Logo
View unanswered posts | View active topics It is currently Wed Nov 21, 2018 3:02 pm



Reply to topic  [ 31 posts ]  Go to page 1, 2  Next
Groups 
Author Message
Morathi's Best Friend
Morathi's Best Friend
User avatar

Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
Posts: 1202
Location: Flanders, Belgium
This thread lists all the groups in play in the RPG. The actual roleplaying threads are in the Role Playing Forum.

Each group here has exactly one (1) post with character details, house rules, and announcements.



_________________
SAU XV: Pawn of the Dead | SAU XVII: The Frosty Dozen | SAU XIX: On the Brink of Madministration | Running fiction: House Arhakuyl


Last edited by Tarbo on Sat Sep 20, 2014 2:00 pm, edited 42 times in total.

Update group listing



Mon Sep 17, 2007 4:09 pm
Profile
Angel of Darkness
User avatar

Joined: Sun Feb 11, 2007 6:06 am
Posts: 3455
Location: Australia
Post 
The following five (5) people now comprise of Group 10

**********

Username: lordofthenight
Character Name: Kuyoz Nightkiller
Character Height: 6'7"
Weight: 76kg
Character Age: 282 years

Other Descriptions: Kuyoz has a traditional elven build, both light and tall. His right eye is a piercing blue, while his left is white, and cannot focus. His hair is black, but with a single white lock, trailing behind his left ear. Kuyoz is careful to show as little skin as possible, as his body is literally covered with scars along the left arm and chest, remnants of a childhood injury. His face bears the only scar he is proud of – a long diagonal slash running from above his left to his upper lip. As with all druchii, his skin is a chalky, pale colour, especially so around his scars.

Kuyoz garbs himself in black, with the occasional shade red from behind his hooded cloak. Tucked away beneath his clothes is an elegantly worked golden rune – the sign of the Dark Sky clan. It was gifted to him by his father as a child, the only sign of favour he was ever shown.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: Kuyoz was the fourth son of Uridatin Darksky, Clan Father of the Dark Sky clan. As the fourth son, and seventh child, Kuyoz was shunned by both his siblings and the clan leaders. The only person who ever looked upon him kindly was his twin sister Is’bell, and that was solely because she too was looked upon in disgrace.

At the age of 17, the Dark Sky clan was entering into an agreement with one of the many nobles who passed through their lands. An eager child still, Kuyoz had been fascinated by the noble’s nauglir, the likes of which he had never seen before. In the dead of night, he had attempted to ride it, unknowing of how foolhardy this was. Being unable to smell cold-one smile upon him, the beast attacked. Kuyoz didn’t stand a chance against the nauglir, and would have been ripped apart, had not Khalek – the sentry on watch – been nearby. Bravely he attacked the cold-one, and managed to drive it away, but the damage was done. Kuyoz lay in a growing pool of blood, his left side horribly gnawed.

By all rights he should have died there, but he did not. He fought for life for two weeks, long after he should have passed on. Impressed by his courage, Uridatin had gifted him the runic talisman, albeit because the Clan Father expected to take it from his child’s lifeless corpse a few days later. As Kuyoz slowly recovered, and learnt of the extent his youthful body was scarred, it was all his sister could do to encourage him to keep fighting for life.

Ashamed of his body, Kuyoz began to hate the daylight, keeping himself hidden during the sun’s glare. His elder siblings started calling him Nightkiller, first as an insult, taunting one who had no power among the clan. He began to wear the name with pride, and after one of his brothers managed to break his neck ‘falling’ from a tree, and a sister apparently took her own life, the name stopped having its comical effect. On both occasions, Kuyoz had a perfectly fitting alibi, and no method of reaching either of them.

Content to live among his clan, obeying the wishes of the Clan Father Kuyoz saw no reason to leave. Until his thoughts turned to his sister. She – of course – rejected him, claiming no woman could love something so hideously deformed. When he struck her, on the eve of his quarter-century, it was before the eyes of the whole clan. And there was no excuse, no clever ploy he could use to deny what they had seen. Is’bell’s neck had broken from the impact, and Kuyoz was now an outcast.

Stats:
Ws – 4
S – 3
T – 3
Dex – 4
Int – 4

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.
Skills: Basic Stealth

**********

Username: Draknir Reaverblade
Name: Devro Vykan (Called "Shadowsorrow" by some others who have met him, but Devro himself hates that name)

Age: 161

Weight: 39 kg

Height: 1,70 m

Description: Devro Vykan is tall, extremely slim and pale. Due to years spent time indoors, studying in a library lit only by flickering candles, his skin is almost translucently white, but his eyes are dark and piercing, and he always seems to focus his gaze disturbingly somewhere inside the watcher's head instead of eyes. He has one rough-edged scar on the left side of his forehead, heritage of a missed blade blow that almost took his head. It shows some marks of infection, and some blood has dried on his forehead. His hair is also thin and white, which makes Devro look more like a gaunt spirit than a living Elf. He wears a long, black, tattered robe and a grey cloak on his shoulders. A crossbow is slung on his back, and his loyal blade, that belonged to his grandfather, hangs on his side. He is not strong, more of wiry, and his one great skill is disappearing from his enemies sight and then stabbing him to back when the opponent tries to find him. This is achieved by using his dark grey cloak to camouflage him into the shadows, and using his sinewy hands to climb a wall or finding a secret way to surprise the enemy. The ability to disappear added to his ghostly look makes him a disturbing opponent, or ally, as his companions are not always aware of his intentions.

Background: Devro’s father was executed for fell sorcery, and Devro would have shared his fate if Devro hadn’t escaped. Devro himself tells his story like this:

“My name is Devro, Devro Vykan. I was born in Naggarond in a poor family, a family with only enough wealth to own a house and some slaves. The most common things to be seen in my home were books, countless dusty tomes that I used to read in my free time. My father would have wanted me to become a warrior, but I more likely spent my time reading and learning. I read of the achievements of famous generals, I read of the history of Nagarythe, I read of using weapons and war-but practising arms? Never. The only weapon I could use well was my crossbow, and I often practised shooting on our backyard. My father yelled at me after I shot one of our kitchen slaves, but later I saw him to examine the body and wonder the accuracy of my bolt; It had gone straight through of the slave’s head, from between the eyes. There was a sword too in our home, an old one, that father told to be belonged to my grandfather. It wasn’t very big, but it had intricate runes described to it’s blade. My life was nice in the small home, until before the fateful night…

Behind the library’s books were other tomes, books of sorcery and witchcraft, that told of rituals and spells. I sometimes saw my father to study them, but I was never allowed to touch them. One night he was again reading them through, and then, there was a knock on the door. Father quickly covered the books under a curtain, and demanded me to hide. I hid behind another curtain, so no-one could see me but I saw everything that happened in the room. I remember every detail of what happened next; The happenings of that night have burned tight into my brain. Father went to open the door, and even before he had touched the door knob, the door flew open and three Black Guards stepped inside. Their presumed leader stood straight in front of my father and said sternly: 'I am lieutenant Argoth of the seventh Black Guard cohort of the Flaming Skull legion. We have been despatched to investigate possible offences, and this particular house has given us the grounds for suspecting a crime to be happened.’ Lieutenant Argoth took a parchment scroll from his belt, opened it and read, saying these exact words: ‘You have been judged to be a practitioner of illegal sorcery against the will of the Great Witch King of Naggaroth, Lord Malekith, Master of all Elves over the Land of Chill and the lands beyond the sea, and be punished in the most severest way- death.’ The last word struck to my mind like a comet. ‘I have done nothing wrong-‘ my father started, but Argoth punched his armoured fist to my father’s stomach. As my father fell to the floor, one of the Guards tore the curtain off the spell books. ‘Our suspicion seemed to be justified’, Argoth said and pulled his sword from its scabbard. My father lifted his head in defiance, attempting to utter some curse, but the Black Guard’s blade was quicker and my father’s limp corpse fell to the floor. I let a horrified breath, and the Lieutenant’s head turned straight to me. His icy gaze seemed to penetrate my head, and I almost petrified when he started to walk towards me. I ran to the next room, and I grabbed my crossbow and took my grandfather’s blade. When Argoth managed to get into the room, I had disappeared.

I ran along the dark street, and I heard the scraping of Argoth’s iron boots on the paving. Then, suddenly, Argoth appeared straight in front of me. ‘The son of the traitor shall die along with him’ he croaked and lifted his blade, that was still wet from my father’s blood. I could have never survived the blow, but my hand holding the crossbow was faster; I fired the crossbow and the bolt pierced Argoth’s arm from the less armoured wrist. If Argoth would have had as much emotions as I had at the moment, he would have screamed in pain, but instead Argoth swung the sword in a wide arc. The wounded wrist cracked sickeningly, and Argoth’s blade scraped my forehead; not enough to kill me, but to throw me backwards, and I fell to the street. Even Argoth started to show signs of pain, and his blade slipped from his grasp. But his hatred towards traitors was stronger than any agony, and he came closer to me, trying to kill me with his bare hands. I pulled the crossbow’s string backwards and aimed at his another hand, but my hand shook and the bolt went wide, hitting the Black Guard’s leg. It had heavy chain mail hauberk on it, but as my father had told when teaching me: ‘Chain mail protects well against sword blows and axes, but from the view of an arrow it is only a group of holes linked together.’ The bolt struck deep in Argoth’s thigh, and the Lieutenant fell to the street. I quickly stood up and ran to the shadows, Argoth still waving his hand at me and yelling to the emptiness of the darkness. And here I am now, a traitor, a runaway, for everyone to see, ready to do anything, for I have nothing to live for. I am ready to die.”

Personality: Devro is not a very good warrior, but his desire is to fight. He would do anything to win a combat. His whole life has been wiped out, with no home nor family. He has been escaping from the Black Guard and the Convents, and in particular the crippled, vengeful Lieutenant Argoth. Due to these hardships Devro has lost his will to live, but neither he feels remorse of the happenings. Somehow all his joyful emotions have perished, and he feels no longer happiness, and he is only an empty shell of his former being. Only thing he desires is to kill, to quench his constant sorrow and concern, and he seeks fight even against the odds, and due to his immense knowledge of warfare he often manages to find a weak spot of his enemies, and his crossbow is always loaded and his blade always at his side. This arrogance added to his intelligence is a strength, but it is also Devro's great weakness, along with his bony appearance, and he often decides not to retreat when commanded to do so.

Class: Shade

WS: 3
S: 3
T: 2
D: 5
I: 5

Equipment: Repeater Crossbow, Short sword, Shade cloak
Skills: Basic Stealth

**********

Username: Noble Korhedron
Name: Noble Korhedron
H: 1.8m.
W: 76.5kg.
Age: 145.
Class: Warrior.
Description: A tall, dark haired druchii, Korhedron favours light armour made from captured ithilmar, stolen on a slave raid. This is worn under black robes, with a black cloak and heavy iron helmet over the top. He has a scar down the left cheek from a duel, and also dark, wide eyes. He has a distinctive glove on his left hand made from golden thread his father gave him on his 100th birthday.

Class: Warrior

WS: 4
S: 4
T: 3
D: 4
I: 3

Equipment: Longsword, shield, and light armour.
Skills: None

Background:
From the aincent noble family of Korhedron in Naggarond, and raised in that city, this young Noble has risen to lead his house at an early age, following the assasaination of his father and elder brother. He is not yet of the rank his circumstances would warrant however, as Lord Malekith is testing him and other young nobles by sending them to fight with his forces on raids into Ulthuan.

His greatest achievement yet was the capture, alive, of an Asur mage, after the mage had nearly wiped out his unit. He challenged him, and in a clever trick, dove under the mage's guard on one of his sword swings and stabbed him with the tip of a dagger which had been dipped in the pollen of the black lily, which of course sent the mage immediately to sleep. Upon returning, the Captain of the Black Ark Nazyerythe tried to claim the prisoner, but Korhedron snatched a crossbow and killed him before he could react. This done, the Captain's successor was forced to allow the young Noble to keep the prisoner, and on his return to Naggrond, Korhedron was granted an audience with the Witch King himself. He presented his prize, and was then dismissed by Malekith, who wished for time to consider his reward. Now, 3 months later, his summons to the Witch King's Court has arrived, and he sets off in great anticipation.....!
**********

Username: Shadowfingers
Name: Vuthil Shadowfingers (Deceased)
Age: 159
Height: 5'9"
Build: Rangy to the point of gauntness
Class: Shade
Clothing: Vuthil wears well worn black trousers and tunic. His cloak is extremely ragged, but still serviceable, and is also black. He wears old, soft black leather boots with their tops turned down.
Hair: Is pure white, is not the white of age, for he was born with it. Is tied back into a ragged warriors tail, if untied falls down to his shoulders.
Eyes: Vuthis eyes are unusual, as they as coloured violet, which led to much trauma in his childhood.
Manner: Vuthil is standoffish. He tries to remain cool and calculating at all times, but can become abusive at times, for he does not tolerate fools. His humour is dry and sharp, which many people find offensive.
Notable Featues: An old scar running down his entire right cheek, almost unnoticable. His left ear is pierced with what looks to be a ruby, but is actually cheap glass. The Ruby is made of encrusted red sand from the far off beaches of Cathay.

Character Background: Vuthil was the fifth son of a minor noble. Throughout his childhood Vuthil was an outcast because of his lack of physical strength and his strange coloured eyes. He was called a runt and a freak by his brothers and the other children. At a young age he learned to stay in the shadows, for there he was protected from his tormentors.
As Vuthil grew up it soon became apparent that what he lacked in strength, he made up in speed. Speed in his movements and speed in his mind. His fathers saw potential in this so instead of killing him off, as he did his third son, he nourished Vuthil’s strengths and pushed him hard. He excelled in his weapons training, soon besting his elder siblings, and grasped the logical problems given to him in almost no time at all. But from all of these successes Vuthil grew in confidence and then in arrogance.
Soon he felt constrained by the confines his father kept him in and he decided to take action. On day he challenged his father to single combat, claiming that if he won he would take charge of the family. But even though Vuthil was a talented swordsman, with exceptional speed, his father was a master of the blade. In minutes his father had defeated him, but instead of killing Vuthil his father merely beat him into insensitivity, letting Vuthil live with his shame.
In the months while Vuthil recovered, he closed in on himself. He was no longer the arrogant, loud youth, but a silent and calm young elf. Everywhere Vuthil went in the household he was shown distaste and hatred and he soon learnt to stay in the shadows again.
After almost a year of this constant shame, Vuthil decided to leave. He could no longer live with the shame of his defeat so one night he left the household forever.
He decided to try the mercenaries life, where he could regain his honour and earn many riches. He took the new name Shadowfingers, to herald his new life. And with those reasons in his head he set off for the city of Vikarh, where he would find his future.

Stats: Weapon Skill 4
Strength 2
Toughness 2
Dexterity 5
Intelligence 5

Skills:
Basic Stealth

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

************
Username: High Executioner Kalus
Character Name: Karasu Rhen’Vir

Age: 142

Height: 5’8”

Weight: 150 lbs.

Appearance: Karasu holds an unassuming, humble, and lithe appearance, the most definitive qualities in his facial assets being his somewhat aquiline and sharp features and a pair of silver orbs that seem to twinkle with an uncharacteristic wanderlust and unbridled inquisitiveness, with a, some might say shrewd smile to match. His long hair is of a black hue with a slight tinge of burnished bronze, tied back in a topknot. Karasu wears light armor reminiscent of druchii design, with slight Nipponese alterations (such as lamellar armor), the symbol of his House (A red raven with a black lotus clutched within its talons) emblazoned on the front.

Mannerisms: Karasu, like his ancestors, upholds and adheres to a code which they emulated from the Nipponese, one that exhibits politeness to those around him no matter who they are, as well as a belief in honorable combat and loyalty, an eccentricity that many Druchii consider Asur-like, a point which many Druchii unaware of the true nature* of the Rhen’Vir’s mistake as a sign of weakness and poke fun at, however the polite exterior belies a cunning and sadistic core that, when provoked, is a terrifying thing to behold and best avoided. It can be said however, that because of the code, in most cases he is trustworthy and reliable, with no intentions of betrayal (unless it is “imperative” or for the greater good that he do so : ) ). Karasu also exhibits an intense scholarly interest in foreign cultures, as well as a humble observation of his surroundings and those around him.

Class: Warrior

Stats:
Strength: 3
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 4
Weapon Skill: 4



Bio: ((Still Contemplating))**

Equipment: Longsword (designed to look more like a katana), Light Armour (same concept as the sword, looks something that would remind you of a samurai)






Background on House Rhen’Vir

Little is known about the eccentric and shady minor House Rhen’Vir, its history obscured for the most part for reasons unknown. What little is known is that its origins are far older than Rhen’Vir lets on, tracing back to shortly after the founding of the six cities. Instead of ingraining itself within one of the six great cities, House Rhen’Vir instead decided to settle in one of the minor port towns bordering and surrounding the Sea of Malice and Chill, the reason being according to Rhen’Vir, “To avoid all the pointless infighting and political intrigue”. House Rhen’Vir is viewed by Druchii society as eccentric mainly because of its minor emulations of other cultures in terms of mannerisms, architectural tastes, and in some cases, weapon designs as well. In the case of emulation, Rhen’Vir’s greatest influences stem from the far off eastern island nation of Nippon, which according to rumors, Rhen’Vir has held shady relations, even private trade routes known only to them for several centuries, and indeed this does seem to hold some merit as reflected in Rhen’Vir’s upholding of a code of honour similar to that among the Nipponese nobility (something similar to Bushido, but twisted in a druchiiesque fashion so it overall still serves their purposes in the end). However, these relations are the source of wealth income by which House Rhen’Vir has come to rely upon, receiving large influxes of Nipponese wares and slaves every few decades, which are then quickly sold to avid merchants and slave auctioneers for hefty sums.

*- Basically, the idea is to appear as if they're a bunch of weaklings, then when whoever makes that underestimation tries to move in on them, they reveal their darker side and quickly crush whatever the opposition is.
**********

Death by: Thrown across the bar room when hit by overhanging sign. Then thrown into the wall of liqueur just when the flames reached the wall. Engulfed in a blazing inferno then decapitated by his employer and added to his collection.

Username: Soulsmith
character name: Marcaunon Darksword (DECEASED)

character height and weight: 6.7 and 12 stone

character age: 168

Other Descriptions: slightly tanned (for an elf) with a large rune tattoed on his left cheek displaying his house name. Long black hair reaching the middle of his back. Light armour is leather with chain bracers and vambraces and scale pauldrons. Sword looks like that of the COK champs sword. Shield is like a mix between a warwriors and a COK, wider than a warriors but thinner and taller than a COK shield. Has the corner cut out in a circle to allow his sword to point through in a defensive pose.

skills: none so far

character stats:

(Male Warrior) Light armour, Repeater Crossbow and Dagger, shield

weapon skill (Ws): 5
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T):3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I):3

Character Background: Marcaunon was brought up in his family home, the Darksword house. He was taught how to fight very young, able to wield the blade ans shield against his other siblings long before he could properly read or write runes. he found he had little interest or a large amount of skill in these fields, looking down upon scribes as weak Druchii. This often garnered him beatings from his teachers. He enjoyed chasing down other pupils later on in life when he was slightly older. One night he picked on a boy who, unknown to Marcaunon, was a friend of his older brother. Later that evening, Marcaunon badly beat his brothers friend. As the younger boy stumbled home, he tripped on a loose flagstone, smashing his face into the pavement. Marcaunon didn't stop laughing even as the boy's blood ran from his body into the road. Approaching, Marcaunon flipped him over. The boy's nose was smashed into his face, blood caked around his face, giant purple bruises around the nose. It appeared the bone in his nose had pushed itself into his brain, killing him instantly. Blood still flowed from the open cuts and his nostrils. Leaving the small corpse there, he sprinted home. Quickly going to his father's armoury, he grabbed his father's war sword, a long sword with a long graceful curve and several cruel hook shaped notches. He also grabbed his shield, a large thin object with a slight curve to fit his body. The top right hand corner was cut out in a circular shape allowing a spear or sword to point through. He put these in a small chest under his bed along with his hunting costume, a leather jerkin, tough enough to withstand knives, and pieces of his father's armour. In the morning he was awoken to sharp pains. His brother was upon him, beating him whilst pinning his arms to the bed. Reacting fast, Marcaunon span, swinging his brother onto the floor. His brother stepped back and drew a knife, approaching towards Marcaunon. In answer to this, he ducked low, sending his brother jabbing high. The elder sibling's eyes went wide as blood seeped from his chest, a gleaming blade protruding from the rear of his chest. Marcaunon withdrew the blade and cleaned it as his brother dropped to the floor. Grabbing a bag and the contents of his chest, shield upon his back and fastening up his leather armour, he attached his sword to his belt and filled a pouch with coins. Approaching the larder, the halfling slave backed off. Watching as Marcaunon began filling his back with journey foods, such as bread and several skins of water. The halfling grew an evil smirk and began to run. Marcaunon was too fast, sending his hunting knife flying at the small figure. Gore exploded as the knife impaled itself into the halfling's skull. Marcaunon's heart pounded as he flew out of his house and ran down the street's of Har Ganeth. Fleeing the city, he headed managed to get into a band of Corsairs heading to Karond Kar.

Marcaunon shivered as they entered Karond Kar. The harpies shrieked overhead, gracefully beautiful in their twisted, bestial nature. As his band wound their way through the streets to the harbor, he heard a roar. A black shadow encompassed the street as a huge dragon flew overhead, a throne upon its back. Marcaunon knew not who it was, but was wise to stay with the corsairs, lest he be separated and sent to a worse fate.

A few hours later and they were inside an inn. The tide was bad and they wouldn't sail until tomorrow. He slept on the floor, the older corsairs and more experienced warriors upon the beds, if you can call them that. The others were asleep as Marcaunon heard a rustling from the room above, then a quiet shriek. Quickly grabbing his weapons and shield, he opened the door and sneaked upstairs. His feet padded across the floorboards, careful not to squeak one and be caught. Hugging the wall, he heard chanting. He peaked around the corner. The corridor was bare, the lamps flickering their pale light. He swallowed hard and gripped his shield tight. Taking a defensive pose, he approached the door. he opened it slightly, peeking inside, seeking to see what had disturbed him. His eyes grew wide as he witnessed the blood of what appeared to be another Druchii, dripping down from her body raised upon an altar. two older men were there, both large looking and with knives at their waists. A woman was holding a dagger in her left hand and a heart in the other. She was covered in blood. She was the one whom was chanting, her eyes alight as if on fire. She stood next to the altar, inside a circle of blood around herself and the cadaver. There were eight points upon the circle, one larger than the others. it pointed outwards then curved with what appeared to be a crescent moon on the end. His heart pumped faster as he realized it was the symbol of Slaanesh, the heinous chaos god. Suddenly his foot shifted forward, causing a creak. The cultists look to see the door slightly ajar. Marcaunon shuddered as the door was torn open, the two large dark elf warriors coming out. They laughed at his pose. The first came at him, knives raised. Putting his shield high, Marcaunon deftly defended and flicked out wit his sword, rewarded with a yelp of pain from the elf. He was fast however, and one of his blades hooked under his shield, the other coming at his arm. Marcaunon thought fast, spinning on his left heel, kicking out with his right, bringing the larger elf down. The second rained down upon him, one knife puncturing Marcaunon's shoulder, just above the muscle. He was lucky. The right knife was caught on Marcaunon's sword, flicking away as he smashed his shield into the elf's arm. Crouching, he headbutted the elf. The other elf had got up, and approached Marcaunon. Suddenly Marcaunon gasped as he was lifted high, the other elf's knife at his throat. The second elf laughed and punched him hard across the face. Marcaunon winced and spat blood at the elf. He snarled and drew his knife violently from Marcaunon's shoulder. Expecting the final blow, Marcaunon's eyes went wide as a blade burst from the elf's chest, red with blood. Apparently he wasn't the only one surprised, the elf's eyes wide in shock as blood dribbled out of his mouth, falling down his chin like a crimson waterfall. He fell, spasming in death. The second gripped the knife closer to his throat as Marcaunon saw two of the corsairs he had joined next to the body of the larger Slaanesh cultist. One closed his finger, the click resounding down the corridor, as did the sickly sound of the second cultists skull violently exploding. A scream was heard as a bolt of magic shot from the room, hitting the crossbow armed corsair, smashing him against the wall, his eyes open as he collapsed, wracking with magical energies. Marcaunon screamed and rushed into the room, taking the sorceress by surprise. She screamed as his sword punched through her bare chest, right between her blood coated breasts. Her blood joined that of the other elfs. She wailed, a violet and black cloud coming from her mouth and descending into the ground below the inn, into the warp.

100 years on, Marcaunon still hasn't returned to his house. Often coming back to Har Ganeth, he hopes to become an Executioner. He is yet to experience a true war and seeks adventure, his young body ready for the rigors of the wild again.

***

Username: Hadier
Name: Nevuh Jadecarver of the Frostwyrm Clan
Height: 5 Foot 7 Inches
Weight: 135 Lbs
Age: 102
Description: She has green eyes that reflect the very color of the woods she came from, Black hair that is held back with a coil of Blackened wire, a scar that runs across her cheek, and a tattoo of a sprialing blue serpant it matches both her necklace and the amulet that was stolen on the right side of her neck just below the neckline of her shirt
WS:4 S:3 T:3 D:4 I:4
Gear: Short Sword, Repeating Crossbow, Shade Cloak
Skills: Basic Stealth

“Rain is in the air” she sighs at her long return home with her brother Delrix. Dragging home a large deer like creature she shakes her head. “of course it’s going to rain” she says seemingly to herself. Than her brother lets out a slight chuckle “When doesn’t it rain sis we need to move our camp but the elders never listen.”

As they head back into the village she sees their father waiting for them. Immediately they go quiet all their joking and laughing stops when they see him. She starts to worry as this is unusual him. “Daughter I know you are tired from the hunt but more is needed of you tonight” he says. After that she has a look of shock but that quickly fades and a sigh escapes her lips. She weakly looks up into his eyes and asks. “What can I do for our clan father?”

A smile crosses his face when she asks “This is a great honor for our family, the elders want us to watch over the Serpents Necklace.” As soon as he has finished her brother starts to protest but he receives a cold look from their father and he heads off to the house dragging the dear after him. “While you both were out hunting our clan has been blessed with the opportunity to go to war against our hated brethren.” as soon as her father finishes speaking she simply nods and starts tiredly shuffling off towards the building. As she starts on her way she hears a loud crack of thunder and it starts to rain. By the time she reaches the building it is pouring down rain and she is thoroughly soaked to the bone. her eyes quickly lock onto a tree near the building and climbs up into it and takes up a comfortable position. After several hours of just sitting in the cold she pulls her knees up to her chest and drifts off to sleep due to the pitter-patter of the rain, and her pure exhaustion from the hunt.

After what feels like several hours she stretches a little and sees the hint of the sun coming up. She sighs a breath of relief knowing that her watch is finally over. There seems something out of place she realises as she comes too than quickly realizes what it is: one of their hounds is barking than, and than she hears a sudden howl of pain with that she jumps out of the tree, covering several yards in a single leap.

After a quick sprint around the corner of a building she sees a strange looking druchii with short cropped red hair fighting off one of their camps hounds that has him by the leg. Then all of a sudden to her horror it feels like time slows as he rolls over trying to fight off the hound but as he does their clans ice blue silver necklace falls out of his shirt as that happens, she sees him pull a dagger and stab the hound until it releases his leg.

With quite a bit of difficulty he gets up and starts limping off for the edge of the village. She quickly chases after him and unclips her crossbow, slamming in a clip as she runs. She quickly sends a small burst of bolts chasing after him but to her dismay all they do is crack into the trees around him. Than with a swear she is right behind him again. Than a moment of terror grasps her heart as she realizes that he is going for the river at the edge of camp.

As he runs she says a short prayer to Khaine, for his bloody hand to guide her bolt to the traitors heart with that she skids to a stop, takes aim, leads him like her brother taught her to, and releases a bolt. She watches it fly and for all but the last moment she thinks it will hit its mark but she was wrong instead of killing him as the shot was intended to do it simply slams into his left shoulder and drives him into the river with a splash.

She quickly runs over to the riverbank, but by the time she gets there he is gone. As she stands there the first rays of light peek over the mountain ridge she starts trudging her way through the mud back home. After what seems like hours in her mind she finally makes it back to the house and sees a curling plume of white smoke rising from their home, when she gets back she looks it over with a feeling of dread, and steps inside.

As she heads in she can see her father on his knees in front of the fire, and is tossing logs onto it to start breakfast. she quietly pads over to him and looks down at him, “Father I need to speak with you.” He looks up at her with obvious irritation on his face.

Than he sees she is covered in a thick layer of mud, and is soaked to the bone “what is it daughter? Why have you left your post?” he asks. With that she starts telling her story, as she starts she can see her brother coming out into the main room upon finishing her story her father slowly stands and withdraws a dagger.

She starts to back away as she sees him withdraw the dagger. Then all of a sudden, his face turns from the look irritation to that of hate and slashes out at her as she sees him swing she pulls away from just pure reflex but she is not quite quick enough.

The tip slices deep into her left cheek, "Father what is this?” she yells out as the tip sends a stream of blood after it, she takes another step backwards and holds a hand to her face. Than all of a sudden he is almost on her again until her brother is there next to her, and they looks at him and repeat the question the father simply responds, “Her failure can only be redeemed in one way: it must be a cleansing of blood.”

With that he makes another swipe in which her brother roughly pushes her out of the way, and towards the door yelling after her “Go Nevuh Just GO!” so with that she runs out the door and starts heading north tears and blood slowly streaming down her face in burning hot streams. As she runs she can hear fathers voice on the wind yelling at her that she is dead to him and that she had better never come back.

But she knows: that if she can get the amulet back maybe just maybe see will be allowed to come back some day. With that she has decided that getting back the amulet has become her top priority and that the thrice damned druchii that stole it will pay with his life but first she must find him. After not getting rest from the hunt and the quick sprint after the invader she ends up collapsing against a log and decides now is the best time to figure out what she can, and how she can get to a city. Someone is bound to know where to find a Druchii with short red hair, a horrible limp and a bolt wound in his back.

After a short while she is disappointed to see that all she is carrying on her is: her short sword useless except in self defense, her repeater crossbow, seven clips of bolts that she had left over from the hunting expedition, her shade cloak she got several years back, and a carved jade necklace in the shape of a coiled serpent with that she looks down at it and says “Don’t worry ill get your sister back from him even if it kills me.” With that she stands tucking it under her shirt and starts off north again

_________________
Saldrimek Xenan - WS6 / S4 / T3 / D5 / I3

Equipment: Executioners Axe (Rune of Beastslaying - Heroic Killing Blow), 2 Scimitars (Rune of Speed - Always Strike First), Dagger, Rune Branded Leather Armour, Executioner Helm, Fine Set of Throwing Knives (x4)
Inventory: Amulet of Darkness, Poison Vials x7, Deadly Poison Vials x8
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 163
Skills: Ambidexterity, Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting, Ride
Class: Khainite


Last edited by Khel on Fri Jul 04, 2008 8:42 am, edited 12 times in total.



Thu Sep 27, 2007 11:36 pm
Profile
Noble
User avatar

Joined: Tue Dec 27, 2005 5:16 am
Posts: 473
Post 
The following 9 people now comprise Group 11
----------------------------------------------------

User: Almundis
name: Rhyithan Uematsu
age: 407
height 6'2
weight 115kg

Apparell: shoulder length black hair that is un-kempt and matted in places, wears a leather strap accross his left eye which is missing. his face has a network of light scarring from his many years in service of his lords. has slight stuble from a lack of shaving and has a crook in his nose from where it has been broken in several places.

background: Rhyithan was born into the house of one of Har Ganeth's many petty noble families. His child hood was typical of a druchii, he trained in the art of combat and enlisted into the army of naggaroth. For several decades he was part of the city guard, until one day a noble by the name of Gaern arrived in port looking for men and supplies for the up-coming campaign season. Rhyithan fancied himself as quite the sailor and swore an oath to the captain becoming one of his crew. For almost a decade he worked hard as a sailor. Raiding various ships and trade routes, they defeated many human vessels from both brettonia and the Empire, even destroying several vessels from the far land of Araby. Rhyithan worked hard and was rewarded with being a retainer for Gaern himself. However the glory and wealth of raiding was soon to come to an end.

One year they were unable to claim a harvest of slaves or gold that would pay off Gaern's financiers, let alone make a notable contribution to the witchking. The main reason for this was because a gang of ships captained by some Norscan tribesmen had beaten them to the wealthiest ports, leaving nothing but a trail of rubble in their wake. Gaern had encountered them several times in his career and finally decided that he would not only return to naggaroth laiden with gold, but also he would remove the annoying savages once and for all. He gathered all the ships and captains at his command and organised a daring raid on the Norsemen. They sat around carts and maps using rumour, experience and guess work to decide on where would be the most likely point that the pirates would have made a base. Eventually they deduced that it was likely to be on an island chain several leagues north of Karond Kar.

The captains returned to their vessels and all seven ships headed to the island chain known as "the devils link" to claim their rightful treasure. They braved maddening storms and blistering cold desprately trying to reach the chain before winter properly set in. they arrived at the adge of the chain after three weeks, at which point the crews prepared for a bloody fight. They intended to strike at the dead of nighthoping that most of the ships wouldbe moored and unable to launch a counter-strike until the druchii raiders had come and gone. By dusk the scout ships had returned with the layout of the Norscan defense. Gaern laughed at what he was told as the scouts report confirmed his belief that they were nothing but lucky savages.

They had based themselves inside a cluster of old forts and had created crude wooden fences and watch towers. As Gaern had expected most of the ships were moored and didn't appear as though they would be preparing to leave until at least dawn, the time was perfect. As soon as night began setting in the ships moved quickly and silently to the pirate bastion. as the neared the island they could make out the fire lights of the fort, and soon after they could see the ships in the port. There were at least ten vessels there, ranging from huge Brettonian ships equipped with gigantic stone-throwers, to several boats used by the accursed Lothern sea-guard. However they knew that the various cannons aboard the ships would be useless at close range, and under cover of night the Norse watch towers hadn't sighted them. But to ensure they wouldn't be seen two ships had been dispatched aside from the fleet to land and attack the towers two hours earlier to ensure complete suprise. Rhyithan and the other retainers were to accompany Gaern on shore where they intended to strike straight at the chieftan while the rest of the crews created havoc and confusion.

However just as the first ships began to enter the cove, Rhyithan and the rest of the crew noticed the strange tang in the air, the stench of sorcery. There was a chilling roar of thunder, and out of nothing a huge storm began to swirl above the entrance to the cove creating a whirlpool which instantly teared apart the first ship and in minutes the cove was alive. Rhyithan realised what had happened- the ships sent to destroy the watch towers had never made it. They were dead and soon he was to join them. He wasn't the only one to have this revelation and soon all four surviving ships were turning as hard as they could to try and escape the ambush, but even as they did so the whirl pool grew dragging in yet another ship and it's crew. However it seemed that Gaern's personal ship and the other two were out running the tempest, however out of the mists they saw something. Rhyithan's stomach froze when a crew member screamed an alert of no less than five Norscan ships coming from the other direction to catch them. He drew his sword as one of them lined up next to Gaern's ship, the other corsairs did the same, bringing crossbows to bear or drawing knives,axes or blades of their own.
If they were to die, they were going to take every last man with them. The first few pirates were felled instantly by crossbow bolts jutting out of eyes and chests, but more of them kept pouring over the side on to the Druchii raider. Rhyithan jumped into the fray cracking open the skull of one of the foes. As he tried to free his sword another pirate came charging at him waving a large club straight at his head. Rhyithan threw himself aside to avoid the deadly blow, drawing a dagger from his side and desprately slashing for the man's knees. the pirate dodged his desprate slashes and cought Rhyithan on his shoulder with the club. He raised his weapon ready to liquify Rhyithans head, a slight grin appearing on his scarred face. Rhyithan braced himself for the incoming death,only for it not to come, he looked up to see a long draich sticking through the man's chest. Gaern appeared from behind him throwing a sword at Rhyithan yelling at him to get up and fight. Rhyithan grinned with blood lust and once again ran into the fray cutting and slashing wildly at the pirate attackers. They appeared to be fending them off, slowly gaining ground on the ambushers forcing many back to their own ship.

Rhyithan rounded on another of the savages raising his blade to sever the mans skull. He darted forward in a sweeping arc, which was interupted by the deck beneath his feet explodingsending him flying to the other side of the ship. rhyithan opened his eyes to find that one of them was covered in blood and had a chunk of wood justting from it. he screamed in agony, unsure as to try and pull it out or leave it. eventually he managed to regain control, deciding to deal with it later. he looked around to the area of deck in which he had just been standing. there was a gaping hole in the upper deck from what could only be cannon fire. Rhyithan looked out to the sea to catch the last glimpses of the other ships. One was ablaze and rapidly sinking and the others were nowhere to be seen save for various bits of rigging and sails that hadn't yet sunk. It dawned on him that the only reason they had been gaining ground was that the pirates were trying to get away from the incoming cannonfire. Rhyithan looked frantically for the captain only to see him slumped to one side, a jagged cleaver sticking out of his collar bone. The mission had been a spectacular failure, and now they needed to get out as many of them alive as they could. Rhyithan screamed at the crew members, ordering them to reattach the rigging and to get the ship moving as fast as possible. as far as he could tell they were still out of most of the cannon range. He was relieved to see that it was just a lucky shot that had caught them. But in several minutes they would be on the recieving end of two-dozen cannonballs. he barked commands at the crew, the other surviving retainers following his example. Gaern's first mate had come to his senses and was grabbing hold of the wheel.

Rhyithan grabbed several men and brought up the two barrels of Dragon's Fire from the hold, while others readied the working Reaper Bolt throwers. He didn't know if it would come in use but it should take out at least one of the enemy ships if it came into range. However luck had finally switched sides as the wind began to pick up and the Druchii vessel rapidly began to gain speed. The norse had strong and powerful Empire vessels but against the wind they couldn't match the speed of the elven raider. Upon realising this the Norse screamed in rage, the denial of a complete butchery enraging them. they let loose cannons, stone-throwers and even bows in a vain effort to hit and cripple the fleeing vessel.
It had been close, but Rhyithan and a handful of the crew had escaped with their skin intact.

Rhyithan stayed awake at the stern of the ship for as long as he could, until he passed out from the bloodloss of his eye. he awoke several times throughout the voyage home, never knowing how long he'd been asleep from and usually plagued by feverish hallucinations, the journey seemed to take for ever and at the same time, no time at all. Eventually he awoke to find himself no longer plagued by horrifying visions. He stared around to see various bottles of wine and hushalta that the crew had used on him to fight off his pain and infection. he touched his eye socket to feel a mouldy bit of bandage covered in congeled blood. He lay on his makeshift bed of straw and leather scraps wondering how much longer it was until home. There was a clink in the doorlock and one of the other retainers entered to find Rhyithan concious andlucid. he returned to the deck to find that they were in sight of naggaroth's black shores and grey skies.

When they landed back at Har Ganeth the dozen crewmen who had survived barely said a word in parting. Nolonger bound by their oaths to Gaern. Rhyithan became a sword for hire. Doing what ever job he could get from taverns, merchants and various other shady characters, trying to earn enough money to live by and to drink his troubles away. But to this day he still dreams of making his fortune, buying a ship and creating a fleet of his own so that he can watch as the Norscan fort burns by his own hands, then he will consider the debt of taking his eye repaid.

WS 4
Str 3
T 3
Dxty 2
Int 5

Equipment: Longsword, Shield, Lightarmor

skills:none

-----------------------------------------------
User: Dewilds (KILLED BY STRYFE)
Name: Matraous
Height and Weight: 5'11" 150lbs.
Gender: Male
Age: 157
Hair color: Black Eye:Grey Clothes:Simple traviling clothes
Scars: 2" long scar about the left eye(visible) minor claw marks
around the torso and legs (most to light and small to see at a distance)
tattos: Symbol of wrath on the back of the right hand.

Class:Shade
Stats:
WS:4
S:3
T:3
D:4
I:4

Skills: Basic Stealth

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

Background: Born and raised in the wilds of our beloved dark land. Matraous
learned the skills and disciplines of the shade. Stalking the land
and the animals upon it. Part taking in a fights against interlopers
upon his clans territory.
But as all children the time of such simple things has passed and
now he searches out his fortune either as a hireling to a noble wishing
to get and edge over his foes, or to find a place in one of the armies
that is sent forth to take back the ancestrial home. Either way his
plans are simple in appearance but the underlining subtilities are
many, and by the time he is through even assasins of the Temple of
Kaine may yet fear his name!

*Taming of the skink*

... and as with all training it came a time when my mentor led me down to our border lands with Lustria...

... the jungle was thick and thriving with life that presented such a racket that even one of those oaf humans could have passed for stealthy. Thus, in my arrogence I allowed myself to relax a bit dispite my training thus far. And for such a thing I earned a just reward!
They erupted from everywhere. Where one to say such a petty phrase as "the jungle came alive" normally I would just dismiss them as poorly spoken to use such a general comment. However when a blur of greens jumped upon me I soon learned why such a comment could be uttered by others.
The horrid little things with thier oversized heads and undersized bodies jumped and clawed at me while screaming some battle chant or curses (which ever I know not) as they attempted to over whelm me with numbers.
I began to slip out of disciplined moves and begin flailing like a weak slave when I heard the wisper of my mentors words on the air "maintain your discipline". I instantly snapped back into an orderly methods of jabs thrust and kicks. The moves and hits pushing the skinks back off of me giving me some room to breath though no time to pause.
Though I knew few if any of my moves was killing or rendering them unconcious I noticed them thining out. And around this time I caught the hint of movement out of the corner of my eye. A bolt laying low one of the little miscreants while I fought his brethern.
As I kept up my fighting thier number continued to dwendle. But they continued to come at me. The pathetic fools had not yet relized what was happining.
Then there was but one left of the pest. As it rallied to have at me again it paused for a moment noting for once in its pathetic attempts to best me that it had grown short in allies. In deed now that it looked it relized only I and it remained.
However instead of doing the resonable thing and surrendering itself to death that was surely a blessing to such a lowly creature it pulled up some last reserve of strength and courage and came at me again as if it could kill me before it died. As it left through the air at my face a bolt caught it in the side and pinned it to a tree to twitch and die. With that my mentor allowed me to see where he stood and aproached me slowly.
"Today you learned how a worrior fights." he said.
"Perhaps tomorrow I'll teach you how a Shade wins a fight." And with that he walked away blending back into the jungle while I was left to end all the claw marks the filth had left upon my body.
-------------------
User: Beastmaster Kurlan

Kurlan the violent
Height and weight: 6’9 and 130 pounds
Age: 185
Other descriptions: hair is jet black, eyes are green, and he wears plain black robes.
Class: trainee of khaine

Background: Kurlan lived with his mother at a small village near the chaos wastes. His village was often attacked but the forces could hold it off always. His mother was everything to him, she cherished him and gave hikm everything to make his life better. He had no brothers and only a single baby sister who was only 5 years old. His father had been murdered a year ago, but Kurlan was never fond of his father so did not care. It was one viscous night that the norsemen came, their ferocity was unmatched and numbers greater, the elven warriors were cut down, their skills useless agaisnt such great men. Kurlan was 175 years old, he had a fair amount of combat training and fought to defend his mother and sister when they came to his house. The norsemen had no fear, Kurlan cut down three of them before being overwhelmed. The leader clasped his throat and threw him to his guards who held him in a tight grip. Kurlan struggled but it was no use. The leader grabbed his mother and raped her as she screamed for her son to help. Kurlan had tears in his eyes but could do nothing. After they were done with his mother they took her and the sister away, cheering at their prizes. Kurlan was beaten hard so he could not move, As she was dragged away his mother yelled to him, she told him to become a mercenary, when he had the skill he should rescue her, not before he was ready. It was while he sat in his own blood, beaten and distraught that he vowed vengeance, he would complete his mothers wish. He bought wargear, twin blades and practiced for most of the day, he continued this for years.


Stats

Ws: 3
S: 4
T: 4
D: 5
I: 2
---------------------------
User name: Lextalionis

Character Name: Lextalionis

Character Height and Weight: 5’ 11”

Character Age: 278

Other Descriptions: Lex has Jet black hair as is common with all Druchii, it is tied back into a pony tail which reaches between his shoulder blades. His eye are deep brown in colour. Lex sports the delicate facial structure of most Druchii. He wears a well worn shades cloak with a hood, secured by a brass brooch depicting his clans symbol. He wears a dark brown vest over a black dyed cotton shirt, his pants are black cotton with a leather belt. His shoes are doeskin soled shin height boots. Lextalionis’ skin is completely unblemished by the hard living that his clothes attested to, if he had been born a noble he would be considered moderately attractive. Lex has a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist in the shape of the Druchii rune for wanderer.

Character Class: Shade

Character Stats:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T): 4
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 3

Character Background: Lextalionis was born into a clan of shades which inhabited the foothills of the Iron Mountains. Life as a semi-nomadic clansman was tough and those that did not pay attention and learn the ways of a shade were quickly left to die alone in the wilderness. Lex was the son of an important member of the small clan, his father was the clans fur trader and it was his job to travel to Har Ganeth before winter and sell the clan’s fur to rich merchants. As Lex grew older he began accompanying his father and older brother, Reed, to Har Ganeth.

On one of these journeys in Lextalionis’ 80th year, he and his brother Reed were sent on an errand to purchase some beads for the clan’s eldest matriarch with the fur money. “Come on little brother, father isn’t expecting us back from the markets for an hour. I wish to enjoy the sights of the city from the inside of a tavern.” stated Reed. But Lex was not interested in drinking or enjoying the ‘sights’. Lex argued with his brother, “Brother Reed, father sent us to buy beads, now is not the time for drinking and sightseeing.” Reed was not impressed with his brother’s cowardice. “You may buy the beads. Come back to this tavern when you have them.” with that Reed walked over too a tavern and entered. Lextalionis was angry at his brother’s rash behaviour but he decided that he would get the silly beads as quickly as he could and then rush back to the Tavern, which had a sign on it with a Manticore ripping apart an orc painted on it.

Har Ganeth was a big city which many winding streets and Lex could feel himself slowly becoming disorientated by all the uniform buildings. It was well over an hour before Lex had even found the bead merchant. and he was so impatient to get back to his wayward brother that he paid easily twice the price that the merchant might have expected to sell them for. Lex had a vague idea of where the tavern was and he hurried in that direction. But Lex could not find the right tavern and had been circling the same city block for what seemed like ages until he heard a Druchii yelling and the sound of shattering glass. He immediately ran in the direction of the sounds in the hope it was his brother. Running towards the tavern he spied the crumpled body of an elf who had been thrown through a window and into a side alley, Lex panicked and ran heedlessly into the alley, ignoring the crunching glass under his boots. He struggled to roll over the large Druchii but succeeded in twisting the head. The face was a mess, broken nose, cut lip and a bloody gash across his forehead. Not to mention the large shard of glass embedded in the poor fool’s eye. But it was not his brother, Lextalionis was cradling the corpse of a dead stranger in his arms. The next ten seconds were a blur for Lex, “STOP, CITY GUARD” rang out in his head and he whipped around just in time to see the flat of a sword rushing for his head, knocking him out.

Lex’s memories of the following days and events were dark and hazy. They involved incessant beatings and taunts. After one particularly savage beating Lextalionis passed out and when he woke he was not in his holding pen but outside the city gate, mid-air and flying towards the hard ground of the ditch. Lex lay in the ditch waiting for the swift stab of a spear or a hail of bolts, but instead he heard his fathers harsh voice. “Lextalionis you have failed me, first you decide to wander the streets of the city, and then you get picked up by the city guard for murdering a citizen? It took all of the fur money to pay off the slavers to stop you being branded and sold off as a Druchii slave, scum.” Lextalionis despaired at what was being yelled at him but his father did not relent, “I did as much as I can even though you definitely do not deserve anything, you will not be welcome in the clan anymore. You are no longer my son. You may spend the rest of your life wandering Naggaroth. Do not speak to me. Do not come to the hunting grounds. Do not drink from our secret springs.” And with that, Lextalionis became a wanderer, cut off from his clan and without purpose.

Lextalionis made a life by hunting small game and avoiding death in the wilds. Occasionally travelling to Har Ganeth to sell the meagre pelts he collected. In recent times he has made money by guarding and guiding travelling merchants, running errands and performing dirty work for various shady persons in the city. And spending it by drinking and whoring.
---------------------------------------
User: Lot1Loe

Name: Davhandrol Sarath'than

Height: 6 ft

Weight: 135 lbs.

Age: 110

Physical description: Though still relatively young, she is well muscled. Despite the hard she has been doing most of her life, she is fairly atractive, if not overly pretty. She dresses rather plainly, as she doesn't want to draw attention to herself. Her skin is very pale, and her waiste-length hair is pitch black. Her most remarkable feature is her piercing blue eyes, impossible to read and with a strange, intelligent spark.

Class: Warrior

Background: Davhandrol was the daughter of a lesser beastmaster in Karond Kar, and it was apparent from a young age that she shared that talent for dealing with beasts. Her work as an apprentice was often difficult, but it also made her strong, tough, and rather nimble. However, she was also very intelligent, greedy, and ambitious, and these last two proved to be her downfall. For quite some time she had been stealing small amounts from the various nobles that visited them wanting to buy various beasts and services, knowing she would need wealth to move up in life, and she had amasseed quite a large sum. One time however, she took a bit to much, and the noble noticed right away. He sent one of his men over on some little bit of business, but the real purpose was to try and find out who it could have been. He happened to notice Davhandrol in her room as she was going over her little hoard. Upon hearing this information the noble was convinced she was the one, but had no proof and didn't want to endanger his dealings by launching wild accusations. Instead, he devised a plan to catch her another way. When Davhandrol awoke next morning, she went out to begin her work. During the day, a hansome young druchii showed up and watched her all day. Now, she was fairly attractive, so when she saw him there that night and asked him what he wanted, she was not at all surprised by his answer. She took him up to her room, but it was all a trap. For this young druchii was actually a condemned criminal, who the noble had set free and payed to meet her. That noble than tipped off the local guard that Davhandrol was not only helping him escape, but that they were also lovers, which was apparently confirmed when they were ten caught in bed together. When she heard who he was she knew that not only would she be disowned by her family for this dishonor, she would most likely be killed for the crime of helping him escape. Working with the various beasts of Karond Kar had made her fairly strong and quick, so when the gaurds moved to grab her she punched one in the face, breaking his nose, and in the brief seconds of confusion that followed made a run for it. She eventually lost her pursuers in the surrounding contryside, though was nearly caught several times. A fugitive, she stole some clothes and supplies from the first person she saw on the road. She then slowly made her way to the coast, living off of what she could steal from settlements and travelers along the way, by which time she had decided a career as a mercenary might be the best way to escape her old life. Though she had never had any training with a blade, she figured her physical abilities gained from a life of hard work with beasts would suffice, as well as out smarting opponents, knowing she was quite a bit smarter than the average thug. Therefore, she sold everything she had that she didn't need, and combined with what money she had stolen along the way, bought herself a cheap sword and suit of armor, figuring that was the best place to start.

Stats: WS1 S4 T4 D4 I5

Gear: Long Sword, Light Armor, and Shield

Skills: None

-------------------------------------------------
User Name: Maleuth

Character Name: Maleuth ira-bael du'Tabris

Character Height: 6'6"

Character Weight: Somewhere between 120-130lbs

Character Age: 240

Character Description: Maleuth stands tall and proud, with an arrogant and vaguely noble poise. His skin is pale, almost an alabaster white and his raven hair is cropped short to remain simple. Maleuth tends to wear the darker of blues in his clothing, occasionally letting something of a clean white take his fancy for a day. For the most part, he simply wears what he is told to wear, in order to better fit in to whatever group he finds himself serving.

Maleuth has little in the way of distinguishing features. His eye's are a dark shade of green and he bares several scars over his arms and torso from a multitude of fights throughout the last few centuries. He has no tattoo's and chooses to remain fairly blank in his aesthetics [no jewelry or the like].

Character Class: Warrior

Character Background: [Wall of text ahead. I'm trying to keep it easy enough to read, but I could go on for a while.]

Maleuth was born to the du'Tabris household, a relatively small noble house that resided within the city of Clar Karond. The Fourth son of his family, little was expected of Maleuth but to serve the machinations of his own father and elder brothers above him.

Maleuth sat slowly, taking care not to slouch or to give any sign that the open cuts over his back were giving him any discomfort. His brothers sat to the side of him, in much the same way although casually sprawled over their cushions upon the floor. Together they made somewhat of a semi-circle in the room, all awaiting their father to father to speak.

Their father. He was a large man, brutish and cruel, but cunning enough to survive within the world of the Druchii. He sat upon an ornate chair in front of his sons, years ago having commanded that no other in the household would sit at a level equal to him. As his sons glanced from one another and then to him, so to did he in turn regard them.

'Maleuth' he began, leaning forward slightly in his seat to regard his youngest and weakest son in closer detail, 'It is good to see that the lash has taught you to no longer slouch, but you had best be careful not to appear too stiff, we may take you for a statue' He chuckled, and Maleuths brothers joined him.

Education for Maleuth was a painful and harsh experience, often times riddled with rhetoric and filled with situations he could never hope to come out of unscathed. For each failing, he received the lash to his naked back, and to this day carries many half faded scars as a reminder of his youth.

Yet youth is passing, and Maleuth grew, adapting to the world around him. He was eventually deemed acceptable to be sent out on patrols with the city militia, an embarrassment as far as his family was concerned, but one that was slowly learning.

For Maleuth however, to be released from the confines of his families home and into the wilds of the world amongst his kin, it was like he had been given a proper chance to live.

Drakmor crept up to crouch beside Maleuth, who barely glanced at him before returning his eyes to the small valley below. From their vantage upon this outcropping or rock, they could see a good distance in any direction and more specifically, could keep an eye on the human barbarians that had made landing upon Druchii land several day's previous.

'Developments?' Drakmor asked quietly, the silence of the dawn forcing his words out far louder than he had intended.

He had to wait several moments for a reply, half the time he was forced to wonder if Maleuth was even listening, such was his gaze held by the barren wilderness around them.

'No' was all he received, an empty response with no attempt from the speaker to hide his voice.

Drakmor frowned. He had likened Maleuth to an idiot many weeks ago when they had first met, the elven youth being more interested in the weather and where their patrol would be going, instead of who he would be traveling alongside or serving beneath. His perception had changed little in the time he had known Maleuth. It was accepted amongst the patrol that he would be the first to die when it finally came to battle.

Maleuth cared little for the first impressions and shows of strength and dominance that many of the others around him treated so importantly. He remembered the first time he was challenged to a duel by a fellow patroler he had simply stood and let the other elf strike him, finishing the fight in record time and placing himself at the bottom of the heirachy for the small group.

He could have cared more however, as his perception of the world around him was soon to change, and his rank in the world itself was soon to under go turbulent changes.

Within the dawn twilight the group moved quickly into the Norse camp, careful to remain silent and take up their designated positions outside the various tents. As they each found their place, they glanced back towards the direction they had came and were rewarded by their sergeant with the signal that had them burst back into action.

As one, they opened the various tents they stood before and half stepped inside with weapon drawn to silently slay the half sleeping barbaric humans within. Within seconds, their targets were dead and they were moving as a group to the next lot of tents.

Just as they were turning back to await the signal to continue the slaughter, a cry rent the air. A deep and foreign howl in a harsh and guttural language. Turning, the group saw a towering Norseman bringing an axe to bare as he charged the nearest elf, easily knocking the slender soldier aside with his almost inhuman size.

The rest of the patrol group reacted quickly to form up ranks, bringing swords and shields to bare but it was too late to salvage the situation, the dozen and a half Norse interlopers were already crawling out of their tents at the sign of battle, groggily reaching for weapons and charging the fledgling elven line.

After the first patrol, Maleuth learned not to trust even those placed in positions of rank and authority. Their own commander of the patrol had woken the Norse as his own soldiers had found themselves in the center of the camp, forcing the youth's to fight for their lives in order to escape. Yet never is there an action without some thought put behind it. Maleuth had learned later that the reason he had been betrayed like this was so that only the strongest and more cunning of the youth would be allowed to return to the city and continue to serve.

And thus Maleuth had served, for several decades he had moved from one patrol to another, occasionally finding himself stationed upon the coast in a tower to keep an eternal watch over the oceans towards Ulthuan and beyond. Eventually, finding himself called to return home and serve his father in his various machinations.

Maleuth stepped into the main hall of his family for the first time in several decades. Long ago he had chosen to simply reside in one of the cities garrisons when not on patrol, and requested to join the next outgoing group planned, yet here he was, unable to ignore his fathers call to return to his family. Slowly, he stepped closer towards the center of the great hall and regarded the scenery in a new light. The stone architecture, the various tabards, nearly every piece within the room held Maleuth's interest for a moment before his gaze continued on.

Zerus stepped into the hall and regarded his runt of a child brother. Tall even for an elf, and with a girth that would be more common on a human than a Druchii, Zerus had always enjoyed tormenting his youngest sibling and it had been many years since he had the chance to do indulge himself in some sport.

'You do not have to lurk in the shadows' Maleuth said simply, catching Zerus somewhat by surpise. He had taken little pains to keep himself hidden, but the child he had beaten upon years prior simply accepted the punishments, even if he knew they were coming. It was unlike the runt to offer any form of challenge.

'And why should I not lurk?' Zerus asked arrogantly, stepping into the light of the hall and stopping only a few feet from his brother, 'This is as much my house as it is fathers, unlike some runts that have spent more time sleeping in the dirt than upholding the families name' He baited, curious how Maleuth would react, he could sense something of a change, as though this was no child standing before him.

Maleuth kept his back to his brother, barely acknowledging him. 'In the last month' he began, 'I have slain fourteen interlopers to our proud lands, eight of these of elven blood from the shores of Ulthuan.' He paused for a moment before continuing, 'In the last month, if the witnesses are to be believed, you have caused eight brawls in various drinking houses of the city, and beaten one of your whores to death' He stopped, letting the words sink in for full effect. 'Why has father called me home brother Zerus?'

Zerus almost struck Maleuth right there in a fit of blind rage, but managed to hold his hand at the sound of their fathers voice.

'Your father has called you home, dear son, because your father is in control of his household, not you, not anyone else' his fathers voice echoed through the hall and both Zerus and Maleuth turned to regard the brute of a man. Maleuth was surprised at the sight in truth. Only a few short years had passed and yet, his father was almost a shadow of his former self. Likely shorter than Maleuth and thin almost to the point of being malnourished, Maleuth could barely believe that the man standing before him had tormented him in these very halls for decades. Straightening his armor and folding his hands behind his back, Maleuth waited to hear his father out...

Upon his return to the du'Tabris household, Maleuth found his life changing dramatically. For almost half a century he had served his people on the borders of their lands, preventing war from reaching the cities, and yet this was to be a very different affair. The du'Tabris family had fallen out of influence and power over the decades, and was but a shadow of it's former self. Maleuth, having served in military matters for more years than his brothers combined, was to be sent alongside what remained of the houses militia to raid upon the lands across the great ocean, to make war upon the old world and bring back slaves and plunder enough to bring the house back into glory.

Yet things are rarely as simple as one takes them to be, and so Maleuth found the journey not only an experience to learn from, but a test of his skill to survive. Traveling itself took almost a month, and one that Maleuth chose to spend working diligently to learn what had been denied him in his youth. Before leaving, Maleuth had managed to bargain nearly two dozen tomes from his fathers library, in exchange for taking along one of his brothers, Marrek, the sibling directly older than himself.

In reality, Marrek was the one in charge of this endeaver, with Maleuth simply along to offer advice. Maleuth entertained the notion that he was being sent so far from home so that Synnt, his second eldest brother and the only other son with any interest in military affairs, would appear less lazy and prone to mistakes.

Maleuth sat in the cramped cabin he shared with the families soldiers, scanning over a high elves recount of the rise of one of the human empires. He had been offered his own cabin but chose to instead sleep beside those he would be serving with in the coming weeks.

Feet could be heard entering the cabin and Maleuth didn't have to look up to know that Marrek had come once again to speak with his younger brother. The journey was a long one and the sailors managed to keep control over the ship with ease, leaving the soldiers and two nobles to their own ends. The soldiers had developed a training regime to keep themselves from growing overly bored, and to remain in good condition for when they landed, Maleuth alternating between joining the soldiers and poring over the various books he had brought along. Maleuth was far from bored, if anything he wished there were more time in each day.

Marrek on the other hand, was both lazy and in no mood to sit idly. Far from a soldier, he disdained the constant physical training that had set up on the ship, and he considered the reading Maleuth put himself through to be a waste of time.

'What could you possibly learn from a filthy Asur?' he said as he took a seat in the cabin opposite his brother. Maleuth continued to read, pondering on how to acknowledge his brothers presence.

Marrek was about to continue poking but decided to just give up. Maleuth was not worth fighting with anymore, he had changed a lot over the years and even here, in the middle of the ocean, he continued to sit tall and proud in his armor and with weapon by his side, showing no discomfort. He was far from the runt Marrek remembered.

They landed in the empire several days later, striking a small coastal settlement here, an outlying town there, even staying long enough to take the stronger slaves from the soldiers that inevitably came to try and fight them off. But they were Dark Elves, and the simple minded humans in this land were ill-prepared to face them.

Within a week they had several dozen slaves. Within two they had twice that number and chests of plunder to return home with. They should have left then, but Marrek was greedy and considered the work simple enough that they should stay longer. 'Why return with what we have here when we can return a week late and bring another third utop this?' he had said, against Maleuths warnings.

Yet Marrek had made it clear that he was the one truly in charge here. Whilst the soldiers respected Maleuth, the captain and crew knew that Marrek was filling their pockets and so the raiding party would stay a while longer in order to bring back a greater haul to Clar Karond. This is where the trouble for the raiding party began proper.

It started off simple at first, a raid on a town that should have gone smoothly, finished in a matter of minutes, was met with defenders willing to give up their lives to slay the invaders. Half a dozen Druchii fell to human blades before Maleuth was forced to call a withdraw, nearly half a dozen fell again as they moved to return to the black ship they had sailed upon.

Another raid was mounted at Marrek's command, and once again they faced armed resistance, this time the humans actually having the gal to try and chase the Druchii as they moved to retreat.

Then the other ship had appeared.

Maleuth knew that this meant trouble and tried to have the captain turn them back to sea, to return to Naggaroth whilst this was still a successful raid. Yet Marrek, having blamed Maleuth for the failure of the last two raids, chose to command the elven vessel to attack the human ship and make up for the lack of slaves taken in the last two shore attacks.

The human ship was manned by soldiers, ready to avenge those slain by the Druchii invaders and return those taken to what remained of their homes and families. Elven soldiers are some of the finest in the world, an elf being as strong as any man whilst having an almost unnatural dexterity. Elven weapons are amongst the finest in the world, Druchii chainmail strong enough to deflect the blow from a sword or a bolt. Yet these soldiers were tired and knew that Marrek was prepared to have them fight to their deaths to sate his arrogance and ego.

The fighting was furious. Nearly two dozen soldiers were slain, and several crew members lost as well. Some of the humans had managed to get aboard the elven reaver and break free many of the slaves, most jumping overboard to swim back to shore and safety. Marrek himself died in the fighting, losing his head to a dirty human soldier. The Druchii won the battle, but were heavily crippled and had lost almost all they had worked for in the last month. Taking what they could from the human vessel they turned out to sea and their own lands in disgust at the idiocy another elves greed had cost them.

Upon their return the family had been forced to spend what little was left over from the expedition to compensate the crew of the ship that had been lost from Marreks foolish actions. Whilst they had several more slaves to their name, and a healthy amount of gold to add to their coffers, they found themselves in a position far worse than when they had begun, for the family had barely a dozen trained soldiers left to serve the family.

Enemies of the du'Tabris name were not slow to act on this situation, and Zerus was the first to fall. The brother of a wench he had hassled one to many times simply trailed him into a back alley one evening and after a short scuffle left Zerus for dead. The family could do little about this as there were simply not enough resources to track down a no-one whelp of a child within an entire city.

Following Zerus, Synnt was the next to fall. A patrol in the woodland to the far south of the city was met by an incursion of Asur. Whilst the battle was one, dozens were slain by the cruel cousins from across the ocean.

The final blow came not from without but from within, upon the holiday of Death Night. Kailen, father of the du'Tabris family, estates scattered throughout the city of Clar Karond, and owner of several dozen slaves with a dozen soldiers swearing service to his name, in his arrogance refused tribute to the temple of Khaela Mensha Khaine, and on the eve of Death Night the family estates were assaulted by the temple clergy, what remained of the family slaughtered and all slaves and possessions taken into the temple proper to appease the many faced god of the Druchii.

Maleuth did not find out until days after when he returned from a patrol along the coast of the Dark Elf lands. He could not bring himself to care, instead treating it as yet another lesson.

He would carry on his families name. One day raise his own family and teach them how to survive in the world of the Druchii. One day he would bring honor and glory to the name of du'Tabris, and his family would be hailed as a powerful and regal force to be feared. Those of the old world would tell tales of him, those of Ulthuan would feel his wrath and those of his homeland would whisper his name and come running from their houses to see him passing in the street. One day.

For now, he would simply return to his patrol, and keep an eye on the borders of the lands he called home. Luck permitting he would live to see many more years, decades and centuries, he had time and one day his dreams would come to pass.

Stats:
WS:4 S:4 T:2 D:4 I:4

Equipment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

------------------------------------------------
Username: Fingol 23

Character Name: Diana

Character Height/Weight: 5'10"/154 Ibs

Character Age: 93

Other Descriptions: Moderatly attractive female with a slim athletic build. Her skin is covered with accumalated grime and her long light brown hair is also tainted. Her most striking feature is her vibrant blue eyes and she is clothed simply in a long tunic secured about her waist with a leather belt. She wears an amulet on a long chain which covers her slave brand from view.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: The illigitamate daughter of a Druchii noble and Asrai slave Diana was sold into slavery early in her life. She was traded and stolen many times during her captivity untill she was finally freed by her master's untimely assasination. Still branded as a slave she has survived the last ten years as a thief and on occasion assasin. Gradually she accumulated enougth funds to buy the equipment required to become a profesional mercenary. She harbours an overwhelming hatred for her father and constantly seeks information on his identity. As a by product of her slaverery she is prepared to seek to almost any level in order to fulfill her aims.

CHARACTER STATS:
Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 5

STARTING EQUIPMENT
Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.

STARTING SKILLS
Shade: Basic Stealth.


--------------------------------------
Username: Dark Acolyte

Character Name: D'Kriiz
Character Height and Weight: 5'9, 185
Character Age: 100
Other Descriptions: eyes are jet black, Rune of Khaine on back of neck, long jet black hair, tied in back, several scars on hands and one above his right eye
Character Class: Warrior
Character Background: A life of constant betrayal and pain has shaped D'Kriiz into a solitary individual who has grown to rely on no one. Born the son of a temple guard, D'Kriiz spent most of his childhood growing up in the Temple of Khain and training to follow in his father's footsteps. His long years of training soon meant he was a strong individual among his Druchii peers. He showed great promise and his strength and skill with the blade soon caught the eyes of the Temple Executioners. However, on Death Night his world came crashing down around him. He witnessed as his father was cut down by a witch elf as he tried to prevent her from taking D'Kriiz's younger sibling. In a fit of anguish D'Kriiz lashed out with his fathers sword striking the witch elf who in her death spasm choked his younger brother to death. Plagued with feelings of guilt for causing his brothers death and angry at the temple for coming to his home in the first place, D'Kriiz fled from the city taking only his father's weapons.

He spent the next ten years of his life as a deckhand on a corsair ship. The constant physical labor and harsh conditions moulded him into a tough, powerfully built individual. He soon settled into his routine as a corsair. But his past soon caught up with him when his captian was hired to transport a high priest from the temple. D'Kriiz was immediatly recognized due to the rune of Khaine on his neck and was forced to flee for his life.

Now he currently makes a living as a mercenary, taking whatever job is avalible. His years of hardship have made him a solitary individual who is reluctant to trust and quick to anger. He constantly struggles with feeings of guilt for his brothers death and feelings of betrayal by the temple. He takes great pleasure in his work and battle is the only thing that eases his pain. He constantly trains and practices to further his skills. His brute strength and constant training mean that he is unmatched among his peers in swordsmanship and only this has prevented him form being murdered by jealous rivals. He constantly struggles to keep his anger in check and is searching for some way ease his constant pain. He is willing to do whatever is needed to gain power and wealth. Hopefully then he will be able to find some way to make ammends for his brothers death.

Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 5
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 2
Intelligence (I): 3

eqiupment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour

------------------------------
Username: Son of Man
Character Name: Sarneth Bladeburrow
Character Height and Weight: Height 6 foot / Weight 90kg
Character Age: 156

Other Descriptions: The olive skin separated him from every elf he ever knew, being a slave his whole life, he has been forced to do hard labour, his taunt, solid body is a testiment of this life of servitude, never being able to have anything he has kept his head shaved, his dark blood red eyes speak of his labour at his master's hands, a tattered and loose tank top, long drawstring pants, heavy working boots are all he can call his own, a odd design lines his left temple,long whip marks adorn his back.

Character Class: Warrior

Character Background:From the first moment he was born, his darker skin set him aside from every other dark elf child, abandoned and left to a guardian. He was belittled and assaulted everywhere he went by adults and children, who had learnt from their parents but every time he was knocked down he stood back up, he weathered this abuse for four years before his guardians sold him to a local lord, they didn't even recognise him as a dark elf, only some type of half-breed. Growing up in slavery was harsh, every little mistake, if the meat was warm or if he took to long he would be taken away for punishment, usually multiple lashings.

As he grew older his work load increased to carrying the feed and feeding the beasts or chopping trees for fire wood, then lugging them back. But his punishments also grew, he was often used as a test for new poisons, holding the feral beasts in the pin as a Beastmaster broke them in, and as a practise dummy for the Lord when there was nothing else.

He finally escaped his lord using the money and blackmail material he had collected over the years, working for his lord But even then he had to escape the people that were sent after him. He used the forest, setting many a traps and creating weapons from the trees to kill his trackers, keeping the long sword, shield, light armour from the corpses he killed but even then he was heavily wounded. He rested for a year in the woods to recover before heading for a town.

When he finally reached town he began life as a local mercenary, only doing small jobs just to keep his bills paid but never finding a big enough job or client to jump in to the big leagues but his clients have always been satisfied, because he always finishes the job and follows his orders to the letter until they're canceled.

Weapon Skill (WS): 2
Strength (S): 5
Toughness (T): 5
Dexterity (D): 3
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

Skills: None

_________________
Image


Last edited by Discipleofkhaine on Sun Jan 20, 2008 10:07 pm, edited 9 times in total.



Sun Sep 30, 2007 3:41 pm
Profile
Dark Artist
User avatar

Joined: Wed Jan 03, 2007 4:16 pm
Posts: 1091
Location: Where you'd least expect
Post 
The following 6 people now comprise group 12.

-----------------------------------------------------

Player: Lord Kanarik

Character Name: Letalis Iceflame
Age: 103
Class: Shade
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 111 lbs
Possessions: Shortsword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak
Skills: Basic Stealth

Stats: WS: 4
S: 2
T: 2
D: 5
I: 5

Description: Long black hair and pale skin, with peircing pale blue eyes that he obscures with his hooded gaze. His body is lithe, and he moves with a wolflike grace. His only adornment is a woven bracelet of thorns, positioned so that no thorn touches his skin. He wears traditional shade clothing, with a cloak with a small chunk torn out of it.

Background:

Underneath a misty, gray evening sky in the Blackspine Mountains, a baby was born to Rashana Silvertongue, a female shade of a small clan near the northern reaches of the Forest of Arnheim. As is the custom, the small boy was given to the forest to prove his strength and tenacity. All night, as the frost blanketed the ground, the small boy was witness to the cruel beauty of the forest; The graceful murder of a small brown shrew, the terrible joy of the owlets who consumed it, and above all, the deafening silence and silky stillness of it all.

As dawn broke and the sun shone through the trees, Rashana found her son’s small huddled form curled up on a bed of moss. As she held him to her breast, their eyes met, and she was startled by what she saw. His ice-blue eyes, deep glacial pools of emotion, were those of one who has seen much. They were alive with love, sorrow, anger, happiness and hate, all intertwined in an endless, rippling dance. There was fire in his frosty stare, which transfixed his mother for an endless moment, before his eyelids dropped, leaving no sign of his burning gaze.
Rashana had observed the surprising intelligence in her son’s expressive eyes, and she was convinced that he was in some way special, destined for glory and power. After seeing his son, with those penetrating eyes, his father was also elated, naming his son Letalis Iceflame, in hopes that his name would be spoken with fear and reverence across the lands.

Unfortunately, the proud parent’s hopes faded into oblivion as their son grew older. He was quiet and reclusive, preferring the company of the forest to those of the other children. He never engaged in their raucous, aggressive games, exhibiting restraint, which was often mistaken for weakness. He also developed a hooded gaze, masking his eyes, and without their light, he displayed a completely nondescript body. Without his eyes, he betrayed no emotion, his face was completely blank, and he appeared to have no body language to speak of.

When the lessons began, he took in all the information and went over it to himself, memorizing it and analyzing it with an almost religious fervor. Although he never exhibited extreme skill in combat, he enjoyed working with the weapons. However, in the philosophy lessons, in which the young shades were taught to have complete fealty and allegiance to their leaders, he grew increasingly disillusioned. He never spoke, but he kept his own counsel on who he would be loyal to, and this was based on calculated necessity, rather than blind obedience. He began to wonder why he had to stay in the forest and guard the borders of his homeland when he grew older. He had no great love of the interminable guard duty. But he kept these thoughts to himself as he grew more and more discontent.

Although he almost never showed it, his emotions grew stronger as the years went by. At first, his love for his parents and the wilderness grew, as did his happiness. Soon, though, he grew discontent due to his lessons, and the before long the other boys recognized him as different, and began to persecute him. The leader of the boys, a strong young shade named Leklos began to lead his group in taunting Letalis. The group would fall upon him, punching and kicking, and although Letalis fought back, he always withheld his attacks, never seriously hurting any boy. Eventually they would get the better of him, and he would dart of into the woods after a scathing glance. Early in his torment, he would forget himself and allow the boys to see his pain, rage and hurt. But he learned that this display only encouraged the gang, and kept tight control over himself. These episodes fanned his anger, and he took to sitting alone in the forest, watching and listening to all that was around him.

While sitting on his rock, he began to see the multitude of wildlife around him. He saw wolves, loping through the trees in search of game, he saw the birds, swooping and soaring with unlimited joy, and he saw the tranquil deer, always seeming so serene and beautiful. He marveled at the grace with which these animals moved through their forest home, and he began to unconsciously emulate them, conferring their grace onto him.

He started to make things as a challenge to himself, forced himself to find the subtle patterns of vines and supple branches, to try to weave them into ringlets and crowns. He failed many times, but he finally understood it, and his fingers flew as he wove patterned ropes. He made a circlet of thorns to amuse himself, he wove it onto his wrist, and sealed it by weaving the strands of into themselves, as to make it stay on. He was happy and peaceful in the forest, and it almost made him forget about his other troubles. Almost.
The cruelty of the other boys only grew worse with time. He was almost constantly hunted, and his patience was worn razor thin. When it finally snapped, a boy’s leg snapped with it, as a moment of carelessness on his part allowed Letalis’ rage to get the better of him. After the incident, he finally decided that he had had enough of this life, and at only the age of 103, he started to plan his escape.

He left in the middle of the day, the only time that nobody expects anything subversive to happen. As he flowed through the forest, a weight started to lift from his chest, allowing him to really breathe. After an hour of travel, he came to a wide gorge, while hundreds of feet below a rushing river gushed violently past.

Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. He whirled around, and there stood Leklos. Letalis’ eyelids immediately dropped.

“Think you can leave, do you?” Leklos sneered.

“No, I only came to look at this,” breathed Letalis, putting as much emotion in his voice as he could. “Isn’t it amazing? The power and beauty of it all, it’s just awe-inspiring.”

Leklos was intrigued; he had never heard Letalis speak with such emotion. In fact, he had barely heard him speak at all. With eyes full of interest, he stood next to Letalis and looked down.

“Leklos.”

As the young bully turned towards Letalis, he met his eyes, which were swimming with boundless emotion. Their pale blue depths were home to hate, anger, sadness and determination, flickering coldly through each other. For a brief moment, he was transfixed by the frozen fire in Letalis’ eyes. Then, as he was given a gentle push, he fell into the depths below. The last thing he ever saw was the burning stare of Letalis Iceflame.

***

Player: Cananatra

Name: Cananatra

Height and weight: 6.0 120Ibs

Age: 146

Other descriptions: Average build male, blue eyes, shoulder length black hair bound at the nape of his neck, small scar above right eye.

Character class; Warrior

Character background,
Cananatra’s childhood was spent as any of normal Druchii birth. He lived in the Viper mountains, ruled by Lord Varak. His father was a corsair who spent most of his time raiding. His mother was a maker of light leather armour. At the age of 132 he was conscripted into a raiding party formed by Lord Varak. Its destination, the jungles of Lustria and the riches hidden within.

Shortly after disembarking from the ship that carried them there the reason for so few corsair raids became evident. The dense Lustrian jungle was a natural death trap. It was a week of hacking through the underbrush before the true horrors of this land revealed themselves. Up to this point quicksand and large jungle predators had been the main worry. Now the smallest animal of the jungle carried with it a deadly cocktail of venom. Snakes the length of a finger who's bite caused wounds to fester overnight. Many Druchii fell on the long march, their internal organs shutting down.

Cananatra’s luck was not to hold out either. While he was wading through a dense swamp a small spider managed to work its way into his armour. Within days he was struck by a fever. To fall was to die so he agonisingly kept pace with the rest of the raiding party. Slowly but surely his uncommonly strong immune system fought back and defeated the neurotoxin. After three days of delirium his thoughts eventually cleared and he realised only half of the originally four hundred strong group remained.

Over the next two weeks of travel he sucummed to various poisonous bites or stings three more times yet each time his body survived and each time the numbers of his comrades dropped. After three weeks they were nearing their destination. Or so Lord Varak said. This was when they were ambushed. Small reptiles, barely three foot tall attacked from all sides. Most of their darts and javelins bounced harmlessly off the well forged Druchii armour but the few that found their marks caused the injured to cry out in pain and fall from relatively minor wounds. Poison. Seconds later larger more fearsome beasts attacked.

The Druchii stood no chance. The fifty which had got this far were being massacred. With one final contemptuous look at Lord Varak Cananatra sprinted into the jungle. A skink rose up before him and fired a dart just as his spear pierced its chest, not stopping to pull free the spear he dropped it and continued running. The dart had embedded itself in his forehead just above his right eye. He angrily tore it out and ran on.

The trees before him blurred and he almost fell but once again his immune system kicked in, breaking down the deadly venom before it could kill him. Dropping his shield he ducked and weaved through the jungle for as long as he could. At last satisfied he had temporarily shaken any who may have been pursuing him he set off back for home.

Thinking the next three weeks that perhaps a life in the army wasn’t for him. When he returned he’d try his own luck.

WS:4
S:3
T:5
D:3
I:3

Equipment: Long sword, Shield, Light armour.

Skills: none

***

Player: Demendred

Name- Demendred Coldheart

Height- six foot 3inches

Weight- 180 pounds

Age- 133

Description- he has blue eyes with sleek black hair. A lean face with a jagged scar running down his left cheek. His left ear is pearced and an ear ring made from a Nauglir fand hangs from it. He has a slim build average for and elf but while he appears very thin he has a wiry strength that more than makes up for any gauntness he appears to have.

Class- A male shade.

Background-Greetings, to the person who reads this I would like you to know my story, sit, relax, pull up a chair and listen as I tell you the tale of my childhood. I was born on a cold winter night over ninety years ago. My mother was the tribe’s herb woman, my father a common scout. My father was killed by the servants of chaos when I was barely five years old. He had been friends with a young man who would one day become the tribe chief when they were boys but during their adolescence they had both pursued the same young woman. That woman was my mother. She chose my father and unwisely scorned my father’s friend and ultimately sealed both their fates. Because of a series of unfortunate events involving some unlikely accidents the line of succession in the tribe eventually led to my father’s old friend.

After several years I was born, my birth seamed to infuriate the chief with what could have been if he had been the one chosen instead of his friend and the wedge between the two of them grew even further. He started sending my father to the most dangerous of missions that the highborn hired us for. I don’t know why the chief did this, whether it was jealousy, anger or some deluded thought that my mother would turn to him if my father wasn’t around but continue his actions he did. Eventually after five long years of struggling through the odds my father was killed during a dangerous mission to the chaos wastes. It is said sometimes that he died killing a chaos champion who was about to ambush the troops he was with even if the more popular story amongst the tribe was that he simply ran away, this side was told as he wasn’t well liked in the tribe and as an attempt to gain the favor of the chief.

After his death the tribe chief turned to my mother in an attempt to woe her. She refused adamantly and secured her fate. With my father dead and my mother scorned by the others of the tribe we became outcasts. If it wasn’t for my mothers rudimentary skills with herbs we would have been exiled. As it was we never had enough to eat which is probably why I’m so thin, even for a druchii, nor did we have good shelter and we always seemed destined to secure the worst chores around camp. Somehow though, against the odds we survived, at least for a while.

I was 18 when my mother died. There had been a fire in our tent. The men who discovered the it said it was the result of the cooking fire getting to strong and growing out of hand but I noticed know one seemed to unhappy when she died. That left me alone in the world. My family line had never had many children so I had no uncles, no aunts, and no relatives at all. The rest of my life was spent as the outcast. Last to eat, the worst assignments, and no one willing to help train me. I managed to learn the skills necessary by watching others and learning through battle but I was hardly the best in the tribe.

On my hundredth birthday I grew tired of this life. I could no longer accept the way I was treated and I had heard rumors of a new job for one of our scouts which I believed I would get. Some crazy noble wanted a scout for an expedition deep into the wastes. I left my home the next day and while I can’t be sure I believe I detected a cheer in the air as I left. As I departed this life I set out on another, I decided to become a mercenary looking for whatever work I can find, for my benefit alone I will work now and never again will I submit to being treated as an outcast. I will serve anyone who treats me with respect and one day I vow I shall have revenge for the deaths of my family.

This is my story, I hope you have enjoyed it and if you have I hope you will mention me to any seeking a good scout for hire. Come again if you wish to hear more now I pray, let me retire, it has been a long day and it is not over yet.


Equipment- Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.

Skills- Basic Stealth

Stats- WS- 4
S- 3
T- 3
D- 3
I- 5

***
Player: Khel

Name: Saldrimek Xenan
Height and Weight: 6'9, 85 pounds
Age: 120
Sex: Male
Other Descriptions: Long black hair tied back to keep out of his face. Green piercing eyes, many earrings shaped to look like druchii symbols. Robes of a light red color as well as having delicate hooks and bells hanging from his robes.

This gives Saldrimek a somewhat inquisitive look while others usually try to avoid him. It is quite hard for Saldrimek to hide for the bells and hooks are continually knocking together, alerting most people to his presence.

His face is as smooth as marble and he has absolutely no scars or blemishes upon his clear cut face.
Around his wrists are chains designed to look like thorns and spiked stems.

His footwear are open toe sandals which allow his feet to breath more for he moves around on his feet quite a lot.

Saldrimek' lithe body belie the muscular arms and legs he has obtained over the years of training at the Temple. His life ambition is to become more of a Executioner than an Assassin, though he is yet to decide which path to follow.

Class: Trainee of Khaine

Background:

Saldrimek was born to a normal family of two. He grew up with a fairly good relationship with his two brothers and one sister. He was mainly neglected by his family for he was the youngest and he did not receive the proper training which he would of liked from his family. At the mere age of 50, Saldrimek was considered a weakling and a failure by everyone around him.

This depressed Saldrimek to the extent that he always stayed out late, following the other kids home, always hanging at the back, always wanting to join the fun. No one ever saw Saldrimek for he was perfect at hiding, plus no one ever wanted to see Saldrimek. If the kids saw him, they would usually call him names and throw junk at them.

One late night, Saldrimek was walking home after attempting to play with the other kids, when he bumped into a hooded figure. The hooded figure turned around and looked down upon the frightened Saldrimek. Looking into the eyes of Saldrimek, the hooded figure saw the sheer malice and hate in the small childs eyes. The hooded figure knocked Saldrimek out and carried him back to his house.

Knocking on the front door, the hooded figure was welcomed by Saldrimek father, angered by the fact that Saldrimek had stayed out so late. Leaving Saldrimek with his family, the hooded figure just so happened to pass the window of Saldrimek' room. Looking in, the hooded figure saw that the child was sitting alone on his bed, with a bag stuffed with straw, a crude face drawn upon it.

The hooded figure decided that Saldrimek was not wanted by his family and would not be missed, which was entirely correct. Taking Saldrimek to the Temple, the hooded figure decided to train the boy and make him his apprentice.

Saldrimek hardly ever talks, he only does when he is either talked to or he wants to know about something. He has a strict personality as he follows out orders to the grain. The main reason he has the bells and hooks upon his body is to make people aware of him, making them acknowledge his presence.

He is currently a mercenary for hire at Vikarh for his sensei (the hooded figure) died a short while ago, leaving Saldrimek to his own doings.

Stats:

WS: 5
S: 3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 3

Equipment: Short Sword and dagger

Starting skills:
Two Weapon Fighting
Uncontrollable Frenzy

***

Player: Mostlyharmless

Character name: Nuul’Cha Falnae the “Night Phantom”

Height: 5’9”
Weight: 107 lbs
Age: 198
Class: Shade
Stats:
Ws – 5
S – 3
T – 2
D – 4
I – 4

Background:
Nuul’Cha was the third son to the Clan Father of the Frost Moon Clan, a small clan in the hills and steppes north of Ghrond and Har Ganeth. They were often employed as scouts by nobles campaigning in the Chaos Wasteland. This particular clan was hardier than most, and had seen many of the horrors wrought by the creatures of Chaos. They knew the lands and how to survive in the wastes, which made them invaluable scouts. They were also rumored to know no fear.

As the youngest child of the Clan Father, Nuul’Cha was considered a runt. He was not as strong as his brothers were at his age, and certainly did not possess the potential for an impressive physique. Nevertheless, he was a quick study in both intrigue and the use of weapons. That, and his quick feet may be what has kept him alive this long.

Like many of his clan, Nuul’cha had a rough childhood, and his small stature among his strong clan brothers made his childhood even rougher. As he approached his twentieth year, Nuul’cha developed into a chronic insomniac. He hardly ever slept more than a few hours a day, spending the nights stalking silently among the camps. So pale was he from the lack of sunlight that he started to resemble a ghost. One night, as he was stalking amongst the camp, one of his brothers had left his tent to relieve himself and nearly soiled himself at the sight of Nuul’Cha, staring at his tent, “Like a phantom,” his brother had said. This earned Nuul’Cha the title of the “Night Phantom.”

By observing his siblings, Nuul’Cha learned that the most important law among his clan was this: don’t get caught. He implemented this law quite cunningly as he executed his oldest brother, his wife, and their spawn with his second brother’s own sword. His second brother had always been jealous of the oldest, and it was relatively simple to implicate him as the perpetrator. His second brother was executed in a way befitting one who had committed murder carelessly enough to get caught. He was fed, alive, to a passing noble’s Cold One.

Now Nuul’Cha was next in line to inherit the title of Clan Father. Unfortunately, the Clan Father had plans for his intelligent, but ambitious son. He intended to kill Nuul’Cha and sire more children with a second wife. He could not stand the fact that a runt such as Nuul’Cha could possibly succeed him. He felt his legacy would be disgraced. So, he sent Nuul’Cha along with nine other Frost Moon shades to accompany an ambitious noble venturing into the North for the campaigning season. The shades had orders to execute Nuul’Cha after two weeks in the wilderness and claim he was killed by the savages of the North. If the shades failed to kill him, the noble would be paid handsomely to see the deed done.

Six weeks later, the party returned to the Frost Moon camp with only five shades remaining. Nuul’Cha was not among them. They claimed that he had been killed by the savages. That night, several sealed notes were opened by clan brothers loyal to the fallen Nuul’Cha. That morning, the Clan Father’s head was impaled on a spear outside his own tent. It would seem that Nuul’Cha had his vengeance, even from beyond the grave, if he really was in his grave.

Nuul’Cha had found out about the plot before the party left and had left his loyal friends with orders to kill his father if he did not return with the party. Naturally, he had escaped from both his betrayers and the noble’s warriors.

The death of his father threw the clan into chaos. Their leader was dead, and his heir was presumed killed. The clan split into a dozen factions, each one under a viable leader. There was bitter fighting among the clan. When Nuul’cha returned to the camp, there was nothing left. The tents were in tatters. There were corpses everywhere, some gnawed upon by bestial mouths. The clan’s greatest fear had come to pass. While they fought amongst themselves, a troop of savages and beasts had made it past the border towers, following the noble’s campaigning party back to the Frost Moon camp. The Frost Moon camp had no scouts out, having split up, and they were easy prey.

Nuul’cha recognized the graffiti scribbled on the tents in dried blood. He had arrived too late to lead his people. His people were no more. He was the last surviving Frost Moon.

For the past sixty years, Nuul’Cha has hired himself out to campaigning nobles and warriors to act as a scout and tracker. He is good at what he does, but inside him burns an unbridled rage at the savages that stole his chance at true power.

Description:
Nuul’Cha is very pale, even by Druchii standards, earning him the name “Night Phantom.” His face and bald head bear dark tattoos in the style of shades. On the nape of his neck is the mark of the Frost Moon clan. His hands are tattooed as well, along with his entire body. He believes that the tattoos protect him, despite the fact that they actually do nothing. Nuul’Cha is small by Druchii standards, but his body is lean and fit. He wears layers of dark robes to cover his scarred and tattooed body. His eyes are a deep purple.

Equipment: Short Sword (stolen from his second brother), Repeater Crossbow (stolen from his first brother), Shade Cloak

Skills: Basic Stealth

***


MISSING

Player: Angelique

Character Name: Andrusa Thota
Age: 98
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 102 lbs
Other descriptions: She usually wears her light-brown hair in a long braid to emphasise her slender stature. Still young and fairly small, she makes the most of her agility by wearing mostly simple clothing that allows easy movement. Being true to her trade and code, she doesn't wearreflective jewels, safe for her mother's adamant ring (see background)

Class: Shade
Basic equipment: Short sword, shade cloak and repeater crossbow
Basic skill: Basic stealth
Stats: WS(4) S(2) T(3) D(5) I(4)

Background:

Being born as the last of three children in the noble Thot family, expectations were high for little Andrusa. Her brothers were the pride of the family, occupying high positions in the city council, and she (under the rigid regime of her mother) was destined for similar greatness. An especially bright pupil, she advanced quickly in courses literature, foreign languages, philosophy and etiquette.

Andrusa wasn't of exceptional beauty, but still as fair as any elven maiden. She was a member of one of the most respected families in the city, and soon her parents would be busy arranging a suitable match for their daughter. However, if there's one quality the Druchii lack, it is understanding love: love for another elf, love for their family. There's only loyalty and pride to bask in.
Thus, when Andrusa wouldn't agree to the marriage her parents had arranged for her, they were very disturbed. She too, didn't completely understand her sudden rebelly against her parents: she'd fallen in love with a young servant, but she failed to understand what she was feeling. For all her education, this hadn't been one of her lessons: surely there was something wrong with her? But she couldn't resist the signs her body was giving to her (nor could she resist his body), so she couldn't agree to marry someone else, forfeiting a future with her true love.

Such a rebellion wouldn't be tolerated of course, and her parents made swift work of it. The young servant boy was quickly sent away. It would be very hard for him to find work elsewhere: he was of low birth, and as he was found unfit to serve one of the most respected families in the city, few nobles would be willing to employ him. He had but one option left: to leave the city and try his luck elsewhere. One cold, star-ridden night he departed to an unknown destination.
Andrusa was devastated by the news. Her parents, however, were relieved as they were sure that, with the 'little problem' being solved, Andrusa would quickly cease her resist against the marriage. However, like any woman with a strong mind and a heart in love, Andrusa was determined to follow her lost lover to world's end: she fled the villa of her parents, taking only her mother's ring with her, as a sole reminder of her heritage.

The first few days after her escape were harsh. She was very well known in the city and it's immediate surroundings, and she couldn't take the risk of being discovered by staying at an inn. To diminsh the chance of discovery she would have to master the art of stealth and disguise. Not an easy task, but she was witty and learned fast. Mostly self-taught, she made the most of her natural assets (her agility and common sense, that is) to escape her family's influence and leave the city.

Now, she's searching for her lost love. Hardened by the difficult life as an outcast (she's always been very cautious towards others, fearing discovery of her true identity), but still with as much, if not more, passion as the day she left her home.


RECAP => So, my character is not your usual DE. Not so interested in killing for money (though she's not above that) or pleasure, she's rather obsessed with her search for this man she knew once. According to elf-standards, she's very young and naive (rather shielded by her family). Of course, she's been living the hard life now, but she still retains some characteristics of, well a teenager.


Last edited by Draknir on Mon Apr 21, 2008 12:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.



Sat Dec 22, 2007 10:30 am
Profile
Executioner

Joined: Fri Mar 09, 2007 5:24 pm
Posts: 176
Post 
The following players now make up Group 13

Player- Raneth

Vryala Naïlo
Female Warrior
H/W: 5’11”, 124 lbs.
Age: 163

WS4 / S3 / T2 / D4 / I5

Equipment:
Light armour, shield, dagger, Repeater Crossbow

Description:
Snow white hair and icy pale skin, a very attractive figure and striking purple eyes. A black ritual tattoo covers the left side of her face, and were she to remove her dark armour one could see there are more of those on various parts of her body. Her armour is usually adorned by a variety of spirit bells, the sound of which seem to cloy the eyes and dull the mind. These are creations of her own – a pastime she thoroughly enjoyed with her late mother. A disturbing beauty indeed. As a Druchii general’s daughter, Vryala has received extensive weapon training but prefers to rely on her wits and charm.

Background:
The daughter of a warmongering Druchii Highborn, Vryala found herself lacking a father most of her upbringing. During her passing years into adolescence she found out that her mother, who she was told died in childbirth, was actually still alive and very familiar to her. She was the person she’d always known as the groundskeeper, and this new revelation sent the two females screaming murder. However, no blood was spilt and the two started talking, eventually developing a loving relationship. Vryala learned a terrible secret, the reason her heritage had been kept from her – this woman had once been assigned by the great Lord Malekith as the household’s Sorceress. After a fleeting night of debauchery, the Sorceress had become pregnant and it was only with her best pleading and intense groveling that she had managed to keep her life from being taken by the enraged Lord Naïlo, in order to watch their child grow up. Now that the secret was out, however, she would surely be slain. At this point, Vryala began to fear for her own life as well.

Both the ex-Sorceress and her daughter having exceptionally good looks and an innate way with people, the two crafty she-Elves managed to rally the entire household to their side in expectancy of Lord Naïlo’s return. Upon arriving, he was greeted before the gates by his daughter, who took him apart from his army and confronted him with the secret. As foreseen, he was infuriated, and marched through the gates intending to slay Vryala’s mother. It was not long before he found himself betrayed by his servants, and his army was called inside to aid him.

Screams erupted from the halls as the household’s servants were butchered. Vryala rushed inside, trying to reach her mother before her father did, but he was a matchless fighter and had already slain all those who tried to bar his way. Stumbling onto the stairs, tripping over dozens of corpses, Vryala was surprised by the sudden scent of ozone and a crackling in the air. The following shockwave sent her tumbling down the stairs again, falling debris nearly quashing her on several occasions. Her mother had decided, after all these years of fear, to call on the Daemons of the Warp again and make a final stand. An unearthly voice boomed: “Go!” Vryala realized that her mother could not be saved and fled outside, her father’s soldiers not hindering her as they weren’t sure if they should consider her an enemy. Tears of rage burning her eyes, she locked all the gates of the estate, trapping those inside.

As she walked away, she looked back to see the estate being ripped apart by nightmare Daemons. Even from where she was standing, the screams of terror and pain could be heard clearly over the collapsing of the walls and tower. A massive incarnation of Chaos burst out from under the estate, completing the destruction and roaring triumphantly, before fading into inexistance again. Vryala’s mother had died and had cursed her own soul forever, but her daughter would be spared Lord Naïlo’s wrath.

The vocation of mercenary came naturally to her, being very fond of battle and equally skilled with weapons. Her main motivation is to leave Naggaroth and establish an estate of her own in an area that’s more easily exploited. She eagerly seizes any opportunity to increase her power, having a particular interest in the magic variety.

**************

Player- Ahki: DECEASED

Character Name: Dlav Voivode (Male Warrior)
Character Height: 6'4"
Character Weight: 126 Ibs
Character Age: 89
Other Descriptions: Long Black, Dark Brown Eyes
Character Class: Warrior
Character Background: Dlav was born to a modest life, at least, modest for any Dark Elf. His father was a slave trader, earning a decent estate for himself and his family. His mother took care of the estate and the household, making sure it ran smoothly so his father wouldn't have to worry. Such was a simple life, as though it was short.

Nearing legal age of his own, sadly a terrifying event would occur in his life. Death Night, the night in which his family would be torn away from him. His father, mother, his own personal slaves were sacrifice to Khaine. Left with nothing, the young elf would have to scrounge around taking lower jobs in order to avoid being a slave himself. This would bring him to the profession of a mercenary.

CHARACTER STATS:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 4
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 3

STARTING EQUIPMENT
Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.


STARTING SKILLS
None

**************

Player- Bikeninja

Name: Fiat Obsidian

Height and Weight: 6'8, 160 ibs.

Age: 98

Image description: Long black hair, somewhat curly with bangs that cover the top of his face. Tall and lean, tonned muscles that provide him with a still slim looking body. There is a large scar on his scalp that is covered by his hair, and a burned mark of Slaanesh hidden on his inner thigh. Always wears his armour, which he prides on being a dark metallic blue, but usually has a light robe over it.

Character Class: warrior

Background: The son of a rich and greedy Highborn, Kaz Obsidian. Kaz was greedy, underhanded and lazy. Instead of going on slave raids and earning his position, Kaz highered loyal assassins to cause mutinies and assassinations on highborns troops, and bring all their riches, slaves and men to him. Kaz wed a mysterious Druchii from the northern boarderlands and soon they had two children: Lux and Fiat.
Lux, the older brother, was favoured by their father, and the two of them ordered Fiat to carry out dirty and harsh tasks. But Fiats mother seemed to favour him, and came up with a plan to overthrow Kaz.
Fiat joined with his mother and slew his own father and brother, bringing then alone in a place they thought they could trust Fiat, then he cut their heads from their necks in two quick slicing motions. His mother had highered strange mercenaries from the north, Human tribesmen with savage looks. The men raided the Obsidians keep for all their precious valuables, and when Fiat was to discuss the division of their new wealth he was betrayed. His mother was an adept in the worship of Slaanesh. She cut Fiat on his scalp and whispered an enchantment into the bleeding flesh.
Fiat awoke on the streets shortly after, remebering the treachery of his mother, but unable to remember where she was or even what she looked like. His leg burned with a strange sensation, somewhere between tingling and burning flesh. When Fiat checked his leg, the mark of Slaanesh was burned into his skin, but he didn't remember how or when. He also gained this new hunger for blood, as well as a need to regain his lost position. But he had nothing, and knew he would have to continue with more dirty work to gain a penny, but now he seemed to enjoy it.

Stats:
WS: 4
Str:4
Dex:3
Tough:4
Int:3

STARTING EQUIPMENT
Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

**************

Player- Arnold Layne

Name : Karonath

Appearance : She is short for an Elf. She has the bones of a full figure, indeed her hips would suggest that she has had a child. The flesh that covers her bones is rather scant and wiry, the skin taut, giving her a fierce look. She has long black hair, and sparkling green eyes. Her bust is below the Dark Elf average. If she dresses, she dresses in blue and purple.

Height : 6'2"

Weight : 65kg

Class : Trainee

Background : Little is known of her true origins. It is perhaps enough to say that she was found on the streets of Naggarond, by the Hags, one Death Night. The Hags might have killed her, but they saw that she was both beautiful and fierce, and had a rather devious turn of mind - as might be expected of a castaway in such a dangerous place. So, rather than sacrifice such an ideal specimen, they initiated her. As to what her home was, and how she lost it, she herself can not remember.

She is almost completely insane, given to occasionally going into fits of howling grief, followed hard by bursts of murderous rage. She could not tell her name either, so the Hags named her Karonath, which is the Sufferer. Nor could she tell how long she had been on the streets; some years, at any rate. The Hags were naturally curious as to how she had not been discovered there earlier. Apparently, she would break into the attics of houses, by opening the locks with what she could 'thoughtwind'. It seemed she had some kind of natural aptitude to magic.

Her training has not yet begun, in the warlike sense. She does have some streetwise knowledge of fighting with and without weapons. At the moment the Hags are wrangling with the task of revealing to her closed mind the majesty and terror of Khaine, that she might worship him. She is frighteningly quick minded, within her narrow spheres of judgement. She is sly and seductive, and if thwarted, quite fierce, at least, when she has a clear object. At all other times she has rather the air of a confused child.

For the moment, the Hags are content to send her out into the world, in order that she may come to Khaine through battle and blood. They attach her to whatever company will have her, and send her away with the Blessing of Khaine upon her. If she should so gain a lust for death and destruction for its own sake, the Hags hope that she will then be ripe for further initiation into the mysteries of the Temple.

Equipment : short sword and dagger

Characteristics :

Weapon Skill : 5

Strength : 2

Toughness : 4

Dexterity : 5

Intelligence : 2

Why low Intelligence? She's like a Cold One. It's not the lack of intelligence really, it's the lack of concern, or, if you like, the narrow perspective. High toughness because she's as near as dammit a psychopath. She don't stop till she's dead.

**************

Player- The Buoyancy of Water

Name: Rakia Kane

Sex: Female
Age: 127
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 97 lbs

Other Description: Rakia's skin is pale; almost white. Two razor thin scars run from the corners of her eyes back to her ears, whiter than even her smooth ghostly skin. Her black hair flows down to her mid-back, though it is almost always tied up in a ponytail. Dark purple streaks in her hair match the colour of her eyes. 233 tally marks are tattooed on her upper left arm. One was added every day she was imprisoned by Lord Ureal.

Character Class: Shade

Character Level: 2

Weapon Skill: 6
Strength: 2
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 6
Intelligence: 5

Equipment: Repeating Crossbow, Short Sword, Dagger, Shade Cloak, The Rings of Alden-Taal.
Skills: Basic Stealth, Infiltrate, Rapid Fire, Precision Fire.

Background:

Rakia became a mercenary at a very young age. She was born into a nomad family who lived in the wilderness, never venturing near the vast cities of civilization. In such a community it was necessary for every young elf to learn the skills of the shade, and she soon became proficient at looking after herself in the harsh wilderness. However Rakia was never completely happy living this life. She longed to explore the world and see the mystical sights her Uncle always told her of.

Rakia set out to make a name for herself as soon as she was old enough. She opted for the mercenary route; her Uncle had told her it would lead to exciting travels, fame and fortune faster than any other career choice. At first she was almost too scared of the big cities to even speak to most, but she eventually found a group of elves with the same goals as her. It was here she met Dimitri.

Eventually, after much adventuring, she found herself in the employment of one Lord Ureal, a powerful noble. Her early training meant she quickly rose through the ranks of his servants, eventually becoming his most valued employee. She became very successful under his wing, and soon began making a name for herself. However this was all about to change.

In a most important mission that Lord Ureal trusted only to her, she failed. Lord Ureal became the laughing stock of the upper class, and many a rumour of his declining power sprang up. He could not let this lie, and unfortunately for Rakia, his wrath fell upon her. He had her imprisoned in his torture cells. She remained here for 233 days until Dimitri finally found her.

While Lord Ureal was away elsewhere Dimitri battered his way to the cells. He too had trained long and hard since the pair had split, and he was now a formidable warrior. He found Rakia near death, picked her light frame up and fought his way back out. They were nearly clear when a bolt finally penetrated his armour behind the knee, but despite this injury they escaped. He nursed Rakia back to health, but as she grew stronger he became weaker, for the bolt had been poisoned.

Dimitri died, and Rakia was left alone once more. Her time in the torture chambers had taken her strength from her, and Lord Ureal had told her long ago that she had been cursed to strip her skills from her so that she couldn't escape. She was back to square one, knowing the only way should would ever be truly free was to train until she was strong enough to find and kill Lord Ureal.

Before long she found herself caught up in a desperate battle with the forces of Chaos. She was hired, along with several other mercenaries, to settle this from the inside. Powerless to stop the scenario unfolding around her Rakia and the others tried to stop the Khornites, during this time she found the powerful Rings of Alden-Taal. Members of the group started dying or simply disappearing, until only Rakia was left. With no other choice she fled the cities to escape imminent death.

After a year in hiding she returned to the city and found work tracking down a traitor in the Lands of Men. The Ravenguard had promised to find Lord Ureal should she complete the mission. Full of hope Rakia headed off with a band of mercenaries. However infighting soon caused them to loose their way and the group was forced back home having failed. They split up; deciding that was the best way to escape the wrath of the Ravenguard.

**************

Player- Silar, Hand of Khaine

Name: Thesbe
gender: female
age: 130
height and weight: 6.8 and 120kg
class: Shade
appearance: Icy blue eyes. pale skin, stunnigly beutiful, slender frame, ears are smaller than the average elf but still taller than a average humans. She has glowing blue tatoos all over her body.

background: Thesbe was born on avery cold night, minuites before a raid. She almost died of cold at first but as she was the daughter of one of the chieftain's wives she was wisked away to relative warmth. Then the attack came, a rival shade clan attacked their camp and the enemy chieftain slew Thesbe's father.

As Thesbe grew as I child she was very dominant over the other childern, they would follow her wherever or do what ever she said. Once she led them into the dark forest near the camp, they would have surly been eaten by some wild beast had not the search party arrived just before dark. Thesbe's punishment was to look after the clan elders whoever as it is good for a druchii to show leadership Thesbe was allowed to continue to lead the young.

When she turned 90 Thesbe finished her warrior training and became a complte shade. She was tatooded then. Her tatoos glow brightly during battle and it is said that they lend her magice strength, however out of combat if Thesbe whims it her tatoos can fade to the color of her skin so no one can see them.

Thesbe made a plan to take revenge on the clan who killedher father, she picked a dark night to strike. She used her new found abilty for stealth to sneak in and kill the chieftain, however she was captured. Her clan refused to pay the randsom but she managed to slay her captors with the rope that tied her hands and she escaped and fled into the wilds. Thus on her 91st birthday she slid into a cold, wet cave and it was then that she vowed one day she would return and exact her vengeance on her own clan (dun dun dun )

For 19 years she roamed the wastes of Naggaroth surviving on the fruits of the land. Then on her 110th birthday she decided to try and find one of the cities she had heard off back at her clan. She arrived at Clar Karond.

There she became a mecenary by day and a dancer at the pleasure houses by night. There was good news and bad news. The good news was that she actually had quite a bit of money however her personal life took a back seat and she was constantly sleep diprived. One day she didn't got to either job and went on a day and night of pleasure. She went on an orgy of drinking, eating and other 'activities'. Thesbe even enticed a man into her chambres (he he)

Recntly she has be come unsettled with her life and wishes to move on.

other personality: Loves adventure and the wilds. Loves food and drink, can indulge so much she loses her slender frame. Despises spoilt nobles. Addiction to getting and spending money.

i: 5
ws: 4
s:3
t:3
d:3
equipment: short sword, shade robes, repeater crossbow
skills: basic stealth.

_________________
Name: Dareth Hellscar
Class: Trainee of Khaine
Stats: WS5 S4 T3 D4 I2
Skills: Two weapon fighting, Uncontrolable frenzy
Equipment: Short sword, Dagger


Last edited by Lot1loe on Sun Apr 20, 2008 6:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Sun Mar 30, 2008 5:37 pm
Profile
Noble
User avatar

Joined: Thu Jan 18, 2007 1:01 am
Posts: 485
Location: Australia
Post 
Here's the characters who have replied to join group 14

Character Name: Syion
Character Height and Weight: 5'9" and 121Lbs
Character Age: 212
Other Discriptions: Male, silky black hair down to the bottom of his elbows(when stood straight), scar going from left to right though his left eye, fiery red eyes, darker than average elf skin, strength tattoos on both hands.
Character Class: Warrior
Character Background:

When Syion was a young Druchii he was famous for riding the Black Dragons of Naggaroth with such elegance. But sadly, on the day of March 30th, he was sentenced to go to the Beastmasters of Karond Kar and to be fed to the Dragons for his under aged flying. His father was in tears and committed suicide, while Syion was in the pit waiting for the Dragons he saw an opening to a gate way of Chaos! He could hear the rumble of Dragon screeches and foot steps coming from behind him, he had no choice he had to jump though.

Syion jumped though and what he saw was horrible, dead everywhere he went skeletons, some he never had thought of seeing. Syion's heart was scarred and he knelt down into the sand of the desert waste and cried.

As Syion grew up hunting in the Chaos wastes he became a great Warrior and by then had forgotten all of his Druchii friends and family. It wasn't until he was 195 years old when he saw the Chaos Daemons planning an attack on the Druchii, he silently followed them though the gate way and made it back in his home town of Naggaronda, near the city of Naggarond. He saw an old Druchii being attacked and he knew who it was, it was his mother who was being attacked by a Spawn of Chaos and he was furious. He leaped out from the rock his was hiding behind and and sliced the spawn into quarters.

Now Syion is a highly skilled Warrior in the Druchii Army helping to protect the Druchii from all things that are not allowed in Naggaroth. At this very moment he is in Saphery fighting for the Druchii against those spitted on High Elves.

WS: 4
S: 4
T: 3
D: 2
I: 5

Equipment: Halberd, Long Sword, Shield and Light Armour.
Other: 6gc, Khaine bracer
Skill: climb

**************

Name: Tyreth Darksoul [deceased, fell into the ocean]
Age: 97
Height: 2.1 metres
Weight: 68 kgs
Eyes: Ice Blue
Hair: Silver-White
Class: Male Warrior

Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 5

Equipment: Long Sword, Dagger, Shield, Light Armour
other:
Skills:

Background:
Born a bastard child of a noble house, Tyreth was brought up as any of his ilk, learning the ways of politics and intrigue through practice rather than theory. He learned the ways of noble combat, from the heavy bladed Drannach, to the ceremonial Ghlaith, and it was here that he truly excelled. He learned the sing of steel slicing through flesh, the rush of victory over a skilled combatant, and a myriad of ways to reach it. He took to wearing his arms and armour even within his own rooms, which may have been more practical than a sense of comfort. Not afforded the privileges and powers of his more legitimate siblings, Tyreth used his cunning to secure what he had, often forced to deceive or threaten his more powerful brothers and sisters just to maintain what he had acquired. He learned quickly that for him to harness the power he craved, he would not be able to remain content at the foot of the house's power.

Yet before Tyreth could engineer his move through the ranks and into power, misfortune struck; for in a brilliant move, a rival house laid siege to the home of Tyreth and his family, and struck dead most of it's blood. Enough survived to continue the feud, but for Tyreth, estranged as he was, he lost what little he had.

Brooding and seething, he took what he could: his armour, his weapon, and his title, for all else: he books, his slaves, his fineries and gold, had been laid low. He vowed vengeance on both the house that had brought him here, burnt and battered at the ruins of his home, and the one that refused to grant him the power he so obviously deserved. Turning his back on the ruins, he set out to earn his name, and take what should be his.

**************

Formerly a member of group 9, if you’d like to include me, but don’t want me to have all this equipment, I am more than willing to get rid of most of it.

Character Name: Drak'Ne Warsong
Character Height and Weight: 6'2" 120 LBS
Character Age: 177

Other Descriptions: Drak'Ne has slicked back hair that is as dark as night and has ice blue eyes that in the right light seem to luminate, his skin is fairly pale and has a tone of a sickening light shade of yellow, he is very skinny and wears knee high black boots, pants, shirt, as well as cloak, the inside of his cloak is a grayish green that is ideal for hiding himself with while surrounded by nature, he wears a black scarf in between his shirt and cloak that he occasionally pulls up to help hide his face, he also wears a black sash around his waist, which is ideal for attaching objects to as well as hiding small objects in. His dagger is strapped to his left thigh, blade pointing up, so he may make a quick dipping movement to his left whilst ducking to quickly draw his dagger and attack in the same movement. His short sword is slung by a two leather straps that goes diagonally across his torso and horizontally under his sash.

Character Class: Trainee

Character Background: Drak'Ne, the son of assassin Warsong, was once a mighty warrior. However, that had all changed after leading a slave raid on a Bretonnian city to only face defeat and capture. Drak'Ne was a strong, fierce, and great leader, however, six months of rotting away in a tower had changed all that. His body withered away as he became demoralized, but one day, he was escorted out of his tower to be executed Knowing what was to happen, Drak'Ne had quickly grabbed one of the escort's daggers and then quickly disposed of the escort group that had only contained two men. He then dressed in one of their uniforms and made to the sea, quickly selling the equipment for a robe and passage to Naggaroth, promising more riches upon arrival, the crew of the skiff was very worried during the whole trip. Especially because during the entire time they had known him, Drak'ne never spoke of his real name, past, nor did he ever show his face. After about three days, the skiff was boarded by a small group of Durchii Corsairs on a slave raid, glad to see his kin again, Drak'Ne disposed of his cloak and was taken back to Naggaroth, however, his skills as a warrior had dulled and he then decided to pick up the trade of the cutthroat, he still uses the dagger of his captors to this day

Weapon Skill (WS): 6
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: Short and Long Sword, bastard sword, 2xDagger, 20Gold, Sea Dragon Cloak, Light Armor
Other: pendant, scroll, Khaine bracer
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy, Basic Defensive Fighting

**************

Name: Narayov Luanethwea

Height and Weight: 6'1" 70Kg

Phyisical Description: Fairly muscular build, Dark grey hair (shoulder length tied back), Dark teal eyes.

Age: 103

Other Descriptions: Narayov wears a heavy, woven, hooded cloak, which is a dark blue colour, it has protected him well from the Naggaroth winters in the woods. Like most Shades he has tailored it to give him the greatest level of mobility while still serving its original purpose. The rest of his garb includes a Baggy short sleeve dark teal coloured shirt, black leather bracers, a piece of dark red cloth wrapped around his waist that drapes down in front of and behind his pelvis, loose fitting brown pants and black split toe soft leather boots. He also has a face cover that is dark blue in colour which he usually has around his neck. He also has a strip of leather with tooth of cold one tied to the end attached to the cloth around his waist(See Background).

Class: Shade

Character Stats
Weapon Skill (WS) 3
Strength (S) 3
Toughness (T) 5
Dexterity (D) 4
Intelligence (I) 4.

Equipment: Short Sword, 4x throwing daggers, Repeater Crossbow, Yamada Shade Cloak.
Other: 6gc, bottle of wine, Khaine bracer
Skills: Basic Stealth.

The town of Klathenes is the place of Narayov's birth, the closest main city is Hag Graef.
As the second son of the lowest hunter of the Luanethwea clan, nothing was ever expected of Narayov. He would have been looked upon with disdain if anyone ever actually looked at him. Narayov proved himself worthy of going on his first hunt by a fortunate accident. The clan had gathered to oversee the rite of passage, it consisted of firing at three targets set up in the distant trees using a repeater crossbow. Narayov had been taught how to use it by his brother (Possibly out of self amusement as his brother expected Narayov to kill himself with it). Each eager hunter held their crossbows tightly during their turn and fired into the targets.

When it came to be Narayov's turn he fired his first two shots into the targets but his last shot flew past the target and disappeared into the greenery. The crowd began to laugh at Narayov, who relaxed and let the crossbow sit in his arms. The clan leader stepped forward and gazed into the distant woods before commanding everyone to be quiet. Slowly an adolescent cold one stumbled out of the bushes, blood flowing from it's head, Narayov's failed bolt deeply lodged just above it's right eye. The creature fell to the ground and exhaled its final breath. The clan remained silent and began to stare at Narayov. He remained still and managed to keep his shock hidden from the crowd. In recognition of his kill, the clan leader permitted Narayov to carry a short sword and a repeater crossbow and awarded him with a Shade cloak.

Narayov always felt more at home in the woods due to his father's bragging tales of successful hunts, which made his life as a hunter all the more enjoyable. His aptitude with ranged weapons and above average intelligence worked well together to achieve the tasks set for him by his elders. Preferring to slink through the shadows to defeat his prey, though this didn't always turn out as it was intended, on more than one occasion Narayov had to run for his life after biting off more than he could chew.

Until one day, while stalking a small lizard that he had spotted, Narayov realised that, while hunting and killing was satisfying, he wanted more. He wanted to find bigger and better prey, he wanted to hide in trees stalking creatures of unmentionable hideousness, he wanted to crush that lizard with his bare hands. These thoughts have been harassing Narayov ever since, except the lizard, he crushed it good.

Narayov's likes: Woods, Creatures worth killing, Stealth, Ranged combat.

Narayov's dislikes: City-lovers, Hack and slash types, Having to run for his life.

**************

Name: Khaleth, son of Aenain of the Mendahil Clan
Age: 127
Height: 6’5”
Weight: 60kg
Other: Tattoo marking him of the Mendahil clan down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back; blue eyes; VERY fair skin, scar running from just above left brow down to an inch or two below the eye. This scar DOES NOT cut the eye at all; Black hair, running down to shoulders, straight and clean; Typical Shade/Assassin uniform, i.e. black hooded cloak, tight but light black body armour, and bracers, like an archer wears. The bracers are spiked.

Class Shade.

Stats
Weapon Skill 5
Strength 3
Toughness 2
Dexterity 3
Intelligence 5


Equipment: Short sword, long sword, repeater crossbow, Shade cloak.
other: Lucky charm (Asur arrow head), Khaine bracer
Skills: Basic Stealth.

background
Khaleth was born in none other than the Blackspine Mountains, late in the day, as his family and their clan was moving to a new campground, driven out by their mortal enemies, the Ijuri Clan. On that night, as is the custom among Shades, Khaleth was left outside, in the cold. He struggled through the night but managed to survive through toughness or maybe just sheer luck.

Khaleth was born into a clan on the brink of death. The Ijuri clan had driven them off their ancestral camping grounds and so denied them the resources they had once owned, and denied them the honour of knowing their ancestors were safe in their graves.

The clan was in disgrace for many years, but eventually gathered the resources and men to strike at the Ijuri and reclaim their ancestral soil. Alas, they failed, and it was for this reason that Khaleth’s father committed suicide shortly after their loss.

Khaleth, being a young Elf, flew into an uncontrollable rage. He snuck into his mother's tent and stole her repeater crossbow and shortsword, venturing out to their ancestral soil.

He arrived in the dead of the night. The gibbous moon over his head shined white and cold, illuminating the ground before him. Khaleth looked forward, to the Ijuri camp. Directly ahead of him were two sentries, sitting on the ground and casting lots. Their torches were stuck in the ground near where they gambled, providing ample light for them to see the die's face. With a curse, one of the sentries handed over some coin to the other.

Khaleth's gaze swung left and right, like a hawk looking for prey. There were no other Ijuri awake, and to the right of the guards was a small copse of pines, tall and dark as is characteristic of Naggarothi trees. He stole forward, his feet testing each patch of ground before him and then stepping as lightly as a mouses' paw. His path led him into the copse and onto the soft, quiet pine needles, where he crept up a tree.

One of the sentries scowled as he lost another roll and stood to go to his tent, obviously to open his precious coin chest. As he disappeared into the darkness, Khaleth pulled off a tree branch and hefted it to his right.
The remaining sentry immediately stood, assuming a battle-ready stance. He moved slowly towards the copse where Khaleth lay in wait, holding his crossbow forward- half as a threat, half as security to himself.
As he passed under the tree in which his nemesis sat, Khaleth pulled the trigger on his repeater crossbow. The guard let out a small groan as he fell to the ground, two bolts in his temple.

Khaleth dropped from the tree, the dark needles cushioning the sound. He pulled a hand through his long hair, and then reloaded his crossbow.
The other guard was back, and he stole back his lost coin from the dead sentry's pile. Khaleth whistled and the guard's face whipped up to look into the copse. The sentry nodded and moved forward to the copse, drawing a long, wickedly curved sword.

It was then that the unseen sentry leapt onto Khaleth's back. Khaleth fell to the ground and the Elf fell on top of him. The sentry rolled Khaleth over and punched him in the face. Khaleth replied by biting the man's nose off. The man staggered back and Khaleth rose, spitting out the appendage.
It was then that he heard the original sentry behind him. He whipped around in time to catch the tip of the blade as it swept down his left brow, cutting a line that would remain forever. The sentry laughed and swept his sword at Khaleth again, but the Shade jumped over it with ease, drawing a short sword as he leapt.

The noseless sentry jumped onto Khaleth's back again, but Khaleth kept on his feet and struggled to plunge his sword into the wounded assailant. The other sentry cared not for his friend's safety, and stabbed his sword at Khaleth's belly. At the same time, Khaleth got a hold on the noseless Elf and flipped him in front of himself. The sword plunged into the wounded sentry and the tip burst through his back.

The sentry pulled his blade free and stepped forward, over his dead comrade, twirling his blade menacingly. Khaleth threw his shortsword at the Elf, who ducked, giving time for Khaleth to draw his crossbow and pump two shots into his stomach. The sentry fell to the ground with a defeated moan.
Khaleth wiped his brow. It had been a tough fight. He pulled the sword from the dead man's fingers and sheathed his shortsword. It was time for vengeance.

He got into the Ijuri camp with ease; no-one else was awake. With amazing stealth, he crept through the camp and into the Ijuri leader's tent.
The insidious fool lay in under his hide blankets like a babe, unknowing of his impeding death. Khaleth wasted no time. He pumped two shots directly into the bastard's throat and cut him open. He painted the leader's blood all over the tent, and hung his entrails from the centre pole. The fool's fingers, he kept for himself. He left as easily as he had arrived, and got home before dawn.

The next day, the Mendahil clan learned of the Ijuri leader’s untimely death and seized the opportunity to attack the Ijuri. They massacred the Ijuri as they mourned and took back their soil.

Some time after this, it was claimed that Gendurkh, a young Shade, had killed the Ijuri leader. Khaleth stepped forward and claimed the kill as his own. The rest of his clan didn’t believe him and so, he murdered Gendurkh and then fled to Naggarond, where he now works as an assassin for those with money, hatred for others or both.

**************

Name: Santiago Canthus [Deceased, hacked in half from shoulder to hip by beastman]
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 62 kg
Age: 97
Description: Santiago, pale skinned, even for an elf, keeps his hair tied back most of the time, though when untied, it hangs down his face, past his nose. Bright violet eyes watch everyone he passes from under his almost ever-present hood. Bright blue archaic designs are tattooed upon the entire left side of his body, starting at the top of the head, under the hair, down the face, shoulder, arm to fingertips, entire left torso to waist, both front and back. He wears coarse, patched black clothing, the hood rather uncommonly stitched to his tunic. His left arm is covered with a leather gauntlet and fingerless gloves.

Class: Trainee

Background: Santiago grew up rough, learning to live through theft and murder at a young age. If he needed cash, he'd cut a purse or a throat, depending which would be more profitable and whether he could easily kill the intended victim. Santiago almost always stuck to towns, either buying passage or stowing away to go from place to place, always on the move from a young age. Now ninety seven, he has become a competent knife fighter and often earns his money town to town through theft, murder, paid murder or challenging other fighters. He was tattooed over a period of years, each artist he met adding to the design before he moved on to the next town, creating what decorates his body today. His only issue was one of control. If someone angered him, that was it, he'd drop into a white rage and proceed to put all his efforts into slaughtering his enemy, disregarding his own safety, something he almost never did. That, and his addiction to Crimson Shade, something picked up several years earlier when convinced to try it by someone he was playing cards with at the time. It immediately took a hold on him and he is always on the lookout to get some.

Stats:

WS: 5
S: 2
T: 4
D: 5
I: 3

Equipment: Short Sword, Dagger
Other:
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy

Likes:
Crimson Shade
Those in possession of Crimson Shade
Those willing to share said Crimson Shade
Shade's. He loves their general view of life
Apples

Dislikes:
Shields
Swords
Wine
Ale
Fighters who rely on strength


Last edited by Akimoto on Fri May 29, 2009 2:47 pm, edited 9 times in total.



Sun Apr 13, 2008 5:18 am
Profile
Malekith's Personal Guard
User avatar

Joined: Mon Jan 08, 2007 3:13 pm
Posts: 842
Post 
The following players now make up Group 15

Username: BloodyAngel
Name: Illiiya Jaelrae

Height/Weight: 5' 8" 112lbs

Age: 134

Description: Illiiya is a short, frail-looking thing, noticeably small for a Druchii and with the lithe, slender frame of so many of her kin. Her skin is ghostly pale, her hair dark as night and long... almost un-functionally long in fact... falling to just above her knees. Her eyes are a pale, icy blue. Illiiya dresses in tight-fitting black leather armor, with a equally dark tunic over it all and simple wrappings of deep red cloth around her wrists.

Class: Warrior

Background: Despite her profession, Illiiya has only middling talent as a warrior. She is the oldest daughter of Az'aral Jaelrae, once a great and potent noble in service to the armies of the witch king himself. Az'aral took his children with him to war... and as such Illiiya was raised around soldiers, slaves and bloodshed. She was never physically potent... something age did nothing to change, but she always possessed a cunning and devious mind. The small girl bordered on brilliant. Illiiya and her father were close... unnaturally close, some would say... but he taught her everything he knew about war. The appeal of battle and bloodshed appealed to the cruelty in her... and she learned the arts of war as her father groomed her for the day that she might lead her own force of Druchii. In a century or so, he was convinced she might have what it takes to lead a force of her own. Despite much sentiment that she was built for the bedroom and not the battlefield, Illiiya was determined to prove herself, and to show that cunning mattered more than brawn.

Illiiya raided with her father's band for several years... Spilling her share of blood and becoming a decent tactician, as well as skilled with a crossbow. Despite her talent however, Illiiya would never get her chance to lead. It was to be that her father was betrayed. After a long and successful raiding trip, greed took hold of several of the lesser nobles who desired a greater share of what they had fought for than they were due. Az'aral fell to something so many Druchii have.... his own kind. Rather than be killed during the mutiny along with her father... Illiiya turned on him as well... And watched as he was shot, beheaded and thrown overboard into the cold waters off the coast of Naggaroth. Once she reached port, Illiiya left raiding behind... Even if she held no grudge for her father's death, she could not trust the crew. She would find no allies on land either however. For her part in his death, Illiiya's family forsook her. Now, she is in the unenviable position of finding a place for herself on her own, without the aid of her family or her former comrades... Still young and relatively inexperienced, her intelligence alone may not be enough.

Illiiya was recently a part of an expedition to the human lands, serving with several other mercenaries and a young lordling, in an attempt to hunt down a criminal of the Druchii people. The mission went poorly, and the group fell to infighting... and was forced to return to Naggaroth. Hardly the success she had hoped for.

Personality/Fighting Style: Born small and physically frail (Even for a Druchii), Illiiya embodies the credo of "brains over brawn". She is no great force in battle, and she knows it. She has had a scant few years of training as a warrior and is relatively inexperienced. Thus, she favors ranged weapons, surprise attacks, traps, deception and manipulation over close-up fighting, and will do all she can to avoid it. Illiiya is more than willing to seem weak, submissive or harmless in order to manipulate someone into lowering their guard or dismissing her as less of a threat than other, more capable opponents.

Weapon Skill: 4
Strength: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 5

Equipment: Repeater Crossbow, Dagger, Leather Armor (Light Armor), Shield, Curved Short Sword

Skills: Precision fire

**********

Name: Alkria Sarana
Gender: Male
Age: 130
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 92 lbs

Other Description: Thin, pale skin, short red hair, blue eyes, multiple old burn scars all over his body, non debilitating but marring and painful, one long burn mark down the left side of his face and neck. A few other scars, mostly on his arms from blades.

Character class: Warrior

WS:4
S:3
T:3
D:3
I:5

Equipment: Long sword, shield, light armour

Skills: None

Background:

Alkria was born in Naggrond to a family of blacksmiths. He was expected to follow his father into the family business and so was given training as a blacksmith. Though he was a fair smith with some talent he had no passion for the work. However there was one aspect of it that truly captivated him. Fire. Alkria loved fire, loved to watch it burn, the bigger and hotter the better. But the small furnace of the smithy was far too small for his taste. At fifty five he burnt down his first building, a derelict shack with a few homeless within. He laughed as it burnt to the ground, and at the screams. That wasn't the last building that he fired. When he wasn’t caught it made him braver and several other small shacks and sheds burnt because of him. However he became too confident and wanted to move onto something larger, so he burnt down the forge of one of his fathers rivals. This time however the city guard took an interest and though he had covered his tracks well Alkria knew that eventually they would find him. So he decided to leave the city and do the only thing he could. He became a mercenary. Taking only his Sword, shield, armour and tinderbox he left the city with as a merchant guard. Unfortunately the merchant did not treat Alkria very well, unfortunately for the merchant. As soon as his pay was in his hand the caravan was burning with no one any the wiser as to the cause. Alkria has settled down a little since then, but he is still a rampant pyromaniac and will take each and every opportunity to create a really big blaze. He is a little on the unstable side but most of the time is reasonably reliable. But he would stab you in the back for the chance to get his hands on a keg of black powder. Not an easy elf to make friends with his other interests include wine, women, gambling and music played loudly. He has also found that chopping people to meaty chunks is a poor alternative to setting things on fire, but better than nothing.

**********

Character Name: Thandahr

Weight and Hight: around 9 stones, and 5’10”

Age: 114 years old

Description: thin frame covered in baggy rags, ice blue eyes, pale skin covered in scars, shoulder long unkempt black hair, Tribal tattoo covering lower left arm. cloak is jet black with a dark blue embroidery of an ouraborus

Background: Thandahr has lived his whole life on the wicked streets of Vikarh, surrounded by people like him but still alone. The children of the streets bonded together working as a group simply because they knew it to be the only way to survive, but even in these groups Thandahr was an outcast, they ignored and abused him simply for the Asur blood that supposedly ran through his veins. Though there was one night where the differences of all were to be forgotten, for when the green moon became full that is when fear and terror spread through the heart of Thandahr. For the doors to the temple would open and the stuff of nightmares would appear. For more than once Thandahr had seen a many Druchii being slaughtered at the hands of those who worship Khaine, even the strongest of elves he had seen fall before their frenzied attacks and to Thandahr there was no fate worse than to be killed by a Bride of Khaine. Before long Thandahr became fed up of the nightmares and terror he felt from those sleepless nights and he found it necessary to arm himself so that if or when he would be taken he could fight back with a ferocity that could give him survival. So he set off scouring the city for a sufficient weapon to defend him-self, and one night the gods blessed him with luck beyond any other. Thandahr one night found him-self in a bar filled to the brim with drunken mercenaries who just returned from a victorious fight wasting their money away on all the bear they could handle, and that is when he saw an opportunity as one of the solders had just simply laid their weapon upon a table, it wasn’t before long that Thandahr made a move and swiped it. After he escaped the sing solders of the bar he looked down and found in his hands the famed Druchii weapon the Repeater crossbow. Although Thandahr did not know how to use this weapon he wore it proudly on his back strutting it around as a Prize of sorts showing it to some of the other children telling them tales of how he killed a warrior with his bare hands and stole his crossbow.

But one day as he roamed the streets in confidence, he came upon a man when had the nerve to question if he actually owned the cross bow or stole it from some dumb solder. He looked at the man a young Druchii who appeared to be no older than most of the mercenaries who fill the docks but his eyes hinted to an older spirit within that spanned over a millennia, but regardless who was he to judge him! Angered by this man’s words Thandahr pulled out his crossbow and pointed it at the man telling him that if he didn’t shut up he would fill him with bolts. But the man simply laughed at this ridiculous threat, and in a rage Thandahr pulled the trigger but instead of the swooshing sound of the bolts flying to their target he head only a click. Thandahr stiffened he never figured out how to work the contraption and now he was about to die because of it. But strongly the man only laughed again “you have spunk kid, my name is Dante” he said outreaching his hand as a peaceful gesture “what’s yours, because if I’m going to be your mentor I cant just call you kid.” Thandahr was astonished by what he heard mentor? But alas up to this point he had no name the kids only called him ‘Asur trash’ and as he told Dante that he just smirked, “that name wont do, I know I’ll call you Thandahr” Dante said come around here tomorrow and we can begin your training, and with that he just waked off leaving Thandahr behind shocked and confused. As the next day approached Thandahr could hardly keep his excitement under control as he ventured out to find Dante and his new training grounds which resided in a house that was much bigger than it appeared and over the span of several years Dante taught Thandahr how to use the crossbow, fight with a sword and even read and write inn the Druchii tongue. Over the years Thandahr begin to look up to Dante and see him as a father that he never had, but one day as Thandahr proceeded to the house in which he trained in for so long only to find it empty and stripped of every thing except a cloak, a sword and some clips of ammunition. Broken by the realization that Dante much like his real family had abandoned him once again in this city, Thandahr began to weep at the loss of some one who he would have died for and realized that to live in this world he can no longer be attached to any thing. Thandahr adorned the last bit of garments that Dante had left him and head back in to the streets leaving Dante’s house to burn in a fiery inferno, Thandahr would escape the city of Vikarh no matter what the city of mercenaries and fortune was a cursed city to him and he could no longer stand it to be alone on these streets. And so Thandahr took up the profession that had given so many in these streets freedom the role of a hired-sword, if only to escape he would do anything.

Class: Male Shade

Weapon Skill: 3
Strength: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 5

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

Skills: Basic Stealth

_________________
WIP First War Against Chaos Expansion
http://www.druchii.net/viewtopic.php?t= ... e7da5c4719

WS3 / S3 / T3 / D4 / I5
Skills: Basic Stealth
Items: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak


Mon Apr 21, 2008 3:51 pm
Profile
Corsair
User avatar

Joined: Fri May 02, 2008 8:47 pm
Posts: 79
Location: USA
Post 
The following 6 players now make up Group 16

Player: LoDark
Character Name: Alshar Calaelen
Character Height and Weight: 6ft tall and weighs 11 stones
Character Age: 126
Other Descriptions: Has dark brown hair, almost black and unusually green eyes. He wears a dark cloak with a hood which covers his face, and dark robes. Has lots of scars which run across his back, but which he keeps covered and has a picture of a Manticore battling a Griffon on the back of his neck, which shows that he's a slave.
Character Class: Warrior

Character Background:

Born into slavery, Alshar never met his father and his mother was killed while he was only 20. Ever since he was old enough to lift a pickaxe Alshar has been forced into the mines to search for meteoric iron.

Recently the opportunity presented itself and he managed to escape. The wing of the Convent stationed in Karond Kar lost control of the chaotic winds of magic while performing a complex spell in preparation for the next invasion of Ulthuan, unwittinglly allowed a small contingent of daemons to escape into the city and chaos ensued. During this time Alshar and half a dozen other slaves slipped away while the guards were preoccupied.

While his fellow slaves were soon caught, spotted due to their un-elven looks Alshar was mistaken to be one of the Druchii. He disguised himself in Druchii clothes, and stowed away on a small trading boat, to escape from the city that had been his prison all his life.

The boat made landfall in Vikarh. Desperate, with no money and only the poor weapons he'd stolen from one of the sailors on the ship, Alshar wandered the streets in search of shelter. Coming to a tavern he soon met a number of cut-throats and mercenaries, from whom he learnt how things worked in Vikarh. He was robbed.

He is now stuck in Vikarh and forced to sell his services as a supposedly Druchii mercenary to survive. It seemed the best option, as no one cared about the mercenaries' backgrounds as long as they got the job done.

While he is of elven descent, which branch of elves he descended from is unknown to him. He has decided that the unanswered questions can only be resolved if he manages to find his vanished father to try and find his father or any trace of his father, but he realises that to do this he will need more money, and at the same time, he's sure he'll be able to see more of Naggorond during his services.

Alshar is not particularly bright having not being given an education by his caring Druchii benefactors. Neither is he a skilled swordsman, as there's not much chance to practice while in captivity. However, he is determined and remarkably strong for an elf, the product of working for endless hours down the mines.

Weapon Skill (WS): 3
Strength (S): 5
Toughness (T): 4
Dexterity (D): 3
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment:

Repeater Crossbow, Dagger, shield and light armour.

Skills:

None

**********

Player: izirath
Character Name: Euriel Sorrowheart
Character Height and Weight: About 170 cm, slim elven body, dark eyes. He has his hair in a ponytail, keeps it together with a blue silk ribbon..
Character Age: Around 130 years.
Other Descriptions: A scar in the back of his head.
Character Class: Warrior

Stats:
Weapon Skill (WS) 4:
Strength (S): 4
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D):. 4
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: Shield, Light Armour. Repeater Crossbow and Dagger.


Character Background:

Euriel has always been a really angry one, but mostly it is because of his brother. His brother were taken by the pretty brides of Khaine, and jealousy always strikes Euriel, when he thinks of his brother. To be chosen by the witch elves, and having the possibility of succeding as an assasin. He has always hated his brother for leaving him behind. As Euriel sees it, Lady luck hasn't been kind on him. So he just stomped around angrily, and waited for someone to punch up. He usually succeded in punching up people, but one day he got punched up. It was a new experience for him, it wasn't a pleasent one, but he had to had to deal with it. But he didn't want to deal with it! The only thing he wanted to deal with was that guys face and miserably weak body!
With blood rushing through his veins, and flames in his look, he set out for the guy who punched him up, the day before. He suddenly spotted the guy! Filling up with rage, he lashed himself at the him with a roar, and threw a misplaced punch. Followed by a kiss from the guy's fist. Hatred filled our little hero. He was so frustrated that he just roared.
"-How did you know I was heading for you!?" Euriel screamed with saliva flying from his lips.
"-How could I not? You stomp around like a bloodcrazed ogre, making the noise of a whole army by yourself."
Dumbstruck, Euriel went home, re-thinking his tactic, and he came up with a suitable plan.

The next day he went to the quarter he usually roamed, searching for his vengeance. Sooner than later he spotted his rival, hiding in an alley, Euriel called for him. Hiding behind a pile of crates, Euriel's rival passed him.
-"What tricks are you playing against me, idiot?" His rival said.
-"Show yourse-
Not another word left his tounge, as Euriel smashed his puny skull with a sturdy board. He got rid of the body, and as there was no body, there had never been a crime and Euriel could walk free. But he didn't feel quite safe, so he felt he had to flee the city.

Desperate as he was, he signed up for a job on a black arc.
He liked being on the move, that was good enough of a reason to join the ship, he also heard you can make a great deal of money on slave trading, because of his greed and hatred, he felt that this was a job suited for him. But he didn’t have much luck, and wasnt really greeted with respect from the corsairs (or he didn't really greet the corsairs with respect). He claimed that they were weak and cowardly, to be hiding behind their scaly cloaks. Always spitting at their ways, and neglecting their orders, the corsairs finally had enough of his nonsense and foolishness. So they decided to drop him on shore, or well, throw him of the boat and let him land on the docks. Then spitting in his face, and have a good laugh. And so he now hires his skills on land, rather than off shore.
Greedy, and paranoid usually follows his own road, doesn't like consquences and aint much for adapting. But changes his goal often.

**********

Name: Zephien K'lieth
Player: Marious

Height: 1.62m
Weight: 52.16kg
Age: 126
Other Descriptions: Zephien's hair is a deep raven black, the waist length waves dance in the air as her pale skinned body moves with balance and deadly grace few ever attain. She has a set of deep blood red eyes that love nothing more then to take in the sight of a slaughter. Her cloths which consist of dark cloth just covering her sleek slim body, blood red (like that of her eyes) run along the boarder of the thin cloths and strings that leave little to the imagination. Zephien amazingly has no scars on her body, she has had the pleasure of suffering attacks from blunt objects that would only leave bruise's and broken arms. No tattoo covers her pale white skin, many saying it would tarnish the pure beauty.

Class: Trainee of Khaine
Moderator:

WS: 4
S: 3
T: 2
D: 4
I: 5

Equipment: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.

Background : Zephien is not of noble blood in any sense at all, the most noble thing in her family was when her father died as Warrior in a raid against the High Elf scum. Zephien’s mother was a loyal servant of the Witch King but other then praise him and follow his iron will she did nothing more then raise her family and unsure that her children new how to stab one in the back while keeping their own from enemies, as any good druchii mother would.
Zephien learned the hard way how to perform a proper betrayal, after being caught trying to seduce her older sisters newest little love interest she got a long and painful lesson in how easily fingers and toes can be broken. After a few weeks on recovery Zephien's plots for revenge became more and more horrendous, it was five years in the making before she got it. Her mother had told her two things, revenge is best served cold and that part of being a smart druchii was having the proper patience. As she and her sister were traveling through the slums of Har Ganeth they noticed the Executioners were traveling through the city grabbing the masterless and homeless alike, druchii or not. Zephien seeing her chance was able to draw the attention of two very young and very new followers of the deadly order, tempting the young warriors with things beyond their imagination she was able to convince the two to beat her older sister to a pulp, the final result being that Zephien's sister had been stripped naked in the streets, had her breast's cut leaving horrible scars and beaten to an inch of her life. When she screamed for help, Zephien (as well the entire family) turn their backs on her. Letting the disgrace get taken away to be sold as a slave to some Lord or Noble with money.
Zephien had learned once again, even though every single person might know you committed a crime, without proof it means nothing, proof was the only thing that mattered. And the proof of Zephiens betrayal, well those two young Executioners met with a sudden end. If an investigation had taken place one would of noticed the obvious sign’s of the poison Manbane, good thing no investigation took place. Zephien is intelligent and though an absolute frenzy while fighting her skills in the political arena could one day take her farther than the offspring of many Nobleborn’s.

**********

Name : Kulte Darkwing
Character Height and Weight : 6 foot 1 inch, 156 lbs.
Character Age : 133
Other Descriptions : Kulte has dark hair, gray eyes and wears the folllowing clothes: A black cape with a red velvet inside, black gloves, black pants and shirt. He has a permenantly open wound in his left side which he keeps hidden. His entire back is a mass of scars from the time his brother whipped him. Kulte is also handsome, but not excessively so.
Character Class : Warrior
Character Background : Kulte was the fifth son of a minor noble in Klar Karond, and his father and brothers had nothing but contempt for him. He kept quiet for many years, throwing himself into the study and practice of the blade, determined to become a greater warrior than any of his siblings. After fifty-seven years, Kulte's immediately older brother, Vargon, who had tormented him for many years, went into the city and got roaring drunk, went gambling and lost all of his money, and came back seething with rage. He found Kulte practicing with his blade, and immediately saw a chance to take out his anger on someone. He grabbed a blade of his own, and challenged Kulte to a sparring match. Kulte took up the challenge instantly, readying himself for the fight. Vargon suddenly threw a knife at him, charging in immediately after it. Kulte dodged the knife, but Vargon hit him in the stomach with his blades pommel stone a split second after. Kulte wheezed, gasping for air, and Vargon smashed the flat of his blade against his head. He then began whipping him with the flat of his blade, taking out a real whip after a while, and flailed Kulte until he had no skin left on his entire back.
Over the next twenty years, Kulte and Vargon seperetly killed each of their other brothers, and they were close to killing each other when Kulte discovered hisfather was part of the cult of pleasure. It happened quite by accident, Kulte was walking by his fathers room when he heard a strange noise. He opened the door, (which he was surprised to see was unlocked) and saw his father, his brother Vargon, and a sorceress wearing an ornate robe and weilding a staff, as well as several lesser sorceress'. They stayed within the room for a few more seconds, then each of them stepped through a man-sized mirror to the side of the room and dissapeared.
Kulte followed them, and found himself in a giant hall, with a statue of a greater demon of slaanesh at the other end of it.
His father and the sorceress were all bowing to it, Kulte pulled out his sword and walked towards them slowly...
The lead sorceress turned around, and smiled.
His brother smashed him over the head from behind, and the sorceress hit him with a spell of some kind that instantly burned his side and created intense pain.
Kulte fell to the floor, and his body was thrown out to the streets.
After a day, Kulte picked himself up and staggered away, somehow still alive. He began working as a mercenary soon after, trying to make enough money to find a way to kill his brother and father.

Weapon Skill : 5
Strength : 3
Toughness : 2
Dexterity : 4
Intelligence : 4

Starting Equipment : Long sword, shield, light armor.

**********

Player: MessiahOfDeath
Character Name: “Sinfulblade”
Character Height and Weight: 6ft 8” 140lbs
Character Age: 275
Other Descriptions: His hair is jet black; eyes are deep green in colour. Chest and neck are marked with ritualistic tattoos, left palm scared by flesh ripping hooks (old would from his early training days) because of that he is reluctant to remove his gloves.
Character Class: Trainee of Khaine
Character Background: Very little is known about his past for both the temple and himself find little need to spread such information about.
The little that is known states that his father was the captain of “Agony-shard” a corsair raid ship, often making slave hunts to Ulthuan territory. It is said that along with the many petrified labour salves the ship once returned carrying an elven maiden of obvious high standard in the high elven society, spiteful as his father was he couldn’t help falling for the charming maiden which lacked the fearful character of the weak kin and was fierce enough to even slay an unruly corsair that attacked her right after they set down in the land of chill. Sinful’s father claimed Sphyreth (Sinfulblade’s mother) as his own and although struggling hard in the end managed to claim her, her freedom in exchange for their firstborn son to be sacrificed on the altar of Khaine…
Several years later Edex their firstborn came to the world and was immediately abducted by brides of Khaine to give fresh blood to the murder god. All would have ended if not one unimaginable fact – when the crying infant was placed on the altar, something happened… His flesh was teal from the dim shadows, but even as the candles all around were light his flesh remained ice blue. The Khainates took this as a divine intervention and a sign from the bloody handed god himself that this shadow-skinned elf was destined to become an aspect of murder. The young elf from the start showed both potential and interest in arts of murder, he wasn’t the best strength wise, but exceeded many of his fellow students in dexterity and interest in literature, a trait very uncommon amongst his peers, that couple with the teal elf’s fondness for fire made him secluded and a loner even by trainee standards.
Once his initial training was over Sinfulblade set out to prove himself in live action by becoming a sword for hire. Amongst many small time brawls and small skirmishes in the streets of the land of chill he also undertook several expeditions to the Old World the latest of which, although unsuccessful landed him a prize that made up greatly for the failure – a reaper bolt thrower.
A few moths passed and once Sinful grew bored of playing with his new toy he set out to find a new employer once more.

Weapon skill (Ws): 4
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T):4
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I):4

Wargear: Shade Cloak, Bastard Sword, Short Sword, Dagger, Throwing knives
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy, Basic Acrobatics

**********

Player: Roman V. Numeral
Name: Erhas Clawseer, aka Erhas One Fist

Height and Weight: 6'2 and approx. 200lbs

Age: 122 years

Description: While not particularly handsome, Erhas's strong thick arms, broad shoulders and proud bearing help counteract the scars on his face from a life as a raider. His eyes are dark brown and are quick to take note of his surroundings but lack the flash and sparkle of those gifted with intelligence. He wears his dark brown hair shoulder length and pulled back in a ponytail, showing off the hooked scar running from his temple to the corner of his left eye that pulls it halfway closed. His nose is flattened and crooked, having been smashed in a bar fight early on in his career. He is missing his left hand and wears a makeshift leather cover to protect the tender flesh there.

Class: Warrior

Stats: WS- 2 , S-5, T-5, D- 3 , I-3

Equipment: Light armour, shield, long sword, rough dark grey leggings, a simple tan tunic, and a leather pack containing a set of deep blue clothes edged in white for special functions.

Background:
The captain of the raiding ship "Killer's Howl" smiled grimly at Erhas and shook his head, "No, that's all your pay. I've had to deduct the costs of having you as something of a burden for the crew to hold up, they've complained more than you know about your wounds keeping you from doing your share."

Erhas's own lips curled at the edges, ready to snarl out a biting verbal attack, but his mind could supply no words. Instead he heaved a breath and stared menacing at his former captain. He knew that it was true that losing his hand had left kept him from being as useful as the able bodied crewmen, but he had expected that his efforts to shoulder his burden and more of the hard work would have helped ensure his favour at the time to receive his pay for the voyage. He thought of the shame he had felt at trying to tie knots in the rigging with only one good hand, finally succumbing to having to use his teeth like some beast gnawing on the ropes.

The captain seized Erhas' momentary silence, " I've got a crew to watch over, and can show no favour to any sailor, relative or not. Your father, my cousin, may have helped you gain a spot on my crew, but he will expect you to face this with the honour expected of someone carrying the Clawseer blood. Now be off, I've got my own business to see to. " With that the captain turned and strode up the gangplank of the "Killer's Howl" leaving Erhas alone on the dock.

He took another deep breath, containing his rage and watched the captain go. He'd miss working on the raiding ship, he'd miss the feel of the wind and spray on his skin and the strong southern sun falling on his bare shoulders. Raiding was a good life, there was even a chance he could have raised himself to a full corsair and taken a larger percentage of the prizes he had helped seize. He flexed his left forearm, feeling the tight leather bindings stretch and flex around the stump of his wrist.. Only in the last few weeks of the long voyage had the infection and swelling gone down. The memory of the scent of the pus that had formed where his hand had been slashed from its socket was still fresh in his memory. Silently, he cursed the damned Asur that had hacked it off even as Erhas had spilt its guts. Now he would never again be an able-bodied crewman on a swift and deadly raiding vessel.

He gazed one last time at the sleek and fierce outline of the "Killer's Howl" before turning away to walk the length of the dock to face whatever destiny awaited him in the city of Vikarh. Waiting for him at the end of the dock though was a party of four of his former crewmates.

His boots sounded loud on the stone dock, his steps angry and slow. As he neared the small group of sailors he recognized them. Two were sailors who had ran games of chance beneath the decks of "Killer's Howl". They had profited from Erhas' chronically bad luck more than once, and more than once he had knocked both of them flying across the ship with his bare hands. Which, of course, would explain the other two with them. Both of the other two were experienced brawlers, there for muscle. There was no way he could take the four of them at once.

The more confident gambler of the group smiled at Erhas' obvious bad mood. "Just get paid Erhas?" he called out.

The group laughed as he visibly bristled at the comment. The other gambler in the group cut through the laughter with a comment that brought the gathering to a strained silence, "Now pay us what we're owed."

Erhas stopped walking and felt his anger rise. Slowly, he eyed the four druchii arrayed against him, noticing how the two brawlers stepped to the side to flank him if he tried a surprise rush. The tension was rising, they had all seen situations like this explode into bloodshed. The leather wrapped around his left arm creaked quietly in the suddenly soundless sea breeze as he flexed his arms beneath his armour. For a long moment only their cloaks rustled in the wind, everyone was motionless.

Erhas released the breath he had been holding through clenched teeth. His choice was made, the moment was broken. He pulled the small bag of coin he had received minutes earlier from his belt and tossed it to the waiting gamblers. "It's all I've got," he managed.

The gambler caught the purse easily and smiled cruelly again, "I know. Now get out of here, unless you want to try and win it back."

Ignoring the comment and the harsh laughter it produced, Erhas pushed past the group and into the dockyards of Vikarh. His fate lay elsewhere now. His boots hurried away from the ships and docks, away from the crew that had mocked and taunted him. Few Captains would take him to sea as a raider now, and his pride railed against the thought of returning home to his father's smithy. it was doubtful he could even find decent work as a craftsman or labourer with his missing hand.

Erhas bellowed a curse at his luck and headed for the nearest tavern, he'd earn his fortune by his blade. Spilling blood and breaking heads was all he was good for now, so that's what he would be paid to do. Erhas knew there was worse things than being a mercenary, all he had to do now was find someone offering some gold.

_________________
Sarath’anarth
Class: Warrior
(WS):5 (S):3 (T):2 (D):5 (I):3
Equipment: Halberd, Shield, Light Armour.
Skills: None
45 gold coins

Group 16 moderator


Wed May 28, 2008 9:10 pm
Profile
Malekith's Best Friend
User avatar

Joined: Tue Oct 26, 2004 5:34 pm
Posts: 1467
Location: Portsmouth, England
Post 
Please add the following players to Group 17

Username: Raven Knight

Character Name: Draich-na

Character Height and Weight: 6.4 and 128kg

Character Age: 120

Other Descriptions: long, black hair hanging loose, black eyes that have a red tinge about them after dark, simple but elegant black robe which is decorated with his family's raven crest in a blood red dye, large scar on the chest where his Father's Manticore slashed him as a boy and his whole body is covered in the names of his enemies tattooed with a combination of red dye and Ulthuan elf blood. Slightly gaunt face.

Character Class: Warrior

Character Background: Draich-na was born in Har Ganeth home to the Executioners and his Father was the famous Highborn Kandeth Heartrender who
led the Witch Kings forces on the Northern borders against the invading chaos warbands, when Draich-na was only 25 he disturbed his father's Manticore by running into its path to deliver a helmet to his father and the beast took a swipe at him and despite his agility he was slashed in the chest. For a while it seemed that he would die and his father was ashamed at his sons weakness and left him to die. However after what could only be described as a sign of favour from Khaine Draich-na made a full recovery and noticed he was slightly stronger than before. When Kandeth returned to Har Ganeth 50 years later he was shocked to see Draich-na alive. As they ate together that night Draich-na drew a dagger and plunged it into his father's chest, as Kandeth lay on the floor of his own home he looked into his son's eyes and saw sheer hatred staring back, as the last of his life ebbed away Kandeth smiled and was proud of the strength he saw in his son.

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 4
Toughness (T):3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment : Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.



****************************

Username: Vorax Dria

Name: Vorax driax,

Character Height and Weight: 6'4" 130lbs

Age: 109 years of age

Description: He is of average height (what is that by the way) whit a strong and lean body of a young warrior. He has long black hair bound together. Above his left eyebrow he had a small scar from a cut he had sustained in his early training.

Class: Warrior

Stats:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 4
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 3


Equipment: Long sword, shield, light armour.

Vorax driax is the second son of a minor lord who had 3 corasair ships that he used to capture slaves in the coastal towns of the empire. His life whas rather dull until the following happen. Both his father and brother had died while a combined fleet and land force of asur and empire men had ambushed the small raiding force in the harbor of a small fishing town. One of the raiders was able to escape and return home whit most of its crew dead and the ship heavily damaged.

But before he could embark on that quest he had to become a warrior. The main reason he wasn’t whit the raiding party’s is because he had just taken up the mantle of warrior and had much to learn before he could face the enemies of his kind. While his father and brother had set sail he was in the local barracks learning to become a warrior. His father had reasoned he had to start at the bottom so he could master all.

A few days after he had been accepted into a company of local troops he had been summoned back to the manor and had been told the dreadful news of his father and brothers demise. The next day he made a vow, to erase this disgrace from his family name and to earn his place among the nobility of his race. He had set off taking nothing more that the equipment of a warrior, nothing but a small ring on a chain around his neck to show who he was.

After a while he joined up whit a small merchant caravan as a guard. It whas there that made the decision to become a mercenery until he had found something better or had cleared his family name. After a few weeks travelling whit the merchant he went on his way agian. whit the little money he had earned he got some supply's and had set out agian towards the city of Vikarh.

************************************

Username: Dark Moonlight

Character Name: Maldain Tearflail
Character Height: 6’ 6”
Character Weight: 50kg
Character Age: 103
Other Descriptions: Male, Light blonde and short hair, blue eyes, a tattoo of a snake along his right arm.
Character Class: Trainee of Khaine

Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 4
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 3
Intelligence (I):3

Equipment: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger

Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.

Character Background: Maldain was born in the city of Clar Karond and his mother died giving birth to him. Shortly after being born, Maldain was taken from his father by a small group of witch elves. He was then offered to Khaine, he was put into the couldron of blood and was drawn out completely unscathed. From then on he was trained in the temple of khaine and also did alot of mercenary work in his spare time. Maldain has spent most of his life training to be an assassin, it's tough work!

Maldain is a very hard working druchii and is often being asked to do small jobs like lifting crates for others or holding on to an overexited horse. Other Elves ask him for help because of his muscley figure. Also he is a fast runner and can beat most other elves around his age in a striaght sprint.

*************************************

Username: Ilokir Lúinwë

Character name: Ilokir Lúinwë – level 2

Character height and weight: 1m80, 50 kg

Character age: 154 years old.

Other descriptions: Ilokir is a slender elf with long blonde hair and blue eyes. He is quite young to elven standards. He is dressed in a dark blue robe, an intricate dark blue polished breastplate, including pauldrons, combined with spiked vambraces of a similar fashion (medium armor). On his back, he carries a very old ornate High Elf longsword. Attached to his legs are two throwing knives.

Class: Warrior.
ws: 6
dex: 4
str: 4
T: 3
Int: 4

skills: awareness, defensive fighting.

Background:

Ilokir’s homeland is Chrace. Taught by the elders of his village in the way of the swordmaster, he was prepared to eventually fulfill a military career. Another fate was unwinding for him. Ilokir’s village was purged because of being Khainite. Men, women, elders and children were slaughtered to the last by the forces of Hoeth. This proved to be the switch that would decide Ilokir's fate forever. He decided to run when the situation proved hopeless. In the confusion, he eventually managed to take the sword of the family with him. Apart from that, he lost everything, but he regained a prize in return: hatred. The so called 'pure' elves, which always protected their citizens against the 'evil' Druchii, had destroyed his home, his parents, his life, but not his beliefs. Ilokir wandered through what once was his homeland, but he felt empty inside..

Fate sometimes makes strange twists. When he was tormented by his own thoughts, news reached Ilokir that Malekith had launched a new invasion against Ulthuan. He did not Curse Malekith, as he had always done before, but he felt a weird feeling of understanding. Could it be that Malekith was actually fighting for his homeland against his treacherous kin? The same kin that had denied him his rightly throne? The same kin that had forsaken Khaine? Ilokir’s choice was made at that particular moment. He would fight for Malekith. Together, they would cleanse Ulthuan. Revenge would be his.

It was not that difficult for Ilokir to infiltrate in the Army of Naggaroth. When they used to pray to Khaine, his kin always spoke Drukh-Eltharin, the ancient tongue of old Nargarythe, the ancient language of Khaela Mensha Khaine. From casualties from the early skirmishes he stole the required clothing and armour. He looked like a Druchii, he spoke like a Druchii and from what he had heard, he wouldn't be the only blonde elf in the Witch King's army.

Ilokir orientated himself to the sound of battle. The Druchii were fighting in front of the Great Phoenix Gate. First, Ilokir was hesitant to enter the battle, but after seeing the wall of High Elfs withstand a Druchii charge, hatred overtook him and he entered the fray. On that day, Ilokir made his first casualty ever. It wouldn't be his last.

A month had passed and things weren't going well for the Army. The efforts to break the gate had proven futile and the commander of their section had given order to thoroughly pillage the land and head for the black arc. This was the second time Ilokir had to make a heavy choice: He chose to leave for Naggaroth, to serve his new king with all his hatred, but he vowed to ever return victorious.

Nargaroth proved to be very sinister, ideal to his state of mind. Ilokir realized he had nowhere to go. He lived a weak of the loot he had taken that last week of the invasion. Thereafter his situation became even more hopeless. Finally, he decided to volunteer as a mercenary... He thought he would make it. His skills with the blade weren’t bad at all. Moreover, he had tasted battle yet. This adventure would only make him stronger.. When he enlisted, he decided to forget his surname forever. He was a Dark Elf now; he enlisted as Ilokir Stormblade.

As a mercenary, Ilokir’s first job wasn’t that inspiring. He had to guard a priest and was commanded by a violent lunatic. It was here that Ilokir learned that battle wasn’t glorious. In the end his company was overrun by a band of assassins and Ilokir switched sides easily. It was here where he met Thorelean, a crippled veteran trying to exact his vengeance for an obscure grudge. Ilokir realized he was not the only one with a hidden identity: Thorelean’s history was as clouded and as compromised as Ilokir’s. Thorelean tutored Ilokir how to act and to survive as a Druchii. Thorelean taught him to fight as a Druchii. After the band managed to assassinate of one of the corrupt nobles in Vikarh, Ilokir lost contact with the rest of the group. Currenltly, he dwells low profile in Vikarh. Living of the money he could pillage in the Noble’s manor but eagerly waiting for an opportunity to invade Ulthuan once more.

****************************************

Username: stg

Character Name -
full: Sarath’anarth of House Harkainen (purposeful allusion to Dune)
short: Sarath

Age: 112
Gender: Male
Height: 6ft 1in or 1.85 meters
Weight: 120 lbs or 54 kg
Class: Warrior

Stats:
Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 3

Skills:
None

Equipment:
Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

Description:
Being of slightly below average height and weight, Sarath appears rather scrawny looking. He has shoulder length dark black hair, and he wears the back portion tied into a ponytail, with the front sides falling on either side of his face. Hazy blue eyes and a long nose make up to most prominent features of his face, as he has few scars or marks otherwise. Sarath carries minimal gear, most in a state of disrepair. He wears a suit of dented and worn armor on top of a plain kheitan, with a ragged cloak of man skin draped over. He also carries a small dull shield over his back, and a well-kept long sword sheathed on his side.

Background:
Sarath was born into a modest noble family, House Harkainen, in Karond Kar. Having an older sister who is an experienced Beastmaster, Sarath was expected to follow in her footsteps. Despite the aspirations of his family, Sarath showed little aptitude for taming beasts and instead sought to be a fighter, feeling beast taming was beneath him. His biggest dream was to one-day raise to the prestigious ranks of the Black Guard, the personal guard of Lord Malekith. To that end, he changed his name to Sarath’anarth, roughly meaning halberd of eternal hatred in Drukh-Eltharin (here I wasn’t sure how to combine Druchii words together to form names properly), and has since forgotten what his original name was.

Sarath spent much of his youth training himself to fight with a Drannach he stole from the local armoury. He focused a lot of time on improving his dexterity, eventually becoming quite agile and quick, though not very powerful. His parents, still upset at his lack of skill with taming beasts and lack of desire to even consider the path of a Beastmaster, refused to acknowledge his decision to become a warrior. When Sarath came of age, he quickly enlisted with a warrior regiment, deciding to prove to his family, and himself, that he had what it took to become a warrior.

Shortly after joining the warrior regiment, Sarath was serving a tour in the northern Watch Towers, and got his first real taste of combat. He proved himself to be a somewhat capable warrior, and managed to kill his share of chaos marauders. After thirty years in service, it appeared Sarath was well on his way to becoming a strong warrior and perhaps one day a Black Guard, when a fateful night changed all that.

While on a routine patrol on the Wastes, Sarath was in the lead of a small scouting party, something he had done numerous times. Feeling confident in his abilities, he let his mind wander to his dreams of being a captain in the Black Guard, when he stumbled right into a chaos war band. Failing to notify the other party members immediately, the marauders were able to quickly overwhelm the small scouting party, killing all of the Druchii except for Sarath, who had managed to flee for cover. Knowing he was outnumbered, Sarath fled back to the main body of the regiment, leading the chaos war band directly to them. Though they eventually managed to eliminate the marauders, the Druchii suffered numerous losses. The entire incident resulted in Sarath being discharged from the warrior regiment for negligence and cowardice.

Sarath managed to make his way back home to Karond Kar, but out of shame and pride, refused to go to his family for help, instead opting to sell his services as a mercenary. With little in the way of money, he was forced to sell his Drannach and most of his gear, retaining only his light armor, a shield, and a long sword. He spent many years as a hired sword, protecting small caravans going from one city to the next or collecting debts for well to do patrons, while not spending his time in the nearest pub.

On a more recent job, Sarath escorted a caravan of slaves bound for Vikarh; the city of mercenaries, a relatively young city by Druchii standards, and one Sarath had never visited before. It is here he has spent the last few years, acquainting himself with the workings of the city, and none to often the pubs, while his skills have slowly waned.

_________________
i cant seem to make friends! add me to msn you losers!

Kurlan the violent (trainee of khaine)

WS: 3
S:5
T:4
D:5
I:2

two short swords, dagger, 4 throwing knives, 500 gold coins, unarmed combat skill

Group 17 Mod


Sat May 31, 2008 4:17 pm
Profile
Beastmaster
User avatar

Joined: Fri Jun 20, 2008 6:37 pm
Posts: 376
Location: London, England.
Post 
The following 4 players now make up Group 19.

Kail Kython of the Darkstar Clan

Height: 5ft 7in
Age: 102 years (youngling)
Brief physical description: Appears to be a typical Autarii - average height, dark, brown, off-black hair (no braids/talismans yet) apparently unremarkable features. Does not stand out in a crowd.Has a small knife scar on his left cheek.
Class: Shade

Background: Kail Kython was raised in one of the many Autarii clans that inhibit the Blackspine Mountains. Raised by the noble, millennia old traditions of Nagarythe, Kail has been taught well by the elders of his clan. Even as a child, he never spoke much, was always silent and efficient, he killed with no delay or remorse. He was a promising student, a confident stalker and a quick thinker. Although Kail did not possess brute resilience and strength, he always used his wits, agility and cunning to defeat his opponents and to survive in the harsh environment. He rarely gave anybody a fair fight, using stealth and guile to ambush his unaware prey, making sure that the battle was over before it even begun. Once it was said that he was lured into a by three of his jealous peers, Kail and the other druchii disappeared into the forest for several days. Finally a week later, Kail returned to his village, bearing a small scar on his left cheek, he refused to speak about what had happened. The others were never seen again. Upon reaching the age of 100, the age at which the younglings must venture out in the world and prove their worth to become the members of the tribe, Kail was seen by the council of Elders and put to the trial, which would determine their later standing in the clan. They charged him with a quest to travel the world and bring back 6 trophies, which would be worthy of a Darkstar warrior. For almost two years now Kail has been wondering the chill lands of Naggaroth, searching for prey…

The night wind played gently with Kail’s tattered cloak. Damn, he thought, I’ve been tracking the thing for days and yet it eludes me. The dark figure knelt, grabbing a handful of dirt from the road, smelling it hungrily. But no more – tonight you die. With this thought the shade sprang from his crouch and broke into a relentless run across the moonlit terrain. The faint whiff of fur due to the suddenly changing wind was the autarii’s only warning, a predatory form flashed out of the undergrowth with fangs bared ready to tear out Kail’s throat. He barely managed to dodge the lethal blow from the drakroth, receiving a bad shoulder scratch instead, quickly rolling underneath the lunging predator. Kail knew just how dangerous the beast was, bigger then a horse, a powerhouse of meat, its skin covered in chalk black scales, he knew he had to act quickly. Before he could recover the beast tried to rake him with his claws, forcing Kail to roll defensively on the ground. Somehow his sword was in his hand I must have drawn it just before I fell. Kail new that he could not win this game of cat and mouse – the beast would eventually overpower him. Kail dodged to the side and sprung up in a flurry of dark fabric, the dark fluid movements seemed to confused the beast – it was as if the druchii and the cloak became one – it was impossible to tell one from the other. The beast has made its final mistake. Seeing its confusion, Kail leapt at the drakroth, sidestepping at the last moment and plunging his blade in the beast’s side, piercing its filthy heart. As the final putrid breath left the creature, Kail quickly set to recover the teeth, not wanting to attract yet more unwanted attention from the other denizens of the night.

Kail was limping up the hill – the violent encounter has drained him of his strength and he realised that he hurt was quite badly, once the battle rush was over. I need a place to rest and think about my next move. Knowing he was short on gold and supplies, he hurried along the old track, knowing it would eventually lead him somewhere, somewhere where he could find those things in easy supply, after all, he had nowhere else to go. True enough, he soon caught the scent of a city in the cleat night. All that flesh, meat, refuse combined into a unique blend, which he could not miss. Kail’s mouth slowly curved into wicked smile. As he toppled the slope, he was able to see the long thin spires of Vikarth ahead. Yes, he thought, this will do nicely…

Kail woke with a start. It was cold. very cold. He could not get up, with a horrible clarity he realised that he was staring at the empty morning sky from the bottom of the gutter. With great shuddering difficulty, he made his muscles work and slowly rose, keeping a handhold on the wall. Last night was just a blur - only the encounter with the beast seemed to be all too clear. He faintly remembered trying to frantically find an apothecary amongst the darkened streets. He slowly steadied himself and checked his belongings. Just as he expected his purse was missing with all his gold, but he did appear to have everything else and several dressings covering his wounds. Could have been worse off , he thought. Shivering, Kail started to walk up the street in a vain attempt to warm up his stiff joints. Brooding and dark and thought, chewing on the meager remains of his last travel rations, he walked up to the city square. Something had caught his eye - Kail approached a battered lamp post outside the local guard building. There must have been dozens of various bounty notices, mercenary requests and guard duty posters adorning the post.

The dark figure stood still for a few moments, then he tore something from the myriad of notices and stalked away through the morning town. One thought crossed his mind: Let's see what this town has got to offer"

Stats:
WS :4
S:3
T:2
D:5
I:4

Skills: Basic Stealth, Blood Frenzy.
Equipment: 2 Short Swords, Repeater Crossbow, 3 Throwing Daggers, Medium Fort. Robe, Backpack.

Player: The Buoyancy of Water

Name: Rakia Kane

Sex: Female
Age: 127
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 97 lbs

Other Description: Rakia's skin is pale; almost white. Two razor thin scars run from the corners of her eyes back to her ears, whiter than even her smooth ghostly skin. Her black hair flows down to her mid-back, though it is almost always tied up in a ponytail. Dark purple streaks in her hair match the colour of her eyes. 233 tally marks are tattooed on her upper left arm. One was added every day she was imprisoned by Lord Ureal.

Character Class: Shade

Character Level: 2

Weapon Skill: 6
Strength: 2
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 6
Intelligence: 5

Equipment: Repeating Crossbow, Short Sword, Dagger, Shade Cloak, Backpack, Provisions, Three Potions, The Rings of Alden-Taal.
Skills: Basic Stealth, Infiltrate, Rapid Fire, Precision Fire.

Background:

Rakia became a mercenary at a very young age. She was born into a nomad family who lived in the wilderness, never venturing near the vast cities of civilization. In such a community it was necessary for every young elf to learn the skills of the shade, and she soon became proficient at looking after herself in the harsh wilderness. However Rakia was never completely happy living this life. She longed to explore the world and see the mystical sights her Uncle always told her of.

Rakia set out to make a name for herself as soon as she was old enough. She opted for the mercenary route; her Uncle had told her it would lead to exciting travels, fame and fortune faster than any other career choice. At first she was almost too scared of the big cities to even speak to most, but she eventually found a group of elves with the same goals as her. It was here she met Dimitri.

Eventually, after much adventuring, she found herself in the employment of one Lord Ureal, a powerful noble. Her early training meant she quickly rose through the ranks of his servants, eventually becoming his most valued employee. She became very successful under his wing, and soon began making a name for herself. However this was all about to change.

In a most important mission that Lord Ureal trusted only to her, she failed. Lord Ureal became the laughing stock of the upper class, and many a rumour of his declining power sprang up. He could not let this lie, and unfortunately for Rakia, his wrath fell upon her. He had her imprisoned in his torture cells. She remained here for 233 days until Dimitri finally found her.

While Lord Ureal was away elsewhere Dimitri battered his way to the cells. He too had trained long and hard since the pair had split, and he was now a formidable warrior. He found Rakia near death, picked her light frame up and fought his way back out. They were nearly clear when a bolt finally penetrated his armour behind the knee, but despite this injury they escaped. He nursed Rakia back to health, but as she grew stronger he became weaker, for the bolt had been poisoned.

Dimitri died, and Rakia was left alone once more. Her time in the torture chambers had taken her strength from her, and Lord Ureal had told her long ago that she had been cursed to strip her skills from her so that she couldn't escape. She was back to square one, knowing the only way should would ever be truly free was to train until she was strong enough to find and kill Lord Ureal.

Before long she found herself caught up in a desperate battle with the forces of Chaos. She was hired, along with several other mercenaries, to settle this from the inside. Powerless to stop the scenario unfolding around her Rakia and the others tried to stop the Khornites, during this time she found the powerful Rings of Alden-Taal. Members of the group started dying or simply disappearing, until only Rakia was left. With no other choice she fled the cities to escape imminent death.

After a year in hiding she returned to the city and found work tracking down a traitor in the Lands of Men. The Ravenguard had promised to find Lord Ureal should she complete the mission. Full of hope Rakia headed off with a band of mercenaries. However infighting soon caused them to loose their way and the group was forced back home having failed. They split up; deciding that was the best way to escape the wrath of the Ravenguard.

Rakia next began working for Suffrat, captain of the City Guard of Vikarh. But, having found a lead for him to follow he decided she was no longer needed, so Rakia searches for work to fund her hunt for Lord Ureal once more.

Name: Tu'Shan
Height: 5'1''
Weight 140lbs
Age: 110
Description: Alabaster skin; short, messy black hair; dark eyes with darker rings around them; a child-like frame and a somewhat vacant look in his eyes...


Sitting on a bar stool with your cloak wrapped around you and a hood covering most of your face, paying no attention at all to the debauchery around you, may seem like a perfectly normal situation for a young druchii to find himself in.
Sipping a drink quietly from a cracked tankard, while the people behind you gamble away their masters slaves and ultimately their own lives. Flat-out ignoring the unscrupulous attempts of the bar's courtesans to steal your attentions to their directions.

Yet if you looked again, this druchii is far from perfectly normal... His feet are perched on the edge of the stool his is sat upon, knees curled up to his chest. His cloak, totally surrounding him, also conceals the bag of meagre possessions stashed underneath his stool. The drink he sips smells sickly, like honey, not of the usual bloodwine or ale. And he is far from ignoring the surroundings as his vacant stare would suggest. Listening intently to every word spoken around him, chewing on the corner of his thumb absently as he hears mercenary patrons recalling their tales of past adventure.

Tu'Shan was orphaned at a young age although he persevered to adulthood, running errands for traders and putting his unique mind to whatever devices his masters could plot.
perhaps it was his 'unique mind' that had sheltered him from the main thrust of the ruthless druchii society all these years, for he knew a hunched creature with a withered, childlike form as his, should have been cast to the temple's pits long ago. He resented it. He could - no Would, prove himself worthy to his Perfect society, he could be strong.

Realising he could taste his own blood, he removed his thumb from his mouth and smiled. " So, adventuring?" he mused... "Worth a stab."


WS 4 S 3 T 2 D 4 I 5
Class: Shade
Starting Gear: Short sword, repeater crossbow, Shade Cloak

Character Name: Drak'Ne Warsong
Character Height and Weight: 6'2" 120 LBS
Character Age: 177

Other Descriptions:

Drak'Ne stands tall with his slicked back hair and grey eyes with a blue hue. Most of his pale skin that has a sickening light shade of yellow is covered by clothe as black as his hair. His small frame is wrapped by a worn tunic and pants that shows grey damaged areas from years of use. Drak’Ne’s legs seem to disappear into a knee high boot that is covered in many small straps and buckles that show signs of small cuts, small rugged areas that show the original brown leather before it had been dyed black.

Around his neck and mouth is an old black scarf made of a thin material. Unlike the rest of his equipment, his scarf seems to be the only thing that hasn’t been worn out. Similarly, his hands are wrapped in more clothe to protect his palms from blistering too much, though his fingers are free from concealment. Even though he wears a belt, there is an old grey green sash wrapped around his waist. This sash dates back to when Drak’Ne was a warrior in a raiding party, and has seemed to have lost its color over the years. His wrists are covered with his bracers, and if one pays close attention to his right wrist, a bracelet can be seen. A blood stained sea dragon cloak, that Drak’Ne had taken off of a corsair that had failed to start a mutiny, rests on his shoulders.

Drak’Ne’s body seems to be littered with blades, having a dagger strapped to each thigh, a long sword and short sword rests to the left of his waist, and a bastard sword is strapped to his back, over the sea dragon cloak.

Character Class: Trainee

Character Background:

Drak'Ne, the son of assassin Warsong, was once a mighty warrior. However, that had all changed after leading a group of warriors on a slave raid on a Bretonnian city to only face defeat and capture. Drak’Ne was only the champion of a small regiment, of around fifteen warriors that had fallen when met with a spear lance formation of the Bretonnians. Drak'Ne was strong and fierce, but six months of rotting away in a tower would be enough to weaken anyone. As a result, his body was no longer the strong body of a warrior, but weak and malnourished, and his mind was beginning to crack.

One day, he was escorted out of the tower by two Bretonnians to be executed. Knowing what was to happen, Drak'Ne had quickly grabbed one of the escort's daggers and then quickly disposed of his escort group. Dressing up in one of their uniforms, he made to the sea, quickly selling the equipment for a robe and passage to Naggaroth, promising more riches to the crew upon arrival.

The crew of the skiff was nervous during the whole trip. Especially because during the entire time they had known him, Drak'Ne never spoke of his real name, past, nor did he ever show his face. After about three days, the skiff was boarded by a small group of Durchii Corsairs coming back from a slave raid. Glad to see his kin again, Drak'Ne disposed of his cloak and was able to come back to Naggaroth with the Corsairs. However, his skills as a warrior had dulled during his time as a prisoner. He then decided to dedicate himself to Khaine, he still uses the dagger of his captors to this day

(Following happened after joining group 9)

Once he had become a Trainee of Khaine, he was met with two unfortunate events. One having seen an ally of his struck down by a Druchii traitor by the name of Bane. He still remembers how his comrade dashed towards Bane, only to have been struck down. He still remembers how Bane held a box in one hand when Drak’Ne’s comrade was struck down. Only a few days passed after that when Drak’Ne took passage on a ship, only to have some of the Corsairs attempt a mutiny. The mutiny was struck down quickly, but these two events had made it hard for Drak’Ne to trust his fellow Druchii.

(Events from group 14 have not been included yet)

Weapon Skill (WS): 6
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: Short and Long Sword, bastard sword, 2xDagger(one of Druchii make, the other of Bretonnian make), 20 Gold, Sea Dragon Cloak, Light Armor
Other: pendant(taken off of a sorcerer, no clue if it even does anything), Khaine bracer
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy, Basic Defensive Fighting.

DECEASED - Saphiekh Feliore, Daryn Ay'unar, Kaetor d'Somnios.
Now NPC - Dah'menk, Karios M'narir.
Fate Unknown - Khaina Heartrender.

_________________
"Ghost"

WS: 5
S: 2
T: 2
D: 5
I: 4

Skills: Basic Stealth, Stealth.
Inventory: Shade Cloak, Short Sword, Repeater Handbow, Legran's Token, Six Daggers, 65.5 Gold, Thieves' Tools, Wrist Blades.

Group 19 Moderator


Last edited by Javert on Tue Jun 30, 2009 12:21 pm, edited 12 times in total.



Sun Jun 29, 2008 9:41 am
Profile
Black Guard
User avatar

Joined: Thu Nov 17, 2005 4:27 pm
Posts: 275
Location: Sittin' on my manticore
Post 
The following 4 players make up group 18:

Name: Zarloyth Blackthorn
Gender: male
Age: 93
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 164 lbs.
Other physical traits: Zarloyth is well-muscled and quite robust for an elf. He has long hair of a very dark brown colour, that he usually wears in a braid. His eyes are a harsh grey. He has a small diagonal scar above the left corner of his mouth, and several scars from sword wounds on his forearms and chest.

Class: Warrior
Weapon Skill: 5
Strength: 4
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 3
Intelligence: 3

Zarloyth was sired by Soress Blackthorn, a minor noble from the city of Grhond. Soress stemmed from a long bloodline of warriors, and taught his son the ways of war from an early age. Zarloyth proved to posses great talent, and made his father proud. As he matured, he grew increasingly skilled, but also increasingly arrogant. One day, several weeks before his recruitment in the city’s garrison, Zarloyth’s pride led to conflict with his father, and he challenged Soress to a duel over an “insulting” correction. Never before had he made such a great mistake, for the older elf was a veteran of many raids. Zarloyth was hopelessly outclassed. By surrendering he managed to get off with only a few minor wounds, but his pride had taken a serious blow, and the young Druchii left his father’s house as soon as he recovered, taking nothing but his sword, armour and shield. Ever since, he has been living as a sell-sword, nothing more than a lowly mercenary.

His experiences as a mercenary have learned Zarloyth to somewhat restrain his arrogance, and have certainly improved his skills in battle, but overall his accomplishments aren’t too major. He has assisted on a few slave-raids, helped kill off a few wandering barbarians from the north, and told a whole lot of tall tales in countless wayward taverns.

******************************************************************

Character Name: ”Ghost”

Character Height and Weight: 6ft2 185lbs approx.

Character Age: 242 years.

Other Descriptions: Though he is strongly built with broad shoulders, months of barely surviving in the harsh wilderness of Naggaroth has caused him to become gaunt. His skin is a greyer, darker than most other Druchii, with hollow eye sockets that hold black eyes which have a stare that is unforgettable. His dark eyes contrast with the cold, white colour of his hair. He tends to wear a darksuit covered with a cowl-like deep-hooded cape. In general, he doesn’t like to carry a repeater crossbow, because it is a heavy piece of equipment, and he needs to move swiftly and silently.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: ”Ghost” was born into the Whitewyrm Clan of the Blackspine Mountains with a name – but that name has long since been lost, the records of his life destroyed among his fellow Shades, destroyed as punishment for his cowardice. However, in his current line of work not having any record of his existence is very helpful. ”Ghost” is an assassin, but he lies far from the Temple of Khaine, away from the traditional assassins who work only for the Temple. He is a hired blade with a bloody past, as he is being searched for by the relentless members of his former clan who wish to put him to death for cowardice. But it helps that they have no idea where he is. How he got from the caves of the Blackspine Mountains to the dark corners of the city of Vikarh is an epic tale.

”Ghost” was born as usual to two Shades living in the Blackspine, there was nothing unusual about him, his birth or his heritage. He was just another child that would be trained to become a Shade for his most of his young life, and would fight to protect the border for the most of eternity after that. As the life of a Shade was all he knew, ”Ghost” in no way objected until he begun to think independently of the outside world as he reached around his century – but these thoughts were quashed by the violence of his parents – they had a particularly strict training program and nothing outside being a Shade was supposed to enter his mind.
”Ghost” lived for only a decade after becoming a fully-fledged Shade, and living it’s regimented but quiet life, before it was interrupted by something extremely out of the ordinary. His parents, since before he was born had been corrupting the Whitewyrm Clan with the words of Slaanesh as the leaders of the Cult. However, the Shades of this clan lived in almost complete silence throughout their lives as they were endlessly devoted to their duty, and only after three decades of it’s instigation did the tendrils of Slaanesh reach the Chief Shade of the Clan, Risquo Whitewyrm. His discipline and devotion to his duty was greater than any other Shade in his Clan, he resisted the promises of the Cult of Pleasure and sought to hunt down the leaders of the Cult. Not only was he an incredibly devoted Shade, but also an immensely skilled one and he soon found the parents of ”Ghost” , and the leaders of the Cult. As they fought with him and begun to lose, they called for help from their son but he just sat by as Risquo slew them.
After that, the Cult began to unravel and Whitewyrm re-united the Clan back to it’s true objective. Risquo also took ”Ghost” under his wing to train him further as he had slain his parents. ”Ghost” even grew to like him.

It was over century until his routine changed again, and in this great length of time ”Ghost” grew in skill and in age and became a great friend of his master and clan chief, Risquo Whitewyrm. A hundred and thirty nine years old, when there was the first attempt to breach the mountain walls of the Blackspine in his lifetime. An enormous Beastmen horde, fuelled by the blood of Khorne attacked the mountain settlement of the Whitewyrm, with intent to breach it and charge into the cold wastes of Naggaroth. The piercing fire of the Shades’ repeater crossbows, coupled with the flanking attack from the Whitewyrm’s famous hunting dogs took down many Beastmen before they even reached the settlement, but there were hundreds more. Risquo ran to meet the Beastlord in battle as the rest of the Shades drew their weapons and plunged into battle with him with ”Ghost” among them. But Whitewyrm was cut off from them, and surrounded by the Beastlord and his regiment of Besitgors. He was slaughtered. ”Ghost” felt the last drop of life fell from Risquo’s body, and he felt himself die inside at the same time. Dropping his weapons, ”Ghost” ran. He fled from the fight, past the settlement, over the mountains and into the cold wastes of Naggaroth. He didn’t know what to do other than run. After what seemed like hours running constantly, he collapsed in the wastes, confident, and almost happy that he was going to die.
But his hunting dog, Whisper, followed him from the fight and licked his face to wake him up, laying on his body to give him warmth. ”Ghost” woke up slowly and at first, at first he thought that his eyes deceived him. But he knew it was true. Towards the mountain range, through the tundra, he could see the Whitewyrm Clan, with their dogs following him down into Naggaroth. They had not lost the fight, the Beastmen were to vicious to allow them to flee. Even without their leader they came out victorious, only to find that ”Ghost” had fled from the battle. And in the Whitewyrm Clan, the punishment for cowardice was death.
They pursued "Ghost" and his dog for days without relent, ”Ghost” knew that they would not give up, but for some reason he had a renewed will to live and continued to flee from the wave of some of the best hunters in the worlds, and their dogs. It was only with the help of Whisper that he was able to survive. As he began to starve, ”Ghost” found a hollow in the earth in to sleep in. There, he killed Whisper, and by fashioning a crude blade from a rock, skinned and ate the animal, then used it’s white pelt to hide him from his pursuers as he fled towards a city he begun to see in the distance.

When he reached the city of Vikarh, he managed to disappear into the darkness of urban environment, feeding off scraps while his pursuers searched the city relentlessly. But he escaped them, they had judged that he must have fled the city during their search and made their way forwards onto the next city. ”Ghost” did not believe that they would ever give up, but at least he could hide here for some time.
A few days after the Shades’ had left the city, ”Ghost” was found fishing for scraps outside the butcher’s by two Dark Elf Nobleman. Believing him to be an escaped slave, they attempted him to subdue them and bring him into their service, but were shocked as during the fight he disarmed them and put them both to their own swords. Their father, a wealthy noble named Bneis Reich witnessed these events and realised the skilled warrior that he had found. He took him into his house, fed and clothed him; as to this man, a warrior of his calibre was more valuable than two sons, he had many others. When the nobleman asked ”Ghost” his name, he was still in a shocked state and very sick, he had felt pain that he referred to as dying after Risquo had been killed, and as he still lived after what he called his own death, he said to the man “I am a ghost.” And that is where the tale comes full circle. ”Ghost” has become an assassin under the employ of Bneis Reich, a secret enemy of the Temple of Khaine and Cult of Pleasure and now lives by taking the lives of those that killed his parents.

In the mind of ”Ghost” , Slaanesh killed his parents as he could not blame a man who became a close friend and father figure – and he blames Khorne (as the Beastlord was assumed to be slain in the battle in the Whitewyrm Village) for slaying Risquo, and takes vengeance on the Temple of Khaine because he believes Khaine is an aspect of Khorne. ”Ghost” has become an individual filled with hate, with no regard for his own life as he believes he is already dead.

Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T): 2
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I): 4

Equipment: Short Sword, Shade Cloak, Repeater Crossbow.
Skills: Basic Stealth.

*****************************************************************

Character Name: Karios M'Narir
Age: 123
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11
Weight: c. 130lbs

Other Features: A lithe and wiry looking young Elf with an unkempt head of dark hair running free to his shoulders, framing a thin face with a strong jaw and a straight, delicate looking nose. His eyes are a murky sea-green colour and regard you with a lidded and disinterested manner, emphasised by languorous movement and a remorseful half-smile upon thin and slightly purple lips. The general impression is one of ill-health; his skin is pale, even for the Druchii, wrapped around veined hands and a drawn face that must have seen better days. Watching him a little longer, however, you decide he must have undergone some martial training. For all his affected ease and grace his movements are precise and silent, reminding you of predators which pretend weakness only to strike without mercy when the guard is down.

Class: Warrior

Stats:
WS: 4
S: 3
T: 2
D: 5
I: 4

Equipment: Long Sword, Shield and Light Armour

Character Background:

Karios was born to a minor Fein, of House M'Narir, who owned a fairly small shipyard in the docklands of Naggarond which dealt mainly with supplying slaves for the Greater Houses serving the Witch King Himself. Apparently his family had served in this way for generations, and rightly were extremely proud of their service, though Karios had felt little to no interest in the family business for as long as he could remember and left such things to his older brother Karik (who had always been favoured and groomed for succession).

Instead, he aimed to follow a military career, wishing to follow in the footsteps of his heroes and do his part to avenge the betrayal of his people. Since first reading the epics of Furion as a small boy he trained with the longsword, lance and crossbow, also with the glaith and lakelui. Alongside his training he became a voracious reader and, when he had exhausted the more conventional histories, he eventually found his way into the darker and unused corners of the great libraries.

It was in one of these corners, shortly before his 95th winter, he made a discovery which was to radically alter the course of his life. Finding a reference to an archaic form of his family name in an old tome on the history of criminal justice, specifically in a list of executed traitors, he decided to question a librarian, half in hope of gaining a fuller understanding of his bloodline and half in a morbid fascination.

The librarian hesitated at first but Karios persisted. She consulted her filing system and gave him a reference number which, she said (with what seemed an expression of distaste), would clear the matter up. She did not offer the name of the book he was seeking.

The reference number unsurprisingly lead him back to the section from which he had come. On a high shelf and in a corner he found the dusty old thing. Grabbing it excitedly he took it aside to read in private. His hackles rose as soon as he saw the title, which simply read "Chaotic Treason".

The book was a series of accounts of Chaos cults threatening the stability of Naggaroth; treason of the highest order. It had been written maybe 2 generations ago and, sure enough, the final chapter indeed bore his name. Or rather, it bore the name of his Grandfather's Grandfather.

Turios Manariir had been a Highborn noble and in his youth had fearlessly and bloodily defended the Watch Towers from Chaos filth countless times. Karios had not known this, believing his ancestors to have all been in the slave business. This vaunted hero, however, had consorted with the dark powers toward the end of his days, perhaps in an attempt to extend his life in the service of Malekith, or perhaps simply as a result of over exposure (The speculation of the historian who, oddly, was nameless). The fact was that he had given himself over to the worship of Tzeentch and, having become completely insane, had torched his family house and engaged in a wild and joyous killing spree in the halls of the Citadel using forms of foul sorceries, changing and mutating loyal retainers into gibbering and noxious fiends who then joined in the killing.

Inevitably this treachery was swiflty and decisively dealt with by The Black Guard and Highborn, but many proud Druchii nobles lay dead or worse. The book went on to state that Malekith had ordered the death of the entire Manariir familiy, save the one member (Karios' Great-Grandfather, Taroen) who had been in court that day and helped put down his father, however the rest of the family had been killed by the unnatural fire which obliterated the manor house in minutes. Taroen was spared but his name demoted, even changed to help efface the incident; he became Taroen M'Narir and ordered to live as a merchant and supply slaves to the higher nobility, and under no circumstances to discuss the matter with anyone. Karios remembered his Great-Grandfather - he had died screaming and raving in lunacy when Karios was just a child. He shuddered convulsively at the implication.

Summoning the self-control to calmly replace the book, he then strode purposefully out of the library, avoiding the gaze of the librarian to whom he had spoken. He walked home, and quickly, though what he would do when he arrived he was unsure.

The next few years passed in a blur. Facts he could cling to felt painful to recall; leaving his family and renouncing his training without explanation (as his father was also unaware of the family's past crimes), he had fled. He did not stay anywhere for long, instead he had turned his hand to artistry - writing and reciting poetry, abstract and mournful ramblings that had made little sense but nonetheless had funded his descent into drink and other soporific substances, of that he was sure.

In a sudden and unwelcome moment of clarity he awoke in a cheap inn in Vikarh and remembered what had happened before and what was happening now. He felt a surge of fear run through him like a cold blade. The paper strewn about his room; the scrawlings of dementia. The paraphenalia relating to mind-altering substances; evidence of an Elf willing to throw his mind away? Had he sunk too far?

In panic he rose from the bed and, snatching up his few remaining possesions and money, hastily quit the inn through a back entrance without paying his bill. He went from there straight to market to sell his books and whatever else was not too old and worn to fetch a few coins and immediately traded those for some basic equipment. His only option seemed clear - he would find some way of enlisting as a ranker in some far flung expedition to purge his soul of the debauchery which had so nearly claimed it.

(OOC: Urrgh... that went on longer than I intended. Obviously there is a big blank space during the debauched years, which I hope could be filled in during a story (according to moderator's discretion, of course). Sorry for any canon that I may have trampled along the way.. of course any suggestions would be very welcome!)

***********************************************************************

Heartrender

Character Name: Khaina Heartrender
Character Age: 167
Character Height: 6'5''
Character Weight: 69Kg

Other Descriptions: Jet black hair with a white strip at the front on the right, green eyes which burn when angered, wears black leather clothes under his dark cloak, has a scar running through one eye.

Character Class: Trainee of Khaine.
Character Ambitions: to become a skilled assassin!

Character Background: Khaina was brought up in the house of his noble father, Mortius Deathclaw, for the first few years of his life, however on the eve of death night when he was only just over a century old, he had was granted a vision by Khaine. This told him he had to kill his father and offer his heart to Khaine or he would die the next day. The young druchii crept into his fathers chambers in the early hours of that morning and tore his fathers heart from his chest, his father only had time to slash at Khaina once, scarring his face. Thus earning his title the Heartrender, he offered the heart to the witch elves the following night as a token of both respect and worship to Khaine. The elves took him back to the temples, not as a sacrificial victim, but as a trainee of Khaine. From that day forth he never saw the rest of his family again, living instead at the temple. He was dead to his family as they were dead to him. Khaina trained for the next half century, honing his skills and perfecting his mind and body for the times of war to come.

Weapon Skill (WS): 5
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger

Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Basic Stealth.

_________________
Character Name: Dah'menk

Stats:
WS5 S3 T2 D4 I4

Weapons: Long Sword, shield, light armour, corsair handbow, 5 clips of ammo, excellent quality knife, small knife.

Character class: Warrior
Skills: Defensive fighting

RPG Group 18 mod


Mon Jul 14, 2008 11:04 am
Profile
Highborn
User avatar

Joined: Thu Nov 17, 2005 4:52 pm
Posts: 691
Location: Edinburgh, Scotland
Post 
Group 20 contains the following people:

**********

Player: BuBonicuS
Name: Dai
Height: 5’ 10”
Weight: 120lbs
Age: 267
Class: Shade
Stats
WS: 4
S: 2
T: 4
D: 5
I: 4
Equipment: 2xDagger, Repeater crossbow, Shade cloak, Winter cloak.
Skills: Basic Stealth
Appearance: Feral. After almost fifty years living in the frozen forests of Kislev, Dai would not be a welcome guest in the most decrepit taverns that Vikarh has to offer. His once scrupulously clean black attire is now a patchwork affair of the original cloth and whatever black (or as close to black) material he has scavenged over the years, whether off of cold Kislevite bodies or clotheslines. His boots are of worn seal-skin, as are the leather-bound wraps that cover his forearms. His shade cloak, once as seamless as a shadow, is tattered and torn almost beyond recognition, and bears a mantle of thick, matted wolf fur. The whole ensemble is crusted in decades of filth and blood. His whole head is wrapped tightly in cloth and covered with a hood to disguise his horrifically burned features, and the only part of his body showing besides the twisted and puckered flesh of his hands are his eyes; milk white and sunk into his skull, like those of a dead fish. He could easily be mistaken for a terminally ill rag merchant, were it not for the way in which he moves; head held high and with the confident and graceful stride of a predator.

Background: Though it is now a vague and painful memory to him, Dai was once a callow youth, and served in a noble lord’s war-host as part of a scout unit. During his first campaign against the hated High Elves, on the eve of the first battle, Dai and a few others infiltrated the enemy camp. Although their mission was only to gather intelligence on the size of the force and the layout of the encampment, Dai was reckless. Seeing what could only be the sorcerer’s tent, he decided that he would gain considerable glory if he could somehow end the magic-user’s life. But as he stalked closer, he saw too late that the shadows of figures projected onto the tent’s canvas were an illusion, and before he had a chance to even draw his blade, the sorcerer stepped from the shadows, and with a contemptuous gesture, propelled Dai into the night sky on a torrent of fire.

Pain was all he knew for months. He later recalled flying through the star-strewn sky for countless miles as the flames consumed him, the roaring wind drowning his high-pitched screams of agony. Then there was crashing, splintering, branches tearing at his flesh, and then blessed cold unconsciousness. He awoke the next morning on the shores of the Sea of Malice, and blundered naked, starved, and peeling burnt flesh for days along the river leading to Clar Karond. By luck, a passing Druchii ship picked up the once unscarred youth, and recognizing the symbol of his lord, now burned into his chest where his medallion had glowed white hot, brought him back to the city to give word of the battle.
Shunned by his family and the population for his grotesque appearance, Dai swore vengeance on the sorcerer that had so disfigured him, and to search tirelessly for a way to restore his body to it’s natural form.

In order to do both of those things though, Dai would need to accumulate power and wealth. Signing on with the legendary mercenary group “The Dark Hand,” he travelled all over the Lands of Chill and to the lands of men, the place they called Kislev. They fought on land and sea, in cities and wilderness, across glaciers and forests. Through his dark humour and his prowess with a crossbow, he gained respect and trust from his comrades despite his appearance, such things that none had shown him in years. Closest to him was young Uriel and beautiful Zatana. But not long after they had begun trekking across a glacier was their party set upon by worm-like behemoths burrowing through the ice.

Dai, along with the rest of the group, plunged into an icy chasm created by the subterranean creatures. Zatana managed to pull herself to the edge of the sheer cliff, and threw down a rope to Uriel and Dai. Dai was a few feet below Uriel, his withered hands dug into the ice and his feet scrambling for purchase on the sheer surface. Uriel, his handholds much better, secured the length of rope to his belt while Dai grabbed hold of it. Suddenly, another tremor shook the earth, and as Zatana fell to the ground and lost her hold on the rope, the section of ice-wall beneath Dai’s feet crumbled and he fell, the only thing now preventing him from falling into the abyss the silk rope fastened to Uriel’s belt. Zatana reached out frantically and grasped Uriel’s arms while he attempted to haul himself up, but to no avail; their combined weight was too heavy. Dai shouted desperate encouragement to his friend, but this turned to spitting curses as Uriel drew a knife and began to saw away at the rope. Dai’s profanity’s ceased in the instant the final thread parted, and he fell silently into the blackness, white eyes wide with the pain of betrayal.

Crashing through snowdrifts and then borne out of the glacier by an underground river, an ordinary Druchii would have succumbed to hypothermia. But Dai’s lack of nerve-endings near the surface of his skin helped him resist the shock of the extreme cold. Disoriented and without coin, allies, or even much of a will to live, Dai spent the next five decades living a hermit’s existence in the forests surrounding Kislev and later Erengrad, forgetting the trappings of society, etiquette, combat, and speech. Having heard word that Uriel was not only alive and well, but a noble lord living comfortably, Dai has made his way back to Naggaroth to settle the score with his old friend.

**********

Player: Cananatra
Name: Cananatra

Height and weight: 6.0 120Ibs

Age: 146

Other descriptions: Average build male, blue eyes, shoulder length black hair bound at the nape of his neck, small scar above right eye.

Character class; Warrior

Character background:
Cananatra’s childhood was spent as any of normal Druchii birth. He lived in the Viper mountains, ruled by Lord Varak. His father was a corsair who spent most of his time raiding. His mother was a maker of light leather armour. At the age of 132 he was conscripted into a raiding party formed by Lord Varak. Its destination, the jungles of Lustria and the riches hidden within.
Shortly after disembarking from the ship that carried them there the reason for so few corsair raids became evident. The dense Lustrian jungle was a natural death trap. It was a week of hacking through the underbrush before the true horrors of this land revealed themselves. Up to this point quicksand and large jungle predators had been the main worry. Now with the temperature rapidly rising the flies became deadly. They carried all manner of fatal diseases and more than one Druchii was left where he fell as his organs slowly shut down.

Cananatra’s luck was not to hold out either. Within days he was struck by a fever. To fall was to die so he agonisingly kept pace with the rest of the raiding party. Slowly but surely his uncommonly strong immune system fought back and defeated the pathogen. After three days of delirium his thoughts eventually cleared and he realised only half of the originally four hundred strong group remained.

Over the next two weeks of travel he fell ill three more times yet each time his body survived and each time the numbers of his comrades dropped. After three weeks they were nearing their destination. Or so Lord Varak said. This was when they were ambushed. Small reptiles, barely three foot tall attacked from all sides. Most of their darts and javelins bounced harmlessly off the well forged Druchii armour but the few that found their marks caused the injured to cry out in pain and fall from relatively minor wounds. Poison. Seconds later larger more fearsome beasts attacked.

The Druchii stood no chance. The fifty which had got this far were being massacred. With one final contemptuous look at Lord Varak Cananatra sprinted into the jungle. A skink rose up before him and fired a dart just as his spear pierced its chest, not stopping to pull free the spear he dropped it and continued running. The dart had embedded itself in his forehead just above his right eye. He angrily tore it out and ran on.

The trees before him blurred and he almost fell but once again his immune system kicked in, breaking down the deadly venom before it could kill him. Dropping his shield he ducked and weaved through the jungle for as long as he could. At last satisfied he had temporarily shaken any who may have been pursuing him he set off back for home.
Thinking the next three weeks that perhaps a life in the army wasn’t for him. When he returned he’d try his own luck.

WS:4
S:4
T:5
D:3
I:3

Equipment: Long sword, Shield, Light armour, Throwing Axe, Winter cloak, 80 Gold, Magic Amulet(unknown effect -Slaanesh shape)

Skills: none

**********

Player: Demendred
Name: Demendred

height and weight: 6.02 130lbs

Other Descriprtions: Tall but fairly gaunt, dark blue eyes and short black hair.

character class: Shade

Demendreds Background:Greetings, to the person who reads this I would like you to know my story, sit, relax, pull up a chair and listen as I tell you the tale of my childhood. I was born on a cold winter night over ninety years ago. My mother was the tribe’s herb woman, my father a common scout. My father was killed by the servants of chaos when I was barely five years old. He had been friends with a young man who would one day become the tribe chief when they were boys but during their adolescence they had both pursued the same young woman. That woman was my mother. She chose my father and unwisely scorned my father’s friend and ultimately sealed both their fates. Because of a series of unfortunate events involving some unlikely accidents the line of succession in the tribe eventually led to my father’s old friend.

After several years I was born, my birth seamed to infuriate the chief with what could have been if he had been the one chosen instead of his friend and the wedge between the two of them grew even further. He started sending my father to the most dangerous of missions that the highborn hired us for. I don’t know why the chief did this, whether it was jealousy, anger or some deluded thought that my mother would turn to him if my father wasn’t around but continue his actions he did. Eventually after five long years of struggling through the odds my father was killed during a dangerous mission to the chaos wastes. It is said sometimes that he died killing a chaos champion who was about to ambush the troops he was with even if the more popular story amongst the tribe was that he simply ran away, this side was told as he wasn’t well liked in the tribe and as an attempt to gain the favor of the chief.

After his death the tribe chief turned to my mother in an attempt to woe her. She refused adamantly and secured her fate. With my father dead and my mother scorned by the others of the tribe we became outcasts. If it wasn’t for my mothers rudimentary skills with herbs we would have been exiled. As it was we never had enough to eat which is probably why I’m so thin, even for a druchii, nor did we have good shelter and we always seemed destined to secure the worst chores around camp. Somehow though, against the odds we survived, at least for a while.

I was 18 when my mother died. There had been a fire in our tent. The men who discovered the it said it was the result of the cooking fire getting to strong and growing out of hand but I noticed know one seemed to unhappy when she died. That left me alone in the world. My family line had never had many children so I had no uncles, no aunts, and no relatives at all. The rest of my life was spent as the outcast. Last to eat, the worst assignments, and no one willing to help train me. I managed to learn the skills necessary by watching others and learning through battle but I was hardly the best in the tribe.

On my hundredth birthday I grew tired of this life. I could no longer accept the way I was treated and I had heard rumors of a new job for one of our scouts which I believed I would get. Some crazy noble wanted a scout for an expedition deep into the wastes. I left my home the next day and while I can’t be sure I believe I detected a cheer in the air as I left. As I departed this life I set out on another, I decided to become a mercenary looking for whatever work I can find, for my benefit alone I will work now and never again will I submit to being treated as an outcast. I will serve anyone who treats me with respect and one day I vow I shall have revenge for the deaths of my family.

This is my story, I hope you have enjoyed it and if you have I hope you will mention me to any seeking a good scout for hire. Come again if you wish to hear more now I pray, let me retire, it has been a long day and it is not over yet.

WS-4
S-3
T-3
D-4
I-5

Equipment- Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak, 5 gold, 5 throwing knives , Winter Cloak

Skills- basic stealth

*********

Player : Joyfulcheese
Character Name : Urtharn N'Gal (DECEASED)

Character Height and Weight : 6'3"

Character Age : 157

Other Descriptions : Thin and wiry, his skin is a little paler than most elves. In spite of this he is exceedingly nimble and equally quick in mind as well. He bears a scar on his right cheek which is roughly 2" long. When relaxed his eyes are narrow and to the casual observer he would appear ill, almost week (a mistake). He has also been branded Khaine on his left shoulder (usually hidden beneath his robes/clothing).

Character Class : Trainee of Khaine
Weapon Skill : 4
Strength : 3
Toughness : 2
Dexterity : 4
Intelligence : 5

Equipment: Short sword, Dagger, Winter cloak.
Skills:Two weapon fighting and Uncontrollable frenzy

Background : Urtharn has resorted to guile and blatant deception to survive in the city of the witch king. The 3rd son of a minor noble in the city, he was forced to spend his early years growing up in the shadow of his older brothers who were all too eager to curry the favour of their father, and indeed that of the other nobles of the city. Too young, and a lot weaker than they were he spent his early years becoming invisible, learning when to not be seen lest he become target practice for one of his brothers seeking to hone their fighting skills. While he spoke very little, his mind was as sharp as any blade and he constantly watched and listened to those around them all the while making sure he was either beneath or beyond their notice.

Eventually he knew in the depths of his cold heart that while his brothers lived he would never be able to claim the greatness he knew was his by right.

The youngest of the brothers he took care of himself. Slain in his bed Urtharn claimed his eyes, heart and tongue as trophies. The next oldest was a little more difficult as his paranoia was only exceeded by his skill with a sword, but rather than risk his own life Urtharn managed to steal enough from his father to hire an assassin who delivered the eyes, heart and tongue after the deed was done.

All this time his oldest brother seemed to go on ignorant, or uncaring, about who was behind the fate that befell his siblings. But in truth he had long suspected his youngest brother and had made steps to ensure his place in the family and future prospects. Using what influence he'd managed to accrue in his 120 years of life he managed to sow rumours that Urtharn was trying to pass secrets and intelligence to the High Elves. But not content with mere rumour he'd even gone so far as to leave a trail of "evidence" that pointed to a few of the weaker noble houses throughout Naggaroth. It seemed as though the expensive and complex plan would do it's work but instead of pointing to his youngest sibling it pointed to his father. Urstlan had realised the scheme as it had developed and rather than try to defuse it he allowed it to continue ensuring that it was misdirected. His father was summarily executed for treachery and his older brother ascended the throne, but was shortly thereafter murdered by assassins sent by the houses he'd also implicated in the scheme. As with the others, he claimed the eyes, tongue and heart.

Assembling the trophies he'd collected in the months and years previously, Urtharn burned them upon the families altar as thanks to Khaine for showing him favour in dealing with his brothers. The sheer efficiency with which the assassin had dispatched his brothers had left an indelible impression upon him and he felt a call within him to follow in their path. They were among the best that his people had, and with their training and the intellect and cunning he possessed, such a combination would ensure both his position in Naggaroth society and perhaps even the favour of the Witch King himself.

As the only remaining male he had hoped to lead his family and start a climb up through the ranks of the nobles in Naggaroth, using his cunning and scheming to draw closer to the favour of the rulers of his city and eventually even the witch king himself, but with the assassination of his father other houses began to move in and soon the house of his father was no longer a viable power and to avoid being murdered in an effort to claim what little remained of his families slaves, lands and soldiers he disappeared, starting on the path of the assassin to eventually reclaim the power that he feels is his by right.

But with falling from power comes the long climb up and in a society as treacherous and deadly as that of the Druchii, such a climb is difficult at the best of times. Without help Urtharn would no doubt find himself at the end of a blade all too quickly. He needed to find others he could work with, at least temorarily. The best place to start would be the city of the mercenaries. His family name would not be recognised in most places outside of the city of the witch king, let alone in Vikarh but he couldn't afford to be careless. Taking the only property he could - his clothes, travelling cloak, short sword, dagger and what little money he could scrape together he set out on his way his heart and mind set on his purpose. The mark of Khaine on his shoulder tingled slightly perhaps a sign of Khaines favour he thought to himself as he set out.


**********

-Player: Narmo Eressea
-Character Name: Narmo Eressea (DECEASED)
-Character Height and Weight: 1, 75 m, 65 kg
-Character Age: 120
-Other Descriptions: Raven Black hair, green eyes, dark cloak, grey robes. He carries the normal survival items used in the forests.
-Character Class: Shade
-Character Background:

Narmo was the youngest son of the house Eressea in Naggaroth. All his life he was terrorized with the old tales of the biggest threat the Druchii had known: Alith Anar, the ghost of Nagarythe, the figure which haunted Narmo´s dreams.

One day the household of Eressea was utterly destroyed when one of the Shadow Lords that Anar commanded launched an attack against his people. Even if their warriors were bolstered with an important number of Executioners from Har Ganeth, nothing could be done to avoid the massacre.

House Eressea had the tradition of sending the noble sons to be educated in the harsh life of shades and proof there their worth for the house of the elfling so narmo escaped the destruction of all he knew.

Grief and ragefilled him and swore to never give peace to the Shadow Lord for what had happened and having no living family, which in the powerplay of the druchii society made him an ideal candidate to die, he stayed with the group of shades.

There he was nearly killed when a group of beastmen attacked them, only the quick intervention of Nadhiel, a hunter of the cult of Anath Raema make him survive.

For that Narmo felt indebted to him and his goddess. Should Nadhiel ever need help Narmo would do whatever he could, even if that delayed his search for Anar. Nadhiel and Narmo had a brief relationship before departing each one in a different path, which they tried to keep ins ecret for *** relationships were frowned in druchii society.

Narmo wandered through Naggaroth in that process for he could not stay anywhere for a long time. He was considered too weak for the druchii society. In his heart he didn´t have the feelings of the other druchii. He didn´t want to kill, steal, or lie to obtain power and riches, he just wanted vengeance.

Anath Raema - Sister of Khaine, Goddess of the Savage Hunt. Her domain is the the joy of the chase, and the thrill of the kill. According the legend, her advances were spurned by the god Kurnous... as such, she is also worshipped as the avenging goddess of jealous lovers.

-Weapon Skill (WS): 4
-Strength (S): 2
-Toughness (T): 4
-Dexterity (D): 4
-Intelligence (I): 4

-Starting skills: Basic Stealth.

-Starting equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak, Winter cloak.


**********

NAME: Rekok (Formally - Rekok Jadeshade) DECEASED

HEIGHT & WEIGHT: 6'9" - 94lb

AGE: 153

DESCRIPTION:

Rekok has glossy dark black hair, bronze coloured eyes, pale white gaunt looking face with a thin scar across his left check, running from his chin to his nose. He has tall slim build. He wears the dark robes of an assassin when tactically required, however most of the time he will wear a plain dark brown robes tied around the waist with a brown leather belt to blend in with the low-born crowds. He has a simple black shoulder bag in with he keep these clothes to change between, and the carry food, water and any other item he may come across.

CLASS: Trainee of Khaine

CHARACTER STATS:

(WS): 4
(S): 3
(T): 3
(D): 6
(I): 3

BACKGROUND:

Rekok was born into one of the noble families of Hag Ganeth, He was the eldest and the most favoured son of his father. Rekok's father was a Lieutenant of the Drachau and as such wanted him to become a knight as he once was. To this end his father hired a trainer for his son; he could not teach Rekok himself because he had to go lead the cavalry in a raid into the wastes.

The trainer taught Rekok how to use a sword; Rekok lacked the physical strength to do much damage with a long blade and he preferred a short blade, as he could welded it much more swiftly. Rekok was also taught to use a blade in each hand at the same time, which he excelled at. His father viewed it important the Rekok was also taught about high sociality, the laws of the land, the history of the Druchii and the Sundering. The trainer took Rekok to the Temple frequently to learn about these, as the Temple had the best library available. Rekok was very curious about the Temple and the state religion. He requested that he be taught about these also. After a few year of training Rekok became impatient that he was still training and yearned to have a real fight. His master knew he was ready, and with his connection with the temple, they went to assist in the ambush of a Cult of Pleasure meeting. During the fight his master was slain trying to protect Rekok. His father returned some months after and continued his training.

As he reached adulthood Rekok's father presented him with an ornate dagger, made of silver and the hilt was encrusted with red rubies, as a symbol of him becoming of age. On that same evening his father introduce him to his connections, Rekok was shocked to discover his father and mother were both members of the Cult of Pleasure, Rekok sat though the meeting of the cult in silence, feeling nothing but hatred and disgust, everything he owned felt, to him, like it was tainted. Afterwards back in his tower, Rekok felt like a complete stranger in his own house.

His bitter hatred for the Cult of Pleasure mixed with feelings of anger and disgust that his family was connected with the Cult, and that that ment he was too. Rekok when in to an uncontrollable frenzy, slaughtering his brothers and sister, He was desperate to sever his ties to the cult and the only way to do that was to sever his ties to his family. Rekok seeked out his father, whom he found asleep in his bed, he slit his fathers throat with a flick of his dagger. Rekok then turned on his mother, she had tried to defend herself using a small blade, she had been aiming to stab him in the throat, however he dodge at the last possible second resulting in a thin deep cut on his left check, Rekok hit her hard in the side of her head, he then bound her. Rekok removed his fathers heart which he then offered up the heart at the temple of Khaine, along with his mother.

Rekok's mother was interrogated before being sacrificed to Khaine, She revealed a lot of information that was useful to the temple. He was spared partly by the connection his former master had created for him in the temple, but mainly because of his actions towards his family. Rekok wanted nothing to do with his former life and so he offered up all that he owned; his land, his wealth, even his family name; to the temple to start a fresh. Except for his dagger, which he kept because it had cleansed his family; Rekok believe it to be the one thing he own that was not tainted. The temple gladly took his gifts and he was taken into the Cult of Khaine, trained to an assassin. Rekok was given the simple black robes of the assassins and the assassins short sword.

As part of his training the Elders of the Temple have sent him on a quest to test his abilities; there are items he must gather and people he must kill, he is not to return until he has completed these tasks.

STARTING EQUIPMENT:

1 Ornate dagger, made of silver and the hilt was encrusted with red rubies (Dagger [Combat])
1 Assassins Short Sword (Short Sword)
Winter cloak

PSYCHOLOGY:
He has a burning hatred for the cult of pleasure. (Uncontrollable Frenzy)
He has a desire to advance in the temple to make up for his former life.

SKILLS: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.


**********

Player: scion of naggaroth
Character Name: Alidith Du'Sletch DECEASED

Height/Weight, 6', 130lb
Age, 115

Description: Initially unremarkable being roughly average height and build it's only upon closer inspection that you notice the more muscular than normal build. His eyes are a shade of deep blue uncommon in druchii society and his jet black hair is tied neatly back to keep it out of his face. Despite his relatively young age he moves with the grace of a natural warrior. For clothing he wears nothing more than the simple off-black tunic and cloak that were given to him when he left the temple.

Character class: Trainee of Khaine

Background: Alidith was born into the Du'Sletch family, whose wealth was made through the lucrative trade in slaves and items commandeered during raids. As happened to a number of babies, he was taken on death night by the brides to the temple of Khaine. As one of those that survived he received the training of one of the Assassins of Khaine. Having excelled in his studies of the blade and proved himself loyal to the ideals of the temple he has been sent out to prove himself worthy of becoming one of the dreaded assassins. Only then will he be allowed to return....

Having a lack of direction now Alidith first sought out his family, an unexpected reunion. Pleased to discover that a long lost son of the family still survived they were eager to help and set him up with a group of individuals who he could prove himself with. On the day that he was due to leave Ghrond his father gifted him with his dagger, a symbol of the family that he belonged to to remind him of who he was and where he had come from.

Eventually Alidith and his companions found themselves in the lines of watchtowers at the very North of Naggaroth. Soon word reached them that another watchtower was besieged by the spawn of chaos and they were attached to the relieving force. Ambushed en route, one of their party was wounded, then killed shortly after, his weakness an insult to a Maibid.

Seizing the fallen warrior's sword (it was nicer than his own), their group continued onwards, lured into a carefully laid trap by their traitorous commander. His group decimated to a man, Alidith somehow managed to escape the slaughter. A lone Druchii pursued by the beasts, his outlook seemed bleak until, fortune smiled upon him once again, he had managed to get close enough to Vikarh for the beasts to give up their pursuit in fear of discovery and destruction at the hands of a patrol.

Finishing the remainder of his small trek in relative safety Alidith now finds himself in a city full of mercenaries, competing with them for work, and hoping that he finds something with which to distinguish himself enough to return to the temple in order to complete his training.

Weapon skill: WS 5
Strength: S 4
Toughness: T 2
Dexterity: D 4
Intelligence: I 4

Equipment:A long sword seized from a dead comrade his fathers' dagger, a simple dagger with the family insignia on the pommel, that he carries to remind himself of who he is, Winter cloak.
Skills:Two weapon fighting and Uncontrollable frenzy


Last edited by The buoyancy of water on Fri May 08, 2009 2:16 pm, edited 4 times in total.



Sat Aug 09, 2008 10:05 pm
Profile WWW
Beastmaster
User avatar

Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 8:07 pm
Posts: 337
Location: Leeds/Preparing to raid the south
Post 
The following players form group 21

************************************************************

Player: Kajchi

Name:Arkath of Karond Kar
Size: 5'10"
Weight: 122 lbs
Age; 96
Description: Arkath has black hair with thin dreadlocks, his eyes are dark teal. Altough he's skinny he has visible muscles. His extra pointy ears and long nails give him somewath of a bestial apearance. He wears
light leather clothes in variousshades of black and brown. He also wears a ring with a dragon that he had since he was born.
Drawing:

Class: Beastmaster apprentice (Trainee of khaine)

Background:
Abandoned as a baby Arkath was found by a greedy slave master who didn't want to waste any money on some meagre child. So he was put together with the slaves. He was never really accepted by them because of his heritage but they did share their food with him although it was never more than he needed to survive. Because of this he never got close to any of the slaves. At age twenty, he was getting sick of living in a cage with people that hated him, and he started planning his escape. It took three years before he had a chance to escape. The week before his escape, a fresh load of slaves was brought in. With them were a couple of orcs. Arkath knew this was his chance. a week later when he started a fight against an orc, disguised as a human(his ears hidden under his hair). The orc got angry and after hitting him out of the way, he continued his rampage against the other humans. Not much later the remaining orcs joined in on the fighting. At that moment the gaurds stormed in and tried to stop the riot. After a few hours they succeded and returned to their guard post. What they did not know however, was that Arkath had stolen the cell keys during the confusion of the fight. That night, he opened his cell and fled to the forests around Karond Kar

He lived there peacefully, living from the hunt. After some 40 years however, his peace was disturbed. He was following the tracks of a wounded deer when he ended up at a spring. Here he found he pitch black manticore. It was sleeping. He had heard stories about these creatures from the beastmasters walking around the cells, and knew he was in danger. But still, he didn’t flee. He was being stopped by his inquisitive nature. So, he sat himself down and watched it. But then, It woke up.

The manticore opened it's eyes and started staring at Arkath, watching in the manticores eyes, he saw infinite wisdom and power. Hours passed and neither one of them moved. Until suddenly, he saw movement in the manticore’s ears. The manticore jumped up and tried to flee, but it was too late, a net was already thrown over him and he was helpless. In the confusion, Arkath felt hands pulling him back And a man’s voice telling him: “Get back, this thing is dangerous!”. When Arkath looked at the man he saw his clothing and knew that it was a beastmaster…

The man and his group took him back to Karond Kar. There, they asked him if he wanted to become one of them, a beastmaster. He happily agreed and his apprenticeship began. He was learned about all the different kinds of creatures and their habits. And finally, how to tame them. It was also In the academy that he first learned about Rakarth the Beastlord, who has been his idol ever since. He was a good student and showed great talent, but growing up in the wild had his downside too. Once in a while when he would go berserk, acting only on his basic instincts…

All went well in the academy until one day. He was walking around in the courtyard when he heard a great roar. He ran to the source of the sound and arrived just in time to see the black manticore being executed. It was only at this point that his connection to the manticore had been greater than he had thought at first. Filled with anger and sadness, he once again fled…

The next time he was seen was in Vikarh, working as a mercenary to earn enough wealth and fame to persuade Rakarth the Beastlord, who was his rolemodel since he had heard of him, to make him his apprentice...


STATS
WS:3
S:2
T:4
D:5
I:4

EQUIPMENT
1 Short Sword
1 Dagger

SKILLS
Two Weapon Fighting
Uncontrollable Frenzy (Explained by living in the wild instead of the drugs...)

Overall a good bio, a bit young, but considering your character's background that isn't a problem. Though you described your character as being particularly lightweight, I think that 96lbs a bit too low for a 5'10 elf. I think you'd be looking at least 120lbs. One last thing, the beginning of your background is a bit confusing - particularly the first paragraph, I can't make any sense of it. - Javert.

Drawing: Image
Image

********************************************************

Player: Khel

Name: Saldrimek Xenan
Height and Weight: 6'9, 95 Kg
Age: 120
Sex: Male
Other Descriptions: Long black hair tied back to keep out of his face. Green piercing eyes, many earrings shaped to look like druchii symbols. Robes of a light red color as well as having delicate hooks and bells hanging from his robes.

This gives Saldrimek a somewhat inquisitive look while others usually try to avoid him. It is quite hard for Saldrimek to hide for the bells and hooks are continually knocking together, alerting most people to his presence.

His face is as smooth as marble and he has absolutely no scars or blemishes upon his clear cut face.
Around his wrists are chains designed to look like thorns and spiked stems.

His footwear are open toe sandals which allow his feet to breath more for he moves around on his feet quite a lot.

Saldrimek' lithe body belie the muscular arms and legs he has obtained over the years of training at the Temple. His life ambition is to become more of a Executioner than an Assassin, though he is yet to decide which path to follow.

Class: Trainee of Khaine

Background:

Saldrimek was born to a normal family of two. He grew up with a fairly good relationship with his two brothers and one sister. He was mainly neglected by his family for he was the youngest and he did not receive the proper training which he would of liked from his family. At the mere age of 50, Saldrimek was considered a weakling and a failure by everyone around him.

This depressed Saldrimek to the extent that he always stayed out late, following the other kids home, always hanging at the back, always wanting to join the fun. No one ever saw Saldrimek for he was perfect at hiding, plus no one ever wanted to see Saldrimek. If the kids saw him, they would usually call him names and throw junk at them.

One late night, Saldrimek was walking home after attempting to play with the other kids, when he bumped into a hooded figure. The hooded figure turned around and looked down upon the frightened Saldrimek. Looking into the eyes of Saldrimek, the hooded figure saw the sheer malice and hate in the small childs eyes. The hooded figure knocked Saldrimek out and carried him back to his house.

Knocking on the front door, the hooded figure was welcomed by Saldrimek father, angered by the fact that Saldrimek had stayed out so late. Leaving Saldrimek with his family, the hooded figure just so happened to pass the window of Saldrimek' room. Looking in, the hooded figure saw that the child was sitting alone on his bed, with a bag stuffed with straw, a crude face drawn upon it.

The hooded figure decided that Saldrimek was not wanted by his family and would not be missed, which was entirely correct. Taking Saldrimek to the Temple, the hooded figure decided to train the boy and make him his apprentice.

Saldrimek hardly ever talks, he only does when he is either talked to or he wants to know about something. He has a strict personality as he follows out orders to the grain. The main reason he has the bells and hooks upon his body is to make people aware of him, making them acknowledge his presence.

He is currently a mercenary for hire at Vikarh for his sensei (the hooded figure) died a short while ago, leaving Saldrimek to his own doings.

Stats:

WS: 5
S: 3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 3

Formally of Group 12

Equipment: Scimitar and dagger, 5 gold coins. (Will remove items if wanted)

Starting skills:
Two Weapon Fighting
Uncontrollable Frenzy

Six foot, nine...eighty five pounds. You weigh fifteen pounds less than the average 5'5 woman. I don't know how it works with Elves, but with humans I would say that your character should be dead by now. Or unable to move. The muscles needed in your body to keep up a 6'9 human upright and moving like a soldier would make you much heavier than that. I'm thinking, 250lbs, 200lbs if your character is particularly small in stature. - Javert.

Luckily my character isn't human then. Elves are naturally tall. 6"9 is quite tall, but in an elf's eyes, he would be seen as being taller than average. However, I do realize the mistake about the weight. I should of wrote kilo's instead of pounds. ~ Khel

************************************************************

Player: DarkenRho

Name: Dhuan Lochar
Gender: Male
Height: 6'6"
Weight: 220lbs average structure, athletic and toned build.
Age: 175
Other Descriptions: Long platinum silver hair reaching his mid back, left eye blue, right eye is scarred/blinded appearing white in color. Clothing is a long dark purple robe with black trim, over top is a lightly armored breastplate. Right arm (sword arm) is also lightly armored. He wears a silver serpent pendant around his neck (passed from his father, a family hierloom).
Class: Warrior

Stats
WS 5
S 4
T 3
D 3
I 3

Equipment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armor

Skills: None

Background: Dhaun Lochar was born into a noble family in the city of Har Ganeth who was the eldest of three sons. Dhaun as a youth was very reclusive spending much of his time alone and away from his relatives. The time he actually did spend around his family especially his brothers tended to end in violence. Dhaun though naturally quiet was incredibly violent and easily angered having on numerous occasions injure his siblings. This caused them to live in fear of Dhuan not even wanting to walk within eyesight of him. Dhaun's mother Hyrra, his primary caregiver found that his temper was uncontrollable when pushed too far and became fearful for what he may become. However his father Folsit, an executioner of Khaine saw his rage as a useful tool for creating an exceptional warrior and took a particular interest in his training. This caused a great deal of jealousy among the remaining two Felyn (second eldest) and Dirz (youngest). Many years his father devoted to curving that anger into a force Dhaun could control through rigorous training and strict discipline. Ultimately it became a frightening force of power that Dhaun could use against his enemies. Though an unexpected side effect unbeknown to his father it manifested itself into a burning lust for battle and an insatiable hunger for blood. Dhuan would thus frequently attend the executions as a way to sate this addiction. Over the years both Felyn and Dirz were also trained, though separately from Dhaun to become swordsmen and follow their fathers footsteps. When Dhuan and his brothers had completed their fathers training Dhuan being 60 at the time (Felyn 58, Dirz 54) it was time for them to prove their worth in real battle. Their task was to seek out a band of Chaos marauders said to be on the far northeast coast from Har Ganeth and bring back proof of a kill. Dhuan was confident in the completion of his fathers' request as was his brothers, though they had other plans of their own as well.

Nearly two weeks after Dhuan, Felyn and Dirz had left they finally encountered a small regiment of the Chaos invaders within a forest clearing near a steep cliff side where a river flowed beneath. From a quick servey it seemed they were outnumbered twelve to three. Dhuan's blood boiled with excitement at the sight of his first true opponents and made a mad dash towards the encampment. Before Felyn and Dirz could even formulate a plausible plan they were forced to follow or risk having to fight an even more seemingly unwinable battle should Dhuan be killed. Fortunately the marauders were caught by surprise many not having the time to even arm themselves properly before the three Druchii slaughtered them. The battle was short having caught the enemy off guard and luckily not encountering any veteran or largely experienced fighters among them. Dhuan covered with the blood of humans and feeling utterly disappointed, even after felling six of the humans himself turned to his brothers...noticing them holding their blades towards him . Dhuan: "what is the meaning of this?" Felyn: "Far too long have we waited to have this chance! The chance to step out from behind your shadow!" Dirz: "You were always fathers trophy heir, with you gone we will be the ones father will praise!" Dhuan: "So treachery is what my brothers plan for me... then so be it, strike me down if you can!" A wicked grin widened across Dhuan's face as Felyn and Dirz charged him. Because of the private training Dhuan received from his father and the skill he acquired his brothers were a poor match. Dirz attacked in an overhead arc aiming for Dhuan's collar but he was slow. Dhuan easily maneuvered aside to deliver a fatal cut through Dirz's midsection. Watching him clutch his side and fall to the ground Dhuan faced Felyn with a cold challenging stare. Felyn immediately halted realizing the mistake Dirz had made attacking Dhuan head on. Instead he retreated closer to the edge of the cliff side knowing Dhaun would be close behind and readied himself. Dhuan pursued Felyn filled with rage and murderous intent to kill. Dhuan lunged striking at Felyn's throat, though the guard ready Felyn managed to block the blow however the power behind it knocked him to the ground nearly pushing him of the ledge into the raging waters below. Laughing manically Dhuan approached Falyn, who could feel returning the fear so often instilled within him by his brother in their childhood. Dhaun stood over his treacherous brother raising his sword to plunge it into Felyn's chest, desperately Felyn grabbed a fist of dirt throwing it into Dhuan's eyes causing him to stumble. Quickly Felyn stood up and followed with an attack that sliced through Dhuan's Right eye. Feeling the stinging pain Dhuan lost his balance and fell off the cliff side disappearing into the waters below. Felyn still breathing heavily from the encounter collected himself and approached Dirz who had stopped breathing. Felyn: "I will return to father and tell him both my brothers have fallen to the humans...no one will know the truth of what happened here." Believing Dhuan dead Falyn collected his trophy and set to return home.

When Falyn returned the news of Dirz and Dhuan caused Folsit to become bitter towards Falyn blaming him for his brothers' death disowning and banishing him from the family. Felyn's hatred towards Dhuan grew tenfold and he cursed himself for his miserable existence, he was alone and no longer had purpose. Some weeks later a drunken dishonored Falyn lay in the allies of Har Ganeth remembering the series of events that brought him there. Just as he is about ready to find lodgings for the night a hooded figure catches his eye moving across the alleyway, which stopped and motioned for him to follow. Felyn watched as it disappeared behind an abandoned dwelling before getting up to pursue it. When he turned the corner a dead end awaited him and the figure was no where to be found. Felyn thinking it his imagination turned to leave though suddenly felt a sharp blade against his back. Hearing the hooded elf speak. "it's been some time hasn't it brother?" Felyn's heart dropped into his stomach and his skin turned as pale as the whites of his eyes, having the expression of horror on his face. Felyn: "No.. y-your supposed to be dead!" was all he could sputter out. Dhuan: "Nearly...falling from that cliff almost finished what you failed to do, however I am not that easily killed..." Falyn: "A-are you going to kill me?" Felyn could almost feel the grin widen on his brothers face. Dhuan: "No, I have no need to kill a weakling...in fact I'm here to give you purpose" Falyn: "Purpose?" Dhuan: "Become stronger...when you do seek me out and we will finish our business then, when we both achieve greater strength for a worthy battle" Without waiting a response Dhuan once again disappeared leaving Falyn still in a state of shock. Once composed Falyn uttered , "Ill seek you out...I'll hunt you till the ends of the world...I will kill you!"

Leaving his old existence behind Dhuan left Har Ganeth and headed for the city of Vikarh where he now resides taking work as a mercenary, always looking to become stronger to find his ultimate opponent...and waiting anxiously for the day his past comes to claim him.

A first RPG character attempt for me, hopefully I'm in the ballpark Very Happy

************************************************************

Player: t12161991

Character Name: Malkra Na'gai
Character Height and Weight: 5'7" 126 Lbs
Character Age: 114
Other Descriptions: He has black hair and green eyes.
He wears mostly black wool and leather, with a few animal skin patches.
He has a ragged slash scar on his right forearm, a half bitten-off ear, and a small sword scar on the right side of his chest.
Character Class: Shade
Character Background: Malkra was born to one of the Shade families living near the Lakes of the Abyss. As he grew up, he learned the ways of the Shades, as well as their family history. His parents had once been high-ranking members of the Blightbane family, called such because one of their ancestors, a powerful Sorceror during the Sundering, repeatedly unleashed his familiar daemon upon many farming communities and villages in the now kingdom of Cothique. After, they became a powerful raiding family home to Clar Karond. However, they raided one too many settlements, in this case, an attempted raid upon the fortress city of Tor Elyr in the Inner Kingdom of Ellyrion. As they marched through the mountains, they were assailed repeatedly by Reavers and Shadow Warriors. When they reached the plains surronding the city, they were suprised to see that Prince Aldeni of Ellyrion had assembled all his hosts, and surronded them on all sides. Realizing the trap, they fought their way back through the mountains, only to discover that their Black Ark, The Agony of Joy, had been ambushed and wrecked by High Elf Hawkships. They were forced to trek back to Nagarythe where they would have some hope of returning home and regaining their wealth and prestige. But it was not to be, as they with the remnants of their army, just 460 warriors out of an original force of nearly 5000, took ships home, their enemies back in Clar Karond had begun to move. As the ships moved into port, they were seperated and taken to seperate docks. As the warriors exited the ships, they were mowed down by Repeater Crossbowmen located in nearby ships and buildings. Fighting their way free, only Malkra's parents, along with their closest relatives were able to make a succesful escape from the city. Fleeing across Naggroth, they eventually settled near the Lakes of the Abyss. Although there were few Shade clans living nearby, they were forced to live in the same manner, and therefore ask them for help. Eventually, through trial and error as well as favors and debts to the nearby Shade clans, especially the Boneheart clan. Nevertheless, they learned to survive, and began to flourish in a way again. All this time they lusted for their former power and glory. From an early age, Malkra was introduced to this desire, and soon was set on learning how to achieve it. Though he had many memorable childhood experiences, one adventure during his childhood had particular meaning for him . He was stalking a basalisk, as their eggs are highly valued for magical potions and poisons, when a Dark Pegasus, fleeing from some larger creature, nearly landed on him out of the sky. Crying out in suprise, he instinctively fired his crossbow at point blank range. As the pegasus reared back is suprise at seeing him, the bolts carved bloody holes in it's shoulder and wing. Scrambling backward, Malkra started to run, for he knew that something this large was beyond him. However, as he ran he though of how his family would feel if he did so. He turned around and slowly and silently crept back to where he had left the pegasus. He saw it was still there, trying to snatch the bolts out with its teeth. He quickly reloaded his crossbow, and fired again. This time he was too far away, and only hit the ground around it. The pegasus immediately charged his position, smashing through the thin saplings he was hiding behind. He charged at it, taking the initiative. Jumping at it and grabbing it's wounded wing, he stabbed wildly with his sword. He hit it a few times, but not with enough force to wound it. It thrashed around trying to bit or hit him. Although it grazed him a few times with it's horn he was not delt serious injury. He tried again and again to hit it, wound it in any way but all for naught. Finally, it bit his ear, ripping part of it off. It began to take off, trying to shake him off still. He swung on top of it, and while griping it's sides with his legs, tried to reload his crossbow again. While he dropped several of the magazines, he finally managed to load one in. Just as the pegasus cleared the treetops, he aimed directly at the back of it's head and fired. The bolts both buried themselves deep in the pegasus' head, goring easily through the flesh and bone. As it fell, he clung on for his life, wincing as it crashed through the trees. When it hit the ground, he was flung several yards and knocked out. Waking up, he walked back over to the pegasus, and saw that it's fall had broken his sword. With the remainder, he sawed off the pegasus' horn, and bound it to his sword. This is how he learned that although bravery, ruthlessness, and intelligence was vital for success in the Dark Elf society, speed of body and of thought was nessacary for survival in the world as a whole. As he grew, he began to see how the only way for his family to regain their former power was to lower their standards at the moment and make a gamble, for a greater return in the end. As such, he bade farewell to his parents and set off on his own for vikarh, the city of mercenaries. He hopes to gain a fortune and return himself, and possibly his parents to their former glory.

Stats
WS4 S3 T3 D4 I4

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak
Skills:Basic Stealth

************************************************************

Player: NoOoDLe

I know... Way to long character fluff... I like it that way though :roll: So I hope you don't mind :P
-------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Absinthe Menethill

Age: 116

Description: Absinthe is about 6 foot tall with a slender built. He has green eyes and pitch black hair falling to his shoulders. He usually wears his cloak and some simple clothes.
A small tattoo of the Rune Of Khaine is branded upon the right upper part of his brown near his hair line.
Absinthe has fairly nice personality that is based upon intellect instead of blind loyal and blood rage. This gives him the rationality that allows him to deal with problems more subtilely.
Absinthe thinks of this as a key factor to succes. Intellect and Skill will ultimately give him the edge. Or so he thinks...

Class: Shade

Background: Absinthe was born in the Blackspine Mountains where he spend his first night outside of the protection of his clan. All newborns had to prove themselves and Absinthe was no exception.
As he survived he was deemed fit to be raised amongst the Shades. Decades later Absinthe had grown to a tall elf. Trained to infiltrate and wither the enemy with his crossbow fire.
His first assignment brought him to Nagarythe, where they were to infiltrate a settlement around the coast and bring along one of the assassins of the Temple Of Khaine to get the local ruler assassinated.
They arrived in the dead of night on a small corsair ship crowded with shades and a single assassin draped in the same style as the Shades. The only thing that distinguished the assassin from the shades was that the Shades all carried a repeater crossbow and a short blade and the assassin carried two short blades and a few throwing daggers.
Absinthe had been observing the Khainite for some time now to judge if he would be a threat to the infiltration of the group he would be in, that was if he would be elected to serve in the group that would go after the leading asuryan filth around here.
He was very suspicious towards all except for his brothers and sisters in the Shadow Brotherhood.
A few minutes later the decision was made and Absinthe was to accompany the assassin and several other Shades. He deemed the assassin was good enough to serve amongst them as he had noticed the assassin was as good in sneaking around as most of the Shades were. He had expected nothing less from the Temple Of Khaine but one had to be carefull.
They weren't raiding a settlement of human filth, these were elves, ages before they would call them kin. He had little respect for them nonetheless.
Those elves where the enemy, followers of the false phoenix king, while they where the myrmidons of the WitchKing who was the true Phoenix king.
Slowly drifting towards the shore the boat came to a hold hitting the bottom of the shallow waters. Slowly the Shades bailed out without making a single sound. Quickly the groups gathered and departed for their location surrounding the fortress.
Most of the groups would create a distraction or assassinate other, lesser importend, millitary leaders. Carefully following his team leader, a veteran among the shades and also his own father, they sneaked into the fortress by picking the lock on of the balcony doors and entering into a great hall that was probably used for dining and such activities.
Without leaving so much as a single trace they creeped on to the chambers of the guard who where accustomed to seeing nothing for endless night and slept peacefully.
He looked towards his father and drew his short blade placing it upon the neck of the asur guardsmen. The assassin followed his example and his father gave a quick nod.
Slitting the throat of the asuryan killed him almost instantly was the first thing Absinthe cut was the head's connection with the nerve system of his spine. A last sigh of the guardsman and the castle filled with complete silence once again.

Then a sound, Absinthe heard footsteps and he took a quick look around in the darkness noticing his father, the assassin, aswell as the two other shades heard it aswell. quickly becoming louder and seemingly greater in number Absinthe hided behind a nearby pillar.
He kept his eyes focused on the entrance to the hall only briefly looking to the other concealed shades.
The high elves that entered where high in number and looked around finding a seemingly undisturbed hall. The leader spoke about infiltrators being spotted around the castle and some guards already turning up dead.
He walked towards the guard's room and returned with a grim visage. He announced the death of two more comrades.
At that moment he felt the presence of more shades entering the room. His gut told him something was about to happen.
The high eves turned and where about to return to their leaders to report and asked for further commands.
As the last elf turned Absinthe heard an endless amounts of clicks. Dozens of repeater crossbows where unleashing a hail of bolts on the elves.
He glanced towards his father and saw him giving a quick nod again to notify him that he could also open fire.

Taking aim at the leader Absinthe steadied his grip before unleashing his first bolt. A satisfiying click sounded as he send a bolt flying at the head of the high elf. Just as it would strike it's target a small but keen throwing dagger struck the leader deeply into it's throat making it fling and stagger back.
The bolt flew just past the head of the elf and ended up piercing through the light armoured helmet of the elf standing behind him instantly killing him.
Absinthe cursed as he was hoping to kill the leader himself. He watched as the leader fell to the ground suffering from the hemmorage that caused by the wound inflicted by the assassin. It would be mercifull to kill the leader now.
Absinthe decided he would grant the elf that merci as it would atleast disallow the assassin to clain the kill. The high elf threw off his helmet and showed his pale skin and jet black hair.
This shook Absinthe. He shook his head and took a closer look. That was the Rune Of Khaine branded in the same spot as his. That high elf was his brother.. Deeming by the shock that showed on his fathers face he recognised his child aswell.
Absinthe's body filled with rage and he steadied his aim again to unleash a torrent of bolts on the survivors amongst the elves. Most had died in the initial wave but some remained alive however they where flinched and confused as they where unsure on where to strike as all they saw was their comrades falling beside them pierced by crossbow bolts and hearing clicks all around.
After a last torrent of bolts the last elves had fallen and Absinthe rushed over to the leader pulling a small bandage he brought with him from his pocket.
He instantly pulled it tight around the wound in the neck of his brother hoping to stop the blood from gushing out. The herb balm on the bandage quickly made the blood stoll on the outer part of the wound.
It was of little use though as the inner part of the deep gash still poured out blood only it had no means of leaving the dying body. Then his brother spoke.
"Thank that assassin for ending my time amongst those stinking high elves." he said with a slight smirk before coughing up more blood. "You ended up well my brother. Serving amongst the shades like you are doing know has always been my dream but I was send to infiltrate this stink hole and spy." he said. Their father looked down upon them with burning agony. That assassin had attempted to kill his elder son. All hope seemed in eclipse when he saw his son coughin up even more blood that poured into his lungs.

"Farewell brother.." Absinthe said while giving a hatefull glance at the assassin. The assassin couldn't help it though. No one knew about his brother's presencre here. The assassin walked over and made an appologising gesture towards them. His brother gave him a nod in acknowledgement and forgiveness. The assassin only did his job, kill anything that seemed to lead the high elves, and he succeeded.
No one could blame him for the death this fellow Druchii.

"I'll end your suffering now my brother.. Farewell." Absinthe said as he reached for his blade awaiting a sign of approval by his brother. That came quick in the form of yet another nod and the closing of his eyes. Drawing his blade Absinthe aimed for the point where the stab would cause no pain and nearly instant death, the jugular and the center nerve.
He trust his blade forward cutting open the mildly bloated neck and severing the last string of life he brother was dangling from.

As his brother blew out his last breath a tear sprung from Absinthe's eye. He said to himself that it was a mercifull act and his brother would have died anyways. By his hands or those of the assassin. He needed to move on as they where the only ones left in the room.
He kicked out the torch the high elves had brought with them and they where covered in total darkness again.
Time to kill the true leader, Absinthe thought as he followed his father he apparently thought the same.

Reaching the inner sanctum of the castle Absinthe filled with agony as he saw another group of high elves arrive. These however where heavily armoured and carried large lance like spears. In their center walked a seemingly high placed elf, why else would there be such an honour guard surrounding him.
The assassin saw this as his sign of attack. Jumping up the assassin moved into attack position along the balustrade of the stair case they where on.
Like a predator the assassin waited for the moment when the high elven ruler was directly underneath him. That moment he dropped down blades first plunching them through the pauldrons worn by the ruler and giving the ruler a quick yet painfull death.
The assassin quickly severed the necklace carried by the ruler and jumped back up dropping several previously concealed bomb like devices. Upon detonation they engulfed the guard in a large shroud of thick fog allowing them to make thier escape.
Before long they where out of the castle and ran to the corsair ship. Arriving there the assassin showed the sign they where hoping for. A small token from the corpse showing the sign of the phoenix king. The high elf leading this settlement was said to wear such an amulet..

Bitter succes was the result of the mission. And Absinthe was glad they would soon be sailing away from the shores of the cursed lands of Nagarythe.

Stats:
Code:
Ws S T D I
5  3 2 3 5


Equipment:
- Short Blade
- Repeater Crossbow
- Shade Cloak

Skills:
- Basic Stealth

Any comments aside from it being way to much background fluff?There is no such thing as way too much background here my friend. Us RPG moderators love lots of background and detail, and this is a perfect example of just that. An excellent, well written piece of text and an enjoyable read. I'll be surprised if you're not accepted soon. ~ Khel

_________________
WS:4 S:3 T:3 D:5 I:4
Basic Stealth, Blood Frenzy, Two Weapon Fighting
Eq: S Swordx2, R Crossbow (8 clips), 3xT.Daggers (2gd,1exc) Shade Cloak, Wolfskin Cloak, Stealth armor,s drugs, ring,50ft s.rope, 4rations.33.3 gp
Group 21 Mod


Fri Sep 12, 2008 9:39 am
Profile
Roleplaying Deity
Roleplaying Deity
User avatar

Joined: Wed Jun 04, 2008 9:50 am
Posts: 4577
Location: Roleplaying Forum
Post 
The following players currently make up group 22 along with me, their host. As it stands, there are 5 active members in the group.

A full list of characters including all the NPC's can be found here.


-------------------------------


Vryala Naïlo (ex-Group 13)
Female Warrior
H/W: 5’11”, 116 lbs.
Age: 163

WS4 / S3 / T2 / D4 / I5

Equipment:
Light armour, shield, dagger, Repeater Crossbow
Skills:
Defensive Fighting, Heal
Inventory:
300gp

Description:
Snow white hair and icy pale skin, a very attractive figure and striking purple eyes. A black ritual tattoo covers the left side of her face, and were she to remove her dark armour one could see there are more of those on various parts of her body. Her armour is usually adorned by a variety of spirit bells, the sound of which seem to cloy the eyes and dull the mind. These are creations of her own – a pastime she thoroughly enjoyed with her late mother. A disturbing beauty indeed. As a Druchii general’s daughter, Vryala has received extensive weapon training but prefers to rely on her wits and charm.

Background:
The daughter of a warmongering Druchii Highborn, Vryala found herself lacking a father most of her upbringing. During her passing years into adolescence she found out that her mother, who she was told died in childbirth, was actually still alive and very familiar to her. She was the person she’d always known as the groundskeeper, and this new revelation sent the two females screaming murder. However, no blood was spilt and the two started talking, eventually developing a loving relationship. Vryala learned a terrible secret, the reason her heritage had been kept from her – this woman had once been assigned by the great Lord Malekith as the household’s Sorceress. After a fleeting night of debauchery, the Sorceress had become pregnant and it was only with her best pleading and intense groveling that she had managed to keep her life from being taken by the enraged Lord Naïlo, in order to watch their child grow up. Now that the secret was out, however, she would surely be slain. At this point, Vryala began to fear for her own life as well.

Both the ex-Sorceress and her daughter having exceptionally good looks and an innate way with people, the two crafty she-Elves managed to rally the entire household to their side in expectancy of Lord Naïlo’s return. Upon arriving, he was greeted before the gates by his daughter, who took him apart from his army and confronted him with the secret. As foreseen, he was infuriated, and marched through the gates intending to slay Vryala’s mother. It was not long before he found himself betrayed by his servants, and his army was called inside to aid him.

Screams erupted from the halls as the household’s servants were butchered. Vryala rushed inside, trying to reach her mother before her father did, but he was a matchless fighter and had already slain all those who tried to bar his way. Stumbling onto the stairs, tripping over dozens of corpses, Vryala was surprised by the sudden scent of ozone and a crackling in the air. The following shockwave sent her tumbling down the stairs again, falling debris nearly quashing her on several occasions. Her mother had decided, after all these years of fear, to call on the Daemons of the Warp again and make a final stand. An unearthly voice boomed: “Go!” Vryala realized that her mother could not be saved and fled outside, her father’s soldiers not hindering her as they weren’t sure if they should consider her an enemy. Tears of rage burning her eyes, she locked all the gates of the estate, trapping those inside.

As she walked away, she looked back to see the estate being ripped apart by nightmare Daemons. Even from where she was standing, the screams of terror and pain could be heard clearly over the collapsing of the walls and tower. A massive incarnation of Chaos burst out from under the estate, completing the destruction and roaring triumphantly, before fading into inexistance again. Vryala’s mother had died and had cursed her own soul forever, but her daughter would be spared Lord Naïlo’s wrath.

The vocation of mercenary came naturally to her, being very fond of battle and equally skilled with weapons. Her main motivation is to leave Naggaroth and establish an estate of her own in an area that’s more easily exploited. She eagerly seizes any opportunity to increase her power, having a particular interest in the magic variety.

Vryala currently resides in Vikarh, and has up until recently been serving Suffrat, an infamous Captain of the City Guard. However, he doesn't seem to have need for her services any more. She is now in search of new coin and adventure.




-------------------------------


Name : Karonath

Appearance : She is short for an Elf. She has the bones of a full figure, indeed her hips would suggest that she has had a child. The flesh that covers her bones is rather scant and wiry, the skin taut, giving her a fierce look. She has long black hair, and sparkling green eyes. Her bust is below the Dark Elf average. If she dresses, she dresses in blue and purple.

Height : 6'2"

Weight : 65kg

Class : Trainee

Background : Little is known of her true origins. It is perhaps enough to say that she was found on the streets of Naggarond, by the Hags, one Death Night. The Hags might have killed her, but they saw that she was both beautiful and fierce, and had a rather devious turn of mind - as might be expected of a castaway in such a dangerous place. So, rather than sacrifice such an ideal specimen, they initiated her. As to what her home was, and how she lost it, she herself can not remember.

She is almost completely insane, given to occasionally going into fits of howling grief, followed hard by bursts of murderous rage. She could not tell her name either, so the Hags named her Karonath, which is the Sufferer. Nor could she tell how long she had been on the streets; some years, at any rate. The Hags were naturally curious as to how she had not been discovered there earlier. Apparently, she would break into the attics of houses, by opening the locks with what she could 'thoughtwind'. It seemed she had some kind of natural aptitude to magic.

Her training has hardly begun, in the warlike sense. She does have some streetwise knowledge of fighting with and without weapons. She has learned a little in the way of acrobatic skill, such that when she has a mind, she can turn some rather surprising tricks. Being rather childlike still, she will occasionally do such things for the sheer joy of it.

At the moment the Hags are wrangling with the task of revealing to her closed mind the majesty and terror of Khaine, that she might worship him. She is frighteningly quick minded, within her narrow spheres of judgement. She is sly and seductive, and if thwarted, quite fierce, at least, when she has a clear object. At all other times she has rather the air of a confused child.

For the moment, the Hags are content to send her out into the world, in order that she may come to Khaine through battle and blood. They attach her to whatever company will have her, and send her away with the Blessing of Khaine upon her. If she should so gain a lust for death and destruction for its own sake, the Hags hope that she will then be ripe for further initiation into the mysteries of the Temple.

Their plans are slowly being realised. The young Trainee has indeed begun to realise the power of the Lord of Murder, and it appeals to her extreme vulnerability to have such power on her side. It must be recognised that the crazed urchin has far to go before she might be a fit bride for Khaine.

Equipment : Sword and dagger, 3 throwing knives. 355gc.

Skills : Two handed fighting, Uncontrollable frenzy, Acrobatics

Characteristics :

Weapon Skill : 5

Strength : 2

Toughness : 4

Dexterity : 5

Intelligence : 2

Why low Intelligence? She's like a Cold One. It's not the lack of intelligence really, it's the lack of concern, or, if you like, the narrow perspective. High toughness because she's as near as dammit a psychopath. She don't stop till she's dead.


-------------------------------


Character Name: Phalx Tr'dasr
Character Height/Weight: 6'2"; 175 lb.
Age: 97
Physical Description:
-Wild Black hair.
-Deep Jade eyes.
-Rustic simply cut dark brown cloths
- A travel worn Kheitan of Human skin.
-Scars around his wrists.
Character Class: Warrior
Equipment:
-Long sword
-Shield
-Light Armour (The Kheitan)
Character Stats:
-WS:4
-S:4
-T:3
-D:3
-I:4

Background (Updated):
Phalx's father met, and died with his mother fighting in the service of the Witch king. They had lived in Hag Graef as guards for a minor highborn family, until one year when Phalx's was 69, him and his family, with 200 other retainers were sent with a foolish highborn on a mission to the Chaos Wastes. HE wasn’t told much about it except something to do with a sorcerers tower. It went wrong as soon they stepped out of the city onto the Spear road. After two years of battling on the fringes of the waste, their mission uncompleted, the far fewer survivors travelled back in shame leaving their dead behind, Including Phalx's family. Though still young Phalx's managed to keep his fathers house and holding and after another 15 years he was able to form a small band and head off to the Chaos Wastes again.

A nobler Phalx's would have done it to avenge his parents, but Phalx wasn’t noble. He did it because on their way back from their failed mission, the highborn who had leaded it had mysteriously died, with a dagger in his back. Before his corpse could be looted, of what wealth he had they were set upon by vile beastmen and chased off. Phalx's had made sure though that he hid the nobles corpse before they left so if ever the chance arose he could return for the wealth.

Him and two other warriors did return and find the now skeletal remains of the Highborn, but there was no wealth to be found. Beastmen or other foul denizens of the waste must have gotten to him first. Phalx’s fellow warriors were obviously furious, believing he had lied to them all along. They took Phalx and chained him up, determined to have their revenge on the fool who had lead them on this stupid endeavour. Phalx through sheer luck managed to kill his allies. As the chains were clamped over his wrists He wrapped them around the neck of one of them. Pulling on it he snapped the startled fool’s neck. The other charged at him spear levelled to gut him like a fish. He tripped though on the chains intended to shackle Phalx’s ankles. As the warrior was sprawled on the ground Phalx grabbed a rock and crouching over him, proceeded to bash his head into a bloody mush. His luck ended there though. In the fight the key to the chains had broken off in the lock.
No son of Naggaroth would just sit there and wait to die, he thought, So taking supplies from his dead comrades, He got onto one of their horses, and made his way back through the wastes to Naggaroth, the chains biting into his flesh all the way. The horse was killed when a pack of furies attack Phalx’s camp, one night in the cold harshness of the wastes. He ran blindly though the night the whinnies of the dying beast echoing strangle in the darkness. The rest of the journey was hard; he was always close to starvation, and dying of thirst. The constant fear of discover was heavy on him.

He managed to persuade a blacksmith to remove the chains. It was amazing how a dagger to your child’s neck can persuade someone. On His return to Hag Graef he became a simple Flesh House guard. Some at first asked him about the scars on his wrists. They stopped after one of the more persistent ones, presuming he was an escaped slave lost both his eyes. He still works at the same flesh house till this day, but thoughts of grandeur and wealth still remain at the back of his mind, as do the thoughts of the mysterious tower, that caused all of the trouble.


----------------------------


Name: Elysian

Age: 122

Gender: Male

Weight: 75 kg

Height: 6, 1"

WS:4
S:3
T:3
D:5
I:5

Equipment: leather armour (covers whole body up to neck and down to boots), robes, staff, dagger

Skills: Power of Ulgu (level2), power of Chamon, basic stealth

Physical appearance: Elysian has an unremarkable face. His hair is a light grey colour now, though originally black it has been altered in order to make changing it on a more temporary basis easier, he tends to wear it short. Clothes wise he wears a short grey robe over his brown leather armour. The robe is cut above the knee like a tunic but unlike a tunic has a deep hood which can when raised cover his face completely. He wears his dagger on a belt over the robe and carries his staff which is a five foot quarter staff.

Background: Orphaned early Elysian knows little of his parents other than that they were petty members of Vikrah's underbelly. As a young child he was taken from the streets where he would no doubt have frozen to death by one of the criminal syndicates which plague Vikrha's honest citizens.

Elysian (known then simply as 'boy' and later as 'jackdaw') was billeted with a gang of vagrant youths organised by the syndicate to pick pockets, cause confusion for their more senior members and learn the trade of the thief. Fortunately he found that he was talented and unlike some of the more unfortunate children he rose into the ranks of the junior thieves ( children typically being sold at auction as slaves if they failed to make the grade).

It was shortly after his 73rd birthday (a largely arbitrary day marked on the calendar, he is unsure of his true age) that his life took an interesting twist. After picking the pocket of an unusually alert merchant 'jackdaw' was sent running for his life, taking a wrong turn he found himself caught down a closed alleyway. With no way out Elysian did his best to hide in the shadows but he knew that if the merchant came after him there was no hope of remaining hidden. As the elf approached he willed with all his being for the elf not to see him and as the merchant gazed into the tiny patch of shadow holding Elysian a seeming miracle occurred; a ripple of energy coursed through the young thief and the merchant's eyes glazed over. Moments later he retreated up the alleyway muttering to himself about his eyes going in his old age.

The incident made little sense to Elysian and so he sought advice from one of his superior's in the syndicate, recognising that the young elf might just have manifested latent magical abilities the older thief passed Elysian up the chain until he was put in front of an elf introduced to him as 'sensei', a rouge wizard who served the syndicate. Quickly confirming that the boy could indeed channel the power of the winds 'sensei' gave him a new name, Elysian, and began to teach him what he knew of the magical arts.

Not being convent trained and indeed being forced to stay away from most sources of magical knowledge for fear of being discovered and delivered to a most unpleasant fate at the hands of the witch king’s officials sensei’s knowledge was very limited but it was still a deep well so far as Elysian was concerned and for decades he studied under the older rouge and once again began working as a thief using his arcane skills to good effect in their larcenous cause.

The life of the burglar was not meant for the magician however and when he was 121 his life took another turn. Whether through good police work or more likely a traitorous tip off the city watch infiltrated a meeting of the syndicate’s leaders, capturing or killing them all including sensei. Elysian was not present fortunately but with the leadership gone and the lesser thieves scattered to the four winds and beyond it was clear that Elysian would have to find a new source of employment.

And so taking up his meagre possessions which amounted to little more than the clothes on his back and armed with his trusty staff, a dagger and his wits the rouge mage set out to see what value the market might place on a wizard for hire.


----------------------------


• Name: Casaythe Blackstorm.
• Sex: Male.
• Age: 214.
• Height: 6 foot 2 inches.
• Weight: 13 stone.
• Appearance: Of medium build, Casaythe has the physique of one who is used to hard manual labour. He has a mane of white hair that he wears loose, unless his activities require that it is tied back. His eyes are a cold grey, like the seas north of the Blighted Isles, his lips thin (often twisted into a smirk), his face long and angular. His ears are decorated with several metal rings, piercing from tip to lobe. When not in battle, he tends to wear a plain kheitan, with a short sword hung from his belt.

• Character Class: Warrior.
• Character Statistics: WS3, S4, T4, D3, I4.
• Starting Equipment: Short Sword, Glaive, Light Armour, Light Crossbow
• Starting Skills: 0
• Character Background: He will tell you his father was a corsair, his mother was unfortunate. Casaythe was the result of a short and violent affair which led to his mother taking up employment in a flesh house of Clar Karond once his father returned to sea. Dragged up through his childhood, Casaythe saw the seedier side of Druchii society and quickly learned to exploit others around him to ensure survival; often profiting from blackmail threats or other petty intrigues.

Living as a cut-throat and a thief, he spent his youth around the city of the Druchii fleet, until the opportunity arose for him to follow his father's footsteps. Hired as part of a crew for a noble's Hakseer Cruise, he and his fellow corsairs earned a name for themselves after evading near disaster in the seas north of the Empire. Of a small fleet of corsair vessels, only his ship returned to Clar Karond along with the noble on board and a hefty cargo of gold and slaves. After the tales of their battle against the Imperial Fleet of Marienburg spread, so did Casaythe's reputation. He would find himself hired for many more missions and raids.

Eventually obtaining his own vessel, the Willbreaker, Casaythe now spent his time raiding Ulthuan and the Old World. However, after an unfortunate incident involving a game of dice, he no longer commands his ship. And certainly won't talk about it.

He considers himself a warrior and a merchant, able to obtain any goods or take on any task if the payment is right.


-------------------------------


• Name: Caraoc
• Sex: Male.
• Age: 200.
• 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: WS2 S4 T2 D5 I5
• Starting Equipment: staff, short bow.
• Starting Skills: Power of Azyr (2).

• 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.


-------------------------------

The following players are no longer part of the group (dead or otherwise removed from play due to inactivity)

-------------------------------



Name: Fiat Obsidian

Height and Weight: 6'8, 160 ibs.

Age: 98

Image description: Long black hair, somewhat curly with bangs that cover the top of his face. Tall and lean, tonned muscles that provide him with a still slim looking body. There is a large scar on his scalp that is covered by his hair, and a burned mark of Slaanesh hidden on his inner thigh. Always wears his armour, which he prides on being a dark metallic blue, but usually has a light robe over it.

Character Class: warrior

Background: The son of a rich and greedy Highborn, Kaz Obsidian. Kaz was greedy, underhanded and lazy. Instead of going on slave raids and earning his position, Kaz highered loyal assassins to cause mutinies and assassinations on highborns troops, and bring all their riches, slaves and men to him. Kaz wed a mysterious Druchii from the northern boarderlands and soon they had two children: Lux and Fiat.
Lux, the older brother, was favoured by their father, and the two of them ordered Fiat to carry out dirty and harsh tasks. But Fiats mother seemed to favour him, and came up with a plan to overthrow Kaz.
Fiat joined with his mother and slew his own father and brother, bringing then alone in a place they thought they could trust Fiat, then he cut their heads from their necks in two quick slicing motions. His mother had highered strange mercenaries from the north, Human tribesmen with savage looks. The men raided the Obsidians keep for all their precious valuables, and when Fiat was to discuss the division of their new wealth he was betrayed. His mother was an adept in the worship of Slaanesh. She cut Fiat on his scalp and whispered an enchantment into the bleeding flesh.
Fiat awoke on the streets shortly after, remebering the treachery of his mother, but unable to remember where she was or even what she looked like. His leg burned with a strange sensation, somewhere between tingling and burning flesh. When Fiat checked his leg, the mark of Slaanesh was burned into his skin, but he didn't remember how or when. He also gained this new hunger for blood, as well as a need to regain his lost position. But he had nothing, and knew he would have to continue with more dirty work to gain a penny, but now he seemed to enjoy it.

Stats:
WS: 4
Str:4
Dex:3
Tough:4
Int:3

STARTING EQUIPMENT
Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.


-------------------------------


Name: Vash'nir
Sex: Male
Height: 172
Weight: 68kg (about 150 lbs)
Age: 127

Description: He stands tall and proud. He is lithe and unkempt, yet strong from years at sea. He is jet black hair, which an icy stair from his wloflike, yellow eyes. He has many scars from battles that he wears proudly, the most prodominant of which runs across his left eye, which was caused in a raid from an elven blade.

Class: Shade

Background: Found as a youngling at a shipwreck amoung one of the islands with the Sea of Chill, he was found by a corsair ship returning from a raid in Lustria. They brought him aboard as he might make a good member of the crew and would be in their debt. He was raised in the seafaring ways, taken on countless raids. Vash'nir's history is unkown along with much of his life. He is quick to temper and has an anger and hatred for all. After his ship was destroyed at sea when he as 47, he awoke on the shores of Karond Kar, where he was taken in to be sold as a slave. Fighting them constantly, he was recognised as someone who might be of some use and thus indentured to the city. Before long he was taken in by a shade clan residing in the city, waiting to be hired out for a raid. Vash'nir was then tought the ways of the shade, how to kill, how to blend in, this with his skill at sea helped him too grow strong and hone his skills over the years. Vash'nir was later on yet another raid on the coasts of the Empire where he scouted the enemy force and assisted the raidind force in taking the unaware army of the empire by surprise on a moonlit night. Now again in Karond Kar, he resides waiting to be taken too sea too raid and too kill.

Vash'nir has no knowledge of his family, he knows not if his is noble or a common house slave. The only part of his old life left is his name and for this he will fight to the death... or at least until someone is unconcious. He fights often engaging in brawls on the ship and picking fights with the wrong elves.

Stats
WS: 5
S: 3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 3

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak
Skills: Basic Stealth





------------------------------------------------------



Name: Yori Temel
Height: 6 ft 4 inch
Weight: 145lbs
Age: 140
Eyes: dark brown
Class: Warrior
Gender: Male
Hair: Black/brown .
Starting gear: Repeater crossbow, Shield, Light Armour.

Description:
Yori is of average height and weight, albeit he has a generally stockier build compared to other elves as a result of his way of life. He wears his shoulder length hair in a ponytail as a sign of his lower status within Yamadan society, a fact that means very little to anyone outside that society.

Unlike most druchii who are dark, brooding and to most people, threatening, Yori has a much simpler demeanour, and one that changes with his clients. Generally he is well mannered and approachable although somewhat juvial, this has often had him seen as a clown or fool, but it also has the effect of lightening the mood and putting overly cautious or edgy clients at ease.

However, this doesn't mean that he can't take a more serious or sombre mannerism if it is required, just that he prefers not to... He is a very odd druchii.

Stats:
WS: 3
S: 4
T: 4
D: 3
I: 4

History:
Of all the classes in Yamadan society, few rank lower than the merchant class (with the obvious exception of slaves of course). However, being low class didn't mean an impoverished lifestyle, unlike those who sought a life of warfare, merchants such as the Temel family sought only wealth. As such, while there were no hopes of military or political power for the third son of the Temel family he had access to most things gold could buy.

Yori was trained as a typical druchii youth, but also taught his father's trade, so after his compulsory 70 years of military service he, like his brothers before him, began his journey to expand his family's wealth and trade routes.

First step was to join a group to travel with.





------------------------------------------------------



Name: Saldrimek Xenan
Height and Weight: 6'9, 95 Kg
Age: 120
Sex: Male
Other Descriptions: Long black hair tied back to keep out of his face. Green piercing eyes, many earrings shaped to look like druchii symbols. Robes of a light red color as well as having delicate hooks and bells hanging from his robes.

This gives Saldrimek a somewhat inquisitive look while others usually try to avoid him. It is quite hard for Saldrimek to hide for the bells and hooks are continually knocking together, alerting most people to his presence.

His face is as smooth as marble and he has absolutely no scars or blemishes upon his clear cut face.
Around his wrists are chains designed to look like thorns and spiked stems.

His footwear are open toe sandals which allow his feet to breath more for he moves around on his feet quite a lot.

Saldrimek' lithe body belie the muscular arms and legs he has obtained over the years of training at the Temple. His life ambition is to become more of a Executioner than an Assassin, though he is yet to decide which path to follow.

Class: Trainee of Khaine

Background:

Saldrimek was born to a normal family of two. He grew up with a fairly good relationship with his two brothers and one sister. He was mainly neglected by his family for he was the youngest and he did not receive the proper training which he would of liked from his family. At the mere age of 50, Saldrimek was considered a weakling and a failure by everyone around him.

This depressed Saldrimek to the extent that he always stayed out late, following the other kids home, always hanging at the back, always wanting to join the fun. No one ever saw Saldrimek for he was perfect at hiding, plus no one ever wanted to see Saldrimek. If the kids saw him, they would usually call him names and throw junk at them.

One late night, Saldrimek was walking home after attempting to play with the other kids, when he bumped into a hooded figure. The hooded figure turned around and looked down upon the frightened Saldrimek. Looking into the eyes of Saldrimek, the hooded figure saw the sheer malice and hate in the small childs eyes. The hooded figure knocked Saldrimek out and carried him back to his house.

Knocking on the front door, the hooded figure was welcomed by Saldrimek father, angered by the fact that Saldrimek had stayed out so late. Leaving Saldrimek with his family, the hooded figure just so happened to pass the window of Saldrimek' room. Looking in, the hooded figure saw that the child was sitting alone on his bed, with a bag stuffed with straw, a crude face drawn upon it.

The hooded figure decided that Saldrimek was not wanted by his family and would not be missed, which was entirely correct. Taking Saldrimek to the Temple, the hooded figure decided to train the boy and make him his apprentice.

Saldrimek hardly ever talks, he only does when he is either talked to or he wants to know about something. He has a strict personality as he follows out orders to the grain. The main reason he has the bells and hooks upon his body is to make people aware of him, making them acknowledge his presence.

He is currently a mercenary for hire at Vikarh for his sensei (the hooded figure) died a short while ago, leaving Saldrimek to his own doings.

Stats:

WS: 6
S: 3
T: 3
D: 5
I: 3

Formally of Group 12

Equipment: Scimitar and dagger, 5 gold coins, 2handed Axe (Will remove items if wanted)

Starting skills:
Two Weapon Fighting
Frenzy


Last edited by Kinslayer on Tue Jul 10, 2012 6:19 pm, edited 11 times in total.



Thu Nov 13, 2008 11:42 pm
Profile
Malekith's Personal Guard
User avatar

Joined: Fri Nov 16, 2007 8:19 pm
Posts: 910
Location: Dublin, Ireland
Post 
The following players currently make up group 24:
Khaleth - Manwë
Ki'lia Hakara - Drainial
Izzyra - Mel'reyna
Diana – Fingol23




---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Manwe


Name: Khaleth
Height: 6 ft 7 inch
Weight: 190lbs
Age: 147
Eyes: Steel blue with a hint towards turqoise.
Class: Warrior
Gender: Male
Hair: White
Starting gear: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour and Wolfskin cloack.

Description:
Khaleth is large for a Dark Elf, standing well over 2 meters and weighing in at 90 kilograms he has always been a 'big boy'. Other than his stature his eyes draw direct attention, keen, light blue eyes that seem to glow like saphires, if saphires could ever be related to sheer contempt that is. His penetrating gaze and imposing figure have been known to make better warriors bend their knee before blades were met. Although he is normally covered in his armour, which in turn is covered by a heavy wolfskin cloack to keep out the worst of the Naggarothi weather, his naked skin reveals scars of many battles. The most prominent of these is the scar dragging down from right under his ear, along his jaw-line, down over his chest, which only stops at the end of his ribcage. Nearly parallel to this is another scar, equally gruesome albeit smaller, which covers his ribcage top to bottom, stopping halfway the weak skin that makes up his belly.

Stats:
WS: 4
S: 4
T: 4
D: 3
I: 3

History:
Being lowly born Khaleth started fighting at about the same time he started walking, maybe a little sooner than that even. His mother was a hateful wretch as only a true Dark Elf can be and he had the extra disadvantage of having chewed up her nipple with his first teeth, an act his proud and vain mother would never forgive him. His father had left his wife and child for the most noble of goals, he had joined the Black Guard and he would spent the rest of his days protecting his beloved Witch King. This left Kaleth, practically alone, in the lesser regions of Clar Karond.

Khaleth inherited his father's will to fight and posture making him a big and feared lad at a very young age. Seeing how his father had left him and his mother disdained him he became an independent soul at an early age. Scrapping with fellow kids over food, bounty and for the sheer fun of dominating them.
It was at a very early age that he was discovered by the recruitment officer serving under Kutri Transu, a local slavetrader who wanted to give raiding a try. He had set eyes on the big boy with the attitude and drafted him in. Khaleth, seeing slaving as good a career as any, maybe even better than most, joined up in the ranks of Transu's warrior regiment. They set sail within 4 days of his recruitment and he recieved most training on the long way to the Old World.

Arriving there it turned out they were to capture Dwarves, most beloved of slaves around the mines of Clar Karond, they were sturdier then most, not to mention more stubborn. Transu turned out to be a great slavetrader but a terrible commander. They were quickly found and ambushed by the dwarves. Khaleth and the rest of the warriors gave them one hell of a beating, but Khaleth's resistance failed him as he was hit with two great-axes nearly simultaneously, the stubborn bastards had killed him, he was sure.

His body however refused to admit too such terrible failure, dying at the hands of stunted little dwarves was not the way to go. This was his time nor place, he was destined for something greater. And so it came to be that even though he had suffered grave injuries and was left for dead by the dwarves he was found by Dark Riders who were looking for the corpse of the now deceased and beheaded Transu.

He was transported back to the ships were he recieved adequate care and was able to recover. The captain however feared returning to Clar Karond, afraid of the shame he would suffer there, not to mention the fact that he hadn't fully paid for his ship, so he decided to set sail for the new city of Vikarh to try his luck there. Khaleth managed to acquire a new set of armour and a shield, many were left-over due to the enormous amount of casualties, and set foot on Naggarothi soil once more.

All alone in the city of Vikarh Khaleth is looking for new opportunities for work and preferably battle. After all a big guy has to eat right?

Personality: Khaleth is as tough as any elf, in body and in behaviour. His attitude has gotten him into trouble on quite some occassions, in particular with people who Khaleth deems without authority, who in fact do have it, lesser officers for instance. He will never back out of a good discussion and will most likely test the chain of command for flaws and weaknesses. He is however not stupid and will never try something like this to his superiors, he is a man to bow to power and nothing else. Khaleth knows he's big and will use this whenever he thinks it will help him, his imposing figure has gotten him out of nasty situations before. Even though it would seem he loved nothing, this is not true, Khaleth is a sucker for food. Indulging himself in luxurious and delicious meals whenever there is some budget available. One of his most prized traits is his loyalty, uncommon for Dark Elves he is as loyal as a golden retriever once he has established a decent relationship with his superior and will subsequently give everything to protect and serve. His loyalty however is not to be mistaken with naivity, for a mistake like that is the type of mistake that can get a man killed. For the rest he is a very pragmatic elf, he sees fighting as something he is good in and in his eyes one should always pursue the career that suits one best.

OOC: I hope its good for something, just conjured this up at 3 am. For the record, I've only ever played one forum-based RPG and that was years ago in a shadowrun-like setting. I do however have the necessary RPG experience.

IC: Khaleth walked the pier, nodding to the captain and saying goodbye to the Dark Riders that had saved him from the field of battle. 'I will see you in another battle, another day and then it will be me that saves your skins' he said in a tone that always made it seem predestined. After this he walked into the city of Vikarh, he had heard of this place, one big hive filled with mercenaries, thugs and hired killers, all looking for fortune. 'I'm one of them now, he said to himself, I'd better get some work'. Setting in a steady pace he elbowed himself through the crowds that normally attended arriving ship to seek for a tavern. 'First lets get some food in that stomach and some sleep in a non-rocking bed, maybe a pint of ale and then I'll get to work' he thought to himself.



Cheers,
Manwë

PS: Forgive me any spelling errors, I'm dutch!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Drainial


Name -Ki’lia Hakara

Height -5. 11”

Weight- 7 stone 5lbs

Gender- Female

Age-88

Class-Warrior

Equipment- Light armour, shield, Repeater crossbow, dagger

Description- Slim, attractive, large violet eyes, scaring on her back from old beatings and on her arms from more recent fighting and training. Long, dark brown hair braided into many strands. Wears comfortable if plain clothing, money spent on practicality rather than beauty.

Background- Born into the gutter Ki’lia never had great hopes for her life. Her mother and father worked as labourers on the docks when employment was available, the pittance such work brought in just about keeping their heads above water. When the land lord raised the rent on the rooms the family rented there seemed little chance they could remain. However a young lord, noble but poor, came recruiting at the docks for a raid in the old world. The money offered was poor but then so were the applicants and it was at the least more than they could earn as dock workers, moreover food and board would not have to be bought during the voyage, Ki’lia’s parents saw this as their only chance and signed on.

Young Ki’lia was 26 when her parents left, far too young to care for herself. Being dutiful if not exceptional parents they left here with the only other member of family in the city, a distant aunt whom they had not spoken to for decades. Of course they should have gone to her and spoken of their needs, but with the expedition sailing on the next tide and fearful she might refuse the pair of make do corsairs simply left the child at her address with a note and a meagre bag of copper coins. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to her brother and sister in law Dylia Hakara was advertised by her ‘manager’ as “an affordable courtesan” and described by everyone in the local wine shops as “the hottest whore in staggering distance”.

Familial duty meant that the child had a home though Dylia did not welcome the turn of events. The madam of Dylia’s brothel consented to the new arrangement, but would not allow her to board for free, Ki’lia would have to work. At first she simply fetched and carried, and then she served drinks and led men into the private chambers. Years passed however and it became clear that whatever the fate of the expedition Ki’lia’s parents were not returning. On her 65th birthday the madam declared that she was developed enough to take on a more hands on role in the brothel. Ki’lia hated working as a whore and eventually she was whipped to ‘make her see sense’. After that she hid her hate, did as she was told and quietly began to learn the skills she would need if she was ever to escape from this life.

Ki’lia gave freebies to soldiers in return for training, and though they laughed she learned well enough. She grew stronger and more skilful until eventually she felt that she was ready. In the late hours of the morning (when the brothel was all asleep, recovering from the exertions of the night before) she murdered the madam, stole the nights takings and ran off.
When she felt she had run far enough and hidden herself out of reach of the city watch Ki’lia bough herself some armour, a crossbow and a light snack (murder is hungry work) and set out to make it as a mercenary.

Stats-WS:4
- S:3
- T:3
- I:5
- D:3
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mel’Reyna

Name: Izzyra

Height: 5,9

Weight: 120 lbs

Age: 125

Class: Trainee

Appearance: Izzyra is a very attractive girl, and she knows it. She has long legs, well toned muscles and perfectly proportioned breasts, as perky as they should be at her age. Her skin is smooth with no major blemishes to speak of, and she has a light tan, making her standout somewhat in a sea of paleness. Her facial features are no less pleasing to the eyes, from her delicate nose and clear blue eyes to her relatively average but somehow still luscious looking lips.

Personality: Izzyra is generally rather bold, not afraid of speaking her mind openly or acting on her impulses. Though she has a pretty playful nature, she can become very competitive at times, especially with other women, and -especially- when the prize for winning happens to be a cute guy. Her main concern is to have fun and enjoy life’s pleasures as much as possible, which she rarely has too much trouble doing.

Attributes:
Weapon Skill 4
Strength 2
Dexterity 4
Toughness 3
Intelligence 5

Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Unarmed Fighting

Equipment: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger

Background: Izzyra had never been what you would consider a stereotypical Druchii. She wasn’t motivated by a lust for power; she was usually rather straightforward as opposed to treacherous and deceitful, and she didn’t particularly enjoy bathing herself in blood or watching another living creature suffer. Despite the girl’s family attempting to instill their traditional dark elf values into her mind, it to always go in through one ear and out of the other, as she was always busy pursuing her own activities instead. Said projects usually included boys, shopping, partying, alcohol, and more boys. So, naturally, her parents did what any reasonable parents would do in that situation; they hired a personal trainer to turn her into a killer, hoping that the process would somehow make their daughter come to her senses.

Surprisingly, she was not only quite talented, but actually enjoyed tracking, chasing and fighting. The killing part still had to be forced, but given an adequate reward, or in the situation that Izzyra’s own life happened to be on the line, she was able to set aside any moral qualms that she may have had in order to get the job done. Once there was nothing more that her teacher could show her, she started using her newly learned skills to earn extra money, since she never ran out of ways to spend it, and the allowance that her parents provided her with was hardly sufficient. It wasn’t too long before she was earning enough to leave home and be free, finally having nobody to tell her what to do, how to act or what to think.

No more than a few weeks after having left, she ended up in Vikarh, the mercenary capital of Naggaroth, and presumably the easiest place for somebody like herself to find constant work. Even more importantly, the city provided Izzy’ra with an endless amount of ways to keep herself entertained at all hours of the day. Unfortunately that also ended up being her main problem, since she was rather weak in the self-control department, and soon found herself owing quite a large sum of money to some rather unsavory individuals. They weren’t the most patient people either, so she knew that her problems would only increase exponentially unless she could pay them back soon. She was going to get started on that immediately…right after a few more drinks.




------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Username: Fingol 23

Character Name: Diana

Character Height/Weight: 5'10"/154 Ibs

Character Age: 93

Other Descriptions: Moderatly attractive female with a slim athletic build. Her skin is covered with accumalated grime and her long light brown hair is also tainted. Her most striking feature is her vibrant blue eyes and she is clothed simply in a long tunic secured about her waist with a leather belt. She wears an amulet on a long chain which covers her slave brand from view.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: The illigitamate daughter of a Druchii noble and Asrai slave Diana was sold into slavery early in her life. She was traded and stolen many times during her captivity untill she was finally freed by her master's untimely assasination. Still branded as a slave she has survived the last ten years as a thief and on occasion assasin. Gradually she accumulated enougth funds to buy the equipment required to become a profesional mercenary. She harbours an overwhelming hatred for her father and constantly seeks information on his identity. As a by product of her slaverery she is prepared to seek to almost any level in order to fulfill her aims.

While temporarily employed by two fueding familys with Vikarh a mission to raid a Shade camp went disasterously wrong forcing Diana to flee alone back to the city.

CHARACTER STATS:
Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 5

EQUIPMENT
Long Sword, 2 Repeater Handbows, Shade Cloak, 115 Gold.

SKILLS
Basic Stealth, Bluff.

_________________
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


Thu Apr 02, 2009 4:58 pm
Profile
Shade
User avatar

Joined: Thu Jan 02, 2003 3:00 am
Posts: 102
Post 
The following players now comprise group twenty six.

Player name: Ulric Darksoul

Character Name: Tamhas Shad'ill
Character Height and Weight: 5,67ft, 143 lb.
Character Age: 200 naggarith-s winters
Other Descriptions: Male, Dark brown hair, green-yellow eyes, scar in his right shoulder (he is left-handed, although have a bit of a training with the other hand too).
Character Class: Shade
Character Background:

Born somewhere along the black mountains, Tamhas have seen many winters since that time. He's the second born of his clan, but as a difference between other Druchii, he've grown as friends with his brother, a charismatic (for a dark elf) natural leader. As for Tamhas, he've grown as the intelligent of the clan. He has a better understanding of the surroundings, and at a young age he could go hunting great beasts and return back.

Loner, quiet, agile, skillful, this are the things that characterize Tamhas.

The arts of the blade and repeater crossbow were tought to him as it was used to. He pushed himself to his limits in the trainings, as he had to be better than him. The competition between them made them learn faster the ways of shade. While Tamhas was better in hiding and the use of the crossbow, his brother was better in taunting and the use of the blade.

The last hunt with his clan was the last time they've been alive.

I'm not sure what exactly this means.

50 years since that incident. They where summoned to go to war once more against the false phoenix king. His clan was shipped, and driven to Ulthuan, toward the Gryphon door. They climbed the mountians, and, as a pack of wolves, they hunted the traitors, ambush the supply lines for the army and disrupted the mailing system, preventing orders to get to some cohorts.

Women and children were his favorite targets, not because they where indefenced, just because it enraged the males, and make them attack without care. Good fights does.

But something went terribly wrong. THEY where ambushed. Those traitors known as Shadow warriors disguised themselves and enter the war-council's, they knew where they were going to attack next. Tamhas barely scaped with his borther the main combat, but after a few hours, a couple of enemies found them. They fight hard, killing most of the traitors, and making them flee.

But the fraight wasn't over. The spite for their kin made them persue toward the mountains again, and in an incredible shot, Tamhas was hurt. He couldn't continue his persue, and seeked a safe place to hide and heal. Meanwhile, his brother attacked the last remains of the party. When he was returning, a big shadow formed in his back. The sigil fly of a great eagle wasn't heard, and Tamhas couldn't tell his brother. He only could see how the eagle lifted him up, and throwed him from great high toward the ground.

Now, he's heading to the city, hoping his services will be required again...

CHARACTER STATS:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 3
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 4

STARTING EQUIPMENT

Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.

STARTING SKILLS

Basic Stealth.

Player name: Katon Edios

Character Name: Katon Edios

Character Height and Weight: 5ft 6" 154lbs

Character Age: 108

Other Descriptions: Katon has black hair resting just below his shoulders with dark blue eyes. Slender build with no markings or scars. He is of a high fitness due to time serving within the Army.

Character Class: Warrior

Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 4
Toughness (T): 4
Dexterity (D): 3
Intelligence (I): 3

Equipment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

Skills: None

Born into a lower class family his farther was a unit Champion within the ranks of the Warriors posted at Naggrond. Serving in many battles and even under the Witch Kings Banner his farther is an accomplished fighter and leader. Katon looks to become his farther and aspires to better his father’s career path and serve under the Witch King as this farther did. Listening to the tales his farther told him as a young child the lure of battles with impossible odds and the ecstasy of victory and slaughter induced Katon to become obsessed with following in his fathers bloody foot steps. Katon enrolled in the ranks of the Warriors determined that he too would be able to serve the Dark Elves and bring glory back to their shores. Katon joined the army aged 20 and through his training he found that he favoured and excelled with a Spear over the Repeater Crossbows, this pleased Katon as he sees fighting face to face with the enemy a more honourable way of fighting and the way his farther fights within the stories he shares. Through his dedication to perfecting his war craft and ability to follow orders with out question he was selected to join a regiment of Spears. After completing his training at age 25, he was inducted into a regiment and served within it posted at Naggrond for 35 years and then at Ghrond for a further 48. Within all this time Katon saw very little combat missing the chance to defend Ghrond against a huge Chaos Horde by a few weeks due to travelling from his station at Naggrond. He has partaken is smaller skirmishes while at Ghrond but has no major combat experience. His is slightly bitter that he has not once been selected to travel over seas and battle on exotic lands, he believes his fathers higher statues within the Army has swayed the selection of the unit he is in from battle and has be reigned to defence of the nation.

Katon as served within the army pretty much his whole life, but now he has grown tired of what he considers his above average combat skills are going to waste. With times of war over seas being quiet and younger Dark Elves joining the army he feels he will not surpass his farther. Katon does not want to stand guard on a wall and stop a few mindless barbarians attacking, offence is what he seeks and has so left the army, for better or worse. Katon is now seeking to become an adventurer and if he cannot surpass his farther then he wishes to bring home tales of his adventures instead.
He cares little of his father’s opinions of him for leaving the army and considers ties with his family cut, blaming them for his lack of career opportunities.

Using the last of his money from serving in the army Katon is now seeking to travel between cities looking for adventures and travels.

Please welcome our two newest group members

Player: Syjahel

Character Name: Syjahel Vasht

Character Height and Weight: Syjahel is around 5’ 10” tall and of roughly average weight, which is well-distributed though she is a little broader in the shoulder than some women.

Character Age: 73

Other Descriptions: With flowing long black hair, large, deep blue eyes, and ruby-red lips, Syjahel is an arresting young woman, though all the softness of her allure will not quite hide her somewhat martial demeanour. Growing up in a largely masculine household has not made Syjahel a tomboy, she knows when it is to her advantage to appear delicate, but she is also physically fit from her training which has left her with the lithe musculature of a gymnast.

Though her protected upbringing and youth have kept her skin relatively free of scars, there are a few faint paler lines marking her arms and torso, with a distinctive double trace across her left thigh. These are usually hidden by clothing. She has no tattoos, considering these to be either the mark of a lower caste Druchii or else of purely utilitarian value (enchantments, religious devotions, and suchlike) - a prejudice she may have to undo.

She usually dresses in shades of black, dark blue and purple the better to show off the paleness of her skin, with accents of red and silver. She keeps jewellery to a minimum unless she is attending a state occasion or social function that demands style over practicality. However, she loves to make up her eyes and mouth and this is often her one indulgence when travelling. She usually wears a dark cloak lined with deep crimson either swept back over her shoulders, or pulled in close if the weather is particularly cold.

Armour is light chain over a well-worn kheitan. She wears a somewhat battered helm, and carries a well-maintained longsword with a hilt in the form of a coiling dragon with small purple sapphire eyes. This is a present from her father and a minor family heirloom.

Though these items could be of some value, she cannot very well sell them without loss of face, and as she has gambled away or sold pretty much anything that she had with her of worth, Syjahel is currently rather poor and not too proud to take on paid work. It’s that or run home to father for money.

Character Class: Warrior

Character Background: Syjahel, born Syjahelle, daughter of Kherandis Vasht, a nobleman of Clar Karond, was the only girl child after the birth of seven sons. She grew up in an otherwise martial household and was quickly somewhat indulged by her father and older brothers, who thought her combination of ruthless violence and girlish femininity was rather cute (and would undoubtedly be useful to the family later). The jealousy of her younger brothers faded with the years as their own responsibility grew, and she was largely left to find her own entertainment.

Shortly after her twelfth birthday her mother Verana ran away with a Beastmaster, and in the resulting shame at failing to kill both the treacherous Lady and her traitorous lover, her father solaced himself with an extended raiding campaign in the Northern Wastes. Having already fought (and won) several honour duels over the outrageous suggestion that he failed to kill either his former wife or her lover because he is still in love with the faithless woman, Lord Kherandis’ household continue to find that this is a touchy subject. Syjahel has no real contact with her mother, but no real enmity either, since she was raised by servants in any case (like her brothers), and if questioned her response would likely be a shrug.

Lord Kherandis is an exacting father who demands high standards of his sons, but is also firmly of the belief that a great Druchii provides extensively for all of his household. None of the children has ever had to suffer material want, but his campaigning lifestyle often absents him from the family. While all of her brothers were able to follow in his footsteps here, for Syjahel it was a little more complicated. She grew up with a certain absence of parental control, fatherly indulgence and the occasional letter of advice and admonition on being a good (Druchii) girl.

All of which may explain the fact that when she reached 60, Kherandis’ cherished daughter dropped the last –le from her name for the more masculine-sounding Syjahel, ‘borrowed’ her shortest brother’s old battle-gear and insinuated herself into a summer raiding party on its way North, taking great care to make good use of night masks, shading cloaks, careful lacing and a pugnacious attitude to assist in her disguise of her gender. Everyone knew Kherandis had a lot of sons; no surprise if they couldn’t quite place which one of the brood this young lad was.

This went rather well, as she had learned how to fight and could use her natural instinct for duplicity as easily for planning an ambush as for tricking a servant. If the majority of her stratagems came from old texts rather than experience in the field, they worked, and Syjahel was on her way to earning the respect of the warband.

It didn’t last of course; it never does. The first time she was seriously wounded, the armour had to be stripped from her barely-conscious body and she knew she would be given away. Quick thinking and the promise of certain consolation not normally available in the front line ensured that her rescuer kept her secret, but she had to return home at the first break in the fighting, giving a family summons as an excuse.

With a little more mature reflection, disguise is clearly not the way to go, whatever the stories may tell you. Syjahel has decided that as the child of the great Lord Kherandis, she can hardly be expected not to fight. And of course, whereas the natural outlet of such warlike pleasures would be to sail as a Corsair, surely no loving father would allow his little girl to go to sea without a little experience of fighting under her belt? That just wouldn’t be safe. While the day will likely come when Kherandis will no longer be swayed by a combination of tricky doubletalk and girlish pouting, it hasn’t happened yet.

And so Syjahel is out looking for adventure to fill her time, whet her appetite for new experiences and provide tales of her own to tell, not exactly with her father’s blessing, but this time not in secret, either. Perhaps it will be safer that way

… perhaps not.

CHARACTER STATS:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4 - fatherly indulgence in fencing and peacetime training do not make for a perfect soldier, but she has paid attention to learning wherever she can.
Strength (S): 3 - Syjahel is a warrior despite her family wish for it to be otherwise, so she has had to make her own opportunities for training. This and her size have limited her strength.
Toughness (T): 2 - not that tough, for the same reasons.
Dexterity (D): 5 - if you can’t go for strength, she reasons, make the most of speed.
Intelligence (I): 4 - not a genius, perhaps not Sorceress material, but Syjahel is smart. She’s just a little reckless and occasionally immature.

STARTING EQUIPMENT

Warrior: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour

STARTING SKILLS

None (Warrior)

Player: T'keela

Name: Seraphiel Wraithshroud.
Gender: Male.
Height: 6’2.
Age: 100.
Weight: 57kg.
Class: Trainee of Khaine.
Stats: WS: 4 S: 3 T: 3 D: 4 I: 4
Equipment: Short Sword and Dagger.
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.
Description:
As with all elves Seraphiel is of a lithe stock and values skill and dexterity over brute force. His alabaster skin is unblemished and his face is attractive with icy blue eyes. His snow white hair is casually disarrayed and combined with his skin and choice of attire give almost an ethereal appearance. Unlike most of his kin Seraphiel wears only white; hence the name Wraithshroud. He is dark and brooding, a natural loner and as such avoids the company of others when he can.

Background:
A cackle echoed down the dark streets, quickly followed by light foot steps and a frantic knocking at doors. A chorus drifted on the icy winds, a song that froze hearts and chilled blood. The figure huddled over a small bundle, desperately seeking admittance to one of the smooth, obsidian buildings that lined the street. Within the building not a soul stirred, fearful of what they may come face-to-face with on the misty streets. A hauntingly laughter reached the figures ears and even her desire for survival could not keep her blood from freezing. Turning, the mother found herself trapped against the smooth door by a voluptuous figure. The witch elf gently traced a finger across the quivering elven jaw, where her hand slipped to the base of the woman’s throat. “You run and hide? You knock and claw? You beg and barter? Yet still you stand out in the cold.”
The cold voice sent a shiver down Kethar’s spine. The cold that had numbed her mind had abated and she remembers her name at last. “I prithee bride of Murder, take this gift? Spare me? You seek my flesh and so I give it to you.” Turning Kethar bent low and numbly slid her hand under the bundle yet even as she did so cold steel pierced her breast, puncturing a lung and causing the elven mother to fall to ground with breathes coming out in nothing more than a wheeze. “I seek your flesh, I seek your fruit,” sung the witch, “I take your flesh and I take your fruit.” With a gesture she unraveled the silent baby from the bundle of clothes. The child's were closed and its alabaster skin cold and so the Maibd thought it dead when suddenly, with surprising strength it gripped a lock of her hair and held on tightly. With a screech of anger the witch placed her blade upon its neck, “Khaine take you!” But before the sword ended the baby's life, a hand began sensuously traced the witch elf’s jaw, down the nape of her neck, past her breast and circled her navel and with it, a delicate voice murmured into her ear, “Stay your hand sweet Kaerila, he fears neither your blade nor your vocation. He is Khaine’s child.”
“He may not fear me now… But soon his pretty blue eyes will know only fear.” Delicately lifting the child to her shoulder Kaerila looked to the hag, “Should he learn to fear me, his foes will learn to fear him.” Into the night disappeared that child, destined for a life greater than any normal Druchii…


Pale hands nimbly cleaned the giant obsidian statue of Khaine and within a few minutes hewed rock was soon polished smooth and sparkling unnaturally in the dim candlelight. Dropping deftly to his feet, Seraphiel spun in tight circle and drew the short sword sheathed at his left thigh to block blade that had been aimed at his jugular. “You might as well beat a drum with how loud you breathe," spat Seraphiel, "you're a fool if you think you will be an assassin”
“You’re still cleaning statues. I don’t see how you’re any better than me.” With that the two elves began a deadly dance, their years of training showing through with the precise slices and cuts that each combatant made, though neither managed to land a single hit. As the steel blades passed around his head, Seraphiel felt a tugging at the edge of his mind, a small voice called to him and time seemed to stop, before it blast back into action and Seraphiel’s attack continued. His blows rung out stronger and they came faster, dipping and weaving so that there was little more than a blur shining steel blades. Seraphiel’s opponent soon found himself on the defensive, his feet gradually starting to slide backwards at the pressure of such a ferocious attack. Suddenly Seraphiel ducked low, performing a spinning kick and taking the other elf’s feet out from under him. Before the elf had even hit the ground, Seraphiel had launched him into a wall with a second kick. Shaking his head as if in a daze Seraphiel looked to the doorway and saw Kaerila standing in the room protected by her ever present bodyguard of executioners. Kaerila chuckled as she looked towards her most promising trainee. Her berating and beatings had paid off. He was a killer, he was cold and unfeeling and he was as sharp as a sword. He was an adept of Khaine and definitely one of the best. “Tomorrow the trainee witches shall be Wed in Blood. Both of you know your duty and so do not fail in it. Killing each other is considered failing.”
Rising to his feet Seraphiel sheathed his weapons and headed towards the door located on the far side of the hall and in a low voice said to his opponent Maerik, “We’ll finish this after the ceremony.”

The drums rang out early the next morning beating a steady rhythm at which the veiled elven woman walked in time to, steadily making their way towards the vast Cauldron of Blood that sat upon a raised dais. Seraphiel leaned against the far wall watching the proceedings with little interest at least until a pale hand came to trace the disconcerting patterns of his tattoos, “Come lie with me,” spoke a soft voice. Seraphiel turned to see a young maiden with blood trickling down the side of her mouth standing behind him, her arms wide welcoming him towards her. Coldly Seraphiel looked around him and acknowledge similar sights everywhere; the male trainees were walking into the encircling arms of witches
Laughing manically as Seraphiel stepped towards her, she suddenly stopped laughing with a flinch, “You’re cold. No matter, this evening you are my plaything and I will use you as I see fit.” His hands gently trailing down her sides, Seraphiel looked into the expectant eyes of the Maibd gave in at least until there was a loud crash and blurred shape ran past him and out the door. “Get up Seraphiel .You may hate me but you still serve Khaine and by extension me.” Seraphiel followed Kaerila as she motioned towards him and beckoned him to follow her. Noxious combination of herbs and toxins greeted Seraphiel as he entered a dark room that was lit by a dim red light radiating from the corners. As he kneeled before Kaerila, she began to speak, “Seraphiel you are the Heartcarver. It is your duty to track down Maerik, and carve the Thousand Names of Murder upon the vile beasts heart.” Kaerila stood before him and with the tip of a knife cut a Rune of Khaine upon his forehead. Hate flared through Seraphiel as he felt the mutilation, though when he ran his sensitive fingers across his head he could feel nothing. Rising to his feet he glared coldly towards the hag who had raised him since he was a tiny baby and headed out into the street.

Seraphiel began his mission by leaving the depraved, bloodstained streets of Har Ganeth and began his journey towards Vikarh, the Mercenary City.

Entering Vikarh from the southern most gate Seraphiel found himself standing in a city that was nothing like what he had grown to expect from the streets of Har Ganeth. The city was ruled by mercenaries. In Har Ganeth a crime was only a crime if it went against the Temple, in Vikarh it seemed as if a crime was only a crime as long as you had enough money. The southern sector also seemed to be the seed amongst the seedy. Fleshhouses and the cheapest bars were the common place and hidden amongst them were the seediest of the seediest a place were sailors were and were sailors were hired.

Wanting to be lost in the crowd was his desire and so Seraphiel settled down and got ready to begin his life as mercenary, at least until he managed to find a lead on that scum Maerik…

_________________
Group 26 Moderator

Here he collected decadent works of 'art' and filled his court with sycophants and courtiers who eroded the last vestiges of the elven spirit.

Thus our weakling kin studied poetry, dancing, gardening and other nonsense, and we watched gleefully how they ran down their armies and forgot the last of the noble military tradition of our past.


Last edited by Dhar'neth on Tue Oct 27, 2009 7:01 am, edited 6 times in total.



Sun Aug 09, 2009 5:08 pm
Profile
Corsair
User avatar

Joined: Tue Jul 25, 2006 3:17 am
Posts: 98
Location: Canada
Post 
The following players make up Group 25:

Player: kalethdarkblood

Name: Arthan Vranneth

Gender: Male

Height: 6'1 feet

Weight: 148 lbs

Age: 189

Other Description: Arthan is a grim even for the dark elves criteria. Black hair, black eyes, an angular face and a pale skin made him look like an almost dead man. He wears a long kheitan in human hide and his old light armor. The mark of a hadrilkar is still visible on his neck, proof of a previous life as a retainer of a highborn.

Class: warrior

WS:5
S:3
T:3
D:3
I:4

Equipement: longsword, shield, light armor.

Skills: none

Background:

Arthan was born in the city of Karond Kar. Born as a lowborn and only male among the children of his family, he soon began to train himself with other young druchii to become a spearman in the city regiment. This way was all found, he must become a member of the city's guard. But his father was a retainer of a noble family: the House of Vehyr, not one of the most powerful but powerful enough to have his one retinue.

Like all the highborn family, the Vehyr's plans to gain more power and wealth among the noble family. However, one of their plans failed and a handful of retainer of several nobles fight each other in a blood feud. The Arthan's father died this day. In result, an opportunity was given to the young Arthan to become a new retainer of the Vehyr's family. The young druchii decides to quit the guard and receive the hadrilkar of the family.

During the following years, Arthan become more vicious in contact of these nobles. They did not care about the life of their retainers, so the retainers and in particular Arthan become very careful about where they going and what they doing in service of the Vehyr's. More than a dozen times,
Arthan and other retainers have to fight against some other rivals of their masters. But the power of the Vehyr's did not increase. The only thing they obtain was more and more enemies.

One day, the whole Vehyr's family moved from Karond Kar to Naggarond for a ceremony in the name of Khaine. Their foes used this travel to strike and attack the family during the night. Against a superior number of enemies, the Vehyr and their retainers cannot hope to win. All the Vehyr died during this night and merely a half-dozen of retainers can escape and come back to Karond Kar. Arthan was one of the survivors.

After this event, no family of Karond Kar has the will to hear the oath of a former Vehyr's retainer. So Arthan decided to quit the city and come to Vikarh to begin a new life.

*************************************************************

Player: Roman V. Numeral
Name: Cenar Stoneburn
Height and Weight: Just under average height at 6', and stocky for a Druchii at 180 lbs.
Age:131
Class: Warrior
Stats: WS:4, S:5, T:4, D:3, I:2
Equipment: Long sword, shield, light armour and helmet, gray woven cloak, brown leather tunic and pants, black boots and leather pouch containing his few meagre belongings.

Description: From a distance Cenar appears to be just an average warrior, no different from the masses of guards and mercenaries in any port city. It's not until you get closer that you realize that the proportions of his body are deceptive. He has wide shoulders, strong arms and a deep chest for a Druchii, which somehow make him seem taller and more imposing up close than he really is but his armour and cloak usually manage to downplay his powerful muscles and wide build. His muscularity is unusual even among the most dedicated soldiers, pointing towards a relatively shameful past of heavy manual labour. In Druchii society, where slaves are cheap, any Druchii with any social standing whatsoever has dozens of servants and slaves to carry out the most strenuous physical tasks.

He keeps his long dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail and tucked into his helmet in the fashion of most warriors. His eyes are light brown and hard, already framed by wrinkles that tell a tale of a life lived facing the wind and weather of rough seas and cruel battlefields. His body shows the marks of his victories and losses, several wide scars cover his chest, and his arms and legs carry the scars to match his years of fighting.

His movements are confident and economical, but at most times his body is at rest, nearly unmoving except for the sweeping, searching motion of his eyes and the restless habit of tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword. Perhaps his most noticeable feature is his walk, a long lumbering stride that falters on his left side due to some battle wound long in the past.

Background: Cenar was born to the bitter winds and the icy bite of winter snow amongst the cliffs on the coast of Naggaroth. His father was the master blacksmith to a minor lord whose estate and fortunes were in rapid decline due to the foolishness of the lord’s twin sons. Their gambling and ambitions outmatched their cunning and luck, and it wasn't long before their rivals and enemies smelt their weakness. Early on in the life of Cenar, his master was forced from his estate and moved to a small manor house in Naggarond, where the proximity of the court would help to shelter his remaining holdings. However the nearness of the pinnacles of political power only fuelled the ambitions and plotting of the lord's sons, who were no match for the level of intrigue and betrayal of the capital city. Within decades the fortune of the lord had been lost, his lands stolen or sold and his sons assassinated. The once proud and strong Druchii lord was left with only a few loyal retainers, his small barren manor house and his failing health.

Cenar was growing fast and learning the skill and art of his father's skills in blacksmithing. As the fortunes of his lord failed, Cenar was forced to work harder and harder in the smithy, until he had replaced all of the slaves who had once tended the forge of his father. His shoulders became strong from the rhythm of the hammer on the anvil, his hands became hard and unyielding from the heat and weight of red hot steel, his chest thick and deep from pushing the giant bellows that fanned the forge's flames. As his size and strength increased, his elderly lord's health weakened.

In his 127th year, Cenar's life changed abruptly. His lord finally succumbed to age and the effects of a slow working poison. The retainers gathered by the bedside of their former lord and looked upon his skeletal face. That night they each made their decisions. Some decided to leave, to head out on their own or seek employment at some other noble house. A few, among them Cenar's father, chose to stay and watch over the house of their lord until a rightful inheritor could be found to pledge their service to.

Cenar and his father took up their weapons and armour, crafted by their own sweat and strength, and took up guard outside the gates of the manor house. The news of the death of their lord would travel swiftly, and his rivals would come to scavenge.

He never saw where in the dark, quiet streets the crossbow bolts came from, he only felt something smash viciously into his head and a sea of darkness swallow him as he fell to the ground. He awoke laying on the cold cobblestones of the street with his vision blurry and his head in agony. Slowly he forced himself to sit up and look around.

In the flickering light from the torches framing the gate of the manor, he found himself sitting in a growing pool of blood. His head was gashed deeply and blood was flowing down his neck to soak his tunic, but the blood gathering around him couldn't be all his. He shook his aching head to clear the spots swimming through his vision and saw his helmet lying next to him, pierced by a barbed crossbow bolt that would have taken his life if it hadn't been for the workmanship of his father. Just past his helmet lay the spear he had dropped when he fell, and beyond that lay his father.

His father's face was nearly unrecognizable, soaked in blood and staring lifelessly into the dark night sky. The feathers of a crossbow bolt protruded from between his gauntleted fingers where he had tried futilely to pull the dart from the center of his neck. The pool of blood was his fathers.

The sound of voices nearby caught Cenar's attention, dragging his eyes from the corpse of his father. The voices were close, muffled by the wall surrounding the manor's courtyard. Voices of strangers, voices of the killers who had did this. A roar of pain and rage welled up in Cenar's throat, but his mouth somehow couldn't let it pass. He flung himself up and seized his spear. Anger took him wholly and demanded a release.

He burst through the opened gate he had been guarding and found the main door to the manor flung wide, spilling light and the loud sounds of looting into the courtyard . Three figures stood near the light, gesturing at the house and talking. Cenar's rage clouded mind couldn't piece together their words; he saw only targets for his wrath. One was wearing a bright crimson cape edged in gold over shining silver armour covered in golden scrollwork, an elegant helmet and visor masked his face, next to him was a tall soldier clad in finely wrought chain mail and holding a drawn sword. A few paces away, in the shadows of the doors stood a dark cloaked figure cradling a black repeater crossbow, staring not at the house or the two nobles, but at the gate of the courtyard.

The cloaked figure had the crossbow shouldered before Cenar even saw him in the shadows, and was firing even as Cenar began to react. The deadly, barbed projectiles smashed into Cenar's chest in a flurry, sparking as they were deflected by the plates of his armour and digging into the chain mail underneath were they found a gap. Cenar grunted with the impacts, stopping dead in his blind rush by the sheer force. His eyes never left the cloaked assassin; he was fixated on the crossbow, the instrument that had taken his father. Guided by primitive rage he raised his weapon and hurled it with all his strength at the object of his hate.

His spear had not been made for throwing, but its stout shaft guided its flight and its slim, razor sharp blade had been skilfully fashioned. The assassin was readying his weapon for another burst of shots when the spear punched into his midsection and burst out of his back in a spatter of blood.

The assassin slumped grotesquely to the ground to lay propped up at an angle by the spear. Cenar took a heaving breath and felt the points of three bolts dig into his chest, the cloaked figure had hit his target, but the bolts hadn't penetrated deeply enough to kill. He gasped from the pain and clutched at the feathered ends protruding from his armour. Before he could pull the bolts free, a flash of torchlight reflected off of polished steel warned him of a blade in flight.

The tall soldier in chain mail had charged at him while he was distracted by the assassin, and was only a few steps away from Cenar, his sword already whistling outwards in a swing that would cut him in two. The flash off his attacker's blade was enough of a warning for Cenar's training and instincts to kick in, his father had not only taught him to forge and repair weapons, but also to use them. Cenar threw himself backwards, barely keeping his balance as his attackers blade whipped through the air in front of his chest. He clawed at the hilt of his own sward desperately trying to unsheathe it in the brief moment he had while his opponent stepped forward and reversed his cut.

The tip of Cenar's long blade had barely cleared its sheath before it was awkwardly pushed out to deflect its opponent's attack. The force of the blow coupled with Cenar's hurried grip to nearly wrench the sword from his hands, and he was forced to spin away from his attacker to buy a precious instant to acquire a proper grip on his weapon. Both hands on his sword now, Cenar found that his enemy hadn't wasted the short reprieve he had gained and was attacking once again, twisting as he leapt straight at Cenar, blade lashing out like the cruel whip of a Druchii slaver. It was a technique that Cenar had seen before, a technique that would add speed and power to the blow, a technique that would smash away his own defences, leaving him open to a lethal follow up.

Once again, the training provided by his father aided his natural instincts. Cenar turned his hips to face the attack, raising and angling his blade as he was taught, but it was not enough. The sword of the tall mail clad warrior smashed into Cenar's block with all the weight and speed and skill of the attacker behind it, knocking Cenar's blade out and to the side, far from any area where it would be useful in the next crucial second. With a vicious snarl of victory, the warrior flicked his weapon up in a rising backhand swing aimed to gut Cenar from hip to shoulder.

Cenar, knowing the follow up attack would finish him, threw himself forward as his sword was knocked to his side, putting all his strength into a wild leap at his enemy. The blow from the sword struck him low because of the unexpected move, slicing deep into Cenar's thigh nearly at the hip. The pain of the cut was lost in the force of the impact of Cenar and his armoured foe slamming together, their armour clanging, their breath being forced from their bodies in a short grunt and the jarring thud of their bones crashing together.

The wild leap knocked them both to the cobblestones in a tangle of limbs and armour, each warrior trying to wrestle for advantage, retain his weapon and break free simultaneously. After a moment of scrabbling in the savage, chaotic struggle, Cenar found himself inexplicably remembering the days he had spent at the sides of his lords two sons. They had been older than him, and their noble rank gave them license to use him as a test subject for the techniques of pain and war they were learning as part of their childhood lessons. He had grappled with both of them often, learning the hard way how to counter their greater size, strength and strategy with unexpected tactics and occasionally sheer animal savagery.

His opponent had realized the extent of Cenar’s wounds and knew they were slowly sapping his strength and speed, the time to strike was at hand. Cenar could feel his breath heaving in his chest and a fire of pain growing in his leg by the second. He let his hand slip from the grip he had been using to pin his opponent’s shoulder to the ground and instantly felt himself thrown to the side as the warrior rolled away. Quickly, Cenar caught himself and rolled back towards the warrior, following him along the hard ground. As his enemy sprang to his feet to finish him off, Cenar thrust his sword up at an angle. The warrior had been looking at the spot where he had thrown Cenar off, thinking that he would try and gain his feet, never expecting his enemy to do the opposite.

The razor sharp tip of Cenar’s sword broke through the tight links of chain mail covering the warrior’s torso, and plunged deep into his stomach. A vibration ran down the steel to Cenar’s hand as the blade scraped the warrior’s vertebrae before popping through the skin of his back and coming to a stop. A low keening sound escaped the warrior’s lips and a bitter spark of hatred burned from his eyes as he sunk to his knees to meet Cenar’s gaze. His fingers lost their strength and his sword dropped to the stones of the courtyard and slowly the rest of his body weakened as well. He slumped to his side slowly as if tired and kicked feebly twice before a trickle of blood exited his lips and his eyes grew dim and blank.

Cenar groaned as he tried to draw breath back into his heaving chest. The struggle had driven the tips of the crossbow bolts deeper into his flesh and bent and twisted them, gouging jagged trails. The pain was intense, pulsing with every breath he dragged into his lungs. He got up on one knee to pull his blade free of the dead enemy, but a sudden kick to his midsection sent him sprawling to the ground. He winced involuntarily and nearly screamed from the pain as he landed heavily on his wounded leg. When his eyes opened he found himself looking upwards at the gilded armour of the noble standing over him. In the darkness the torchlight reflecting off of the gold and silver edges looked like some sort of magic energy sparkling around the figure.

The face of the noble was hidden by the night and the visor of his helmet, but Cenar could almost feel the contempt radiating from the figure. He had failed, and now he was defeated. Slowly, the noble shook his head at Cenar and raised his long, curved and shining sword. Cenar felt panic rush up through him from the pit of his stomach like vomit, overwhelming even the sensations of pain from his wounds. He was defenceless, his own sword was trapped in the corpse of the warrior, his battered armour unable to withstand a strong overhead blow from that height, and he was wounded, laying on the ground. Cenar felt his mind freeze at the sudden realization that his death awaited him. His rational thoughts left him to face the horror of his doom, his killer standing over him unopposed, ready to strike him down.

The noble could tell Cenar’s thoughts; the tone of his voice betrayed his cruel satisfaction in being able to end the life of an enemy this way as he spoke one word, “Pathetic.”

The sound of the word, the tone it was delivered in and the familiar ring of the powerful and arrogant aristocracy cut through Cenar’s momentary shroud of despair. He habitually lowered his eyes in shame as the noble raised his blade over his elegantly decorated helmet for the death stroke, but there, at his knee, nearly under his hand lay the fallen sword of the warrior he had impaled. Cenar didn’t think of luck or ponder the possible machinations of gods or fates; he just swept up the blade and slashed blindly at the noble’s legs.

The sharp edge hacked deep into the noble’s knee, crunching through bone and severing tendons. The noble screamed and toppled to the ground next to his dead servant. Cenar pushed himself up, ignoring the lightning bolt of pain that wracked his leg, and fell onto the noble, driving the tip of the warrior’s sword through the noble’s chest and into the ground beneath. The breath hissed and gurgled out from under the noble’s visor as he thrashed and squirmed for a long moment, pinned to the cobblestones by the weight of Cenar and a length of sharp, unyielding steel.

Cenar waited, unmoving, while his last foe twitched out the final vestiges of life. When all was still in the courtyard again except for the flicker of the torchlight and the muffled sounds of voices and pillaging from inside the manor house, Cenar finally found the strength to stand. His hands were shaking and his vision swam from pain, exertion and loss of blood. He felt like an age had passed since he had awoken in the street to find his father bled out in front of him like an animal. He felt suddenly alone as if he was the last spirit in the world, as if the universe itself had forsaken him. In such a short time he had lost everything, his lord and master, his father, his home, and all he had cared about.

Deep down inside some little voice sprang to life, insistent and piercing. He ignored it while he pulled his own sword from the corpse of his enemy and watched as blood and gore dripped from the blade to spatter his feet and mix with the blood leaking down his leg. Finally he could ignore it no longer, and he paid heed to the message from within his own guts and mind. He had to run. He had to escape. He had to survive.

It was enough to spur his mind into thinking more rationally. He did have to escape, the voices in the manor meant more people were there, people who at any moment could catch him standing over the dead body of their lord. He whirled towards the gates of the courtyard but stumbled as his wounded leg nearly gave out. Limping, he hurried for the exit, driven by a fresh rush of panic. At the gate he had to pause to rest his leg and for the first time noticed a half dozen fine black steeds tied up next to it. They were trained for speed and battle, and had undoubtedly carried his enemies to his door. Now they would be his escape from the city, and afterwards they would be the currency he would use to buy a new life in a new city.

Cenar had taken his vengeance in the courtyard of his former lord, but it had emptied his soul. The spoils of this battle would be the first step on a journey to create a fate of his own. Never again would his life and death be in the hands of a noble born rather than his own. Cenar knew of a place where people of all types went to seek their fate and fortune, a place where a wounded warrior would go unnoticed by anyone seeking him for his role in the carnage that had taken place. He would travel to the city of Vikarh to make a new life for himself.

*************************************************************

Player: The Shadow King

Name: Helkor Makolus

Height and Weight: 6 feet 3 inches. 180 Pounds

Age: 56 Years of age

Other Descriptions

Appearance: His body is lean and spare with thick hard sinews, a legacy of training, practice and constant labor on the farm. His face is square and battered looking with an eyepatch over his left eyesocket and close cut brown hair.

Personality: He is polite and friendly to all and those who know him get to experience his bizzare and irreverent sense of humor. He doesn't enjoy killing someone, although he does enjoy a friendly fight. He also doesn't really share most Druchii attitudes. He and his folk didn't have time for such nonsense, let the nobles live for revenge and conquest, meanwhile here in reality we have food to gather so that we'll live out the winter. As a result he is amused by the attitudes and beliefs of most Druchii and most people for that matter. Nor does he really give a broken horseshoe about things like 'class' and 'title' he sees them only as a source of amusement.

Hair colour: Brown

Eye colour: Bright Grey

Clothes: A Thick surcoat and tunic and doublet and Cloak over thick servicable trousers tucked into good but well used brown boots, his clothes are all in grey and brown and he has a thick leather belt

Scars and Tatoos: A small scar on his left cheekbone from where a dagger nearly ended his life and a tatoo on his right arm bearing the name and heraldry of the Spear Unit he served with and under his name, the words: "Honorably Released from Service.".

Class: Warrior.

Background: He was the son of a fairly well off Farmer, his life was relatively carefree growing up, the wars and names of great people were but far-off rumors, he learned how to care for the Dark Steeds and how to care for a farm and his plans didn't extend beyond the field that he would puchase and raise his own Dark Steeds on. Then one day a unit of Spearelves passed through and took him to war and his life was upended. The next five years were a nightmare of training, abuse and punishment. Finally he was made a Spearelf and posted to the north not long after his arrival (two months) he lost an eye during a skirmish leaving him unable to serve, his wound was sewn up and he was 'released' from his service with a handful of gold coins. He made his way home to find his father had died under suspicious circumstances and the farm had been taken over by a wealthy noble. Since there wasn't a thing he could do about it, he spent what gold he had left for weapons and armour and for training to compensate for his missing eye. What little he had seen of the outside world beyond his old life changed him and so gradually he made his way to Varakh where he now hopes to hire on as a guard, garner some experience and make enough money to buy a home and comfortably live out his days. That and he enjoys the freedom to do whatever he wants.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Stats

Weapon Skill (WS) 5

Strength (S) 4

Toughness (T) 3

Dexterity (D) 3

Intelligence (I) 3

Gear: Cloak, Shield, Longsword, Light Armour.

*************************************************************

_________________
Group 25 Moderator

Group24: Zephien K'lieth
WS: 4 S: 3 T: 2 D: 4 I: 5
EQ: Long Sword, Short Sword, Dagger and Two Throwing Axes.
SK: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.
Gold: 80

I'm a killer. I'm a murdering bastard, you know that. And there are consequences, to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard.


Fri Aug 28, 2009 12:23 pm
Profile
Malekith's Best Friend
User avatar

Joined: Sat Nov 29, 2008 8:22 pm
Posts: 1032
Location: England
Post 
The following players are in Group 27

Name: Noble Korhedron
H: 1.8m.
W: 76.5kg.
Age: 145.
Class: Warrior.

Description:
A tall, dark haired druchii, Korhedron favours light armour made from captured ithilmar, stolen on a slave raid. This is worn under black robes, with a black cloak and heavy iron helmet over the top. He has a scar down the left cheek from a duel, and also dark, wide eyes. He has a distinctive glove on his left hand made from golden thread his father gave him on his 100th birthday. His only other personal item is a golden locket, passed down from his mother, set with a ruby and with a minature picture of her insde, painted by one of the human household slaves, who had been a renowned artist in the Old World before his capture on an Empire merchant vessel on the Sea of Claws. He holds this as his only reminder of her, after she was cruelly slain in his fiftieth year by an assain whose origin, to this day, remain unknown. Armed with this caveat, Korhedron set off into the gloom of Vikhar, eager to find and cofront his attackers or die trying.......

Class: Warrior

WS: 4
S: 4
T: 3
D: 4
I: 3

Equipment: Longsword, shield, and light armour.

Skills:
Shield Bash
A rather brute force skill that relies only on the strength of the character, this is looked down upon by most Druchii, as it lacks artistic merit but, for those in the know, a shield in the face is nothing to write home about. Normally used to disorient your opponent to set them up for a death blow, some enterprising Druchii (and their slaves) create shields with many small spikes covering the surface which, whilst it makes them a little less protective, makes them perfect for this skill.

Background:
From the aincent noble family of Korhedron in Naggarond, and raised in that city, this young Noble has risen to lead his house at an early age, following the assasaination of his father and elder brother. He is not yet of the rank his circumstances would warrant however, as Lord Malekith is testing him and other young nobles by sending them to fight with his forces on raids into Ulthuan.

His greatest achievement yet was the capture, alive, of an Asur mage, after the mage had nearly wiped out his unit. He challenged him, and in a clever trick, dove under the mage's guard on one of his sword swings and stabbed him with the tip of a dagger which had been dipped in the pollen of the black lily, which of course sent the mage immediately to sleep. Upon returning, the Captain of the Black Ark Nazyerythe tried to claim the prisoner, but Korhedron snatched a crossbow and killed him before he could react. This done, the Captain's successor was forced to allow the young Noble to keep the prisoner, and on his return to Naggrond, Korhedron was granted an audience with the Witch King himself. He presented his prize, and was then dismissed by Malekith, who wished for time to consider his reward. Then, three months later, his summons to the Witch King's Court had arrived, and he set off in great anticipation. Stopping off in Vikhar overnight, he found himself assailed, and his mother's valuable locket stolen!! Eager to find the thieves, he contacted a royal herald for advice, and was told that the Witch King would not take offence from his tardiness, if he would bring with him the hearts of those responsible as proof.....

Player: Zardock
Character Name: Zardock
Character Height and Weight: 6.6ft, 147lbs
Character Age: 151
Other Descriptions: Long black hair streaked with pure white, pulled into a ponytail that reaches down past the shoulder blades. Strange purple eyes with slitted pupils.
Character Class: Trainee of Khaine.
CHARACTER STATS:
Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 5
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 4
Intelligence (I): 2
STARTING EQUIPMENT:1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger [C]
Zardock was once a corsair on a large raiding vessel, whose captain attempted to raid a lizard men temple city in the southlands. The city was guarded by a creature of unknown power and origin which slaughtered the majority of the crew, including the captain, as they entered the central temple. It however did not slay Zardock, instead using it’s strange magic to blast him out of the temple. With the small percentage of the crew that survived, Zardock managed to escape back to open water and head home to Naggaroth. As the voyage progressed, strange changes in Zardock occurred, an unknown side effect of the creature’s magic.

He grew stronger and began to change, his eye began to turn bright purple over time and his hair became streaked with white. Fearing that he would be killed by his fellow crew men he confined himself to his corsairs until the final transformation occurred. When the vessel neared the rocky shores of Naggaroth, Zardock fell under the influence of a strange bloodlust, and subsequently slaughtered his crew and with his new found strength none of his former comrades could stand against the unexpected attack. Blacked out on the deck amidst the carnage that he has wrought, the ship was wrecked on the shores of Naggaroth and Zardock awoke on the rocky outcrops with no memory of how he arrived there. As he travelled towards civilisation he realised that it was he who destroyed his own vessel and slaughtered his crewmen, and that the bloodlust he now suffered from was perhaps a blessing from Khaine himself, who had manifested as the creature in the temple to bless him as his prophet. Putting his past behind him Zardock returned to Druchii civilisation with the goal to train his body to become the ultimate killing machine so that the teachings of Khaine could be brought to those who dared to stand against the Druchii on the battlefield.

With parts of his former life still lost to his memory, Zardock fought in many raids against the Asur in order to try and hone his fighting skills to prove his worth to Khaine and yet his attempts to place what had happened to him in the past were futile. Wracked by nightmares of his final transformation on his former vessel, Zardock believes that Khaine is sending him a message and that he should travel the land in order to discover his true purpose. Driven by faith in Khaine, Zardock has now set out to find his purpose and only death will stop him in his quest…

Player: Jungly
Name: Acrilla
Age: 140
Height: 6foot4
weight:165lb
Class : shade
Equipment:Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.
Gender:female
Other things: She has a long scar down her right arm and has a very light and strong build. She is very supple and wears a Hydra skin cloak and boots that she bought in Naggarond for three quarters of the money she had earned in three decades as preparation for her expedition into Lustria to find a cold one. She also has a tattoo of a serpent on her forehead
Skills: Basic Stealth.
Stats:
WS:5 S:4 T:3 D:3 I:3
Backround:
Acrilla was born to one of the many groups of Shades that live in the Spine. When she grew old enough to walk and talk she did not join her older siblings in their stick fights and petty games of catch. Instead she watched the grown ups spar and and copied the winners every move for hours. She also did thousands of push ups, pull ups and any other form of strengthening she could. She finally realised she could not learn any more from her clan . So when the time came, as it does for all shade children, for her to be led into the wild by an elder and left to find her way home, she did not immediately go home when the elder was out of sight. Instead she went to Skriths castle. As she had heard that he had stolen some Lizardman relics on his recent journey to Lustria, she knew that there would soon be a battle there.When she got close enough to see the castle, she saw an assassin fighting " Now this is fighting like I have never seen it before!" she thought to herself and watched closely as he slit a few scaly throats.Satisfied that she had seen moves so complicated, they would take years to accomplish, she returned home.
Not long after that, it was Death Night . Her clan of Shades felt unwisely safe, as no witch elves had ventured so far into the Spine yet. Unfortunately for them the Brides of Burning Blood sought new game that night and with cries of delight they swooped down on Acrilla’s clan.They quickly killed the rest of her clan, but with a sword that she had kicked out of one of the witches hands Acrilla battered off their attacks with ease, and managed to cleave through the witch elves and escape.
For the last four decades, she has been running away from their Death Hag who as a matter of pride has sworn to finish off this last pesky survivor.In the meanwhile and whenever she can Acrilla has been learning and practicing new fighting techniques which she dreams will someday make her a great warlord. She is also constantly trying to come up with a foolproof scheme to avenge the deaths of her clan members. Although she is not sadistic or willing to kill anybody who simply gets in her way, she is very hot headed and does not consider others feelings, very much in her plans.

Player: Katon Edios
Character Name: Katon Edios
Character Height and Weight: 5ft 6" 154lbs
Character Age: 108
Other Descriptions: Katon has black hair resting just below his shoulders with dark blue eyes. Slender build with no markings or scars. He is of a high fitness due to time serving within the Army.
Character Class: Warrior
(WS): 4 (S): 4 (T): 4 (D): 3 (I): 3
Equipment: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.
Skills: None

Born into a lower class family his farther was a unit Champion within the ranks of the Warriors posted at Naggrond. Serving in many battles and even under the Witch Kings Banner his farther is an accomplished fighter and leader. Katon looks to become his farther and aspires to better his father’s career path and serve under the Witch King as this farther did. Listening to the tales his farther told him as a young child the lure of battles with impossible odds and the ecstasy of victory and slaughter induced Katon to become obsessed with following in his fathers bloody foot steps. Katon enrolled in the ranks of the Warriors determined that he too would be able to serve the Dark Elves and bring glory back to their shores. Katon joined the army aged 20 and through his training he found that he favoured and excelled with a Spear over the Repeater Crossbows, this pleased Katon as he sees fighting face to face with the enemy a more honourable way of fighting and the way his farther fights within the stories he shares. Through his dedication to perfecting his war craft and ability to follow orders with out question he was selected to join a regiment of Spears. After completing his training at age 25, he was inducted into a regiment and served within it posted at Naggrond for 35 years and then at Ghrond for a further 48. Within all this time Katon saw very little combat missing the chance to defend Ghrond against a huge Chaos Horde by a few weeks due to travelling from his station at Naggrond. He has partaken is smaller skirmishes while at Ghrond but has no major combat experience. His is slightly bitter that he has not once been selected to travel over seas and battle on exotic lands, he believes his fathers higher statues within the Army has swayed the selection of the unit he is in from battle and has be reigned to defence of the nation.
Katon as served within the army pretty much his whole life, but now he has grown tired of what he considers his above average combat skills are going to waste. With times of war over seas being quiet and younger Dark Elves joining the army he feels he will not surpass his farther. Katon does not want to stand guard on a wall and stop a few mindless barbarians attacking, offence is what he seeks and has so left the army, for better or worse. Katon is now seeking to become an adventurer and if he cannot surpass his farther then he wishes to bring home tales of his adventures instead.
He cares little of his father’s opinions of him for leaving the army and considers ties with his family cut, blaming them for his lack of career opportunities.
Using the last of his money from serving in the army Katon is now seeking to travel between cities looking for adventures and travels.


Player: Ulric Darksoul
Character Name: Ulric Darksoul
Character Height and Weight: 6 feet tall 65 kg..
Character Age: 200 years old.
Other Descriptions: brown long hair, in a ponytail, green-yellow eyes.
Character Class: Trainee of Khaine .
Character Background: The night when i was taken by the temple was a bloody night. My family never claimed for me, i believe it was for fear or it could be because they all where dead. I was one of many taken that night, although i only knew this several years after when i could remember things. My whole life i've been in the temple, learning combat techniques, poison usage, to disappear in plain sight and moving in silent. Khaine have been my best friend, lord and god, as i've been taught to believe. But not all in my life have been simple.

When i was a little elf, i was the shorter of my generation. In the depth of the temple, having special qualities is not a favourable thing even if this one was just been not as tall as an elf should be. During this time, my youth, i had to learn quickly, so i wouldn't be sacrified. I learned how to dodge and attack quickly enough, as this was my only way to survive.
I've been attacked by numerous disciples, but with my training and natural skill, plus the fact that i was shorter, gave me an advantage over others members during this attacks. Once, i was cought in the yards of the temple between training periods by two older students. They wanted to kill me, although i never knew the reason. The only thing i knew was that if i was to survive, i'd to kill them both.
The first one was a tall elf, a 7'5" one, that had some daggers. The other was a bit smaller, a 7' tall with a draich. This last seemed to be smarter. Anyhow, the elf with the dagger sprinted toward me, with his eyes red in fury. I tried to remain calm, as they where two of them, more experienced, trained and cruel opponents than me. I easily dodge the first strike of his dagger, but i didn't notice that the other one also was there, and i recieved a kick in the face. All went dark. Suddenly, i started to feel dizzy, a feeling i haven't yet understand. My gaze become red, all red and streams of light. I could see the students, laughing and preparing to kill me. The one with the draich step nearer to me, as the other one had a grip on my hands. With a roar, i kicked the feet of the smaller one, and bend in a way i have never achieved again put my legs around the taller one's head and snap his neck. I then jumped toward the other, who have also become frenzied and punch him in the nose. He felt backwards, leaving his draich in the floor. I picked up, and swing it in front of him. After a couple of slashes to his legs and torso, i finally decapitated him.

that was the first time i actually enter into the frenzy mode i should have been getting in and out for several years. Now, i've got to a point in my training where i have to share the blood of others to be worthy of Khaine's favor. This is the time where the bloodshed begins. I'll head to the city of mercenaries, that way, there will a huge amount of blood for Khaine.
CHARACTER STATS:
Weapon Skill (WS): 4
Strength (S): 3.
Toughness (T): 3
Dexterity (D): 5.
Intelligence (I): 3.
STARTING EQUIPMENT
Trainee: 1 Short Sword and 1 Dagger [C]
STARTING SKILLS
Trainee: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.

_________________
Phalx Tr'dasr – WS5 / S4 / T4 / D5 / I4
Equipment: Deathspitter (5/20) 4 of these poisoned (1/2x QD, 3xSD), short sword, dagger, punching dagger (Bloodthirst Rune), shade cloak, full leather armour
Inventory: thieves tools, torches x3, healing balms x5, rope and grapple, Vikarh map, dice, winter gear, orc tusk,
Mount: Dark Steed
Gold: 5829
Skills: Basic Stealth, Precision Fire, Basic Ride, Frenzy, Ambidexterity,Suithenlu Khythan (1): SP2
Class: Shade
Check out, http://thingsfrom1934.com/


Last edited by Dauricha on Thu Mar 04, 2010 7:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Sat Nov 28, 2009 7:03 pm
Profile WWW
Prophet of Tzeentch
Prophet of Tzeentch
User avatar

Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
Posts: 4641
Location: I am the voice inside your head
Post 
The following players now make up group 28:
Player: Messiah of Death (Currently inactive)
Character Name: “Sinfulblade”

Character Height and Weight: 7ft 3” 165lbs

Character Age: 275

Other Descriptions: His hair is jet black; eyes are deep green in colour. Sinfulblade has a very rare skin condition, he doesn‘t share the pale complexion of Druchii, but instead has a light torques tint in his skin colour. Chest and neck are marked with ritualistic tattoos, left palm scared by flesh ripping hooks (old would from his early training days) because of that he is reluctant to remove his gloves.


Character Background: Very little is known about his past for both the temple and himself find little need to spread such information about.

The little that is known states that his father was the captain of “Agony-shard” a corsair raid ship, often making slave hunts to Ulthuan territory. It is said that along with the many petrified labour salves the ship once returned carrying an elven maiden of obvious high standard in the high elven society. Spiteful as his father was he couldn’t help falling for the charming maiden which lacked the fearful character of the weak kin and was fierce enough to even slay an unruly corsair that attacked her right after they set down in the land of chill. Sinful’s father claimed Saphyreth (Sinfulblade’s mother) as his own and although it was a long struggle, in the end he managed to claim her and her freedom in exchange for their firstborn son to be sacrificed on the altar of Khaine…

Several years later Edex their firstborn came to the world and was immediately abducted by brides of Khaine to give fresh blood to the murder god. All would have ended if not for one unimaginable fact – when the crying infant was placed on the altar, something very peculiar happened… His flesh was teal from the dim shadows, but even as the candles all around were light his flesh remained ice blue. The Khainates took this as divine intervention and a sign from the bloody handed god himself that this shadow-skinned elf was destined to become an aspect of murder.

From the very start the young elf showed both potential and interest in the arts of murder, he wasn’t the strongest of the stock, but exceeded many of his fellow students in dexterity, determination and interest in literature, a trait very uncommon amongst his peers. With few friends and ample amounts of enemies around Sinful, needed to strive for becoming the best during his training, for it was the only way he could be sure, that he wouldn’t find himself on the altar of Khaine one day.

The stressful environment and constant competition for both staying alive and keeping others from doing the same slowly ate away at Sinfulblade’s psyche until it conjured something of a crack. Sinful’s education began to mix with both strange visages in his dreams and his stoic well-read character to form a new philosophy in his mind. The trainee was rocked back and forth from being eloquently cool calm and collected to becoming a loose cannon with pyromaniac tendencies. This extremely arrogant and sometimes psychotic character of Sinful made him a secluded loner even by trainee standards.

Once his initial training was over Sinfulblade set out to prove himself in live action by becoming a sword for hire. Amongst many small time brawls and skirmishes in the streets of the land of chill he also undertook several expeditions to the Old World the latest of which, although unsuccessful landed him a prize that made up greatly for the failure – a reaper bolt thrower.

A few months passed and once Sinful grew bored of playing with his new toy he set out to find a new employer once more.

Weapon skill (Ws): 4
Strength (S): 2
Toughness (T):4
Dexterity (D): 5
Intelligence (I):4

Wargear: Shade Cloak, Bastard Sword, Short Sword, Dagger, Throwing knives
Skills: Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy, Basic Acrobatics

______________________________________________________________________

Player: Syjahel

Character Name: Syjahel Vasht

Character Height and Weight: Syjahel is around 5’ 10” tall and of roughly average weight, which is well-distributed though she is a little broader in the shoulder than some women.

Character Age: 73

Other Descriptions: With flowing long black hair, large, deep blue eyes, and ruby-red lips, Syjahel is an arresting young woman, though all the softness of her allure will not quite hide her somewhat martial demeanour. Growing up in a largely masculine household has not made Syjahel a tomboy, she knows when it is to her advantage to appear delicate, but she is also physically fit from her training which has left her with the lithe musculature of a gymnast.

Though her protected upbringing and youth have kept her skin relatively free of scars, there are a few faint paler lines marking her arms and torso, with a distinctive double trace across her left thigh. These are usually hidden by clothing. She has no tattoos, considering these to be either the mark of a lower caste Druchii or else of purely utilitarian value (enchantments, religious devotions, and suchlike) - a prejudice she may have to undo.

She usually dresses in shades of black, dark blue and purple the better to show off the paleness of her skin, with accents of red and silver. She keeps jewellery to a minimum unless she is attending a state occasion or social function that demands style over practicality. However, she loves to make up her eyes and mouth and this is often her one indulgence when travelling. She usually wears a dark cloak lined with deep crimson either swept back over her shoulders, or pulled in close if the weather is particularly cold.

Armour is light chain over a well-worn kheitan. She wears a somewhat battered helm, and carries a well-maintained longsword with a hilt in the form of a coiling dragon with small purple sapphire eyes. This is a present from her father and a minor family heirloom.

Though these items could be of some value, she cannot very well sell them without loss of face, and as she has gambled away or sold pretty much anything that she had with her of worth, Syjahel is currently rather poor and not too proud to take on paid work. It’s that or run home to father for money.

Character Class: Warrior

Character Background: Syjahel, born Syjahelle, daughter of Kherandis Vasht, a nobleman of Clar Karond, was the only girl child after the birth of seven sons. She grew up in an otherwise martial household and was quickly somewhat indulged by her father and older brothers, who thought her combination of ruthless violence and girlish femininity was rather cute (and would undoubtedly be useful to the family later). The jealousy of her younger brothers faded with the years as their own responsibility grew, and she was largely left to find her own entertainment.

Shortly after her twelfth birthday her mother Verana ran away with a Beastmaster, and in the resulting shame at failing to kill both the treacherous Lady and her traitorous lover, her father solaced himself with an extended raiding campaign in the Northern Wastes. Having already fought (and won) several honour duels over the outrageous suggestion that he failed to kill either his former wife or her lover because he is still in love with the faithless woman, Lord Kherandis’ household continue to find that this is a touchy subject. Syjahel has no real contact with her mother, but no real enmity either, since she was raised by servants in any case (like her brothers), and if questioned her response would likely be a shrug.

Lord Kherandis is an exacting father who demands high standards of his sons, but is also firmly of the belief that a great Druchii provides extensively for all of his household. None of the children has ever had to suffer material want, but his campaigning lifestyle often absents him from the family. While all of her brothers were able to follow in his footsteps here, for Syjahel it was a little more complicated. She grew up with a certain absence of parental control, fatherly indulgence and the occasional letter of advice and admonition on being a good (Druchii) girl.

All of which may explain the fact that when she reached 60, Kherandis’ cherished daughter dropped the last –le from her name for the more masculine-sounding Syjahel, ‘borrowed’ her shortest brother’s old battle-gear and insinuated herself into a summer raiding party on its way North, taking great care to make good use of night masks, shading cloaks, careful lacing and a pugnacious attitude to assist in her disguise of her gender. Everyone knew Kherandis had a lot of sons; no surprise if they couldn’t quite place which one of the brood this young lad was.

This went rather well, as she had learned how to fight and could use her natural instinct for duplicity as easily for planning an ambush as for tricking a servant. If the majority of her stratagems came from old texts rather than experience in the field, they worked, and Syjahel was on her way to earning the respect of the warband.

It didn’t last of course; it never does. The first time she was seriously wounded, the armour had to be stripped from her barely-conscious body and she knew she would be given away. Quick thinking and the promise of certain consolation not normally available in the front line ensured that her rescuer kept her secret, but she had to return home at the first break in the fighting, giving a family summons as an excuse.

With a little more mature reflection, disguise is clearly not the way to go, whatever the stories may tell you. Syjahel has decided that as the child of the great Lord Kherandis, she can hardly be expected not to fight. And of course, whereas the natural outlet of such warlike pleasures would be to sail as a Corsair, surely no loving father would allow his little girl to go to sea without a little experience of fighting under her belt? That just wouldn’t be safe. While the day will likely come when Kherandis will no longer be swayed by a combination of tricky doubletalk and girlish pouting, it hasn’t happened yet.

And so Syjahel is out looking for adventure to fill her time, whet her appetite for new experiences and provide tales of her own to tell, not exactly with her father’s blessing, but this time not in secret, either. Perhaps it will be safer that way

… perhaps not.

CHARACTER STATS:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4 - fatherly indulgence in fencing and peacetime training do not make for a perfect soldier, but she has paid attention to learning wherever she can.
Strength (S): 3 - Syjahel is a warrior despite her family wish for it to be otherwise, so she has had to make her own opportunities for training. This and her size have limited her strength.
Toughness (T): 2 - not that tough, for the same reasons.
Dexterity (D): 5 - if you can’t go for strength, she reasons, make the most of speed.
Intelligence (I): 4 - not a genius, perhaps not Sorceress material, but Syjahel is smart. She’s just a little reckless and occasionally immature.

STARTING EQUIPMENT

Warrior: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour

STARTING SKILLS

None (Warrior)

_____________________________________________________________________

Player name: Meteor

Character name: Jacks

Gender: Male

Height/Weight: 160cm/60kg

Age: 205

Other Descriptions: Slim and well built, pure black hair, dark brown eyes and slightly tanned skin. Cautious, unsocial, finds things troublesome but still does them, hard personality but soft heart. A scar down the right shoulder.

Class: Shade

Background: Jacks wasn't born with a personality of that like his kindred, he didn't possess the murderous instinct his fellow kindred had. That joy of stealing, maiming, killing, murdering. It was an odd emotion to Jacks, alien almost, he didn't understand that joy, the rest of his family and brethren laughed at his abnormality. His mother loathed him, regretting to had raised such a useless child. "Why didn't I sacrifice you to the Witch Elves over your brother" Jacks always could hear her mumble under her breath. If his father ever felt the same way, he never showed. As such, Jacks grew to also resent his mother, fights and curses would fill the house often at night when either Jacks or his mother lost their temper, boiling down to a murderous clash of weapons and bolts. It was the only time Jacks felt he understood that distasteful instinct his kin took pride in as his respect for his mother trickled away like water in a cracked basin. His father would often intervene and quell the fighting, Jacks was always thankful for that, he grew tired hearing his mothers voice, that banshee's screech like a witch elf at night, but he despised losing himself to that hatred and anger the most.

As such, he was rarely ever approached by others during his schooling life, except for the occasion when a fellow shade peer would try and murder him. Such was the way life worked, every day his number of peers would dwindle as they were assassinated in the night or killed in a spar. No matter how many times his fellow kin tried to end his so called miserable life, none of them ever got close with their daggers or bolts. They instead, were the ones ruthlessly and efficiently killed off instead. Jacks had no problems killing his fellow kin, them firing the first bolt, making the first cut, was reason enough. He found it disgusting how his peers killed each other senselessly, for no other reason than it being funny and being the way they were raised and taught. Over a period of a hundred years, his peers eventually had learn not to underestimate Jacks' so called timid personality, and eventually only the most foolish and arrogant students dared to try and assassinate him.

His father had taught him well when he was a young one, his mother taught him very little and had even stopped teaching him after she begun to despise him, hence he was sent off to the academy rather than live and hunt with the rest of his family. Fortunately Jacks' father continued to personally tutor him, though whether he was just trying to get rid of him was debatable, since Jacks often was forced to 'spar' with his father, weaponless, whilst his father ambushed him in full gear out in the wilds during missions when such opportunities would permit. As such, Jacks had learn to conceal small daggers and throwing pins in and around his clothing and body that no one could find no matter how thorough their search of him was.

During his next thirty years in the academy, he met a fellow peer named Tiarra who he found to be reliable and of a less insane mind. She was the only elf who bothered to learn about him, who was curious about his so called abnormality and accepted his ruthlessness despite his lack of an addiction for the killing. They worked well in missions for the academy, though Jacks didn't like the idea of developing any form of relationship with others, even if it was friendship, which was a very uncommon term. To Jacks, it developed unwanted emotions, carrying anything unnecessary was dead-weight, a liability in Jacks' book. Unnecessary emotions were part of such a category. He did however, develop an instinct to look out for Tiarra during their missions together, an undreamed of tactic called teamwork formed between them and their execution of actions were flawless and effortless. For the next fourty years, Jacks had finally understood and took pleasure in the emotion of joy that his other kin had always been experiencing, even though his trigger for such an emotion was far from what triggers the rest of his elven race.

At the age of 200 however, such fleeting moments of happiness evaporated. Jacks and his surviving peers were assigned tasks like usual, to determine their worthiness to retain the title of a Shade. Grouped into triplets for the sinister idea of inter and intra-group murders along the way, they were each assigned a task, from bumping off a Noble in a position of power (obviously to the benefit of the examiners), to obtaining Black Dragon eggs in the nearby wastelands for the Beastmasters. Jacks and Tiarra grouped together with a third peer named Leifon who had attempted to assassinate Jacks multiple times in the past. She was the only opponent who Jacks had no interest in slaying for her efforts. Their task took them far off to the coast where for the next four years they stood watching the movements of a High Elf band that was gathering. They often ambushed their supplies to restock, Leifon and Tiarra would occasionally go beyond the necessity and slay a score of the wretches and set camps on fire where possible. Jacks would join the fray from time to time. It was during this one time in the night where Jacks didn't follow Leifon and Tiarra on to sabotage another supply train, that Jacks had much to resent and regret. Hours had gone by since the disappearance of the pair, the fire on their campsite was reduced to its last few embers before Leifon appeared without Tiarra. Leifon led Jacks to the scene immediately, upon arrival at the site, there lay Tiarra slain amidst the bodies of their hated cousins. Grief struck Jacks hard, but as he bent low over Tiarra's broken body, Jacks immediately recognised the fatal wound dealt to Tiarra as Leifon's doing. He recognised it immediately after over 150years in the academy with her. No sooner had he come to this realisation did Leifon strike at Jacks also. Their duel went on for an hour, "no wonder Leifon had taken so long to return to the camp!" Jacks realised. But this time around, Leifon was proving the better combatant, Jacks had taken her too lightly for the past failures of hers. She managed to scar his right shoulder before she fled the scene, realising that she wasn't going to kill Jacks in his fit of rage. Tiarra surprisingly, was still alive, barely. Her last breath left soft words that would remain engraved in Jacks' heart till he died, it altered his way of thinking. He took up the hairpin she passed him, it was a clever spring loaded contraption that fired pins. It was a useful gift he treasured that he never allowed parted from his, lest it suffered the same cruel fate his friend's body did.

He abandoned his task, his team had gathered sufficient intel to satisfy the examiners regardless. His heart now hardened, he begun the hunt for Leifon, taking joy in nothing more than the anxiety and fear Leifon must be living in now, relishing in the maiming and killing of the one who brought the twisted joy that his kin lives by, to his life. After a year of searching, his hunt now has lead him to the city of Vikarh where he hopes to find clues to her whereabouts as he stops by to restock his camping supplies.

Stats: WS: 4
S : 2
T : 2
D : 5
I : 5

Equipment: Short Sword
Repeater Crossbow
Shade Cloak

Skills: Basic Stealth

______________________________________________________________________

Player name: Vaari

Charater name: Seijl Illydrien

Height/Weight - 6' 5'' -/77kg

Description - Of slight build with dark close cropped hair that is sporting a few flecks of white. Most notable are his facial scars, a small criss-cross on his right cheek from a bolt and a large gash that reaches from his temple, over the eye and down to the bottom of his left cheek. A drooping lid suggests blindness which is feigned by Seijl.

Age - 177

Character Class - Shade

Character Background:

There are some nights where Seijl curses the day of his true birth, thinking that it may have been better to have had his life drowned out by the blistering snow or crushed within the dreaded jaws of a wolf. Yet these moments of weakness are fleeting, the result of many long evenings of being left alone with his thoughts, all the while seeking his next prey to fixate on, for all that matters now is the hunt.

Seijl cares little for the Spire-dwellers and harbors little desire to spend time among his own shadowy brethren. But there is one thing that draws them together, that binds them to each other unlike any other cluster of Druchii. And that is their mutual grudge against the wastrel usurpers of Clar Karond. The city may hold little call for ones who have left the debauch halls for the whispering fringe, yet that slight upon their honor will not rest.

The isolation of the crags of the BlackSpire mountains have taken their toll on Seijl. Cold obsidian carved itself a niche out on his face, reminding him that not all dangers hold human form. Though far from intellectual, Seijl remains a canny creature keeping himself sharp, ever hunting, his keen feel it kiss their necks. The victory must be close in order for Deijl to taste if fullyl, there is no greater reward in this world for Seijl other than to have his enemies last breath caress his face.

For now, he waits for news, for needs of his service to his Lord or the richer fate, that of tracking down and silencing those who betrayed his clan kin. For as suited to the wilds Seijl maybe is, he is first a killer, who will gladly hunt his mark to wherever that may lead.

Character Stats

- WS 4 - - S 3 - - T 3 - - D 4 - - I 4 -


Equipment

Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.

Skills

Basic Stealth

______________________________________________________________________


Name: Cananatra

Height and weight: 6.0 120Ibs

Age: 146

Other descriptions: Average build male, blue eyes, shoulder length black hair bound at the nape of his neck, small scar above right eye.

Character class; Warrior

Character background,


Cananatra’s childhood was spent as any of normal Druchii birth. He lived in the Viper mountains, ruled by Lord Varak. His father was a corsair who spent most of his time raiding. His mother was a maker of light leather armour. At the age of 132 he was conscripted into a raiding party formed by Lord Varak. Its destination, the jungles of Lustria and the riches hidden within.
Shortly after disembarking from the ship that carried them there the reason for so few corsair raids became evident. The dense Lustrian jungle was a natural death trap. It was a week of hacking through the underbrush before the true horrors of this land revealed themselves. Up to this point quicksand and large jungle predators had been the main worry. Now with the temperature rapidly rising the flies became deadly. They carried all manner of fatal diseases and more than one Druchii was left where he fell as his organs slowly shut down.
Cananatra’s luck was not to hold out either. Within days he was struck by a fever. To fall was to die so he agonisingly kept pace with the rest of the raiding party. Slowly but surely his uncommonly strong immune system fought back and defeated the pathogen. After three days of delirium his thoughts eventually cleared and he realised only half of the originally four hundred strong group remained.
Over the next two weeks of travel he fell ill three more times yet each time his body survived and each time the numbers of his comrades dropped. After three weeks they were nearing their destination. Or so Lord Varak said. This was when they were ambushed. Small reptiles, barely three foot tall attacked from all sides. Most of their darts and javelins bounced harmlessly off the well forged Druchii armour but the few that found their marks caused the injured to cry out in pain and fall from relatively minor wounds. Poison. Seconds later larger more fearsome beasts attacked.
The Druchii stood no chance. The fifty which had got this far were being massacred. With one final contemptuous look at Lord Varak Cananatra sprinted into the jungle. A skink rose up before him and fired a dart just as his spear pierced its chest, not stopping to pull free the spear he dropped it and continued running. The dart had embedded itself in his forehead just above his right eye. He angrily tore it out and ran on.
The trees before him blurred and he almost fell but once again his immune system kicked in, breaking down the deadly venom before it could kill him. Dropping his shield he ducked and weaved through the jungle for as long as he could. At last satisfied he had temporarily shaken any who may have been pursuing him he set off back for home.
Thinking the next three weeks that perhaps a life in the army wasn’t for him. When he returned he’d try his own luck.

{Group 12}
After he arrived back in bleak Vikarh he quickly found what must be a useful job as part of a small corsair crew. Hired by a captain Zace, he set out across the sea and they quickly fell upon their first victim. However these turned out to be raiders themselves, obscene followers of chaos. The battle was swift and bloody but in the end the ruthless Druchii succeeded. Cananatra himself taking the head of the Chieftain and coming out of the fight with some nice loot.
They soon decided to return to the city to resupply before setting out on another mission Zace had planned. Unfortunately, the captain seemed to have fallen afoul of the cities criminal underworld and though Cananatra and his compatriots were allowed free, Zaces’ punishment can only be imagined.

{Group 20}
Freshly out of the job Cananatra once again set off on the road of the wandering mercenary and as luck would have it another job soon arose. To rescue the daughter of a druchii noble. This brought conflict with filthy Scaven who had ambushed the carriages the lady travelled in. After a short but bloody battle the nobles daughter was saved and returned. This noble then offered another job, a supposedly well paying job. The only hitch, it was a ghost that needed killing. While travelling through the haunted manor the ghost threw many strange illusions at the group. Its powers were not limited to illusion either.
Hordes of rotting corpses assailed the group and almost took their lives. Soon after enchanted books, transforming into giant birds attacked causing the company to once again fight for their lives. The group was transported to a sweltering desert between armies and at long last they faced the ghost. Only to be told their employer’s daughter was a follower of chaos and needed to be killed. Clearing out the cult they made an enemy of her father but escaped with their lives. Once again, out looking for a job.


Original stats:

WS:4
S:3
T:5
D:4
I:3

Equipment: Long sword, Throwing Axe, Shield, Medium Armour, Chaos Amulet

Skills: defensive fighting

Previous experience: Groups, 12, 20, 26. Moderator of 24.

_____________________________________________________________________


Name: Carathyle Maveric
Height/weight: Average Elf
Age: 89
Other: Short black hair, combined with blood red eyes and muscled build. He has 4 tattoo's on each of his limbs, mostly being interrupted by scars. 2 Star dragons on his lower back as a tattoo, a black dragon on his chest, the tattoo's on his limbs are small, tribal runes, all 4 without meaning.
Equipment: Well maintained armor which is decorated with gold and silver, Long Sword, Shield, Black cloak.
Class: Warrior

Background:
Being a High noblemen's son of birth, Carathyle was always interested in becoming a noble Protector of Naggarond. His father, under the order of malekith, sent his son toward the Witch King. Carathyle, being forced into the army at the age of 50, was before this age badly treated by his father. Feeling a grudge toward him, Carathyle wasn't planning on setting a foot on his own lands. Unfortunately his first order was to get rid of his own father, at their private residence in Har Ganeth. Suprised that this order came from Malekith himself, Carathyle knew that he needed at least a few extra men, knowing that his father always has a small armed force near himself. The men he got were inexperienced and expendable, even in Carathyle's eyes. The journey to Har Ganeth was long from Naggarond, and after days of walking without stopping the small force set foot within the city. While he knew the town like the back of his hand, he knew that his father had betrayed the people of his city, making them suffer so he would gain even more gold.

'Cover up your weapons until we're inside the actual residence of my father.' He whispered toward the men behind him. He pulled his cloak over his armor and walked toward the residence while looking around if he saw his father anywhere. All the people who saw Carathyle recognized him without a problem, and greeted him kindly. 'Why are you back in town, young master?' Some of the civilians asked. 'I'm here for business.' Carathyle said short while he kept on walking. Within a few minutes he stood before the large home where he used to live. The gates were open and guard were in front of the door. Carathyle walked up to the guards and stopped walking. His men, who kept following him as ordered, stopped behind him. 'Halt! Who are you and what is your business here?!' One of the guards said while pointing the spear toward Carathyle. 'My name is Carathyle Maveric, I wish to speak to my father.' he stated knowing that they won't let him inside. The guards looked at each other. After a few words they both pointed their spears toward Carathyle. 'You are not allowed to be here, leave at once or pay with your life!' they spoke at the same time. Carathyle kept standing still. The guards of his father lacked training, and skills with their weapons. As a child he fought with them for fun, and he was evenly matched back then. Now he had training in real combat, and he was assured of his victory by this fact. One of the guards was tired of Carathyle and charged the noble soldier. Carathyle stepped aside, knowing that the other would attack next. He grabbed the spear with one hand with such strength that he couldn't lose grip of it. The other guard charged in but was kicked away by one of his men. Carathyle pulled the spear out of the guards hands, throwing him down by tackeling him. He then slammed the spear point through the helmet of the guard, piercing both the helmet and the skull of the guard. His men killed off the remaining guard and then went inside.

Carathyle threw off his robe and grabbed the longsword by the handle, while walking inside. The men followed him, while unshedding their swords and wielding their shields. Without hesitation Carathyle walked up to the room where his father had to be and kicked the door open. His father, who was in the room, looked up and saw with great suprise his own son standing there. Carathyle unshetted his sword and walked up to the Noblemen who was his father and stopped walking. The look in his eyes said enough and he made himself ready to stab his father through the heart. 'Carathyle, drop the sword, you are surrounded by my guards.' his father spoke. Carathyle looked around him. The guards were there. "How could I have missed them?" went through Carathyle's mind. The guards lunged toward Carathyle, yet were interrupted by the soldiers that were with Carathyle. The soldiers and the guards fought, yet the battle was going one way. Carathyle, still knowing that his father was infront of him, quickly slashed his sword through the body of his father, who fell to the floor and stopped breathing. Carathyle then turned to his men and took a few of the guards out, but with a price that had to be paid. One of the guards got the better of Carathyle, and managed to get his sword into Carathyle's shoulder, while being pierced by the blade of the noble soldier.

Forgetting about the pain that he had because of this attack, he turned around, seeing that 3 of his men have lost their lives, while taking the guards with them. Only he and 1 of his soldiers were left alive. Carathyle, who was still suffering of the wound, grabbed his sword out of the dead body and shetted it. Hearing to footsteps behind him that were coming toward him at charging speed, he duck while grabbing one of the swords from the ground and turning around to see what was coming toward him. The soldier that was still alive, rose his sword and threw it with all his force toward Carathyle, who threw the sword that he picked up in front of it. Barely managing to keep the attacking blade at a distence, he quickly decided to take the blade of the soldier away. By putting all his force into his legs he jumped up, throwing the soldier off of his feet. Now he stood and charged toward the soldier, who wasn't expecting this turn of events. The soldier pointed the sword toward Carathyle, and covered his face for the blow. Carathyle, seeing this in a blink of an eye, jumped out of the way and stabbed the soldier in his neck, causing him to bleed and sufficate to death. He threw the blade that he wielded away and walked out of the house toward the stable. He requested a horse and he got one. To the salesman who gave him the horse he told of the event that just happend in the house, knowing that they will be better off now that his father is dead. On the horse he rode back to Naggarond to report the success of the mission.

Character Ambitions:
Is willing to train till he has mastered the art of fighting with two weapons, rather than a shield and a sword.
Skill wishlist:
Two Weapon Fighting
Ambidexterity
Climb
Acrobatics

WS:4
S:4
T:3
D:4
I:3
Equipment:(if I get this right)
2 Longswords, medium armour.

Name: Kykysh Korpikiandi

Sex: Female

Age: 127

Height: 7' 2"

Weight: 96lbs

Character Class: Mage

Character Statistics: WS:5 S:2 T:2 D:5 I:5

Starting Equipment: Staff; Robe; Storm Cloak

Starting Skills: Power of Azyr (2); Evasion

Description;

Standing at 7 foot 2 inches, Kykysh is exceptionally tall even by Druchii standards. Though she appears almost skeletally thin, she has been 'well made' with slender, graceful limbs and the feline agility of a natural predator. Under high-pointed eyebrows, dark grey eyes rest easily atop a long nose. She has high cheek bones, faintly blue, wiry lips and a barbed smile. Her skin is very pale but with a greyish cast.

Kykysh wears no jewellery or other metal trinkets as these would interfere with her magical abilities (lightning etc). A simple, deep-purple dress covers her elongated form, which splits at the hips leaving her legs, arms and most of her back, bare. Tight black leather vambraces cover her forearms and wrists. Kykish also wears thigh-high black leather boots with flat soles and two-inch heels. Strangely, for any Druchii female, particularly a Sorceress, Kykysh has had her head totally shaved of hair and wears a mages skull-cap in it's place.

Background;

Though Kykysh never knew her father, her mother, Modrane, one of the most eminent Sorceresses outside the Convent of Ghrond, has insinuated that he was a rogue mage of some particular talent. Particularly that of thunder and lightning, coupled with Modrane's own command of the elements, made their daughter a force to be reckoned with. Alas, she never knew her father and what little she had pieced together nobody liked to talk about.

From a young age, even before she had passed a single year of life, it was obvious that this child had magical talent. As Kykysh grew from infancy into adolescence, the child prodigy was schooled in the ways of magic by her mother, who treated her more like an apprentice than a daughter. The two would often partake in mock duels together. Modrane, alongside her elemental mastery could manifest shadows to her will and give them physical form to knock through doors and tear down buildings alike.

Her daughters talents, though unharnessed and no less brilliant, lay in other areas of proficiency. Nevertheless, Modrane taught her daughter everything she would need to know for when she entered the school of Ghrond.

When she came of age, Kykysh left her mothers tutelage to attend magic school and begin her training to become a fully-fledged battle-field sorceress. Even here, it was clear, that their latest neophyte was gifted in the arcane arts. However, it was many years of diligence and hard work before Kykysh even displayed a fraction of her true potential. But when she did display that fraction, it was met with a mixed response.

Her superiors were clearly pleased, but as ever with people who were talented or clearly superior, there were those who grew jealous and plotted against them. And so it was, just a few days after Kykysh's moderate display of her natural talents, two pupils of higher standing confronted her and, judging by the hatred lit in their faces, they meant to kill her.

The duel, if it could be called such, didn't last terribly long. They pelted her with magical blasts, pushing into her defences or pulling her from within, but each assault was almost idly deflected aside or reflected back upon the caster. These were mere cantrips which posed no threat to Kykysh. But when the two combined their magical might for a new assault, Modrane's daughter was compelled to take severe action. Holding her staff tight she held it aloft and, clenching her teeth, she cast her mind unto the heavens above to call down an ungodly maelstrom upon her foes.

Just as she was ready to release her spell, however, a powerful magical barrage assaulted her wards. With the power of the wind, she funnelled the magic into her staff and coalesced all three of their combined magics into a single magical well – she had no choice but to contain the volatile magic, otherwise the blast would have killed her. Alas, she did not have absolute control and that magic exploded outwards, instantly evaporating the two apprentices and shattering the vast chamber walls under a deluge of bolts. Kykysh was sent sprawling as the explosion battered at her defensive wards, her brain was ravaged with unbearable pain and her body burned with exhaustion.

She was never the same after that incident…

Ambitions;

Kykish wishes to become a powerful sorceress and gain a seat on in Ghronds Inner Circle (ie, become one of the Six High Sorceresses). She seeks knowledge in the arcane arts above all else, to master the school she is proficient in and learn the art of wind-walking (also, like her mother, to practice other magics so she may dual or even triple-wield several lores at once).


_________________
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

Arch Deacon of the RPG forum
Gentleman of Moderation


Last edited by Drainial on Mon Jan 28, 2013 5:06 pm, edited 7 times in total.



Tue Dec 08, 2009 9:25 pm
Profile
Scourge
Scourge
User avatar

Joined: Mon Nov 01, 2010 9:05 am
Posts: 656
Location: A torture dungeon in Suffolk
Post 
The following five players make up group 30:

Username: Varaken

Name: Malthang Ravensbane

Gender: Male

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 11 Stone

Age:114 years old

Physical Appearance: Tall, lean with jet black hair, deep green eyes and dressed in the typical brown and black leathers of his clan, Malthang looks like a stereotypical shade at first glance but upon closer inspection there are marks that tell him apart from the rest of his kin. A delicate but pronounced scar runs in a straight line from the left side of his forehead over his eye, stopping just short of his nose and a subtle, faded tattoo of a raven stretches across his face. The wings spread wide across his cheeks, the talons on his chin and the beak reaching skywards on his forehead.

Class: Shade

Background: Malthang found refuge in the city after being exiled from his tribe for killing a rival for his lover in hand to hand combat outside of the tribe's Ritual Ring. Escaping from that combat relatively unscathed bar the scar running across his face. He was forced to flee, the Eldars not believing that it was his rival that attacked him first. Prior to his ignoble discharge from the tribe, he was an apprentice hunter, stalking through the shadows of the forests looking for prey for both food and sport. He became adept at shooting targets on the move, earning his name of Ravensbane and his tattoo in the annual trials after shooting a raven from the sky at 300 paces. Now, he makes a meagre living stealing from drunken purses and extorting from the weaker members of society earning enough to get by but not enough to begin to enact his revenge on those who took everything from him...

Stats:

WS: 4
S: 3
D: 4
T:3
I: 4

Equipment:

Shortsword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

Skills:

Basic Stealth
Wilderness Lore



Username: The Buoyancy of Water

Name: Lenya Talos

Height and Weight: 5'10" 132lb

Age: 157

Class: Shade

Description: Standing at roughly average height, Lenya would not stand out in a crowd. Her thin face is framed by long black hair with several deep red streaks running through that match the colour of her eyes. The only visible imperfection is a white scar that curves from just above her left eye to her jaw line.

Lenya is normally wrapped up in her cloak, the only weapon visible the repeater crossbow slung across her back. When her cloak is pushed back over her shoulder the dark red corset-style top she wears is revealed, decorated with several small hooks that hang from short chains. A part from her cloak Lenya prefers well fitted clothes that do not hinder her movements, wearing black trousers and a long sleeved shirt under her red top.

Background: Lenya was born into the Talos family, a small noble family with limited political influences, as the youngest of three sisters. Though a minor family, hers still followed the traditions of teaching it's sons and daughters how to fight with sword and crossbow and it was these lessons that taught Lenya what she currently knows. She didn't take so well to her lessons in subjects such as history and politics, for a yearning to carve her name through the lands had been awoken during her combat lessons. Her desire to escape the noble life was heightened as she watched her sisters grow older.

To them, learning to use a blade was unnecessary and they preferred spending time attempting to improve their political standings. Eventually they both married into other families and settled down to a life that seemed mind numbingly dull to Lenya. Shortly after her second sister left the family mansion she decided to run away from home and start a new life. And so, one rain-swept night, she grabbed her prepared weapons and flitted past the house guards using the skills of stealth she had recently learnt.

It is not long since she escaped her family house, though her stolen funds are currently running low. As such Lenya now seeks work as a mercenary to fund her escape from the city.

Character Stats:

WS: 4
S: 3
T: 2
D: 4
I: 5

Equipment: Shade Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak.

Skills: Basic Stealth.



Character Name: T’Keela Darkspine

Character Height/Height: 6’/65kgs

Character Age:160

Character Class: Warrior

Character Stats:
WS(4)S(3)T(3)D()I(4)

Equipment:
Long Sword, Shield(If mod doesn’t mind can I just not have the shield. More baggage to carry, besides T’Keela’s arm might cramp up if he has to lug it around all day.=]), Light Armour.

Skills: None.

Character Description:

T’Keela like all Druchii is lithe and muscular. His facial features are of a noble stock that hearkens back to a time when his people had much nobler intentions. He is every bit the cruel, manipulative, backstabbing creature his people are known to be and the these dark aspects of his personality were refined by his noble upbringing. His pale blue eyes are as cold as Naggaroth herself and look upon those he considers lesser than himself with contempt and those above him with hatred and his long, black hair is worn loose. T’Keela has survived by his ruthlessness and will to better himself, as far as social status is concerned anyway, though he has proved time and time again to be his own worst enemy, his impetuous nature and sarcastic wit often getting the better of him.

Character Background:

T’Keela’s armour was worth a noble’s ransom however in its current condition it was worth little more than the dirt on the bottom of his feet. Previously its surface had been lacqured black with golden trim and yet the priceless suit was now rent and torn asunder and had been cast to the floor, the noble whom short moments before proudly war was little more than a bloody wreck. He spat thick, syrupy blood from his mouth and yet the defeated noble still found the strength to mock his captors, “Ten against me and my brother,” a fit coughs interrupting his words, “I will have my revenge. Count on it.”
“Ohh such delightful hatred,” mocked a voice of serpents, clapping as his armoured footsteps echoed off the stone walls, “I am sure your father would be proud of his youngest son, T’Keela Darkspine’s, endless valour and defiance.” Tyr Coldspite stood before the fallen noble and with pure hatred written on his face, he brought his armoured knee crashing into the face of the Darkspine son’s face.
T’keela’s last thoughts were hatred and revenge even as blackness consumed him, he smiled…

***

“Uhh?” groaned T’Keela as he came to on a musky stone floor and to the sound of hushed whispers echoing off the stone walls.
“Well after Tyr knocked you out, the remainder of our House’s troops were stripped of their weapons and armour and thrown into this lovely little slice of heaven you find yourself in now,” replied the voice in the dark, “two guards have been coming down increasingly often and taking two of us at a time. Mostly like to the flesh gallery of Tyr but who knows.”
“Get up you two the Lord wants a word,” commanded a voice from outside the cell and a sudden burst of light briefly bewildered the prisoners who had become accustomed to the dark.
“Come little brother looks like it’s our turn,” spoke the elf he had been speaking too, an edge of defiance to his voice and more quietly he whispered, “I hope you have a plan for getting out of here.”
T’Keela didn’t bother to reply he simply walked over to the doorway and stepped out into the lit corridor of the dungeon behind the form of his brother Durion. His calculating blue eyes searched the room looking for anything that would potentially save him and his siblings life, well at least his own life. He saw two helmets, lacqured purple sitting on a nearby table and noted with a smile that neither one of the cell guards had their helmets on but aside from their unprotected heads they wore the uniform of house Darkspine, complete with a long sword buckled on the hip opposite your sword hand and dagger sheathed below it. “Khaine grant me the privilege to gift you with another’s head and blood in place of mine,” prayed T’Keela. One of the escort guards took up a position in front with Durion behind him, followed by T’Keela and the final guard.
The entourage of guards and prisoners stepped out of the lower dungeon and onto the first basement floor, which thankfully was deserted, aside from great stacks of looted wine and salted meat. Closing the gap between him in the guard behind by slowing his steps, T’Keela suddenly grabbed the dagger with his right hand and spun to the left and with a quick motion thrust the dagger through the guard’s lower jaw and through the roof of his mouth. His brother jumped into action the moment he heard T’Keela make his move, stuffing his left hand into the second guard’s mouth and swore an oath to Khaine when the guard bit down on his fingers, drawing the dagger at the guard’s waist with his right hand and before thrusting it through the struggling guard’s armpit and into his heart. T’Keela had field stripped the guard he had slain and was buckling on his armour as he walked over to his brother and advising, “Next time maybe sticking your hand down his throat might not be the best tactic?”
“Next time I’ll just let the bastard scream then will I?” retorted Durion, removing the guards helmet and savagely kicking him in the face. T’Keela just shrugged and slung his dead guard over his shoulder and carried him off behind containers and turned back to the staircase from which they had recently ascended and their still imprisoned fellows with his brother close behind.
“Those nobles are hungry for entertainment tonight,” spoke the gaoler to the left of the cell door as T’Keela rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs.
Walking over to the two guards at the door, T’Keela replied, “Them and me both, brother.”
Remembering his oath to Khaine he drew the sword from his hip and brutally seperated the guards head before he could react. Durion choose a slightly less bloody method and quickly approached and then punched the second guard in the throat, tore off his helmet and with a heavy blow managed to bury the dagger up to the hilt in the elf’s skull.
“What happened to tact, little brother?” probed Durion.
T’Keela shrugged in reply and sheathed his sword, before he dropped into a crouch over the headless guard, plucked a ring of keys from his belt and tossed them to his brother, “Free the other two and get them to put the guards uniforms on,” pausing to find the severed head, drew his dagger and carved the Rune of Khaine into his brow, “then throw the bodies in the cell.”
Placing the severed head over the door frame, T’Keela turned and found the two freed elves and his brother standing before him, one of the former captives addressing him, “You seem to be the brains… so what is next? I am Maerl and this is Nahrul.”
“First make sure there is no blood on your armour. We will go and alert the other guards that the four prisoners have escaped and left the bodies of their guards in the dungeon,” T’Keela paused and consider the rest of his plan, “ideally we should be able to escape amongst the confusion as long as we can pull off posing like some of the guards.”
Without waiting for rebuke or remark T’Keela ran up the stairs, the other three Druchii following close behind. As they headed out of the cellar and found themselves on the first floor landing, T’Keela thanked Khaine, to the left of the stairwell they had ascended out of was two large wooden double doors, the only entrance and exit out of Tyr’s compound. As the four elves clattered to a stop, chests heaving under their armour with exertion, a battle scarred Druchii with gilded pauldrons turned and glared murderously at the four elves before him. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you louts not at your post?” he demanded.
T’Keela could have danced at his luck, however he merely snapped to attention and his three fellows quickly following suit, “My lord we went to the dungeons to get the last four captives as they were running late,” T’Keela did his best to sound panicked and fearful of retribution, “we found the bodies of four other guards killed and stripped in their cell.”
Murder flashed across the lordling’s face and he quickly commanded the two guards at the door to follow him and as an after though turned to T’Keela and his companions, “Hasten to the front gate and warn the gate guards of the situation and then return here,” he paused and considered each one in turn and seemed to decide their explanation held up, “head back immediately and await further orders.”
As the group headed out the doors, T’Keela remarked to his fellows, “I didn’t think that would work at all.” Maerl and Nahrul just gaped at T’Keela with incredulous expressions and Durion simply laughed.
“Armed prisoners have escaped the dungeons!” cried T’Keela to the gate captain.
“Then what are you still doing here?” queried the suspicious captain.
“Escaping obviously,” replied T’Keela thrusting his sword through the astonished captain’s exposed throat, his brother and the two other elves quickly dealt with the remaing two guards and opened the gate. T’Keela was the first to step past the gate and close behind were Maerl and Nahrul who sped off down the street without a backwards glance and T’Keela went to set off after then but was stopped suddenly by a cry of pain and a sudden weight pulling at the bottom of his hem.
“Help me brother,” begged Durion, a bolt protruded from the back of his knee, a lucky shot no doubt.
With a glance at the dark shapes running from the gaping portal of Tyr’s tower, T’Keela shrugged in reply and severed his brother’s hand and ran for his life through the streets of Har Ganeth, cries of pain and outrage following his every step.

***

T’Keela eventually found that he faced a dead end and surprised himself by being glad for the reprieve. His flight from the Coldspite compound had been swift and he had spent little time or thought upon where he was going; only that it was away from his pursuers. Sitting down with his back against a wall T’Keela could not help but drift off to sleep; even against his better judgement.

***

He awoke the next morning and was surprised that he was still alive, for one does not sleep lightly on the streets of a dark elf city and live long, though he noticed with a start his purse had been cut and strangely enough the rest of his equipment was still emplace. It was still early and even though the sun did not shine upon the Dark Crag and a heavy rain had made the dark grey stone black; T’Keela had resided in Hag Graef for over one hundred and fifty years. Blacksmiths had begun heating the bellows and putting their best wares on display, the slavemasters had brought there produce to sell at the Pens and trade caravans of all size had begun to prepare for their slow, trudging journeys to the other Druchii cities. “Looks like if I want to survive I am going to have to leave the city,” muttered the disposed highborn to himself when he heard a wheezing breath to his right. Upon the ground was a soaked ball of material, shivering and coughing wrapped in a tattered and soaked cloak.
The deranged elf woke after a rough kick cracked several of his wizened old bones, “Ayaaaah! What be ye’ desire from old Sslyth, terrible masters?” croaked the blind destitute.
“Hand me your cloak peasant and I shall allow you to continue…wheezing,” commanded T’Keela, as if he had not taken notice of his sudden lack of station or more likely simply did not care.
“Sslyth smell ye shinies dark one,” the beggar grinned toothlessly and pointed at the helmet, “gift us ye shinies and I gift my silks.”
With a murderous glare the highborn handed the wretch his helmet and with a jump the old elf jumped out of his cloak and began whispering quietly to the vacated helmet. T’Keela paid little heed to the fact that the elf’s eyes had long since been removed, he threw his mouldy second hand cloak over his shoulders and continued on his way.
As he rounded another corner he almost walked into a heavily garbed man; silks and furs draped over his shoulders and a gold ring was stuffed onto each finger. “Careful little elf,” warned the trader, “I might skin you and wear you to Vikarh.”
“Vikarh?” smiled T’Keela, a plot growing in his mind, “Mayhap you need an additional guard? Free of charge of course.”
“Free?” questioned the elf, wrong footed by the dirty elf’s earnest tone, “I suppose it couldn’t do any harm. At any rate if you annoy me I’ll feed you to my steeds.” The trader turned on the spot and motioned for the caravan to move out.
T’Keela pulled his hood low over his face and set off trailing at the back of the caravan and smiled as he considered the prospect of Vikarh.

***

As the caravan left the city of Hag Graef, T’Keela noticed the bodies of two elves’ still garbed in stolen purple armour, spitted upon lances lining the road out of the city and offered little more than a nonchalant nod in their direction…



Name: Selkoreth Warpbane

Height: 7’

Weight: 250lbs

Age: 201

Class: Warrior

Description: A large and heavily built druchii, Selkoreth’s muscular body is dotted with scars, and he is missing his right eye, covering it with a rough leather eyepatch. Long, jet black hair frames worn and weather beaten features, with a pitiless grey eye the color of cold steel. He is clad in worn clothing, a somewhat tattered and heavily patched cape, and armor that, while obviously old and well used, is lovingly maintained.

Background: Selkoreth is a soldier, through and through, though that was not his original name. After spending a few years on a corsair ship, he then joined the army and began what should have been a promising career. Unfortunately, what he has in terms of physical strength and battle prowess is balanced out by a decided lack of tact and charisma. He believes that the true heritage of the druchii lies in its military might. A strong believer in discipline and the strong crushing and purging the weak, he finds himself disgusted with the druchii nobles. He sees their decadence and hedonism as a cancer, a rottenness that threatens to bring low the greatest people in the world in a way no outside enemy could hope to.

Unfortunately for him, he was a little too vocal about these feelings. A particularly spiteful noble caught wind of his attitude and took it as a personal insult. Maddened by outrage, the secretly planted anti-Malekith literature, as well as objects of chaos worship, in Selkoreth’s belongings, then “exposing” the traitor within their midst. When Selkoreth heard these accusations, he flew into a blind rage and, taking the noble by surprise, murdered him. This, unfortunately, appeared to all onlookers as an admission of guilt, and Selkoreth was forced to flee for his life. Having barely escaped capture, he new that there would be no where safe for him now. Feeling he had no other choice, and believing a worthy druchii should be able to endure any test or hardship in the glorious name of the Witch-King, put out one of his own eyes to help conceal his identity. He also constructed a new name, calling himself Selkoreth and taking the title “Warpbane”, from his experience fighting chaos marauders as a corsair.

Now even more though roughly convinced of the danger the nobler pose the his people, and the insult of their lifestyle to Malekith, Selkoreth new exactly where he had to go. Vikarh, the mercenary city. It was there that he would not only put his skills to use, earning gold and influence, but also entrench himself within the ranks of his enemies, gathering evidence against them. After all, Vikarh’s ruling class was rife with nobles of the type he despised. His previous experiences had also ensured that he would try to employ more subtlety (not his strongest suite), and not go blabbing his beliefs to just anyone. Such was his fanaticism, bordering on madness, that he believed when the time he would join together with those druchii who believed as he did and lead a great purge, backed by the support of Malekith himself. But until then, a mercenary's life it was.

Stats:
WS-5
S-5
T-4
D-2
I-2

Equipment: Longsword, shild, light armor

Skills: none



Character Name: Helkor Makolus.

Character Height and Weight: 6' 3" in height. 180 pounds.

Character Age: 270.

Other Descriptions: Helkor has dark skin for a Druchii and a grey eye, he wears a patch over his left, courtesy of Chaos Marauder. He has coarse brown hair that's shot through with grey that he keeps cut short. His body is lean with slab-like muscles. Thick veins stand out on his limbs, his hands are heavily calloused.

Helkor wears cheap but durable boots and clothing, he walks with a slouch as that hides his heavy frame and true height, giving him an edge. He has a tatoo on his right arm and left shoulder which bear his name and that of his old spear-unit and the words, "Honorably released from service."

Character Class: Warrior.

Character Background: Helkor was no haughty noble, he was the son of Druchii Farmer. As a Farmer in the cold climes of Naggaroth, life was hard and brutal and there were always things lurking on the edge of winter that were ready to eat an unarmed peasant, or worse.

When Helkor came of age he was taken away to serve North against the servants of Chaos. There he was exposed to the cruelty of the Witch Elves and Sorceresses he witnessed first-hand the Officer's lack of regard for their own troops, he survived the freezing summers and colder winters and held his place in the line against the howling horrors of Chaos until he was badly injured when their commander deserted them, breaking the line and allowing the Chaos Warriors to hack their way through. Helkor knew that they were dead if they broke, he also knew he wasn't that good own his own so he threw himself into the gap, thus buying time for his unit to close the line, hold and ensure that some of them survived. After that he was judged to be to badly injured to be of service and since he had't fled he was 'released'.

He returned home to find his Village gone because the Noble who ruled the area judged the Village to not have enough value to defend against a Chaos incursion, much less evacuate the inhabitants.

As such Helkor has nothing but contempt for the ideals of the Druchii nobles, let them boast of their superiority and how the inferior races must be killed. He and his Family had another Winter to survive. Helkor also hates the nobles because of the taxes they impose on the lower classes and how much of the food that his Family worked and bled to produce went to feed the nobles who wouldn't lift a finger to help them.

He regards the nobles with disgust for how they treat their own kind, and their depravity and brutality. As such Helkor has a wry sense of humor and regards the pretensions of the nobility and people in general as something to make sport of. He also has warped sense of honor and kindness as well as a deep directionless rage.

He's seen to much of the world to want to go back to farming and fighting's what he knows best, and by fighting he makes more money than he ever would on the Family's farm and he sends all but what coinage he needs to survive back home to support his aging Father, Mother and Siblings.

CHARACTER STATS:

Weapon Skill (WS): 4.
Strength (S): 4.
Toughness (T): 4
Dexterity (D): 3.
Intelligence (I): 3.




STARTING EQUIPMENT
Warrior: Long Sword, Shield, Light Armour.

STARTING SKILLS
Warrior: None.

Quick Note: Helkors military service as a Spear-Elf would mean he knew something of Tactics and holding his place in the formation but at the same time he's that great of an individual combatant, thus allowing him to get better with time and experience in that field as the RP progresses as well as explaining why he's the way he is



_________________
Veni, Vidi, Voro!!!

All things perish, this is the law of existence, accept your suffering and your mortality, only by using this truth, can you transcend it.


Tue Nov 30, 2010 1:10 pm
Profile
Malekith's Best Friend
User avatar

Joined: Sun Jul 17, 2011 11:39 pm
Posts: 1157
Location: Within the system, masked as a member
Post 
Smiler666:
Name: Valeth One-eye
Height: 6'9"
weight: 165 lb
Age: 502
Class: khainite
Description: Old, even by druchii standards (if 502 isnt old enough for that then please tell me and I'll up it), 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, but shows his true vigour when he enters combat, he is rarely seen without his walking stick.

Background: (Note: some things may have to change if he needs to be made older) 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 leader of the house, who was the Drachau of the city, 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 that a week out of port the sea was racked 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 died around him, now though the landing were 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 thats 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. Untill, 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 didnt 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 curreny 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 Valeths last thought as he dashed away from the temple...

----------------------------------
Stats:
WS - 4
S - 2
T - 2
D - 5
I - 5

-----------------------------------
Equiptment:
Shortsword
Dagger
Khaine, the cleverly named walking-stave (you wouldn't deprive an old man his walking stick would you? )

------------------------------------
Skills:
Two Weapon fighting
Uncontrollable Frenzy

_____________________________________________________________________

Fingol23
Character Name: Drasnir

Character Height and Weight: 6’3” and of average weight for an elf

Character Age: 93

Other Descriptions: Drasnir has unkempt shoulder length raven black hair and ice blue eyes. His face is dirty while his garb is stained and ragged.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: Drasnir’s earliest memories are of running errands in one of the city’s many flesh houses. He suspects that his father was one of the establishments clients but has no evidence to support his suspicion. After he received one beating too many from the proprietress of the flesh house he fled into the streets. Alone and lost he was soon attacked by one of the many groups of petty criminals which stalk the streets of Vikarh, desperate and with nothing to lose he fought and slew one of his attackers with a shard of broken glass. Impressed the gang’s leader offered Drasnir the dead elf’s place, an offer Drasnir accepted. Over the years Drasnir learnt all the skills of a thief, how to hide in shadows, how to open locks and how to dispatch bothersome guards. However a few days after his 93rd birthday Drasnir and his fellows attempted a heist more ambitious than any they had tried before. They had learnt that a certain highborn regularly attended a flesh house in the docks, taking only a small escort in an attempt to pass unnoticed and so arranged to ambush him. The ambush was successful although one of the noble’s retainers managed to escape with his life. Even while the group split the dead noble’s riches between themselves, laughing and smiling as they did so, the retainer was relating all that happened to the noble’s son. Over the next month the gang was hunted down and killed, one member at a time until only Drasnir remained. Seeking to escape the fate that pursues him Drasnir seeks service as a mercenary, hoping either to leave the city or at least to surround himself with strong arms who can protect him when the time comes.

Stats:
WS: 3
S: 3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 5

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

Skills: Basic Stealth
______________________________________________________________________


Minigrift(Nathra Severain)

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.



Weapon Skill: 5
Strength: 2
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 3
Equipment: Short Sword; Repeater Crossbow; Shade Cloak
Skills: Basic Stealth
______________________________________________________________________

If I am allowed to put my own as a PC or an NPC, then myself(Carathyle Maveric)

Name: Carathyle Maveric
Height/weight: 6'0", 120 lbs
Age: 175
Other: Short black hair, combined with blood red eyes and muscled build. He has 4 tattoo's on each of his limbs, mostly being interrupted by scars. 2 Star dragons on his lower back as a tattoo, a black dragon on his chest, the tattoo's on his limbs are small, tribal runes, all 4 without meaning.
Equipment: Well maintained armor which is decorated with gold and silver, Long Sword, Shield, Black robes.
Class: Warrior

Background:
Being a High noblemen's son of birth, Carathyle was always interested in becoming a noble Protector of Naggarond. His father, under the order of malekith, sent his son toward the Witch King. Carathyle, being forced into the army at the age of 50, was before this age badly treated by his father. Feeling a grudge toward him, Carathyle wasn't planning on setting a foot on his own lands. Unfortunately his first order was to get rid of his own father, at their private residence in Har Ganeth. Suprised that this order came from Malekith himself, Carathyle knew that he needed at least a few extra men, knowing that his father always has a small armed force near himself. The men he got were inexperienced and expendable, even in Carathyle's eyes. The journey to Har Ganeth was long from Naggarond, and after days of walking without stopping the small force set foot within the city. While he knew the town like the back of his hand, he knew that his father had betrayed the people of his city, making them suffer so he would gain even more gold.

'Cover up your weapons until we're inside the actual residence of my father.' He whispered toward the men behind him. He pulled his cloak over his armor and walked toward the residence while looking around if he saw his father anywhere. All the people who saw Carathyle recognized him without a problem, and greeted him kindly. 'Why are you back in town, young master?' Some of the civilians asked. 'I'm here for business.' Carathyle said short while he kept on walking. Within a few minutes he stood before the large home where he used to live. The gates were open and guard were in front of the door. Carathyle walked up to the guards and stopped walking. His men, who kept following him as ordered, stopped behind him. 'Halt! Who are you and what is your business here?!' One of the guards said while pointing the spear toward Carathyle. 'My name is Carathyle Maveric, I wish to speak to my father.' he stated knowing that they won't let him inside. The guards looked at each other. After a few words they both pointed their spears toward Carathyle. 'You are not allowed to be here, leave at once or pay with your life!' they spoke at the same time. Carathyle kept standing still. The guards of his father lacked training, and skills with their weapons. As a child he fought with them for fun, and he was evenly matched back then. Now he had training in real combat, and he was assured of his victory by this fact. One of the guards was tired of Carathyle and charged the noble soldier. Carathyle stepped aside, knowing that the other would attack next. He grabbed the spear with one hand with such strength that he couldn't lose grip of it. The other guard charged in but was kicked away by one of his men. Carathyle pulled the spear out of the guards hands, throwing him down by tackeling him. He then slammed the spear point through the helmet of the guard, piercing both the helmet and the skull of the guard. His men killed off the remaining guard and then went inside.

Carathyle threw off his robe and grabbed the longsword by the handle, while walking inside. The men followed him, while unshedding their swords and wielding their shields. Without hesitation Carathyle walked up to the room where his father had to be and kicked the door open. His father, who was in the room, looked up and saw with great suprise his own son standing there. Carathyle unshetted his sword and walked up to the Noblemen who was his father and stopped walking. The look in his eyes said enough and he made himself ready to stab his father through the heart. 'Carathyle, drop the sword, you are surrounded by my guards.' his father spoke. Carathyle looked around him. The guards were there. "How could I have missed them?" went through Carathyle's mind. The guards lunged toward Carathyle, yet were interrupted by the soldiers that were with Carathyle. The soldiers and the guards fought, yet the battle was going one way. Carathyle, still knowing that his father was infront of him, quickly slashed his sword through the body of his father, who fell to the floor and stopped breathing. Carathyle then turned to his men and took a few of the guards out, but with a price that had to be paid. One of the guards got the better of Carathyle, and managed to get his sword into Carathyle's shoulder, while being pierced by the blade of the noble soldier.

Forgetting about the pain that he had because of this attack, he turned around, seeing that 3 of his men have lost their lives, while taking the guards with them. Only he and 1 of his soldiers were left alive. Carathyle, who was still suffering of the wound, grabbed his sword out of the dead body and shetted it. Hearing to footsteps behind him that were coming toward him at charging speed, he duck while grabbing one of the swords from the ground and turning around to see what was coming toward him. The soldier that was still alive, rose his sword and threw it with all his force toward Carathyle, who threw the sword that he picked up in front of it. Barely managing to keep the attacking blade at a distence, he quickly decided to take the blade of the soldier away. By putting all his force into his legs he jumped up, throwing the soldier off of his feet. Now he stood and charged toward the soldier, who wasn't expecting this turn of events. The soldier pointed the sword toward Carathyle, and covered his face for the blow. Carathyle, seeing this in a blink of an eye, jumped out of the way and stabbed the soldier in his neck, causing him to bleed and sufficate to death. He threw the blade that he wielded away and walked out of the house toward the stable. He requested a horse and he got one. To the salesman who gave him the horse he told of the event that just happend in the house, knowing that they will be better off now that his father is dead. On the horse he rode back to Naggarond to report the success of the mission.

After this event, Carathyle wasn't sent anywhere by the army, until the day malekith wanted to attack Ulthuan once again. Carathyle, who was 100 years old at that moment, was ordered to clear the shores and take out most of the army stationed at these shores. So he set off, already feared by his fellow soldiers, with his own small army to take on the high elves. As they reached the shores, he ordered the ships that were under his control to fire upon the shores while they closed in on them. The bolt throwers that were mounted on the ships started to fire, but were silenced one by one by the claws and mouth of a star dragon that attacked the ships. Seeing this creature for the first time in his whole life, he was struck by both fear and joy. He feared the great creature because of it's chear size, yet again he felt joy for the only reason of the reward that he would gain when he killed it off.

When the stardragon charged his ship, Carathyle reacted by jumping toward the dragon and grabbing hold of it's claw. He climbed up against the dragon, finding himself face to face with a High Elf warrior. The High Elf slashed toward Carathyle, who evaded the blow with his body, yet his arm was scared by the sword. Carathyle quickly grabbed his sword and shield, making himself a lot more dangerous toward the High elf. Carathyle knew the power of their cousins and he set his mind on defeating the warrior in the name of the Dark Elves. He blocked the blows of his opponent with either his sword or his shield, yet some came through and scratched his armour. He quickly turned the tie against the elf, with strikes of both the metal shield and the sword, making it hard for the High Elf to keep his balance. After a long battle atop the dragon, the High elf forgot that he was open for a kick causing him to fall off of the dragon. Carathyle, aware of this fault, kicked his opponent, who fell off of the dragon. He then quickly jumped onto the neck of the dragon and slammed his sword into the spine of the dragon, making sure it fell to the ground. The dragon ended up in the sea however, and carathyle had to swim for his life.

Luckely for him the coast was nearby. Getting back onto land wasn't hard for the noble elf, what was facing him there was. The entire fleet that was sent as a vanguard was wiped out, with only a few survivers. Carathyle, exhausted from the fight with the warrior on the dragon, kneeled down on the floor. He couldn't defeat that force, not on his own, nor with the troops that survived. 4 High Elf Swordmasters walked toward Carathyle and his remaining troops to finish them off. They stood before the noble elf as they raised their swords. In synch with his brothers in arms, Carathyle lunged toward the swordmasters, piercing their armeour with a single blow to their heart. The large swords of the swordmasters fell into the sand, while Carathyle and his men grabbed hold of the bodies of the dead swordmasters.

Carathyle and the remains of his army charged forward while holding the bodies as shields. "We will take this shoreline, or die trying it!" was the thought that went through his mind. He came close to the warriors, knowing that he probably would die if he wasn't prepared. He threw the dead body into the group ahead of him and jumped into the group, cutting 5 soldiers down at a time. He was alert on all enemies and knew their actions. He blocked every blow, he killed every soldier, till none were left standing. His actions didn't leave him unscared, and he bled more then he thought. The shore was safe and he felt broken because of the heavy fighting he did in the past half hour. His breathing sped up and his injuries were taking the best of him and he could barely stand. An hour passed and Carathyle sat there, looking at the sky while thinking. The black Arc that was intended to support the attack arrived on shore and the troops rushed out onto the shore. The commander of the Black arc, Coreth of Hag Graef, stepped up to Carathyle and grabbed him by his shoulder. 'I saw what you did. It was very brave of you to take on a High Elf prince on a Star Dragon, Your name is Carathyle if I recall it correct. You may rest aboard my Black Arc, and have those wounds treated, they look bad.' He helped Carathyle up and walked with him back onto the black arc. Here were his wounds treated and he was laid to rest until his was fully recovered.

After the battle of Ulthuan, the dark elves were driven once again from the land of the High elves. But not all of them. In the confusion of the battle, Carathyle, now at the age of 150, took the life of one of the phoenix guards that was helping in the attack from closeby, and took his equipment to blend in with the High Elves. He didn't take any of the lives of his brothers in arms, yet with the high elves he was rewarded for holding off hundreds of them. He was returned to Ulthuan and as first of the Dark elves managed to actually set foot in the great city. He was welcomed by the people of Ulthuan, along with the rest of the army of High Elves. He felt strange, he was inside Ulthuan, as a Dark Elf who was disguised as a High Elf. He was sent on relief that day for his "Heroic" act of bravery and valor, but Carathyle refused. 'I would rather become a prince that fights along side you.' He spoke. 'We lost one of our Dragonriders in the first part of the assault. He was killed by one of their soldiers who was quite the athletic. His dragon died with him unfortunately.' The commander spoke. 'They hold back for nothing, it's a shame one of our fine soldiers died in battle, especially at their hands.' Carathyle reacted. 'If I recall this right, there are new dragon hatchlings, if you are allowed, you can become a dragon rider. If the dragon accepts you that is.' The commander spoke, while he sent Carathyle to the Dragon Hatchlings.

Carathyle kneeled near the hatchlings and looked at them. Carathyle had picked up his own armour, except his shield and emblem, and looked closely at the dragon's. 'We got ourselves some nice hatchlings this time.' spoke the handler. Carathyle stood up and looked at the elf who spoke. 'I wish to have one, one day, and just fly in the sky, while killing off Druchii ofcourse.' he spoke wise. He was only a few days inside the Ulthuan, but he already knew the word for Dark Elf. 'Ow, what's your name my friend?' the elf replied. 'Carathyle, Carathyle Maveric.' he spoke while knowing he would endanger himself with these words. The elf didn't mind. 'Carathyle is it. You know, I heard something about a Druchii Dreadlord having that name. Though the last name was something like Manik or something.' Carathyle laughed inside himself. "If you knew." he thought. 'Hatchlings will be nothing for you Carathyle. You want something that is grown up, that is ready to fight.' The elf spoke while walking toward a adult Dragon. 'This one might be good for you.' The elf continued while placing his hand on the nose of the dragon. 'I... I don't... know...' Carathyle was afraid by the size of the dragon. He slowly stepped toward the dragon which didn't do anything toward the Dark elf in disguise.

Within 14 days, the Dragon Carathyle choose to become his mount was adapted to Carathyle and Carathyle to the dragon. Carathyle spend day after day after day with the Dragon just to get used to the creature. Respecting the dragon, Carathyle flew on the back of it toward the point where the remainder of his equipment lay, grabbing it together and equiping it. The dragon didn't seem to mind it that his new owner was a Dark Elf. Together they flew back toward naggarond, and back toward Carathyle's home.

Having arrived years ago in Naggarond, Carathyle was now at the age of 175. His dragon was still his loyal companion, though the hatchlings that come forth of the dragon were all black of nature. Known for their verocious temper, these hatchlings were named Black Dragons. Carathyle, knowing that the eggs were enchanted by dark Magic, wasn't pleased with this method. He felt that the hatchlings should have been like his own dragon. The Dragon, now in full black armour, was the fear of many races.

WS:4
S:3
T:2
D:4
I:5
_________________

Dreadlord7476
Name: Kailleth Blackthorn
Class: male warrior
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, sword
(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 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 to fight for is to stay alive.
------------
Stats:
WS: 5
S: 4
T: 3
D: 3
I: 3

_________________
Image

Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Wed Jul 27, 2011 6:12 pm
Profile
Noble
User avatar

Joined: Fri Feb 07, 2003 2:33 pm
Posts: 473
Post 
Group 32




-------------------------

Group 32


Name: Amalii Kayth

Gender Female

Height: 6’0”.

Weight: 140lb

Age: 131

Description:
Amalli is fairly typical of all elves in her height and her slender form. She is attractive, but perhaps not conventionally beautiful. Her face is dominated by a pair of oval amber eyes, which largely contribute to her appeal. Flowing jet black hair reaches down to her lower back- braided by several wooden beads and broken only by a single red highlight upon her fringe. Around her right eye, dark swirling tattoos mar pale skin, the patterns continuing down Amalii’s thin neck and right arm. Her standard attire consists of baggy trousers and top which leaves her muscled midriff and arms bare, both a simple beige in colour – the cloth coarse but practical.

Class: Trainee of Khaine

Background:
Amalii had always felt her life at the boatyard to be boring, her frustration going beyond mere youthful rebelliousness. Both her parents worked tirelessly crafting and maintaining ships to afford food, bed and board for themselves and their child. As a young girl, Amalii would often prowl the docked craft She imagined herself to be a cut throat captain fearlessly traversing the oceans - a fantasy born of a need for freedom, a need which continued to grow long after Amalii became too old for such games. Despite her mounting wanderlust, however, she began to work on the boats at her parent’s behest at the age of twenty. With no education or connections to the outside world, Amalii could see no alternative.

For several decades, she toiled upon the boatyard, her body becoming greatly strengthened by the strenuous work. Slowly, ambition was suppressed as Amalii resigned herself to a life of poverty. With this depressing revelation, she began drinking – spending what little money she had on cheap liquor to dull the pain of the reality of her life. Stumbling home one night, however, Amalii found her hope rekindled.Through blurred vision she witnessed a ritual sacrifice performed by a beautiful with elf maiden. Amalii felt rejuvenated. The tang of fear in the air, the last look of fear and pain upon the victim’s eyes and always the cloying smell of fresh blood. It was intoxicating.

The next day, Amalii had packed what meagre belongings she could muster and turned up upon the temples doorstep. Following a brief induction, and over the next few years of her life – Amalli was subjected to many trials in Khaines name, including ritual combat against other hopeful initiates. Eventually, Amalii was accepted by the temple, becoming a minor functionary and handmaiden to the witch elves who resided there. She was gifted a strong dagger, similar to those wielded by the brides of Khaine. Amalii was astonished by the gift. She named the blade ‘Bloodthorn’ and it became her most prized possession, bordering upon obsession.

Years in service to Khaine had taken their toll upon the young elf, and she was often afflicted by a colossal rage which was only sated by blood and death. Rather than horror, Amalii felt emboldened by the transformation. As idyllic as she might have found her life at the temple, however, she could advance in hierarchy no more without experiencing true battle against worthy foes. Determined to prove herself, Amalii set out for Vikarh – pledging to return vindicated of her right to serve Khaine.

Stats:
Weapon Skill: 4
Strength: 4
Toughness: 3
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 2

Starting Gear:
Short Sword and 'Bloodthorn'(Dagger)

Starting Skills:
Two Weapon Fighting, Uncontrollable Frenzy.


* * *

Name: Mynath Krathen
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 174 lb.
Age: 93
Appearance: Mynath has dark red hair (almsot black), a complexion slightly darker than other Druchii, and green eyes. Her clan of Autarii have tatoos that go along most of the body up to the neck, tracing the blood vessels, ostensibly to strengthen themselves. Several teeth from a Nauglir adorn her hair, though she has no other braids, owing to her inexperience.
Class: Shade
Background: Mynath is from the Krathen clan of the Autarii, who make their homes near the Lakes of the Abyss, in the northern part of the Blackspine Mountains. They were known for their frequent attacks on the other tribes, though that has died down as they lost their spirit in recent years. Nonetheless, they are obsessed with strength, many training their children in the arts of hunting and killing from an early age.

As she grew up, it was a grimly accepted fact that most of the Krathens would soon be dead. Their numbers had slowly dwindled in engagements with the other Autarii clans for better lands and hunting grounds, and they had gotten the worst of all of them. They only barely maintained their ground. As such, Mynath was brought up in an almost militaristic level of training, which stifled her, as she could see the freedom the other Autarii lived under, despite all their hardships.

Despite acting out a few times, she reserved herself in the hope that, eventually, she would be skilled enough to elude any pursuit by her clan and leave, to strike out and make her fortune to the east in the Druchii cities she heard of, where ones skill could take them to the top, if they were willing to stab a few Elves in the back.

Under her parents tutelage, she learned enough patience to be stealthy and crafty, though the lesson had to be beat into her several times. Saryth and Selethis Krathen were cruel teachers, but they made sure the lesson got through, only punishing when there was a clear mistake, and even rewarding the few time there wasn't some mistake they could latch onto. This had a dual effect. Mynath is relentless in attempting to stamp out any mistake, hers or otherwise, and in addition, it reinforced her wanderlust. She felt herself more skilled than her parents allowed.

Finally, at the age of 91, she had her chance, making her way across the trees, so as to not leave footprint across the ground. Despite what she thought, the other Krathens didn't give that much of a pursuit. They were going to fall anyways, a grim attitude she had long since grown tired of. The only true pursuers were her parents, and she warded them off when she shot her mother in the leg, and gave her father a near-lethal gut wound. She never once stopped to heal them, as they had been a bit too reserved in their praise to soothe Mynath's ambition.

Now, she has the world open to her, and, despite an idealism that is almost unfitting of a Druchii, she is willing to do anything to get to the top. She has some obstacles behind her. Some of the Shade clans will know her for an enemy if she is seen by them, but to most, she is simply a Druchii with some skills, and the determination to do the job.

Stats:
-------
Weapon Skill: 4
Strength: 4
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 4

Equipment:
-------------
Short Sword (Decorated with two preserved ears from a rival Autarii clan.)
Repeater Crossbow
Shade Cloak

Skills:
------
Stealth


* * *


Character Name: Arkath

Character Height and Weight: 6'2” 163lbs

Character Age: 97

Other Descriptions:
Arkath is a quite skinny, though moderately muscular elf. At first glance one might think he is as weak and frail as one of the hated asur, but soon his commanding aura and baleful stare wash away this deception. His sharp angular facial features and abnormally pointy ears, combined with his messy, thin dreadlocks give him a feral, almost beastial appearance.
His clothing is made up from a set of light, leather armor covered by a short, pale red coat. He wears a scarf of nauglir scales, and his right shoulder is covered by the beastmasters' single pauldron.
Arkath's waist is adorned by a simple belt and a robe-like piece of cloth hanging to his knees. Lastly, Arkath has a multitude of chains and manacles hanging from his belt and other parts of his wardrobe.

Character Class: Trainee of Khaine (beastmaster apprentice)

Stats:
WS:4
S:2
T:4
D:3
I:5

Character Background:

Arkath grew up amongst the Thornwing shades in the Dragonspine mountains. Though he lived amongst them, it was clear he wasn't a true part of the tribe. He was told that he was found the clan when he was just a babe. Arkaths inquiries about why he wasn't just eaten, as was custom, were always met by stoic silence, followed by a disciplinary beating. The only thing Arkath ever got to know about the circumstances of his coming to the tribe was that not long after that the Thornwings' influence in the region greatly increased. It was never admitted that did had anything to do with Arkath ofcourse...

As Arkath wasn't a true part of the clan, he was never taught the way of the shade, and thus spent his life around the encampment, being mocked by the other shades for his clumsiness. When Arkath reached adulthood, his Druchii nature quickly got tired of being dominated by others, so he decided to leave the tribe, in search of a better life.. As he walked out of the encampment, none of the shades even spared a glance for him.

Arkath traveled through the wilds of Naggaroth for several months, until he eventually stumbled on a Druchii city. He quickly entered, eager to gain fame and finally be a master of his own fate. Soon, Arkath discovered that this was all an illusion. As a lowborn with no status or money in an unfamiliar city he was treated not much better then a slave. And once again, Arkath was agonized by his lack of dominance over others. It did not take long for him to leave the city and return to the wilds. At least there he was master of himself.

For many years Arkath lived in the wilds, traveling where his whim took him. It was a hard life, but it was satisfying in its own weird way. But just as soon as he was growing accustomed to his life in the tundra, it appeared that Khaine had a different fate in store for him. One day, while Arkath was roaming the icy forest in search for a good place to camp, he stumbled on a series of knocked down trees. The Druchii was intrigued and followed the trail until he stumbled on a large clearing. As he stepped into the gap in the foliage, he was shocked to discover a large, grey manticore, feasting upon what seemed to be the remains of a large mountain boar. Arkaths instincts told him to run, but for some reason he couldn't. Worse yet, he was drawn to the creature. He edged towards it slowly, step by step, until it raised its gore-stained head. Both the creature and the elf tensed when their eyes met, but strangely enough the manticore didn't attack.

Arkath stood there for what seemed like hours, feeling a deep, unexplainable bond with the massive beast crouching in front of him. Suddenly, the manticore twitched with his ears and swiftly attempted to jump up and fly away. But it was to no avail, a heavy net was thrown over him by figures rushing into the clearing. As Arkath was watching the manticores wings getting caught up in the net, he was abruptly pulled back by strong hands. As he turned around, he watched into the face of a broad chinned druchii. As the man grabbed Arkath by his arm once again, he spoke:“Leave this to the professionals kid, this thing is quite dangerous indeed...”

Arkath was carried away by the Druchii, which he soon discovered were beastmasters, and separated from the manticore. While he was walking along with them, he was told that they had never seen a manticore in such a docile state merely by locking eyes. They said Arkath showed promise in becoming a beastmaster and offered to bring him to Karond Kar for training. Arkath readily agreed, finally finding a way to dominate others creatures, and who knew, maybe even his fellow elves. For Arkath knew that the greatest of the beastmasters were sometimes asked to lead the armies of Naggaroth...

The training in Karond Kar went well, and Arkath would have probably grown to be one of the best of the students if the manticore wouldn't have abruptly changed the course of his life once again. Arkath was walking to the training grounds from his room in the institute when he suddenly heard a loud roar. Intrigued, he followed the sound until he eventually stumbled on a large expanse, crowded with beastmasters and their apprentices. Arkath swiftly pushed his way to the front of the crowd where he stumbled upon a scene that chilled him to the bone. He saw the manticore lying in the clearing, tied down by heavy, steel chain. It's head rested on a stone block, and standing next to it was one of the temple executioners. As Arkath realized what was happening he bolted forward, only to be stopped in his tracks by on of his superiors. It was only when the veteran Druchii put his hand in front of Arkaths mouth that he realized that he had being screaming from the moment he had seen the events unfolding in front of him. The older Druchii knocked him unconscious, the last thing Arkath saw before falling into a pool of blackness was the large draich falling down.

When Arkath regained consciouness, he was lying on a bed. The Druchii from before standing next to him. Rage engulfed him as he looked at the older Druchii's impassionate face. “Why did you slay him?”, Arkath demanded as he jumped up. “The beast was untameable. No beastmaster in the grounds could break it.”, the elder beastmaster said flatly. “Besides, it's none of your business anyway...” “None of my business?”, Arkath shouted,”I found him! And he found me! Heck, I even believe that I could have tamed him!”. Arkath meant to continue, but his mentor stopped him in his tracks. “You truly believe that a mere novice like you could do such a thing? I admit you show promise, but there is still no way it would have happened. And even then, do you really think that me and your other masters would even risk the slightest chance of suffering the embarrassment of having an apprentice tame a beast we could not? The manticore could not be tamed. Leave it at that, or just leave.”

And so he did. Arkath left the academy, being glad to get rid of the weaklings surrounding him. He could not accept being taught by people who believed in the concept “untameable”, so he made a decision. Although Arkath had abandoned his apprenticeship, he knew that his faith was, and forever would be the life of a beastmaster. And thus he came to the conclusion that the only one who would teach him, would be the one that, like him, believed that no beast or creature was impossible to tame, the great Beastlord Rakarth. The only barrier remaining, was to gather enough wealth and fame to be worthy of approaching the lord of beasts. That's where the mercenary work came in...


* * *


Character Name: Athyia (pronounced: Athea, or ath-ee-a)

Character Height and Weight: fairly average elvish build at 6' 4'' and ~ 9st.

Character Age: 170

Character Description: Athyia has an average height and build for a female elf, with a smallish bust and slender hips and waist. Her skin is pale even by Druchii standards, but her long hair is raven black except where dyed a deep purple in places. She wears her hair just past shoulder length, sometimes tied back in a ponytail but most often hanging loose either side of her face. Her facial structure is typical of most elves, with tall ears and a small nose and lips. Her eyes are violet in colour, which coupled with her thin black eyebrows and pale skin gives her a beautiful yet daunting appearance. A tattoo of black and red roses on a twisting thorny vine works its way up her left side and down her upper arm. A second tattoo of a series of black and red stars curves around her right ankle. She has many piercings in her ears, including stretched holes through the lobes. She is often garbed entirely in black clothing, but if a situation calls for more colour she rarely strays from purples and red. She is usually seen as quiet and gloomy in her demeanour unless provoked into a dark, calculating anger.

Character Class: Rogue Mage

Starting Statistics: WS3 - S3 - T3 - D4 - I5

Starting Skills: Power of Shyish(1)

Starting Equipment: Staff, Dagger, Robes.

Athyias' robes are jet black and flow down her elegant form to just above the ground about her ankles, they include a hood which when drawn up completely conceals her face unless the light catches her violet eyes. Her dagger is a long and slender silver weapon, the hilt of which resembles a hooded cobra, the blade of which is extremely keen and sharp. Her staff is a smooth pillar of an unknown black wood, which when held so touching the floor at its base reaches up as high as Athyias' shoulders. The black staff only breaks its smoothness at the tip, where the wood splits into three thinner stems. Each of these spirals around a single, large shard of amethyst before forming a spear like point at the top of the staff. The purple crystal woven into the staff often glows an eerie purple when Athyia is upset, angry or distraught.

Character Background:

Athyia was born over one and a half centuries ago into the house of a powerful and wealthy Druchii noble in Ghrond. She did not know it at the time, but her birth was actually the undesired consequence of her fathers love affair with a sorceress. For the first fifty years of her life she enjoyed her childhood in the family home, as blissfully unaware of her fathers secret as her mother was, who thought her an orphan when she found her left at the gates. Being an only child, she spent much of her free time at home on her own, when she would walk the halls of her fathers estate in search of hidden rooms and spend hours in his library reading ancient books. It was during these times that, still unaware she had been born not from her loving mother but instead from a dark sorceress of the covens, she first started to develop her arcane gifts.

One cold winter night Athyia was walking the dark halls of the estate, so lost in her book that she didn't even realise she had entered the restricted corridor her father forbid her to visit. Here he did most of his work, a job Athyia still didn't fully understand that somehow involved the studying of ancient objects and artifacts. Just as she turned to leave again, she spied something through an open doorway and was drawn in for a closer look. It was a large book, a tome with time worn pages and a leather bound cover imprinted with the shape of a skull. Knowing she should not be there but unable to leave, Athyia had sat down at the nearby desk and begun to read. Only when dawn came and she heard footsteps in the hall outside as her fathers servants came to wake him did she return the book to its resting place and slip unseen back to her own bedchamber.

From that night on, Athyia would sneak into the chamber as often as she dared, and continued to study this book of death and all that it contained. She suprised herself with her ability to understand most of the text and incantations, for most of the book was written in an ancient language that she had never seen before yet somehow managed to read. Not only that, but when she tried her hand at some of the simpler spells the book spoke of, she found herself able to cast them. At first she was simply levitating the hourglass off the desk, but soon she was learning more and growing bolder. Once, some years later, a crow had flown in through the window, and she had outstretched her hand and torn its soul from its body. She had taken a black feather from the birds tail, and to this day that feather still adorns one of her earings.

For decades she learned all there was to be learned from the book, and then she started to seek further knowledge from other sources. However, all she knew was about to change, and on the eve of her hundred and twentieth birthday a visitor came to the estate. This woman made several outrageous claims before Athyias' mother, and now old enough to realise what was being said Athyia had descended into the courtyard to join them. When the seeress claiming to be her mother and ordering her inducted into some sort of magic school grabbed the woman she thought had been her mother by the throat and began choking the life from her, Athyia had lost control. She ran to her mothers side, tore the intruders dagger from its sheath and plunged it into her chest. Unwilling to stop there, she then focused her mind on pulling the life energy of the seer through the wound, feeding off her death to make herself stronger.

When her father had returned a few hours later, he had fallen into a fit of rage. Athyias' mother told him what had happened, and rather than deny the seers words he admitted the truth. So angry was he at his lovers death that he turned on her mother, and Athyia watched on in horror as her father went on a bloody rampage, murdering her mother and over half of the house servants. Only when he reached her did his temper subside, and he stood over her where she crouched and cried, bloody sword in hand, and then fell to his knees and begged for her forgiveness. Athyia had risen to her feet and used the energies absorbed by her true mothers death to tear her fathers life force from his body. Now completely alone in the world, the young seer took the staff, dagger and robes of her true mother and fled into the night.

For the next fifty years Athyia seemed lost to the world, but she has recently resurfaced in the City of Vikarh. What she did in that time remains a mystery, but it seems she now seeks mercenary work to help her earn enough money to return to Ghrond.


* * *


Character Name: Drasnir

Character Height and Weight: 6’3” and of average weight for an elf

Character Age: 93

Other Descriptions: Drasnir has unkempt shoulder length raven black hair and ice blue eyes. His face is dirty while his garb is stained and ragged.

Character Class: Shade

Character Background: Drasnir’s earliest memories are of running errands in one of the city’s many flesh houses. He suspects that his father was one of the establishments clients but has no evidence to support his suspicion. After he received one beating too many from the proprietress of the flesh house he fled into the streets. Alone and lost he was soon attacked by one of the many groups of petty criminals which stalk the streets of Vikarh, desperate and with nothing to lose he fought and slew one of his attackers with a shard of broken glass. Impressed the gang’s leader offered Drasnir the dead elf’s place, an offer Drasnir accepted. Over the years Drasnir learnt all the skills of a thief, how to hide in shadows, how to open locks and how to dispatch bothersome guards. However a few days after his 93rd birthday Drasnir and his fellows attempted a heist more ambitious than any they had tried before. They had learnt that a certain highborn regularly attended a flesh house in the docks, taking only a small escort in an attempt to pass unnoticed and so arranged to ambush him. The ambush was successful although one of the noble’s retainers managed to escape with his life. Even while the group split the dead noble’s riches between themselves, laughing and smiling as they did so, the retainer was relating all that happened to the noble’s son. Over the next month the gang was hunted down and killed, one member at a time until only Drasnir remained. Seeking to escape the fate that pursues him Drasnir seeks service as a mercenary, hoping either to leave the city or at least to surround himself with strong arms who can protect him when the time comes.

Stats:
WS: 3
S: 3
T: 3
D: 4
I: 5

Equipment: Short Sword, Repeater Crossbow, Shade Cloak

Skills: Basic Stealth

_________________
The Tower of the Sarathai


Mon Aug 01, 2011 1:55 am
Profile YIM
Highborn
User avatar

Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2011 9:30 am
Posts: 618
Location: The Colonies
Post 
The following players make up group 34:


• Name: Calis’Shad (hardly ever pronounced – “Cal” accepted) • Sex: Male
• Character class: Shade
• Age: 101 (i.e. quite young) • Height: 1m75 (i.e. rather short). • Weight: 60kg (i.e. fairly light).
• Description: Looking innocuous.
Standard Shade’s equipment. Sturdy clothes with undefined colour. Brown hair, knot with a dark lace. Nothing fancy at all except maybe a very penetrating eye. The only odd characteristic is the rather small size.
Modest in the first contact, seemingly shy, a strange countryside accent.
However, Calis’Shad proves quickly to be curious of everything, eager to explore and to understand how the world is running.
• Character Background: Calis'Shad was born near the Forbidden Coast, in the nomadic Shade Clan of the Black Tail (short for Wildcat's Black Tail).
Stories heard in Calis’Shad’s youth were tales of exploration and discoveries. His ancestors found hydras and tamed them. His tribe found and explored immense caves leading to a new Ocean in the West. One of his uncles was hired by Lokhir himself and participated to numerous expeditions.
Nice to hear tales, better to live them, best is to become a legend.
In order to become a part of his family’s history, Calis’Shad enlisted in a corsair expedition and became a scout. For him, the most exciting part of a raid is the preparation before the assault.
In a distant future, Calis’Shad will be the captain of one of the expeditions that the world will recall forever, where fabulous empires are found... before they collapse.
In order to receive such responsibility (with the people and the equipment), he will have first to be trusted by a patron. Sure, trust is hard to gain in the Druchii society, but the powerful Lords do appreciate those who bring, again and again, the intelligence which helps them to overcome their foes. Especially if their ambition seems limited.
Calis’Shad does not pursue physical prowess, nor cunning intrigue. Where he works, no clan support is to be expected.
He relies just on patience and tenacity: the opportunity will show up some day. Time and awareness are his friends.
His motto: Be prepared. Know beforehand. Help your chance when you can.

• Ambitions : Discover the world. Find new civilizations. Plunder and enslave them.
In order to achieve his goal, in a first step, Calis’Shad needs all the stealth and awareness qualities of an assassin. And to survive.
Some leather armour could be welcome, in case running doesn’t suffice, but more important is to learn some skills in 6 directions:
1. Wilderness Lore, Urban Lore, Tracker
2. Basic Stealth => Stealth => Masterful Stealth
3. Acrobatics => Free running, Evasion
4. Rapid Fire, Sniper, Precision Fire
5. Defensive Fighting, Basic heal => Heal
6. Endurance, Ride, Disguise


CHARACTER STATS: 18 points to distribute
Weapon Skill (WS): 2 Fighting is the desperate option.
Strength (S): 2 More brain than muscle.
Toughness (T): 4 Tiny but tough.
Dexterity (D): 5 Wow! fast and agile.
Intelligence (I): 5 Smart, too.

Starting equipment • Shade, 5EP (Must select a ranged weapon)
Repeater Crossbow : 100 gold. (EP 3) - Power 3. Speed 5. Range 3.
Shade Cloak : 100 gold. (EP 1, shades only) - Protection 1. Hindrance 1. (Stealth Bonus)
Short Sword : 35 gold. (EP 1) - Power 2. Speed: 4.

Shade: 1 skill point: Awareness: Prerequisites: (Intelligence 4)
Your recent battles have made you more aware of your surroundings than ever before, you seem to sense when a blow is incoming, and you react before the thought enters your mind. You seem able to dodge blows, not because of your speed, but, because you seem to be able to anticipate where they will be coming from. You have a sixth sense for trouble, you can just sense if it is coming. SP1

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Kayla Dis'kanar
Sex: Female
Character class: Warrior
Age: 134
Height: 5'11"
Weight: Around 9-10 stone

Descriptions: Kayla is rather short and stocky by Elven standards, her body type is more akin to a human female that that of an elf. She is dressed in blackened steel armour from head to toe. Spiked gauntlets, spaulders and greaves, with a chainmail cuirass and kilt. Her helmet is simple but sturdy, unadorned with an open visor which reveals her only visible flesh - her face. Her eyes are typically druchii and midnight blue, her skin also has a slight blueish hue to it's pigmentation. Her hair, is not black like most other druchii, but is instead incredibly dark blue. Her armour, though unadorned, is nicked and dented in places. but is well maintained. Her skin is also criss-crossed with numerous scars and gouges. She has no tattoos or piercings.


Character Background: There are rumours abound about Kayla's heritage, that her blood is tainted by some daemonic malaise. The most popular belief is that her egregious father, Glendaryl the Cruel, enjoyed the sadistic cruelties he might inflict on the flesh and souls of others - often slaves - until they were nothing more than sacks of flesh with no feelings bar despair and anguish. It is said that her mother, a possessed Bretonnian damsel, was his favourite. For though he inflicted the most vile of atrocities upon her flesh, the daemon inside her enjoyed such pursuits and would not relinquish hold of the poor woman's soul, as wrecked and ravaged as it was. If the tales are true, but no one really knows for sure, Kayla is the offspring of the most heinous of depravities, which, for decency's sake, shall not be mentioned here. Her mother supposedly died at childbirth, and her father purportedly - again, mostly heresay and speculation - killed himself some years later in a particularly violent episode of delirious insanity.

Kayla was born in the watchtower state of The Black Pillar, North East of Har Ganeth. From an early age she showed a particular aptitude for tolerating pain, and was quickly drafted into the Watchtower garrisons which protected Naggaroth from Chaos invasions from the North. By all accounts, the survival rate of these well-trained warriors was never good, and Kayla, like so many others, was expected to die quickly. Alas, she has served the garrisons well for almost a century, rising up through the ranks the hard way. Everyone she has ever known has been killed in battle, because of this Kayla is a loner and does not make friends easy.

She is now a Guardmaster and when any sign of a Chaos incursion, Kayla is always first into the breach, spearheading the defence almost single-handedly. Kayla is unwholesomely strong for a Druchii, her bravery and discipline are second to none. Her fellow dark elves say that due to her unorthodox parentage all Kayla seeks is death in honourable combat, to redeem herself in her own eyes, Daemons and Chaos warriors alike have challenged her, but Kayla's will has yet to be crushed.


Ambitions: Kayla is to become a one-woman shield wall. So she needs all the heavy armour, cloaks and shields that she can get her hands on (strength 5 for a reason). Her skills will also be gained to help her preferred fighting style - Defensive Fighting; Endurance; Blind-Fighting and, most importantly, Arathin Sarath. Story wise, her ambitions are yet to be realised!

WS:4 S:5 T:4 D: 3 I:2
Equipment; Long Sword; Medium Armour; Shield
Skills; None

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Sangui Sangetsu (aka The Corsair Formerly Known As Sangui)
MIA
Sex: Male
Class: Warrior/Corsair
Age: 93
Hight: 195cm
Weight: 85kg
Look: Wearing a tattered sea dragon cloak over a worn out leather amour, he looks pretty worn down. Neither his filthy long black hair nor the rest of his equipment would say the contrary. The two lumps in the fall of the cloak obviously belong to a dagger and a hand bow, both bear visible marks of a long use. The only thing outstanding about this man are his crystal blue eyes and the scares in his face of which some can be recognised by the wise as glyphs of Khaine.

Background:As in most fairytales it was a dark and stormy night. Blood was raining down on the corsairs of the “Darkdoom” (yep that's the way I came to this name in the first place). The high elves of the smaller frigate had no chance in the first place. The only reason for them to still be fighting was to take as many of their hated kinsman with them into death and the knowledge of what they had to expect if they where to be captured. The intense battle that followed was bloody and quite a few where actually killed, though as many by their own as by the high elves. The sea was coloured in a pleasant pink tone, an idyllic view only disrupted by corpses and singular body pieces.
But not all of the enemies crew was lucky enough to die. Some, especially females, had been spared during the slaughter, for later use. Sanguin came from one of those “later uses”. That he as a half-blood, not that his origin was visible from his appearance, was mostly due to the witch hag on board, who vied it as a good omen that he had killed his mother in his struggled birth. She was to become the closet thing he would ever know to a mother.
His other mentor was the first mate of the ship. His cool logicically view on things was the opposing force to the burning hatred (and love for the witch king)of his mother. Where as she tried to further his skills in torturing and sacrificing slaves properly where ever possible, his dad only allow him to do so on the sick, old or crippled who didn't give any profit on the slave markets any ways.
Being brought up by this opposing currents Sangui sure had an interesting childhood. The day he still remembers best is his 50 birthday, where his dad first took him out on a raid, of cause not into the melee but he preferred the hand bow anyway, and his mum allowed him to sacrifice a high elf.
His childhood ended abruptly when the crew mutinied, killing both his mentors in the progress. Having nothing left on the ship, but enemies he was smart enough to leave before the slaughter ended.
Worn down and drowning his life in liquor and other things, he only still lives because his usefulness is even lower that the danger of fighting him, so far anyway...


Ambitions: Two hand shooting, a second hand bow.

WS:5
S :4
T :2
D :3
I :4

Equipment: Dagger, Repeater Handbow, Leather amour, Sea Dragon Cloak

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Khitai N'essad
Gender: Male
Height: 6'7''
Weight: 152lbs
Age: 98
Class: Khainite

Description:
Khitai has light grey hair, almost white, just over shoulders length. His eyes are grey, and his skin seems to be a bit paler than an average Dark Elf.



Khitai was the youngest of the three brothers in the Shadizar family. Though the youngest one, Khitai was more skillful en every way with weapons than his brothers... and he was hated for it. On numerous occasions, his brothers beat him down, and threatened to kill him. His parents was no better, they also would lash out on him, beat him to unconsciousness. He was treated as a slave, After all, Khitai was not born a Shadizar, he was found left to die as a child, and was taken in by the family. Khitai could easily killed his family, all at the same time, but his teacher told him not to.

For many years this went on, hatered and rage grew within him. They only one who could tame his rage, was his teacher. All these years he had secretly practiced his weapons skills with his only friend Kenwe. Kenwe was an outlaw, constantly hiding. Kenwe knew what Khitai was. He was destent to be a great fighter, or even an assassin. Khitai could wield weapons equally god with his both hands. Kenwe thought him how to master this ability, and also how to control his temper and rage.

Kenwe knew something about Khitai, a secret. Hi promised to tell Khitai when, or even if he beat him in a duel. Could this be the day, the day of secrets, the day he beat Kenwe in a duel.

Swords and daggers thrusted up and down, high and low. Both mastering two weapons each, but none could get the upperhand. They danced around when a opening came forth. Kenwe took it, and thrusted his sword out against Khitais left side. It was a setup. Khitai smiled when Kenwe took the bait, and knew that this was his chance. He spun around to the right, and with his sword he took out Kenwes dagger out of his right hand. Khitai continued his move around, and they where back to back when Kenwe tried to block out Khitais last move. But it was too late. Khitai came around and flipped Kenwes left arm straight up, bringing his dagger under Kenwes left arm with a deadly thrust.

Khitai dropped his wooden weapons and stared at Kenwe. Kenwe smiled and nodded.

They sat down, and he told him the secret. Khitai was not left there to die as a child, but his real parents was ambushed and killed for gold and jewelry by thieves. He was a N'essad, a noble family indeed. He couldn't tell him any sooner, cause he was afraid that the rage and hatered would take him out to early for a revenge. The rage and hatered was not against the family Shadizar, but truly within him from birth. He had to be ready, and now he was.

Khitai stood up, eyes glared with vengeance. He started to run home, and Kenwe couldn't stop him to tell him one more secret, that he was his uncle....

Khitai came home and took his belongings and some food for the trip he did not know where led him. His brothers stopped him, trying to hold him back. His eyes glared, and the blood in his body way boiling. He took his sword out and cut both his brothers straight over the chest, they fell lifeless to the ground. His "father" seeing this, charged him with sword in hand. Khitai took one step to the side, spun around and took out his dagger in the same move, stabbing him the back of the neck, dropping him to the ground. His "mother" came around the corner and started screaming. Khitai took the dagger out and threw it straight at her. It hit her in the middle of the right eye, she fell lifeless. Khitai bent over to take the dagger out, feeling the rage, hatered and vengeance boiling in his body. He took the dagger slowly out, and that's when he knew he had become the Hunter......


Stats:
Weapon skill: 5
Strengt: 3
Toughness: 2
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 3

Skills:
Ambidexterity

Equipment
Short sword and dagger

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

_________________
Opus vos liberaverit


Last edited by Smiler666 on Sun Aug 12, 2012 11:32 pm, edited 4 times in total.



Mon Oct 03, 2011 8:24 pm
Profile
Malekith's Best Friend
User avatar

Joined: Sun Jul 17, 2011 11:39 pm
Posts: 1157
Location: Within the system, masked as a member
Post 
Group 35, presently!
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, sword
(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: Korvus Blackheart
• Sex: Male
• Age: 114
• Height: 6' 6''
• Weight: 10st
• Appearance: Korvus appears to be average build for a Druchii, he is not exceptionally tall and would not be considered bulky, despite being a bit of a heavyweight in combat. He is very lean and muscular, with unusually pale almost alabaster flesh and jet black hair. He has long straight hair, but he always wears it tied back in a ponytail, out the way of his face. His armour is dark purple iron, almost black yet still metallic. His helmet matches the armour in colour, and is studded all over with short spike like studs. His dragon cloak is as black as obsidian, and the are scales as hard as rock. It is not made from the skin of a sea dragon, but one of the great black kings of the mountains themselves. His weapon of choice is a mid length glaive, a silver blade on the end of a black iron hilt also topped backed with a thick iron spike.

• Character Class: Warrior
• Character Statistics: WS5 - S4 - T3 - D3 - I3
• Starting Equipment: Glaive, Light Armour, Helmet, Black Dragon Cloak
• Starting Skills: None

• Character Background: Korvus grew up in Naggarond under the protection of his wealthy Druchii family, the Blackhearts. He was the youngest of three sons, and was often tested and bullied by his brothers due to their superior age, size and strength. This bred the desire to be stronger and better in a fight than those he surrounded himself with into Korvus right from the age he could walk. As he matured into an adolescent, the hours of training and strength building began to pay off. By the age of sixty, he could best both his older brothers in a fist fight, and could take them together in a game of swords. The time soon came for his brothers to find work however, and they left to join the ranks of the Witch Kings army, as naught but spearmen.

Korvus did not wish the same fate for himself, for he much preferred to fight with a glaive or halberd, and had always believed himself destined to make his own fate, not to follow orders. In the years that followed, he worked amongst the hired guards that protected his father, ensuring that he was classed as already employed when the recruitment came upon him reaching the required age of eighty. He worked as a hire guard for many years, whilst also competing in underground fist fights and weapon mastery tournaments. Upon reaching the age of one hundred and fourteen however, he learned of his brothers deaths within the ranks of the Witch Kings army. Korvus vowed to avenge them as best he could, and to travel as a mere mercenary sellsword in search of answers and revenge.

• Character Ambitions: Endurance, Evasion, Defensive Fighting - basically anything that will make him a better contestant and warrior.

NB: the Black Dragon Cloak is a Sea Dragon Cloak in all respects when it comes to rules and roleplaying.  
Name: Senluthan Redskull
Sex: Male

Weight and height: Roughly 95 kg and 192 cm 6'3

Age: 157

Appearance: Senluthan got muscular build, His hair is red and short, the longer hair he had when he started to travel, was to inconvenient to get the blood out of, the blood also being the reason to dye it. Is eyes usually got a brown almost black colour, and turns mad when going into frenzy. His skin is dark from being out most of the time. And he got a tattoo on his right shoulder which could be described as different spikes in a circle. He wears a cloak around his torso which he takes off when going into combat battling only in a pair of leather pants and small leather boots.

Ws4 T3 S3 D4 I4

• Starting Equipment: Mace, short sword and a dagger (you gotta be prepared) And therefore the weapons a kept fit for battle.

• Starting Skills: As a true Khainite he got uncontrollable frenzy



Background

Senluthan was born outside of Hag Graef. He was trained by his father in his early years, a former soldier and now a smithing, in a sort of two handed fighting with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Using the dagger to deflect attacks, and going in for killing blows. And he was actually trained in quite accuracy in his fighting style. This style didn’t hold for long. One day he got home after a successful hunt. And found his parents tortured by some reason, his mother was lying dead covered in cuts and bruises. His father was missing one arm and on the verge of death. he was kneeling looking up in his executioners face with a mocking face. The instant Senluthan saw all that he snapped, forgetting all of his earlier training. He rushed towards the men, twelve in total and drew his sword and dagger. But instead of his accurate fighting style with a lot of killing blows, he slung the two weapons around totally chaotic. The brutality of his charge caught the first three men off guard. The first and his dad executioner he killed with one slash to the neck, the second one got pierced by the dagger getting a serious injury in the belly. The third one however, only got a bruise as his armour took the blow from Senluthans sword, but still tossing him to the ground. Senluthan in his frenzy only saw the opponents standing in front of him. There were no tactic, no thought of defence only to kill the opponent in front of him. The next guy caught his sword with a buckler, all the same as another guy smashed Senluthans shoulder with a club in return he got a serious wound from the dagger on his arm. The shock send him flying and landing just next to his father. And on top of his Fathers hammer. In the fall he dropped his sword, and instantly grabbed the hammer instead, and slung it towards the first guy trying to kill him. The result became a broken arm and shortly afterwards a dagger to the neck. The next two guys also fell, one with a smashed chest by the hammer, and the other with a dagger to the arm and a hammer in the skull. After Senluthan killed the last guy he got knocked out from behind. But his frenzy and brutality made the impression and he got dragged off to Hag Graef to start training in becoming a soldier.



The next many years went by while Senluthan slowly became a seasoned fighter, his frenzy was becoming more violent, and they equipped him with a mace. They found that it was the best weapon for his uncontrolled fighting style. And often when they were sent on missions around, his comrades used him as distraction. His furious charge caught the enemies off guard, and at the time they started attacking him, they got stabbed in the back. And slowly he became able to take out 4 or 5 opponents in his surprise charge without any problems. These many years he spend doing quests he found out, that the one he were serving under were a darkfist. In his 102nd year Senluthan went on a mission with his team, they should kill a raiding party from another druchii. In total 17 druchii and their party were 14 so with the advantage of surprise they should be able to slaughter them. The plan were simply surround the enemy send in Senluthan and stab them alle in the back. But this time it was a quite experienced leader, the moment the first one got killed by the mace 5 of his men charged Senluthan as the rest readied for more soldiers. That way they were prepared for the rest of the Senluthans party. And the fighting were brutal, after only a cut to his off hand, Senluthan had killed the the five men, four of them with his mace, and the final one had felt the dagger when he cut his arm. But if course he didn't stop there, although only six from each side were left and fighting Senluthan rushes towards the first two killed the one from his own party with a mace in the back of his head and the rushing under the others weapon slicing his throat with the dagger. Just then another jumped at him but before his slash could hit Senluthan he got the mace smashed up in his head. When Senluthan woke up, all he saw were dead men all around him. His hair greasy from all the blood from the battle, and when he looked around the battlefield he could count 10 victims of his mace friends and foes alike. As a true druchii he wanted revenge and to kill the ones who ordered the assault on his parents. And who against his will had kept him as a soldier these past years.

The last many years Senluthan have spent in the dessert only momentarily been to different cities. And during the years he have killed many small parties he met in the dessert. And therefore he have become very good at slaughtering small parties. But because of his frenzy and all the blood that splash out, and often hits his face. He decided to cut his hair short, so the blood won't be sitting in his hair. Now he wants to obtain a party that can help him get his revenge. And by all means necessary manipulate and get the abilities to destroy all obstacles towards his revenge.
After he gets his revenge he dreams of big battles and become general in a big assault campaign towards the hated kin on Ulthuain!
Senluthans ambitions is to more effecient kill his enemies. And also for being able to become a good general learn to control his frenzy.

Name: Sirenis [Helbane – she is not aware that she is the daughter of Duriath]
Sex: Female
Age: 113
Height: 181cm (around 6’)
Weight: 63kg
Appearance: Sirenis has the typical pale skin and dark hair of a Dark Elf, and although she is a little shorter than most Elves, she can blend into a crowd with ease. As a member of the Executioner Cult of Har Ganeth, Sirenis is typically seen wearing her armour, robes and helmet. Because the breastplate of the Executioners covers Sirenis’ feminine curvature, she is able to pass herself off as a male when she wishes, and indeed, many of her acquaintances do not know that she is female.
When she is not acting as a sentry or practising in the Temple of Khaine, Sirenis dons simple clothes of wool or cloth, eschewing the soft silks and satins of the more effete she-Elves of Har Ganeth.
Character Class: Khainite
Character Statistics: WS4 S4 T2 D4 I4
Starting Equipment: Draich, Dagger (Combat). [Due to the debt she owes to Hellebron, Sirenis’ Executioner armour is “on loan” and as such she can’t take it with her on adventures.]
Skills: Basic Heal
Character Background: Sirenis Helbane is one of the many illegitimate children of Duriath Helbane, the commander of the Temple of Spite and the heir to the Helbane legacy. Conceived during a drunken attack on her mother by Helbane and his Corsairs, Sirenis was found a year later, swaddled in bloodied rags on the altar of Khaine in Har Ganeth, a bloody rune of the God of Murder staining her brow. In a rare act of mercy, Hellebron ordered that the girl be bathed in the Cauldron of Blood and dedicated to lifelong service as an initiate of the Temple. Sirenis, as she was now named, was placed under the care of Heira, the most recently ordained Hag of the Temple of Har Ganeth.
As Sirenis aged, Heira allowed her to roam the Temple at will, and it was during these curious formative days that Sirenis’ character was moulded. As she watched Heira scream in unbridled fury at the failures of the novices of the Temple, Sirenis learned the unending anger of the Dark Elves. As she watched Heira bathe in the blood of dozens and dozens of brutally murdered captives, she learned the furious bloodlust of the Witch Elves. Finally, as Sirenis saw her mistress downtrodden at the hands of the more powerful Hag Queens, she learned the bitterness and ruthlessness that sears the soul of every Druchii.
Although a more tactful guardian might sidestep the issue, Heira informed Sirenis of her orphan’s status as soon as the girl was able to understand it. The bluntness of this revelation shocked Sirenis, but she quickly learned that this was the way that life among the Druchii worked. Life, she told herself, was hard. One had to be realistic in order to survive. One had to take the iniquities of outrageous fortune in order to rise to the top. Sirenis knew now that she must become a chameleon, obedient, calm, and ruthless, her motives always hidden behind a mask that showed no emotion. She would not become like Heira, a ranting, bitter wreck; nor would she suffer the fate of her mother, to be quelled by the wrath of others, to be defeated, to give in. Sirenis would watch, learn, and wait, honing her skills and building her power, slowly but surely rising to the top of this dark, ruthless society. Power would make her safe, make her strong. Power would prevent Sirenis from being defeated like her mother, like Heira, like Hellebron herself.
As Sirenis approached her time of initiation into the Temple of Khaine, she formulated a plan to ensure that she would be placed in the best possible position from which to extend her power over this dark city. She could do little as a violent, drug-fueled Witch Elf, but as an Executioner, she could hone her talents, make allies, and dispose of enemies. As such, when the initiation ceremony commenced, Sirenis ensured that she would be selected for the ranks of the Executioners by tearing a blade from the hand of an Executioner and slaying a shackled captive with a single, well-aimed stroke. In this cold, calculated move, Sirenis sealed her place among the ranks of the Executioners of Har Ganeth. For the past three decades, Sirenis has trained with the draich-masters, learning the art of the blade and waiting for the right moment to build her power base. Although she may seem like one mindless soldier out of many, a cold, dark fire burns within her heart – a fire that will either drive Sirenis to the top, or destroy her.
Character Ambitions: IC: Sirenis wants power, and lots of it. She thinks that power will protect her from the iniquities that have been heaped upon the people that she cares for. On a side note, she is curious about her ancestry; she would take an opportunity to learn the identity of her parents, although this is not an important ambition for her (she sees it as a weakness).
OOC: To match her Executioner training, I’d like Sirenis to grab some points in the Drukh Kaganth skill tree, and maybe some Heal skills to really hone her ability to get instant kills on her foes. In terms of equipment, I’d *really* like to get some heavy armour – after all, Executioners wear heavy armour! – but I don’t really have any other aspirations in that respect.
In terms of availability, I can log on to Dnet most days for rp’ing and I’m willing to put in a decent amount of effort (see background above)! I also have previous experience, although the name of the group escapes me. So if you need a character for a group, grab Sirenis! Thanks.

_________________
Image

Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Sun Dec 25, 2011 1:04 am
Profile
Beastmaster
User avatar

Joined: Mon Jan 25, 2010 8:36 am
Posts: 333
Post 
Group 36 got 5 players for the moment:

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

Ambitions- well Kailleth’s only goal is to survive, get rich and to slay in kaines name.




Name: Ariël(she forgot her last name)
Sex: Female
Age: 45
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 80lbs
Appearance: With long black hair, blood red eyes with the pupils of a predator, pale skin like many Druchii, a Khaitan covering her slender body, Black light armour, witch-crafted shield with unknown runes on the steel rims, a witch-crafted sword with unknown runes on its blade, a bottle filled with a scarlet liquid attached to her belt.

Class: Warrior
Character Statistics: WS6 S4 T2 D3 I3
Starting Equipment: light Armour(EP 2), Steel Bender(EP 2), Grim Sever(EP 3), a bottle of blood, given to her by her adoption mother.
Steel Bender; Steel shield with yet to be explained runes
Grim Sever; a black-steeled longsword with yet to explain enchantment runes(minor power), given to her by her mother for her 20th birthday. During practise she'll leave in sheathed, only taking it out in real combat as it whistles when touched by blood.
Light Armour; No helmet, Breastplate, the rest is covered by the Khaitan, Gloves and a gauntlet on her right arm(arm with which she uses Grim Sever), and greaves for minimal hindrance.

Background:
Being born into this world unwanted, her parents, both from Har Ganeth, discarded her to the streets as a little baby. Getting picked up by a Death Hag from the tower, she was taken in as a daughter to the Hag, who raised her in the same style as the executioners and Witch Elves. From the age of 18, while learning all the trademarks of the executioners, the witch elves and the sorceresses, she also learned about the combat style of the guards defending the mighty city. A lesser Druchii would easily get manipulated into adjusting to one combat style and one form of fighting, yet she trained in all forms. Being extremely fond of a sword and a shield, she managed to train in that as well, aside from all the magic training of the sorceresses, the dual wielded training from the Witch elves, and the Draich Training from the Executioners. Accepted as a daughter of Khaine, none of these thought it to be extremely strange to have a female Druchii being taught in the skills of the Execution, nor was it strange that the Witch Elf Hags and the sorceresses all wanted to have her as an apprentice.

Accepted in the Khainite group she was indeed, yet she wasn't a devote to Khaine at all. Her faith did lie with the blood-handed-one, yet she didn't express this with sacrifices and such. Often during the annual Death Night, she remained in her chambers, sitting in the window opening and looking down at the streets as the witches roamed over them in search of blood and sacrifices like every other night. Often enough she laughed when one of the witches dragged a volunteer toward the Cauldron, and was drained of his life essence. Drinking a cup of wine during most nights that she enjoyed on her chambers gazing the stars and looked at the sacrifices, she drank a cup of blood during the Death Night before going over to the wine. The blood reminded herself of the suffering she went through and she turned it to a habit, just like the bath of the Death Hags in the Cauldron for refreshed youth. It was often the cup of blood that refreshed her energy until the next, as the cup itself had the same engravings as the Cauldron. The view over the city was impressive, and as soon as night fell, it was absolutely beautiful to sit in a safe shell of brick and iron gazing at the stars that the Gods had created for them.

During a night on her 35th birthday, she gazed like every other day toward the stars. The Death Hags had a fight once more on whom was first to bathe in the Cauldron. The Death Night wasn't just a celebration to Khaine, it was also a celebration of her birthday to her. All the sacrifices that were made were part of her gifts. Knowing full well that this was none sense, she relaxed herself with the cup of blood, freshly poured from the sacrifices. Har Ganeth, you just got to love all the death. was her main thought about the city while she sniffed the fleshly poured wine through her nostrils. Her preference when to the Brittonian wines, yet the Emperial wines were good as well. Dwarven beer was one of the few things that many elves hated, yet she was quite fond of the bitterness of the liquor. The High Elf wines were rare across Naggaroth, and she didn't know how it tasted. However, knowing the Druchii wines taste good to her, she figured that since its wine it couldn't be that bad.

Her 45th birthday wasn't as special either, yet Khaine did tend to become cruel from time to time. One of the many nobles of the city, one using the last name Maveric, forced his way into her room, against the death hags advise. Seeïng the young elf sitting on the window's edge, her hair moved by the winds, sipping the blood and enjoying the Death Night for the 39th time, the nobleman grinned.

"What is a cute young girl doing in a place like this? Looking for some company?" the noblemen grinned.

The words attracted the attention of Athriël indeed, yet not in a good sense of the word. She turned her head toward the noble and her feature turned dark almost immediately. She stood up from the window into the room and placed the goblet of blood on the edge. Instructing the noblemen to leave with a gesture, she showed him that she wasn't happy with his arrival in her room uninvited. The nobleman appeared to be ignorant and stubborn, proceeding toward the young warrior. As he talked sweet words toward her, and approached her. She slowly reached for the sword in standing against the table, giving the nobleman time to turn around and leave of own free will. The noble proceeded, giving her no choice but to grab the sword. Once the sheath was in her hand, the noble lunged forward at her, trying to grasp the young slender body of Athriël. However, she quickly side stepped, drew the sword in a spin and placed its blade against the throat of the noblemen.

"You shall leave this temple, or you'll be the next sacrifice to Khaine and my first one as well." She said in an angry tone.

The noble turned around toward the door and left the room for the rest of his life. She returned to the goblet of blood, sipping the life essence from its golden metal. I should have killed him, he would make due for another two glasses. .

Character Ambitions: She wishes to get tougher, stronger and faster. Aiming for the skills Acrobatics and Freerunning.



• Name: Talahisior Seth'ranis.
• Sex: Male.
• Age: Around 250.
• Height: 6 foot 5 inches.
• Weight: 12 ½ stone.
• Appearance: Slender and toned, Talahisior appears ghostly to those who have the bad fortune of seeing him. His skin has a pale, ashen hue to it, as does his hair, which falls from a topknot. His eyes bear down on those who meet his gaze with the brassy hatred of a devotee of the Bloody Handed god. His face is cruel and disdainful; on either cheek he wears a diagonal ritual scar. He wears clothing of muted shadowy tones, preferring to wear the darkness and bloodstains of his many victims to over embellished armour. He moves with swift precision and a measure of caution, seeing himself as much a tool for murder as the two swords that hang from his belt.

• Character Class: Khainite.
• Character Statistics: WS5, S3, T3, D4, I3.
• Starting Equipment: Short Sword x 2, Light Armour, Throwing Dagger
• Starting Skills: Ambidexterity

• Character Background: There are none who live who know of Talahisior's true origins. There are those who have come to know him, for good or ill, and they shall all tell you of his skill with the sword, and the relish with which he harvests souls for Khaine.

He prefers to keep a distance, watching silently, coldly calculating the measure of those he walks amongst. Not residing in any one place, it is said Talahisior is a survivor of the schism between the Temple of Khaine, and "The True Believers" which resulted in bloody riots in Har Ganeth. He spends his days wandering, worshipping the Lord of Murder in the only manner he sees fit; in battle, wanton acts of violence, and the slaying of those worthy few that would make good offerings.

He spends any spare time he has meditating or practicing his sword skills. Knowing well the danger of his alignment, he keeps his business his own. He has been known to offer his skills in training a select few the art of the sword, and is suspected as well of teaching a few trusted acolytes the ways of his "spiritual path".

(vignette from an appearance by Talahisior in one of my stories)
Corvenhirlan heaved open the oak doors and ran into the darkened hallway with a shout. Spinning his glaive in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the witchlights in the dark interior, he skidded to a halt seeing Yvoris near the window, an unknown druchii nearby.

‘Step away from her.’ He growled, lowering the hooked tip of his weapon to point at the stranger. He took two steps forwards, adding ‘Now.’

Talahisior examined the retainer and backed away, displaying his hands palms open, to the guard. ‘Now let’s not be hasty.’

Corvenhirlan grunted and lunged at the white haired stranger, jabbing his glaive at the druchii’s throat. As fast as a striking serpent, Talahisior unsheathed his swords and parried the blow with his left blade, spinning around and reposting with an overhead cut with his right, aimed at the guard’s neck.

The retainer twisted on his left foot, the sword glancing off his shoulder and down his chest plate as his glaive crashed loudly against the black granite floor. The swordsman pressed his advantage slicing at the guard with both swords, each blade singing as it spun through the air. Corvenhirlan stepped back with each strike, barely able to parry each blow with the steel haft of his halberd. With a snarl he ducked a swipe aimed at his head and spun his glaive in a wide circle, intent on knocking the stranger from his feet.

Talahisior anticipated the strike and leaped upwards and back, before standing with his right blade pointed at the retainer, his left in a defensive position across his body. Corvenhirlan lifted his glaive, holding it above his head and charged at his opponent, bringing the deadly blade down as the gap diminished. Talahisior lowered his stance, raising his swords above his head in an X shape, catching the blade, sliding back against the polished floor with the momentum of the blow. Corvenhirlan kept up his charge pushing Talahisior against the table at the bottom of the staircase, the statue falling from it and shattering on the floor as the table tipped over.

Finding himself pressed against the banister of the stairway, Talahisior narrowed his brass eyes and pushed with all his might forcing the glaive away. Corvenhirlan rocked backwards a little from the shove, but had a better balance, and brought his weapon up for another blow. At these close quarters, Talahisior had a minor advantage, needing less room to manoeuvre his blades for an effective strike. He pulled back his right sword and feinted at Corvenhirlan’s throat. As the guard angrily shoved against the weapon with the shaft of his glaive, Talahisior stabbed with his left blade at the gap between Corvenhirlan’s plate armour beneath his right arm. The guard saw the blow a moment too late to respond swiftly and the sword bit into his flesh by an inch, the rings in his chainmail shirt beneath his armour popping under his arm as the blade burst through them.

Roaring in surprise, the retainer swung around, sweeping the glaive in a deadly arc at Talahisior’s head. The druchii rolled out of the way with barely a moment to spare, and the sharp blade of the deadly weapon hissed past him smashing through four carved banister rails, shattering the stone noisily.

Corvenhirlan pulled the weapon free and brought it down at his opponent, the swordsman rolling forwards and striking up with both blades aiming to bring them together with a scissoring motion around the retainer’s neck. The guard angled his halberd downwards, the tip of the weapon aimed at Talahisior’s chest in an attempt to split him open. The halberd met with the crossed swords and the two struggled against each other, neither able to break the locked weapons, nor wanting to. The first to pull back would be sure to suffer a lethal blow. The two opponents stared fiercely at each other waiting for the other to weaken.

• Character Ambitions: He desires to slay, to see blood run for his Lord. A deeply spiritual druchii, his ambition is to worship through killing, perhaps even seeing the True Faith overthrow the political puppets of the Temple. Wishes to advance in Ambidexterity, Two Weapon Fighting, and Frenzy.



• Name: Nardiz Taxokoar
• Sex: Male
• Age: 120
• Height: 1m 95cm
• Weight: 95kg
• Appearance:
Short black/brown hair, do to having spend a lot of time outside patrolling and standing guard he is less pale that the ‘normal’ druchii. He spends a lot of his spare time practicing and therefore he is more muscular that the ‘normal’ druchii. His armour is made up of a steel chest plate polished so it shines and a red tunic and he is wearing leather sandals with iron rivets to secure his foothold (also they do make some nice marks when used for stamping on an opponent). He is carrying a think oval shield, with a centre grip covered by a metal boss, and a short double edged sword, designed for stabbing (but can make some pretty cuts).

• Character Class: Warrior
• Character Statistics: WS: 4, S: 4, T: 3, D: 3, I: 4
• Starting Equipment: Short Sword, Shortbow, 1 clip of 20, Medium Armour, Shield
• Starting Skills:

• Character Background:
Nardiz’s father was a sergeant in the army. He had command over 50 men. Nardiz spent much of his childhood playing around the fields and forests around his home. His mother often told Nardiz stories about his father, when he was off on a raid or a campaign. When Nardiz’s father then was on leave he would train Nardiz in the way of the sword and shield, when training they didn’t speak much, and a wrong moves from Nardiz’s side would be quickly retaliated by a strike from his fathers sword.

When Nardiz was about 13 his father dies in an ambush by the asur, never before have Nardiz hated anybody with the fury he now welcomes. His mother, destroyed by sorrow abandoned him. For all Nardiz knows she might have committed suicide. Not knowing what to do Nardiz heads off to Naggaroth where he found an army camped outside the walls. Nardiz starts following the army, learning the trade of war from the very best. Every time the army commits to battle Nardiz finds a nearby hill of sorts and he spends his time observing the movement and tactics of the army. In Nardiz’s spare time he practiced in the way of the sword and shield side by side with the recruits who seem to have accepted the presents of this boy.

Nardiz was slowly and steadily integrated into the army, at first he had to bring water to the men when in combat, latter he got a crossbow and was placed into a unit of crossbowmen. Nardiz hated this, he had of cause seen how affective a volley of blot could be, but in his mind all archers was cowards. He craved to be moved over to the front line where he felt he belonged. After having ‘accidently’ shot a recruit, he was transferred to the front line in a hope that he would be killed. But he only grew stronger there and before long he was among the better half of the army when using a sword and shield. Nardiz spent the next 50 years as a foot soldier before the command realized his potential after that he was promoted to sergeant and over the next 25 years the number of men in his unit steadily raised along with the difficulty of his missions and tasks. Nardiz’s ambition at the time was to get command of an army and then lead it in on a campaign to break the neck of the damn asur once and for all.

At the age of 93 Nardiz had command over 50 men. He had just gotten a new superior, an arrogant basted fresh out of officer school, who could not tell a coldone from his ass. And well of course he had gone drunk of his new found power. And the first thing the bafoon (which was what the new commander got called behind his back) does is to order Nardiz and his unit of on a recon mission to locate a shadow warrior camp 50 miles east with no backup. No matter how much Nardiz argued against it saying that his men would be cut to pieces by a bunch of shadow warriors, the bafoon didn’t move a inch, and had Nardiz spoken another word he would have been executed for treason. Infuriated by his orders he led his unit east. After about 45 miles Nardiz’s unit was walking thru a clearing in a dense forest, Nardiz was on edge because they could fall upon the shadow warrior camp any minute. Before he knew what was happening the front and back 3 ranks died do to arrows and a group of 30-50 shadow warriors were charging the unit Shields up! Draw swords! Stand together! Steady men! Ready! Nardiz cried as the assailants closed the gap between them and his men, just before the gap was closed another volley of arrows hit his men creating holds the shadow warriors used to destroy Nardiz’s unit in seconds damn the bafoon to Ulthuan! This is all his fault Nardiz thought as he raised his shield to block a blow aimed to decapitate him and stabbing under it at the crotch of his opponent, his father’s training kicked in throat and crotch Nardiz is the fastest way to kill a man hit him anywhere else and he will have strength to take u with him to death his father used to say. He looked over his shield and saw his men being cut too pieces and cried out sorrow the only way to survive is to run he thought and looked for a way out of the fight. He found it as Nardiz started running he slung his shield over his back to make save him from arrows and blows. He swung he sword wildly to carve a way out of the battle. As Nardiz reach the safety of the forest he looked over his shoulder seeing the last of his men getting cut down like wheat for the scythe. He swore to himself that he would slay the bafoon as revenge for this defeat. Nardiz made it back to Naggaroth in one piece and the first thing he did was to walk up to the bafoon and slice his throat and run into the wild. The guards around the commander were so stunned that they just watched Nardiz run away. Nardiz spend the next 7 years as a sellsword before he found a guard job at a rich noble and stayed there 18 years, before he went back on the road selling his sword and shield to any having enough money.

• Character Ambitions: Nardiz’s goal right now is to break the neck of the asur and add Ulthuan to the realm of druchii, he needs money and men to do this. Nardiz is aiming to increase WS and T. He is trying to achieve the following skills: Awareness, Defensive Fighting, Masterful Endurance and Anarin Sarath (3)



Name: Evazorek Eleset
Sex: Male
Age: 110
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 110lbs

Appearance: Pale skin almost to the point of being grey with a slight blue tint. Deep, predatory eyes the colour of the darkest shade of obsidian. Long black hair pulled tightly into a military top knot.

A single scar crosses the left cheek which he received from a duel of honour with a rival from his youth. Evazorek is tall and lithe, covered in heavily defined muscles; the body of a dedicated warrior.

Evazorek wears a set of fine clothes in sea dragon green. A matching set of boots and belt made from cured and reinforced human hide. Over this Evazorek wears his artfully crafted purple armour as is tradition in his house.

Character Class: Warrior
Character Statistics: WS-5 S-4 T-3 D-3 I-3
Starting Skills: n/a
STARTING EQUIPMENT
Sicarar: Long Sword P-3 S-3 (EP2)
Medium Armour P-3 H-2 (EP3)
House Eleset Heraldic Shield P-2 H-2 (EP2)

Background: Evazorek Eleset is a young noble of a family greatly respected in Ghrond. He is the second son of House Eleset’s current lord, Skirdor Eleset. Evazorek spent his youth with his brother Althalus being schooled in the ways of war, life in Druchii society and skills needed to succeed in a harsh and unforgiving world.

Evazorek took to learning like a moth to a flame. He had a great capacity for absorbing information and soon excelled in all of his classes, particularly sword combat and leadership. He was intelligent and deadly, but also quick to anger much like his father. Althalus was a lot more cold and calculating like their mother Dolabev, and it wasn’t long before Althalus began to plot his younger brothers’ demise.

Evazorek as the second son was not placed to take charge of the great house upon his father’s death, instead he would become a noble tasked with defending Naggaroth and leading part of Ghrond’s fearsome army. This suited the young noble just fine; He enjoyed tactics and war games and he was growing into quite a deadly swordsman. He had dreams of rising to be a Dread Lord serving Malekith and bringing swift death to the traitor’s who dwelt on Ulthuan.

His brother was not as skilled or as strong as Evazorek and a divide began to form between them fuelled by jealousy and a need to impress his tutors and father. When the brothers were nearing their 25th year, they were tasked with surviving in the wilderness outside Ghrond’s protective walls for 5 nights. Athalus saw this as his opportunity to strike and remove his favoured younger sibling.

On the third night in the cold, unforgiving wilderness of Naggaroth, the pair was making camp near a small outcropping of razor sharp rocks. Althalus strode away from the camp claiming he was going to fetch wood for the fire. What he didn’t tell his brother is that he had placed a magical lure at the camp which attracted beings of chaos. Evazorek was alone and unprepared when the beast men leapt from the shadows of the trees and attacked the camp.

Evazorek was no coward and he leapt at the beast men with whatever was to hand at the time. The fight lasted no longer than 50 seconds and by the end, four fully grown beast men lay dead around the camp. Althalus returned and to his shock his brother was still alive and what’s more, he had a collection of heads to take back as trophies.

Althalus was incredibly angry and frustrated that his plan had failed; he never expected his younger, idiot brother to have been a match for the chaotic beast men. He could contain his rage no longer; this was supposed to be his opportunity to rid himself of this whelp. Althalus let loose with a savage roar and charged at his brother.

Evazorek was shocked to turn and see the roar he heard had come from his brother who was running at him full pelt with his sword drawn. Without skipping a beat Evazorek drew his blade from its scabbard just in time to parry his brothers’ first blow. Steel rang against steel as blow after blow was deflected by Evazorek’s blade but he was beginning to tire.

The duel lasted what seemed like an age to the pair and after many blocked attempts, Althalus finally scored a cut straight across his brothers left cheek. Partly blinded and enraged by the spilling of his blood Evazorek launched at his brother with renewed aggression and power. As skilled with a blade as Althalus was, he could not stand up to his brother’s raw aggression and tenacity. Finally Althalus conceded bruised and bloody and fled the camp.

Evazorek was victorious and the fact he was still alive was a testament to his skill even at so young an age. He knew that he could not beat Althalus back to the city and that his brother would weave a tale where Evazorek tried to assassinate him and their father would believe him as it seemed more logical that way given Druchii society. It saddened Evazorek that he would not be able to return home but he buried that sadness with rage at his brothers foolish actions.

As he gathered up his meagre possessions and headed into the wilderness with no clear destination in mind, he swore by the twin moons that he would one day return to Ghrond and claim vengeance on his cowardly sibling.

Character Ambitions: Evazorek’s long term ambition is to be able to return home to the city of Ghrond and take vengeance upon his brother who tried to kill him during that fateful night some years ago. He cannot allow his brother to claim their father’s seat of power because it will spell certain doom for Evazorek but if he can build up his own power base before his brother then he may have enough influence to directly confront and remove him.

_________________
Senluthan Redskull
Group 36 Mod


Sat Jan 28, 2012 10:14 pm
Profile
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Reply to topic   [ 31 posts ]  Go to page 1, 2  Next

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests


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