to him, the draich seems to forever cast it's shadow across Taldein's face, hence the nickname given to him, the Draich'Arha, Draich's Shadow.

Character Class: Khainite
Character Statistics: WS4 S3 T4 D3 I4
Starting Equipment: Draich (EP4), Helment (EP1)
Starting Skills: Power of Ulgu (1)

Character Background: Taldein comes from neither humble nor extravagent beginnings. His father was a weapon's master for the nobility of Ghrond and his mother worked to heal those in the training grounds, ensuring Ghrond's regiments recovered quickly and were ever fit to fight. He looked much like his mother, dark blue-black hair and dark eyes. From an early age, Taldein took to his father's calling and took a keen interest in the blades he kept for his trade. Socially, he was quite reserved. Always brooding and seeking solace in the shadows. In fact, many muttered that he was so gloomy that the shadows seemed to follow him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with his mood. Taldein took notice in this as well. He found that sometimes, when he was alone in the dark and lit a candle, it's shadow would follow his hand. He kept this a closely guarded secret, for he knew that the druchii with the best kept secrets usually fared the best.

One day, an upstart slave managed to touch one of his father's masters, begging for release. The slave was quickly butchered by the noble's guards. The noble, in a rage, demanded the head of the slave's handler for letting such filth get so close to him. Taldein doesn't remember quite the specifics of what happened next. He remembers the flash of the great blade in the light. The sound it made as it cut through the air. The clang it made as it hit the stone. And the blood. He remembers the blood. The blood was everywhere but at the same time, clean and neat, like the wound on the now headless handler. Not a drop was on his executioner nor anyone gathered around. Taldein dreamed of the blood from that day on, in pleasure.

From childhood to when he began to be of working age, he frequently worked with his father wanting to learn more and more about weapons requiring two hands to bear. Once he was older he began to work alongside his father, training the troops of Ghrond in the use of the heavier weapon styles. His father and his pupils noticed that he was always in the shadow of his weapon when fighting. In what started initially as a joke, he came to be known as Draich'Arha amongst the training grounds, as many thought he might have well just been wielding only a draich since he liked to fight with nothing else than the largest of weapons.

Still, the dreams of blood were ever there. He slipped one evening in a night of revelry, indulgence and wine, lots of wine. He mentioned his dreams to his parents and how they came about when his father asked him why he insisted in only handling the two-handed weapons.

The next day his parents left, not saying where they were going. When they returned another day later, they told him that they had asked for guidance from the temple and deemed that they would send him on his way to Har Ganeth to train with the executioners of khaine. Initially, Taldein was taken aback, but after consideration, accepted his parents decision. Upon departing, his father presented him with the weapon that had become his namesake, the draich. If druchii kissed and bid there parent's farewell when leaving home, this is where Taldein would have done so, instead, he merely looked them over, bowed and left to begin the next chapter in his life.

12 days later on the road, wrapped up in his bedroll and safe in the shadows he knew so well, Taldein tossed about in a fitfull dream. The blood, so much blood. More than was normal for these dreams. He felt the glory of it. The exhultation. The swiftness of a clean death. Many many deaths. Amongst it all he heard and felt a voice within him. It told him not to continue to Har Ganeth. Har Ganeth would wait. He was to find his destiny elsewhere first, and bring the death to the enemies of the druchii and Khaine's subject on their own lands. And the blood continued to fill his mind and vision.

He awoke with start and found he had sweat through his bedroll. He quickly jumped out of his sodden sleeping place and stumbled towards a nearby frozen stream, his mind both racing and still befuddled from his dreams the previous night. He cracked a hole in the ice and splashed his face in an attempt to clear his head. He then started with a gasp. There staring back at him in a floating piece of ice were two bright bronze eyes and hair as white as the snow nearby. Taking this in, he went back to his campsite to gather his things. With new resolve, he turned from Har Ganeth and set off in another direction.

Character Ambition:

To kill the enemies of khaine and the druchii in their own lands. He means to do this as cleanly and swiftly as possible. He understands that the winds of ulgu follow him closely and he will use this to his advantage in fighting. He will continue adventuring until he, as he believes he will, receives a sign to end his pilgrimage and return on his journey to Har Ganeth.

_________________
Nathra Severain - Shade (Group 38)
WS:5 S:4 T:2 D:6 I: 3
Skills; Acrobatics; Basic Stealth; Free Running
Equipment: Longsword; Shurikens (6/10); Shade Cloak; Asur Arm & Leg Armour Plates; Misericorde; Gutting Knife
Inventory; Ornate Tiara; Sword Belt; Asuri Orb; 106 gold


Sat May 18, 2013 9:20 pm
Profile
Malekith's Personal Guard
User avatar

Joined: Fri Nov 16, 2007 8:19 pm
Posts: 910
Location: Dublin, Ireland

Group 41

Player: Calisson
• Name: Caraoc
• Sex: Male.
• Age: 205.
• Height: taller than average.
• Weight: slim.
• Appearance: Dressed as a sailor mate, no shoes.
Dark grey skin, pale bluish hair, dark blue eyes, one blue tooth. Gold ring on right ear, gold rings on all fingers, gold necklace.
Loves to sing. But he sings and dances so badly that it makes raining.

• Character Class: Mage (Heavens).
• Character Statistics: WS3 S4 T3 D5 I5
• Starting Equipment: staff, repeater handbow (20 clips), Sea Dragon Cloak,
• Starting Skills: Power of Azyr (2), Evasion, Raiding

• Character Background: Born in Karond Kar, he lived at sea during most of his life. Soon, he developed a talent for navigation, calling all stars by their first name, telling the north from a warpstone, finding his way despite the heaviest cloud cover. With him, a fleet was never lost, the trip back home was as certain as if a stone paved road was followed.
Even better, he became the most accurate weather forecaster. Not only his prediction would come true, but it would happen at the most appropriate time: a storm before the raid came, lightening just before assault, fog just after retreating, rain just in time to cover their path, snow when they were tracking a fleeing foe, examples were countless when Caraok manage to forecast the most appropriate weather, and when that event happened.
While the corsairs were raiding a town, he was left to guard the ships with the crippled. During that time, he learned how to shape the wind in whirl, the sea in trombs .
But when this was discovered, he was chased from the fleet.
Now he looks how to go back at sea.
Personality:
• Character Ambitions: Power of Azyr (3) and Wind Walking, followed by Sea Lore and Tracker. The more "I", the better, "D" following next. He wants to discover a way to go on the moon. There must be a way.

Summary:
Caraoc the scald pilot - WS3 S4 T3 D5 I5 - A saga or it didn't happen!
Equipment: staff, repeater handbow (20 clips), Sea Dragon Cloak,
Inventory: "Beastbane" Horn
Skills: Power of Azyr (2), Evasion, Raiding
Class: Mage (Astromancer)

-=-=-

Player: Jcitalia
• Name: Dolan Steelshorn
• Sex: Male
• Age: 243
• Height: 6'7"
• Weight: 295lbs
• Appearance: Dolan's defining feature is his mass. A tower of lean bulk, very atypical of the usually lithe druchii. He fashions loosely tended to dark brown hair and stone blue eyes. His complexion, while still fair, is healthier looking than his pale kin and can take on a shade or two with sun exposure. He does not seem to be very interested in finery and all his belongings seem to be chosen purely for the functionality of it.

• Character Class: Warrior
• Character Statistics: WS: 4 S: 5 T: 5 D: 3 I: 2
• Starting Equipment: Glaive, medium armor, shield
• Starting Skills: Endurance

• Character Background: Dolan slammed down his goblet of wine of the table and let out a baudy laugh. He slapped his fellow patron on the back for his rather witty comment about the smell of their mountain kin. It might not have been all that witty, but in his current state, most things were amusing. His fellow wasn't expecting the hardy gesture, and stumbled forward out of his chair, half spilling his goblet on the table. This received another round of laughter from those nearby. As they recovered, Dolan glanced about the drinkhouse. The usual din of conversation and haze of opiate smoke tickled his senses. Just another evening spend his day's wages, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Not a bad life, he thought to himself. Working as a bodyguard for a fat merchant was little in he way of excitement, aside from a few upset customers every now and again, but the pay was regular and thus so was his evening entertainment.

A chill blew through the tavern, as a new group of parishioners entered. These fellows wore their wealth on their sleeve and clearly, bore the confidence that they were not afraid to show this. They quickly threw a generously sized gold pouch and gems on the counter and their leader declared quite loudly Your finest room, your finest wine and your finest women!. A few muttering comments could be heard after the announcement from the other patrons, the tender quickly snatched up the payment and in his best subservient attitude, guided the group up the stairs.

Here, Dolan said leaning over to his witty fellow, I recognize that elf, should I?.

The friend turned to watch the group depart as he replied, You should. That's old Targrim, horsemaster Drathn's old stablehand. Mind he parted some years back to seek out the life of a reaver. I guess he found what he was looking for..

Targrim!?, Dolan shouted in disbelief, That old puny excuse for an elf!? Why could barely handle a horse, much less a sword! How on earth did he find fortune?

His friend only shrugged as he turned back around. I remember that poor sod trying to court one of the boss's daughters, he chuckled as he continued, and when he finally grew a pair to tell her she quickly laughed and told him the closest he'd ever get to a woman would be the mare's he tended to!. The table all erupted in laughter. And so the night went on as it usually did.

That evening, Dolan tossed and turned on he pallet. His mind couldn't shake the image of the old stablehand suddenly becoming the cat's meow. He thought of his own circumstances. It didn't help that he was likely still stinking drunk. While he had a comfortable life, if that wee one could find success, then he deserved the same. Decided, he stumbled out of his cot. He grabbed his pack and quickly packed that which he thought he would need. Finally donning his armor, shield and weapon he shuffled from his room to the merchants chambers. He banged on the door until his master opened it. Bleary eyed and in his nightgown he stared up at the giant elf. He swayed as he said, I'll be going now.. The merchant stood, trying to mouth a reply. Dolan turned on his heel and left.

Feeling a bit odd, Dolan dropped his pack. He fished around for a wineskin and then drank heavily. Much better, he thought. He continued is wavering walk to the docks and reached them as the false dawn crept up on the night. Deckhands, sailors, reavers and other miscreants were already about their business. He walked up to what looked like the closest thing to a muster point and made speak to the elf there. I don't care, the elf quickly said, clearly taken aback by the mountain in front of him, You're hired. You keep what you plunder minus 40% to be divided at the Captain's pleasure. Bring yourself aboard that ship there and make yourself known to the Quartermaster.

Dolan chuckled to himself, finding humour in his situation and at how easy it was to get on a ship. If Targrim could come back with such wealth, he likely would return the richest elf in Naggaroth!

Dolan awoke suddenly from a creaking noise. His head spun and pounded. He soon realized it wasn't really his head spinning but that he was rocking. With a start he shot up and banged his head on something above him. Oi! Watch it there newcomer! Trying to get some rest here!

He looked about, hammocks stacked upon each other filled the room. He turned suddenly to empty the contents of his stomach. Damn... damn damn damn! What on earth have you done this time Dolan! Definitely shouldn't've had that last goblet of wine... definitely not... He sighed as he rolled back onto his hammock, struggling to remember how on earth he ended up on a ship in the first place.



• Character Ambitions: Two possible paths (depending on RP development): First, defensive fighting/anarin sarath/tank route; Second, smithing/mastersmithing etc.

-=-=-

Player: Searinox Nagharha
• Name: Searinox Nagharha
• Sex: Male
• Age: 250
• Height: 1.90 meter
• Weight: 70 kilo
• Appearance: Searinox is tall and athletically build. He has slightly tanned skin from all the time spend on open sea and long black hair that has a purple hue and the top half is bound in a ponytail. He further wears his professions trademark Sea Dragon Cloak that is draped over his left arm concealing his family heirloom, a Black with silver ornamented long sword with a hilt shaped like a ravens claw. and his many pouches that hold all sorts of dangerous items. He also wears dark light armour that is ornamented with raven feathers.

• Character Class: Shade
• Character Statistics:
Weapon Skill - 5
Strength - 3
Dexterity - 4
Toughness - 3
Intelligence - 4
• Starting Equipment: Long Sword, Dagger (Throwing), Sea Dragon Cloak
• Starting Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Acrobatics
also I have a few questions about other skills.
Alchemy - what kind of things could I make? And how would I go about doing that?
Wind of Ulgu - taking just the lvl1 what kind of things could I accomplish 'safely'? Could I for example try to infuse my sword with the Wind of Ulgu and have it sap my enemies from there strength with each hit?
Could I (if taking both) use my knowledge of the Wind of Ulgu to empower my potions?

• Character Background: Searinox Nagharha is the First born son of former lord of the House of Corvus. The house of Corvus is a raiders house that specializes in covert and guerilla tactics. And has supplied the Druchii fleets with great Captains, troops and knowledge about the area surrounding raiding targets. Though great results spark jealousy and envy, even more so in Druchii society. As such a rivalling house attacked and killed all but a hand full of it's members. One of which was Searinox's younger sister Devana who was in Ghrond receiving training in the arts of magic. And Searinox together with a few riders who were away on an errand. The only thing he was able to salvage was the heirloom of his family, a longsword that should hold magic powers, though Searinox was still not able to tap into its power.
Searinox received rigorous training from an early age, ranging from being dropped in the wilderness for survival, to lectures from old fools about plants and minerals and there different uses, to being shoved inside arenas for combat training. All of his siblings received the same training and indeed took several of there lives. Once his father was satisfied with his training Searinox was taken on raiding missions, where he quickly made a name for himself for his notable speed and manoeuvrability over difficult terrain. When given the chance he is rather laid back for a Druchii, but when the need arises he becomes calm and collective. Though he still finds alot of enjoyment in combat.

• Character Ambitions: After finding out about what had happened to his family and how his name was disgraced Searinox swore to not only bring back the House of Corvus back to its former glory, but also to hunt down and kill the ones responsible for it.
Searinox is well on his way to mastering the the art of Suithenlu Khythan. And while he can't call himself an Alchemist yet he does knows his way around different herbs.
His entire family line has also been blessed with an affinity to the Wind of Ulgu.Altho Searinox has not yet tapped into it, and he might never.

-=-=-

Player: Thraundil
• Name: Ladry
• Sex: Female
• Age: 97
• Height: 180 cm
• Weight: 70 kg
• Appearance: Ladry is a tall, slim built elf with slightly longer-than-average ears, and a bony, marked, yet elegant face. Her eyes are emerald green, her nose pointed and her jawline thin. Her hair, platinum and silvery intertwined with pure white, runs to the middle of her back, and is kept back by a simple steel headband with a single, obsidian stone in the middle. She is a thin elf; shoulder and hip width are roughly the same, and her limbs long and slender. She prefers to wear a simple black, hooded robe which hangs loose, a tightfitting black linen tunic and dark, soft leather pants underneath. Her boots are likewise softened leather, but dyed all black.

• Character Class: Mage
• Character Statistics:
WS: 4
S: 2
T: 3
D: 4
I: 5

• Starting Equipment: Staff, Dagger.

• Starting Skills: Power of Aqshy (1), Defensive Figthing

• Character Background:

Ladry was born into a lesser noble family in Karond Kar, the 7th child in the line. She was born moments before her twin brother, Ladral, and the two were raised together in a strict militaristic upbringing; being so far down the line of possible inheritance, all ambition of some day reaching the top of the family tree was vigorously discouraged. However, they were still children of a noble, and so the academic knowledges were not ignored - she even learned of the ways of magic, although no immediate prowess of sorcery was aparent. As the pair grew in combat prowess, however, they where soon given charges of smaller ships to patrol the coastlines. In a sea-side skirmish with a smaller vessel from a rival house, their ship was boarded by battlecraving corsairs, and she was forced to watch as her twin brother was disemboweled, had his limbs broken, and was finally decapitated and tossed overboard. Shrieking in fury for the loss of her sibling and soulmate, she let loose her anger in the form of spheres of fire that shot forth from her hands. The corsair captain looked up in surprise, as his chest was ripped open by the force of the impact, the wound instantly cauterising, causing him to trip backwards and slam to the deck with a loud scream of pain. Ladry shot again, and again, corsairs dropping to their knees and backs left, right and centre. Soon, the deck was cleared save for her own men, and but a few hostile survivors. She ordered them hanged from the masts of their own ship, which was looted and subsequently put to the torch. With a hoard of bounty, she set a course for home, only to learn that her house had been raided, her entire family slaugthered. The corsair raid had been one of many coordinated strikes to eliminate her entire family. Technically, she was now head of her house, but far too many wanted her dead. She saw no choice but to reverse course and leave Karond Kar behind, and seek her fortune elsewhere... But the will of Khaine was certain. She had been spared, and the sparkling flames of hatred had been lit in her. She dropped her family name, slew her entire crew in the middle of the night so none could name her, torched her own ship and swam ashore, to begin the life of an outcast, a wanderer, or an apprentice-sorceress for hire.

• Character Ambitions: Ladry has received combat training, as reflected in her WS and D stats, but never took a liking to it as she lacks the physical staying power for close combat. She was a low ranking leader in her family, given her low rank in the birth order, and as such has some degree of tactical and strategic understanding. Having studied some magic theory, the spells found in books never worked for her, but digging deep within to draw on her pain, anger or hatred, she finds that she can channel these energies into destructive use. Her primary ambition is to hone these skills, and perhaps receive proper training in the arts of sorcery.

-=-=-

Player: paithan darkshadow
Name: paithan darkshadow
Sex: male
Age: 174
Height: 6ft1
Weight: 245 lbs

Appearance: short but stocky and heavy set for a druchii the muscular well built frame of the man is topped by long white hair. almost translucent alabaster white skin with a single solitary scar running across the palm of his left hand being the only blemish. His height and bulk prevent him from being called attractive by the standards of naggaroth society but his piercing blue eyes ooze an air of danger and power. He is clad in a hauberk that hangs to his feet slashed up the front and mounted on soft human skin leather to allow comfort and ease of movement though very little protection. A large draich carried over his shoulder a symbol of his former life as an executioner ofHar ganeth. The weapon and armour are plain and unadorned but well made and practical showing that he was probably more than a common rank and file.

Class:khainite

Statistics: weapon skill 5
strength 3
Toughness 4
dexterity 2
Intelligence 4

Equipment: draich

Skills: endurance

Character background:

A former draichmaster of executioners paithan now wanders the land of chill trudging to try and regain his former glory at least in his own eyes by feats of arms and the blood spilled by the draich which is the only tieHe Carries to that former existance as a leader of soldiers and loyal servant to har ganeth. Now he wears simple traveling clothes but is more than a simple sword for hire or executioner for coin he is very choosy with who he associates and makes sure that when he does sign on to whatever task it is it will aid him in his quest to return to his former position as a leader of a company ultimately to cleanse his shame and be accepted back into the executioner order though whether he was ousted or simply left due to feeling unworthy of his position is a truth known only to him. An insular individual he isnt very talkative and slow to trust but ultimately very loyal when he finally deems someone worthy of such emotion. tactically astute and highly intelligent it isnt hard to see why he once led as a champion of har ganeth.

Ambitions: material gain doesnt much interest paithan so much as his own views of martial pride and honour he is a soldier without a lord or cause to swear to and so seeks worthy lords to swear fealty to and aid in their endeavours with his not insubstantial talents hoping they will lead to commands over others and maybe when he has proved a true leader once again he will return to har ganeth with his head held high and his secret shame absolved.


-=-=-

Player: Marchosias
Name: Analya Durekhar

female shade
age: 140
height: average
weight: slim

weapon skill: 5
strength: 3
toughness: 3
dexterity: 4
intelligence: 4

starting equipment: rapier (short sword), short bow
starting skills: acrobatics, unarmed combat, sariya fencing 1

planned advancement: S4, D and WS sky high, free running, evasion, higher levels of fencing

Appearance:
Analya is of average height and an athletic build. She is always holding her eyes high and spine straight and thus it often seems she is towering above others. When traveling or fighting, she clothes simple and practical, although she still shows signs of vanity: her long dark hairs are held back only by a headband, despite a ponytail would keep them away from her face much better; her top leaves shoulders bare; her trousers are tight and boots firm yet stylish; the whole both allows free movement and gives a good guess about what is underneath. On each wrist she wears a simple cloth bracelet. Every piece of her clothing is coloured in dark greyish tones to match her almost dark hair and grey eyes.
On her side, she wears a svelte rapier, obviously a very fine work. Against cold weather she covers herself with a long coat.

Background:
The noble house Durekhar takes pride in its considerable wealth, long history and a good reputation. It is not important enough to reach to the proximity of Malekith himself, but its position is well established. They are a powerful force in the region and their friendship has worth in all Naggaroth.
Into this family, a girl named Analya was born. As the third child of a nephew of the current head of the house, she was predestined to become some sort of military reader, sea captain or a ruler of a smaller fort. But through her marriage, a very important alliance could possibly emerge.
In her nature, two conflicting forces are constantly fighting - the impulsiveness she was born with and the calm she was taught and which she understands is sometimes extremely valuable. Over time, she learned to balance these two out, and now she only unleashes her quick temper when it does no harm or possibly serves some goal. Or this is what she is trying to do, at least. Her control is by no means perfect.
She is a big admirer of the sisters of slaughter and hardly misses a match. Once, she fled her teachers to join the sisters in their training, and despite she got laughed at by the fighters and punished painfully by her father, she still sees it as an extraordinary experience. The times when she insulted someone or broke the etiquette are too numerous to count.
She received extensive combat training. First, she had to study the technical way of Sariya fencing where she had to fight her recklessness. Then, as a reward, she was allowed to practice acrobatic feats which are frowned upon by skilled swordsmen but bring her immense joy. Apart from that, she was given a well-rounded education in history and politics and accepted the policy of House Durekhar that patience and subtlety can beat big gestures in the long run - in spite of the fact that she herself has to make big effort to act accordingly.

Ambitions:
To help her family in its business; to have fun with gladiator games and similar pleasures; to find a way of life where these two are not in conflict.


-=-=-

NPCs:
Captain: Kireth Snakeskin
First Officer: Incareth Aez
Merc1: Polibastious Kirvaleth
Merc2: Darven Kruz

_________________
Group 28- Name: Cananatra; Warrior; Follower of Slaanesh
WS:4 S:4 T:5 D:4 I:3
Equipment: MC Long sword, Throwing Axe, Dagger, Heavy Armour, Slaanesh Amulet, Dalvian Hunting Horn, Rations x 7, Null stone x 1, 525 Gold, Dark Steed, Blackpowder Pistol [18/18]
Skills: Defensive Fighting, Ride, Endurance


Sat Dec 14, 2013 2:35 pm
Profile
Assassin
User avatar

Joined: Fri Apr 26, 2013 7:53 am
Posts: 589
Group 42, the successor to G41, consists of the following player characters:

-=-=-=-

Player: Calisson
• Name: Caraoc
• Sex: Male.
• Age: 205.
• Height: taller than average.
• Weight: slim.
• Appearance: Dressed as a sailor mate, no shoes.
Dark grey skin, pale bluish hair, dark blue eyes, one blue tooth. Gold ring on right ear, gold rings on all fingers, gold necklace.
Loves to sing. But he sings and dances so badly that it makes raining.

• Character Class: Mage (Heavens).
• Character Statistics: WS3 S4 T3 D5 I5
• Starting Equipment: staff, repeater handbow (20 clips), Sea Dragon Cloak,
• Starting Skills: Power of Azyr (2), Evasion, Raiding

• Character Background: Born in Karond Kar, he lived at sea during most of his life. Soon, he developed a talent for navigation, calling all stars by their first name, telling the north from a warpstone, finding his way despite the heaviest cloud cover. With him, a fleet was never lost, the trip back home was as certain as if a stone paved road was followed.
Even better, he became the most accurate weather forecaster. Not only his prediction would come true, but it would happen at the most appropriate time: a storm before the raid came, lightening just before assault, fog just after retreating, rain just in time to cover their path, snow when they were tracking a fleeing foe, examples were countless when Caraok manage to forecast the most appropriate weather, and when that event happened.
While the corsairs were raiding a town, he was left to guard the ships with the crippled. During that time, he learned how to shape the wind in whirl, the sea in trombs .
But when this was discovered, he was chased from the fleet.
Now he looks how to go back at sea.
Personality:
• Character Ambitions: Power of Azyr (3) and Wind Walking, followed by Sea Lore and Tracker. The more "I", the better, "D" following next. He wants to discover a way to go on the moon. There must be a way.

Summary:
Caraoc the scald pilot - WS3 S4 T3 D5 I5 - A saga or it didn't happen!
Equipment: staff, repeater handbow (20 clips), Sea Dragon Cloak,
Inventory: "Beastbane" Horn
Skills: Power of Azyr (2), Evasion, Raiding
Class: Mage (Astromancer)

-=-=-=-

Player: Searinox Nagharha
• Name: Searinox Nagharha
• Sex: Male
• Age: 250
• Height: 1.90 meter
• Weight: 70 kilo
• Appearance: Searinox is tall and athletically build. He has slightly tanned skin from all the time spend on open sea and long black hair that has a purple hue and the top half is bound in a ponytail. He further wears his professions trademark Sea Dragon Cloak that is draped over his left arm concealing his family heirloom, a Black with silver ornamented long sword with a hilt shaped like a ravens claw. and his many pouches that hold all sorts of dangerous items. He also wears dark light armour that is ornamented with raven feathers.

• Character Class: Shade
• Character Statistics:
Weapon Skill - 5
Strength - 3
Dexterity - 4
Toughness - 3
Intelligence - 4
• Starting Equipment: Long Sword, Dagger (Throwing), Sea Dragon Cloak
• Starting Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Acrobatics
also I have a few questions about other skills.
Alchemy - what kind of things could I make? And how would I go about doing that?
Wind of Ulgu - taking just the lvl1 what kind of things could I accomplish 'safely'? Could I for example try to infuse my sword with the Wind of Ulgu and have it sap my enemies from there strength with each hit?
Could I (if taking both) use my knowledge of the Wind of Ulgu to empower my potions?

• Character Background: Searinox Nagharha is the First born son of former lord of the House of Corvus. The house of Corvus is a raiders house that specializes in covert and guerilla tactics. And has supplied the Druchii fleets with great Captains, troops and knowledge about the area surrounding raiding targets. Though great results spark jealousy and envy, even more so in Druchii society. As such a rivalling house attacked and killed all but a hand full of it's members. One of which was Searinox's younger sister Devana who was in Ghrond receiving training in the arts of magic. And Searinox together with a few riders who were away on an errand. The only thing he was able to salvage was the heirloom of his family, a longsword that should hold magic powers, though Searinox was still not able to tap into its power.
Searinox received rigorous training from an early age, ranging from being dropped in the wilderness for survival, to lectures from old fools about plants and minerals and there different uses, to being shoved inside arenas for combat training. All of his siblings received the same training and indeed took several of there lives. Once his father was satisfied with his training Searinox was taken on raiding missions, where he quickly made a name for himself for his notable speed and manoeuvrability over difficult terrain. When given the chance he is rather laid back for a Druchii, but when the need arises he becomes calm and collective. Though he still finds alot of enjoyment in combat.

• Character Ambitions: After finding out about what had happened to his family and how his name was disgraced Searinox swore to not only bring back the House of Corvus back to its former glory, but also to hunt down and kill the ones responsible for it.
Searinox is well on his way to mastering the the art of Suithenlu Khythan. And while he can't call himself an Alchemist yet he does knows his way around different herbs.
His entire family line has also been blessed with an affinity to the Wind of Ulgu.Altho Searinox has not yet tapped into it, and he might never.

-=-=-=-

Player: Thraundil
• Name: Ladry
• Sex: Female
• Age: 97
• Height: 180 cm
• Weight: 70 kg
• Appearance: Ladry is a tall, slim built elf with slightly longer-than-average ears, and a bony, marked, yet elegant face. Her eyes are emerald green, her nose pointed and her jawline thin. Her hair, platinum and silvery intertwined with pure white, runs to the middle of her back, and is kept back by a simple steel headband with a single, obsidian stone in the middle. She is a thin elf; shoulder and hip width are roughly the same, and her limbs long and slender. She prefers to wear a simple black, hooded robe which hangs loose, a tightfitting black linen tunic and dark, soft leather pants underneath. Her boots are likewise softened leather, but dyed all black.

• Character Class: Mage
• Character Statistics:
WS: 4
S: 2
T: 3
D: 4
I: 5

• Starting Equipment: Staff, Dagger.

• Starting Skills: Power of Aqshy (1), Defensive Figthing

• Character Background:

Ladry was born into a lesser noble family in Karond Kar, the 7th child in the line. She was born moments before her twin brother, Ladral, and the two were raised together in a strict militaristic upbringing; being so far down the line of possible inheritance, all ambition of some day reaching the top of the family tree was vigorously discouraged. However, they were still children of a noble, and so the academic knowledges were not ignored - she even learned of the ways of magic, although no immediate prowess of sorcery was aparent. As the pair grew in combat prowess, however, they where soon given charges of smaller ships to patrol the coastlines. In a sea-side skirmish with a smaller vessel from a rival house, their ship was boarded by battlecraving corsairs, and she was forced to watch as her twin brother was disemboweled, had his limbs broken, and was finally decapitated and tossed overboard. Shrieking in fury for the loss of her sibling and soulmate, she let loose her anger in the form of spheres of fire that shot forth from her hands. The corsair captain looked up in surprise, as his chest was ripped open by the force of the impact, the wound instantly cauterising, causing him to trip backwards and slam to the deck with a loud scream of pain. Ladry shot again, and again, corsairs dropping to their knees and backs left, right and centre. Soon, the deck was cleared save for her own men, and but a few hostile survivors. She ordered them hanged from the masts of their own ship, which was looted and subsequently put to the torch. With a hoard of bounty, she set a course for home, only to learn that her house had been raided, her entire family slaugthered. The corsair raid had been one of many coordinated strikes to eliminate her entire family. Technically, she was now head of her house, but far too many wanted her dead. She saw no choice but to reverse course and leave Karond Kar behind, and seek her fortune elsewhere... But the will of Khaine was certain. She had been spared, and the sparkling flames of hatred had been lit in her. She dropped her family name, slew her entire crew in the middle of the night so none could name her, torched her own ship and swam ashore, to begin the life of an outcast, a wanderer, or an apprentice-sorceress for hire.

• Character Ambitions: Ladry has received combat training, as reflected in her WS and D stats, but never took a liking to it as she lacks the physical staying power for close combat. She was a low ranking leader in her family, given her low rank in the birth order, and as such has some degree of tactical and strategic understanding. Having studied some magic theory, the spells found in books never worked for her, but digging deep within to draw on her pain, anger or hatred, she finds that she can channel these energies into destructive use. Her primary ambition is to hone these skills, and perhaps receive proper training in the arts of sorcery.

-=-=-=-

• Name: Gilvaad
• Sex: Male
• Age: 102
• Height: 5'7
• Weight: 60kg

• Appearance: Gilvaad is a small runt of a druchii, with long dark platted hair and a very pale almost sickly complexion. Clad in faded, old dark softened hides from head to toe and a small headband of a dark red dyed leather and a dark brown cloth, he tries to blend into the background and hides himself under a long dark hooded cloak of dark grey sturdy wool.
Strapped to his back is a long dark well crafted blowpipe, his only possession of any real value, with a number of darts concealed in pouches around a belt that hold a serviceable if somewhat old throwing knives in sheaves. He has no jewellery other than a number of leather strips around each wrist, that have small dark polished stones attached.

• Character Class: Shade
• Character Statistics: WS:5 S:2 T:2 D:5 I:4

• Starting Equipment:

Blowpipe (poison): 40 gold (EP 1) Power 2. Speed 2
Dagger (Throwing) : 40 gold for set of 4 (EP 1) Power: 1. Speed: 5. Range: 1
Shade Cloak : 100 gold. (EP 1, shades only) Protection 1. Hindrance 1. (Stealth Bonus)
Leather Armour :150 gold (EP 2) Protection 1. Hindrance 0

• Starting Skills:

Precision Fire: SP1

• Character Background: The youngest son of a long forgotten disgraced family, Gilvaad was fortunate to escape his father's wrath. Being a runt of a specimen he brings disgrace upon what honour his family has left, pathetic and weak were the kindest of words used. He was ejected from the family stronghold many years ago.
He has long been on his own and scratching a meagre living from doing others dirty work, a killing here and sabotage there. Most druchii would rather kill him on sight for even existing, but he has always made himself useful to others, if not trusted.
His preferred method of engagement is from a distance, a treasured blowpipe, the only reminder of a happier past time. Taught the ways of poison and the silent kill from a retainer who sort to enhance his position before the family fell, a harsh reminder to Gilvaad, never to involve himself in power struggles and politics.
Now with little money and no social standing he is looking to travel to find new opportunities and to escape the harsh realities of being disowned by his father.

• Character Ambitions: Gilvaad is not looking for huge material gain, although of course, one does like to get by in comfort, rather knowledge and further enhancement of his skills, specifically those related to his need to conceal himself and strike from afar. Aware that assassination is the remit of the temple, he is really a mercenary for hire, for those who cannot afford or do not want to involve paid temple assassins. Skills he would be looking for include - Assassination, Stealth, evasion.

-=-=-=-

NO LONGER ACTIVE:

Player: MangoPunch
Name: Harkyl Anroc
Sex: Male
Age: 137
Height: 6’ 4” / 5’ 6” (explained below)
Weight: 170 lbs
Appearance: Tall and gaunt, but with a pronounced hunch and limp that makes him appear of much smaller stature. His face is devilishly hansom with green/brown eyes, dark hair and a straight white smile. He wears plain clothes and walks with the aid of his staff.
Class: Shade
Statistics: WS: 4 / S: 2 / T: 2 / D: 5 / I: 5
Starting Equipment: Staff, Throwing Knives [gave up 3 EP for a second SP]
Starting Skills: Awareness, Basic Stealth

Background:
Fists fly and glass shatters inside the ramshackle wayward pub of Horse’s Head, or Donkey’s Arse, or some such animal part namesake forsaken tavern. Shouts curse epitaphs on forgotten gods, and daggers find soft palid flesh in a bar brawl like many others inside this particular pub somewhere along the road between here and there.

After a time, a back door creeks ajar, and a hunched figure shuffles out. His paces labored and stiff, as one leg drags lightly through the dirt. He smiles a wickedly hansom smile, his pockets heavier with the weight of silver than they were an hour ago when he arrived at the watering hole. And he shuffles off along the dark road, leaving death behind him; as he always has.

His equipment is meager, a medium staff upon which he leans, plain non-descript clothes and throwing knives tucked away, hidden in his shirt. But he is armed with more than simple tools. He has a keen mind, not smart like a scholar but clever, quick and flexible, matching his scruples. And he is handsome in the face with dark hair and green or brown eyes depending on the light. His smile as white as fresh snow and as straight as an arrow in mockery of his crooked spine and hunched pose. His limp is real – but is driven by a deep and constant pain of the joints, not by true physical limitation. In actuality he is quite lithe on his feet when he needs to be, and often emerges from the midst of melees and brawls unscathed, and if he is lucky a few nicked silver richer.

Harkyl Anroc (Harkyl the Sunken) is the youngest of eight sons and a daughter, born to a somewhat poor but old noble family on the Serpant Path between Hag Hall and Harkyl Gate. A criple since birth, his throat should have been slit in the crib - a mercy he was not afforded. His childhood was one of beatings and degredation, until he left home and struck off into the life of a wanderer. He exists from day to day off of the spoils from petty thefts and scams, he is a con, a gambler but most of all a cheat. He disdains nobles, and the brashness of most Druchii, believeing that hard helmets cover soft heads, and shiney ornaments are an invitation for a knife through the neck. He is proud in his own way, but his pride is in having lived beyond all the odds, and in the few ill-earned coins he scrapes together.

Two moons ago he heard rummors that his necromancer uncle (a fact that few are apprised of) usurped his fathers' house, killed his brothers and married his sister (all of whom he deeply loathed). It was a strange feeling when he realized that with his brothers dead he was the true heir to Hadron Hall and his fathers' seat. He doesn't covet that estate or title, but in him the news did awaken some strange sort of ambition. Not for nobility, or glory, but for something more, some greater con and scam. For the first time in his life he is not content to scrape by on loaded dice and cut purses, he wants to pull one over on the world, he wants more loot, all of it ill-gotten.

Ambitions:
Still finding his way, Harkyl is no longer content with just scraping by at the fringes of society. He wants more, and he wants it at the expense of others. He wants to pull a con on the world, and laugh as those who were high fall and he is the insturment of their demise. He wants the abilities to manipulate others, and the world around him - forgery, maybe thievery or poison, and blind fighting fit his MO. He is a tricky and slippery one who's ambitions are sure to grow as he tastes success. He might also feel drawn to the most basic level of Shyish, his uncle is afterall a necromancer - while he is not a mage, draining the strength from others would be appealing to him.

_________________
The Lost Colony defenders - Rowena's painting log

Alternative Armies - because we can build any army without GW!


Wed Apr 16, 2014 7:52 pm
Profile
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Reply to topic   [ 31 posts ]  Go to page Previous  1, 2

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot post attachments in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
cron
Powered by phpBB® Forum Software © phpBB Group
Designed by ST Software