OLD APPS / CHARACTER SHEETS

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No D:

I meant with your App and Full CS!!!
Yeah u said that full CS have to be accepted before being put in a roster! I said the opposite so I deleted my comment like that it doesn't put anyone in a state of confusion hah :)
 
Yeah u said that full CS have to be accepted before being put in a roster! I said the opposite so I deleted my comment like that it doesn't put anyone in a state of confusion hah :)
OH. My bad, I completely misread then xD
 
Kydris Shieldew


Conman and Conjurer
"I steer my own fate, but with enough coin you can point me in any direction."



GENERAL

Name:Kydris Shieldew - Formerly Kydris Milane
Pronunciation: Kai-Dris Shield-Dew
Nickname: Ky
Species:
Elf
Race: Roanite
Date of Birth: Thunderwind (Month 8)
Zodiac:The Gryphon
Age: 28
Place of Birth: Marbalea

Storyline/Plot: Stars of Skaarsburg
"Why pay a premium for my services? If you can imagine a problem, I can imagine a solution. Luckily for you, I can create whatever it is I imagine. That's the Shieldew guarantee, my friend. Even my competition wouldn't bet against me..."



APPEARANCE

Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Brown
Hair Style/Length: Shoulder length when untied, and rather unkempt in any state.
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 163 lb
Body Type: Slender
Body Modifications/Accessories: Underneath his right eye, the elvish equivalent to the letter T has been branded over his cheekbone. It's faded somewhat with age, and is also fairly small and so is often unnoticed at first.

Written Appearance:
Kydris is relatively undistinguished compared to his Roanite peers. Where some flaunt fashion as a means of showing off wealth or power, Kydris dresses purely for functionality. Most typically, he adorns a leather jacket over a simple linen shirt, paired with tattered legwear and a stocky set of hide boots. Perhaps the most interesting element of his attire are the three belts haphazardly tied to his waist—each one sporting a number of small knives and knick-knacks. While he wouldn’t openly admit it to his peers, belt collecting has always been somewhat of a hobby (or perhaps, an obsession) of his since his youth.



PERSONALITY

Personality Traits:
  • Charismatic
  • Optimistic
  • Greedy
  • Lazy

Strengths:
  • Kydris is quite charismatic from years of perfecting the art of deceit.
  • Kydris has an exceptional memory as a result of his conjuration practice.
  • Kydris is always optimistic in the face of danger.
Weaknesses:
  • Kydris is a mercenary by necessity, and is easily swayed by money.
  • Kydris is a heavy gambler. He bets with his own fate to a near flippant degree.
  • He will actively self-sabotage close relationships due to complications of his past.

Quirks: He will absentmindedly brush an index finger over the brand on his face when stressed.

MBPT: ENFP

D&D Alignment: True Nuetral, but walks the Chaotic Nuetral line from time to time.


DETAILS

Inventory: A steel saber, coin pouch, and a brass colored chain around his neck.

Occupation: He's a jack of all trades. Sells knock-off conjurations during the day, and thieves at night.

Education: Seventeen years of formal education in arithmetic, Mesovian literature, Marsean geography, and Mesovian religious studies. Approximately four of those fifteen years also included conjuration practice and research. An additional six years of street-side education regarding the criminal justice, trade route, and underground architecture systems of the port city Lyf.

Character Arcs/Plots:
  1. Leaving Lyf and escaping adversaries
  2. Learning to “pull” more useful conjurations for a more important purpose.
  3. Pursuing the trail of his sister (Ongoing)


RELATIONS

Social
  • Thrall, Son of Mordecai--Lives in the same apartment
  • Eadrus Morgane--Wealthy smuggler and current employer

Familial
  • Briac Milane (Father)
  • Eleanora Milane(Mother)
  • Borain Milane(Brother--Deceased)
  • Lucillia Milane(Sister)


ARMAMENTS

Magic Tier(s):

Attuned Element(s):
  • Primary: Conjuration
  • Secondary: Illusionism (Untrained)
Fleuntia: Solis
Main Weapon: Steel Saber

Secondary Weapon: Hand Sickle

HISTORY


Kydris loves to surround himself with the company of others, which doesn’t appear to be a strange feature given his upbringing. The young Roanite grew up in Marbalea as the middle child to one of the most prominent merchant families, and so existed in relative comfort and disinterest for much of his young life. Like his father, Kydris was an exceptional orator and host from a young age. When he wasn’t being forcibly tutored, the Roanite spent most of his time either finding the most creative ways to inebriate himself, or by looking for the most egregious way to spend his family’s wealth as possible. In all respects, he was much akin to a parasite—content to subsist on an inherited fortune, and averse to any kind of person accountability.

The truth, however, was that Kydris might’ve been motivated to follow in his father’s footsteps had he not spent most of his youth in the shadow of a meticulously groomed, and beloved brother. No matter how hard he might’ve tried to impress his parents with his magical accomplishments, or learned knowledge, their attention always seemed to be focused on the heir to the Milane business. What little family time Kydris can remember was mostly spent over hushed dinners, calculated hikes, or cordial small talk—none of which even remotely pleasant. On one hand, Kydris could count the amount of times his father truly smiled in his presence, and yet would have no ability to measure the thousands of false compliments he received at any public party, or social gathering.

Eventually, in his late teenage years, he discovered that he could gain some small measure of approval if he learned to play the same game everyone in his household did. His smile grew wider, and his charm more refined. He attended every event, and became good at gleaning valuable information from his guests. His mother delighted in what she called “coming out of his shell”, which he understood to truly mean “becoming useful”. In his off time, he would waste his wealth on decadence and depravity to fill the hole, and it might’ve hurt to confront the fact that he was—and would always be—a periphery element to the lives the of his betters, but for the single meaningful individual in his life: Lucillia, his sister.

Both children had become masters of denial and deflection, but their friendship had always been true as a result of the same isolation each had felt growing up. On the party floor, they both became different people—he the charming debonair, and she the fragile maiden daughter—when in reality he oft found her to be more courageous than he ever was. Together, they might’ve explored every inch of Marbalea on late night adventures and escapades had it not been for the one adventure that taught them that which they were not supposed to know.

After returning home just several hours before sunrise, the two heard raucous shouting and loud crashing noises from the study on the second floor of the house, and—surprised by a rare hint of chaos in their household—the two silently snuck to the doorway, making sure to remain just within earshot. Inside the room, his father and brother were locked in a heated argument about the nature of the king and his rule. The two had heard their parents voice their displeasure with government before, but in that moment they realized the true depth of Briac Milane’s vitriol. Almost proudly, the head of their home boasted about years of treacherous planning and compounded cunning that was leading up to a fiery conclusion. In the wake of his monologue, Borain attempted to dissuade him, clearly uncomfortable with whatever the next step was.

In mute horror, the two elves listened to their brother’s meek acceptance of his role in whatever plan had been hatched, and his allegiance towards furthering that end. While they slipped away shortly thereafter, Kydris found within himself a rare moment of courage several weeks afterwards, and confronted his father about what he had heard. In response, the old elf laughed off his accusations, and delivered an icy warning against further accusations. Lucillia had warned him against it, but Kydris then sought out his brother who—despite their distance—was nearly a good acquaintance and had proven to be noble in times past.

To this day, Kydris doesn’t recall how the fight started, only that the brother he confronted was not of the same ambivalence he had been. The fistfight evolved, and Borain drew his sword prompting Kydris to do the same. When the more agile elf finally plunged the sword into his foes chest did he see Borain’s hard eyes grow soft. In that intimate moment when both brothers’ faces were within inches of each other, Kydris watched what he thought might’ve been a look of relief wash over his dying brother’s face. The murder could not go unpunished, and though he might’ve set back whatever plot was in motion, he could not stay in Mesovia. Within hours of the body being found, authorities were instructed to seek out the spry elf, yet he had already paid his way onto a vessel. Unable to return home, he never was able to say good bye to his sister, but was reassured to know that his parents would likely not blame her for any part of his betrayal. Shaken, and wrought with despair, the elf branded the letter T onto his cheek, and gifted himself a new name so that his father’s influence might never find him again.



WRITING SAMPLE


The weathered door made a near inaudible creaking sound as Kydris deftly swung it aside, and strode into the Vigorous Mare. She was an old tavern, and the sound of the door would’ve been loud enough in any other space but the raucous—and oftentimes uncontrollable—behavior of its most typical patrons was such that anything short of a fireseed shot would be almost entirely drowned out by their uproarious laughter and vitriolic shouting. This place was one of the few that Kydris frequented in Lyf, if only due to the pseudo-casino operating out of the basement.

The Roanite stalked through the heavy crowds, barely noticing the pungent vapors of exotic tobacco and other, more illicit substances. To his left, a meager bar built of some sort of dark wood stood, although just barely: decades of mistreatment, bar-scraps, and general tomfoolery had left it with any number of large dents, and splintered corners.

It was a favorite haunt of his, and for a moment Kydris stared wistfully at the tabletop, desperately trying to avoid making eye-contact with the bouncer at the casino door. He wouldn’t have to: not several seconds later, a firm, heavy hand clasped his right shoulder, the muscular arm stretching around his back and squeezing him closer towards a singular, hairy human. The man had so much hair, in fact, that Kydris had once mistaken him for a Lecyri. Then, like now, Kydris found himself unable to escape comeuppance, although his punishment had previously been but a rigged game of dice.

“You know my friend,” Eadrus’s spoke, his voice raspy in Kydris’s ear. “I had not expected you to return. In fact, I had placed a wager on you leaving Lyf tonight.”

Kydris suddenly found his mouth very dry, and his heart beating very fast. With a soft gulp, he pulled away from the man’s embrace. “Eadrus, you know I would never dream of walking out on you. Certainly not after all the good work we’ve done together in the past. You remember that, right? All those really profitable jobs—“
“Enough.” Eadrus interrupted, his voice sharp in its delivery. By his collar, Kydris found himself being dragged to the den below. Even if he could wiggle free, his eyes quickly landed upon two other figures obscured in the crowd that were staring at him intently. He had witnessed this sort of play before, and knew he had no chance at running now.

When Eadrus finally let go, Kydris found himself standing not ten feet from a dart-board. In front of him, a case of knives were presented. “Kydris, my boy. I am a fair employer, am I not?” Kydris nodded silently, trying to assess his situation with fleeting eyes. “Here’s the deal, since you’ve appeared to completely forget about the payment you owe me,” Eadrus continued. “You and I play a game of knives, and should you win, you’ll live to pay me back another day. Usually I would kill you, but consider this…” The old man paused, his lips curling into a yellowed grin. “A mercy for past services rendered.”

Kydris should've just played the game, but ever the fool he instead opened his mouth and said, “Double the bet—If I win I owe you nothing.” It appeared Eadrus expected this however, as his grin widened. “Then If I win,” The human spoke, “You belong to me.” The two gamblers shook hands in a mock show of honor, but Kydris was already dreaming of ways to cheat. Such was the elf’s way.






I think its finally complete, but there's a formatting error in here somewhere that deposited the writing sample into the history box. Don't know how to change it, but it doesn't actually obscure anything so let me know what you think.
 
Accepted! You may post your Full CS within a Roster. I'll PM you tomorrow to finish/finalize our conversation and move on to plot integration. You may create a second character if you wish, or spark a Discussion Thread with fellow roleplays.

Also I'll fix the coding asap.
 
I yacht glue. (This is how you do this right? Right?)
 
GENERAL

Name: Iskaya Starrat || secret name: Kakawangwa, meaning Bitter
Pronunciation: Iss-KAH-yah stah-RAHT
Nickname: Sky; Skaya
Species: Elf
Race: Ka'Lene
Date of Birth: Winter, Month 1
Age: 148
Place of Birth: Kwano'Kasha Island

"I know I'm good."



DETAILS

1 Paragraph Character Concept: Iskaya is, first and foremost, comfortable in her own skin. She owns her space the way she owns her knives, with a pride she seems to radiate from beneath her dark eyes. She has long learned how to carry her unmarked skin, the sign of an uninitiate, uneducated Ka'Lene. At one point in time, she may have had a large chip on her shoulder, but time and patience have worn it away. More than anything, Iskaya is sure of herself in a way that most people will never understand or experience-- had she not, she surely would have perished by now, and that is not an option. However, her personal armor is not without its gaps. She is searching for someone precious to her, and perhaps this is the only thing which can move the unflappable elf.

Whatever the case, she is well-traveled and skilled in the art of melee combat. Her journeys have taken her much farther than most Ka'Lene would dare travel, having seen much of Lorasea and Marsea. While somewhat aloof and generally quiet, she has taken to a traveling companion she met some years ago who seems just as closed off as she is, and she finds kinship in that. Whatever the case, she has no doubts that there is much excitement before them.

Character Arc(s):
Leads: It's been a very long time since Iskaya found any kind of leads on her sister, Laskayani. The last bit of news she had heard was nearly thirty years ago, when she'd lost her trail somewhere along the coast of Mevonia. Now she hears that a Ka'Lene elf has been squirreled away in Valterion.

Unwanted: For as much pride as Iskaya has, she still deals with the fact that she doesn't really belong in Adori, given she was left on her own at such a young age, or as a part of the other elven races. As an Unattuned, she is doubly an outsider, and she struggles with finding her place in the world. Under her bravado, she still has some doubts.

Friends?: Her friendship with Bellamy is a rather new thing. To start, it was a partnership of convenience. Now, there seems to be an actual relationship of mutual goodwill, and Iskaya has never let someone get so close. She holds no romantic feelings towards Bellamy, but the fact she wants him to stay around and keep her company genuinely irks her.

Character Plot(s): TBD

MBTI: INTJ

D&D Alignment: True Neutral, leans toward Neutral Good

Attuned Element(s): none/Unattuned

Fleuntia: Solis

Weapons and Proficiency: Iskaya's claim to fame is her incredibly ability with a pair of bend-knives. They are blades that are bent in the middle to a strange, leaf-shaped end, which can be used as either a tool knife or as a combat knife. The knives are very, very distinctive-looking, and thus, finding her is not exactly difficult. The knives have impressive range, given they're just under a foot long, and she keeps them honed to their maximum sharpness. Her style of knife-fighting uses quite a few dervishes and leaps, mostly acrobatics, to stay out of range of an opponent's knife or sword.

She also has a single (very expensive) gun which fires two musket balls at a time, using Fireseed. It is a last-ditch weapon, as ammo is expensive, and so is fireseed itself. However, it comes in handy against those who also use guns, and eventually, you come across someone who does. Most of the time, she wears a lightweight set of gambeson and chain mail to keep off the worst cuts, but she often leaves her arms free of any armor so they are as mobile as possible. Unfortunately, she's paid for this quite a few times, so her arms are littered with the scars of those who managed to get an edge in before she lopped off a hand.

On top of that, Iskaya speaks several languages and is quite the accountant. She's very good at following a money trail, and she's good at keeping her money too. Some people might call her a little stingy, though.

 
Last edited:
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You good, Frand :)

Go ahead and fill out your full CS app within this thread! Once completed and accepted, this thread will be archived tho still viewable from the Vault.
 
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WELCOME ABOARD!! You may now post Skaya's Full CS within your own Roster thread!
 
I gotchu boss
 
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I got shoes.

Of course, I got shoes.
How else do I go dancing?

(I know it is "I got chu," I'm being a turd.)
 
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GENERAL

Name: Grinnal Greyfellow
Pronunciation: Grin-nahl Grae-fell-oh
Nickname: "Grin the Great", "Grin"
Species: Halfling
Date of Birth: Autum; Tolki
Age: 72
Place of Birth: Caerdean; Northwood

"It was a love like no other. I knew what pure bliss was. It was riding atop mah wife towards the sunset. What? Are you implyin' I can't love and marrah a centaur? I am appalled. How could yah? It's good to know I'm in the company of vile racists. Though, a bit of coin and information would make the hurt go away."



DETAILS

1 Paragraph Character Concept:
If words are power, then Grin is the master of the realm. He's a storyteller at heart. Born into the isolation of the halfling culture, it didn't stop him from hanging around the fringes and learning stories about the world beyond. He's vivacious. He's loud. He's prone to drinking heavily and betting that he could perform a feat that no other creature, elf, human, or otherwise, could.It was no surprise that he could call forth the aether with his words given how much he enjoyed abusing them. His spells are as elaborate as his tales. Yet, behind his glittering, wide eyes, is a more somber story. He laughs along a knife's edge, a moment from gritting his teeth. While he states that furthering knowledge and culture is the reason that he left his kind, it truly wasn't. He may act like a street storyteller and magician, weaving tales for the young and old alike. He may state that he is from the halflings on a cultural journey to act as both emissary and scholar. Yet, there is something deeper and darker there. He worms himself into powerful circles. He researches cults. He looks into every nook and cranny that the world has to offer. He will find his answer, and from it weave the most important tale of all.

Character Arc(s):
- What he truly seeks is his kin. Not in blood, no. The other was a pixy, and one of Grin's closest friends. He entered a Contract that was binding and dangerous. The man that enacted it had a darkness about him that Grin couldn't quite shake. When his friend left the protection of the halfings, Grin laid awake at night. He knew something was wrong. So, he seeks him out.

Character Plot(s):
- Can and will play himself off as anything to find out who, or what, made a Contract with his pixy friend and to what end.
- Possible espionage, sabotage, spying, etc. for someone that can help him with his search. Possible tutor for noble's children that wish for them to be more "worldly." Entertainer for rich. Any sort of job that would give him information and possibly leverage.
- Romance?
- Drama?
- Action and Adventure?
- Hijinks!

MBTI: ESTJ

D&D Alignment: Chaotic Good

Attuned Element(s): Invocation

Fleuntia: Solaris

Weapons and Proficiency:
- Grin's words can butter toast or cut like a knife. It just depends how he uses them.
- He's gifted in the use of his invocation skill.
- As a halfling, he's spry, small, and very agile. While he lacks the ability to take down an opponent in a single hit, he can get under them and slowly bring them down to his level.
- He's trained in the use of daggers and a small hand crossbow.



In retrospect, Grin should never have bitten the man. Then again, he wasn't fond of being pulled up by the nape of his neck while ildy perusing weapons at the smith's stall.

The festival roared like a dull stream all around them, and the smell of cooking spices and well-tread mud coalesced into some sort of repugnant delight. None of that probably helped the other man's cause, Grin would learn his name was Lord Armare. The lord only got a glimpse of Grin's eyes when the halfling laid into his arm, chomping down as hard as he could. He didn't break the skin, as it was swathed in heavy layers, but it was enough for the lord to howl and drop the halfling directly on his backside.

"You worthless," the lord belted, raising his hand. Yet, once he looked over Grin, he paused. His arm wavered for a moment before he dropped it. "You're not my son."

"No, I'm not." Grin pulled himself from the ground. "And yah better well apologize for pickin' me up like yah mutt. Or son, I reckon'. Though that's disconcertin'."

The man cleared his throat. "But that doesn't give you a right to bite me."

"Would yah rather have had me pull mah blade? Nah. Of course not. The guards may have accidentally filled yah full of holes when they played a fun game of 'stab the halfin'."

"I can still call the guards." The lord leered over and down at Grin, as if his height would make a smidge of difference to the halfling. Yet, Grin was not the sort accommodate violence so easily.

He ran a hand through his short blond hair, mussing it up a bit. "How about this? We both apologize for our actions and be on our merry way?"

The lord snorted, waving his bitten sleeve in the halfling's face. Teeth-shaped punctures riddled it, like holes in a net.
"Spirits," Grin cursed. "Fine, what yah want? Just warning yah, I don't have much in the way of wealth."

Apparently, what he had in oodles and ounces was his ability to entertain children. Grin had brought up the point that leaving a complete stranger with his children was not the in the lord's best interest. He reminded the halfling that the guards were watching, but their job didn't encompass entertaining his children enough that they wouldn't take to the streets like feral cats.

They sat underneath a thick canvas awning with wood benches, tables, and a decent assortment of drinks and food. Grin found the carafe of the stronger liquor. He took a few long drinks before addressing the children. The young man, the one that his father had mistaken for the halfling, looked very uninterested. The girl, younger in both smile and appearance, stared intently.

"Tell me about pixys!" she exclaimed. The boy let out a long sigh before trying to vault over the small square of wood work that stood about a head taller than Grin. The halfling snatched the boy halfway up the fence work. The kid spat and hissed. The girl crossed her arms and frowned.

"Look, I'll tell yah all about pixys. Yah just have to sit down and be quiet." Grin paused. "Do that, and I'll tell yah father yah good kids and yah deserve whatever you want."

"A pony!" "My own house!" Their voices nearly sang in unison.

"Right, well we obviously have diff'rent ideas about what one might deserve by being good for about an hour." Grin grumbled under his breath about 'spoilt rich kids.' "Alright, here is a story."

"About pixys!" the daughter exclaimed again.

"Yes about pixys. Calm yahself." The two siblings sat down. The girl placed her arms in her lap and cross her legs. Her chin was tilted upwards in interest. The boy crossed his arms and huffed--loudly. Grin ignored him.

"A long time ago," Grin began. "There was a pixy prince."

The daughter's hand shot up. "Are there really pixy princes?"

"Yah cram it, or I stop talkin' and tell yah father you're a bunch of demons." There was a silent pause. "Very well. The pixy prince was the strongest, smartest, kindest, and bravest of his kind. He befriended many a halfin', and he found their company blessed. They loved the pixy prince, so it was fair to say when the day came for him to enter a contract with a person outside tha woods, they all feared for what was going to happen. Yet, the pixy called upon his most trusted of halflins. That one watched over the pixy as he created a Contract with a powerful man. A dangerous man. The halflin saw nothin' wrong with the initial contract, but as the pixy prince left the woods... the halflin' realized he'd been drawn into a contract most dark. So, the halflin' set off to save the pixy prince..."

"Bo-ring," the young noble boy announced.

Grin frowned, but he knew his audience. "He didn't make it far until he was waylaid by bandits. A young, female elf came to his rescue. He died at her feet, tellin' her all about the pixy prince's contract and the darkness in the one's hart that had made it..." He went on to tell a tale of a female elf knight, a young human prince, a handful of centaurs, griffins, and the like. They went from uninterested to enrapt at his telling. He was wrapping up with the noble human prince's sacrifice, when their father arrived. They applauded and filed off behind the lord. Of course, that was after he'd left a hefty sum in Grin's hands. This would help him.

He was counting coins when the daughter reappeared. She stood before him, only a little bit below him. "The part of the pixy and the halfling were true, right?" She asked.

Grin smiled. "Every good story has a nugget of truth, m'dear. Yah would be good to learn that if yah goin' to be lyin' to your father in the rapid pace yah seem to enjoy."

The girl hugged him before disappearing into the crowd. Grin just laughed.

 
Lore Kalvisi



The Distant
"And who are we but all deserving?"



GENERAL

Name: Lore Kalvisi
Pronunciation: Lohr Kal-vee-SEE
Species: Sylphaer
Date of Birth: Thunderwind
Zodiac: The Gryphon
Age: 231
Place of Birth: The Skies above Aurora


"Life is full of unexplained mysteries. One must have the courage to risk it all for a chance to solve just one."



APPEARANCE

Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black
Hair Style/Length: Mid-length; curly
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 186 lbs
Body Type: lythe/athletic
Body Modifications/Accessories: Black wings


Written Appearance: A face full of thought and expression, yet none to give to the world around him. There is a grace in his build with body and winged expanse. His feathers are of a deep pitch as black as the night and stricken with the faintest hue of indigo to match if the light catches it just right. Despite his scholarly nature, he keeps himself active in his martial training to prepare himself to Walk the Path of Guidance and whatever may come. There is a glitter in his blue eyes only given with interest where otherwise would appear a lidded apathy. Raven hair falls back in threats of curls that only toss about to a mess with the wind as he flies.

PERSONALITY

Personality Traits:
  • Curious – he has a desire to learn all he can even if detached on a personal level.
  • Contemplative – he thinks upon any subject, and then thinks some more. Most of his time is thinking. He may even forget to speak his mind.
  • Stoic – partially due to his thoughtful mind, he is also a rather serious fellow.
  • Introspective – he thinks of himself a lot, but not in a vain awareness, but more in his life and his impact.
Strengths:
  • Knowledgeable
  • Honest
  • Intelligent

Weaknesses:
  • Detatched
  • Inexperienced
  • Self-absorbed
Quirks: He hates it if he can feel his feathers dragging the floor. He also really enjoys anything with fruit on it.

MBPT: INTP

D&D Alignment:
Lawful Neutral

DETAILS

Inventory:
  • Sword
  • Preening Butter (for grooming his feathers)
  • Blanket roll
  • Rope

Occupation: Scholar/swordsman

Education: MUCH

Character Arcs/Plots:
  • The Search for the magic of friendship!
  • The change from distant to empathetic.
  • Platonic/romantic relationships.
  • Anything with moral conflicts.
  • Divination anyone?


RELATIONS

Social
  • List and detail relation


Familial
  • List and detail relation


ARMAMENTS

Magic Tier(s): High Elements


Attuned Element(s): Divination and Transmutation


Fleuntia: Luna


Main Weapon: A sword of white steel


Secondary Weapon: Bladed shoes

HISTORY

His name was given to him for the history he would bear witness and recount. Before his conception a task was already placed upon him divined by a sylphaer who would eventually become his mentor and tutor. Lore was a natural scholar, soaking up information and retaining it all with near perfect clarity. He was destined to become the epitome of his own kind; to carry out the tradition and legacy of keeping, maintaining, and documenting the history of the world.

But Lore carried no desires to venture out and Walk the Path of Guidance. He preferred reading about the world and cared little to explore it with his own eyes. It was coming upon his coming of age, and he avoided his parents fervently as he delved further into activities and divination. Visions, no matter what he did, always led him away from home to the lands he had only ever read about. A shallow dread overcame him until there was no running from his destiny. He knew he could not change fate.

And so, despite his quiet protests and clever avoidances, he trained and practiced his magic. Divination and Transmutation were his attunements, though he often felt he could live without seeing possible futures. Ritualistically scrying the future had always been a frustrating affair, and he was not at all good at understanding what he saw until the future unfolded before his eyes in life. To that, he often finds little point in the ritual. And to that as well, his tutor mostly beat the ritual into his skull every session. His divination was more naturally tapped through his dreams.

And perhaps it was this that caused him to be so reluctant to press on. The possible futures he would see were sometimes happy, and he saw himself enjoying the company of strangers and living a life outside of his home. But in other visions he would see death and turmoil that clung bitterly to his pallate.

Inevitably, Lore would find himself dutiful, and he would Walk the Path of Guidance as it was his destiny.



WRITING SAMPLE

“You know you are next in line to come of age.”

Lore looked over at his father as he spoke, though did not comment on the matter. For the past year he had been reminded by so many he was due to come of age and make his own place in the sky. His fingers brushed along the cloud brick that comprised the interior of his father’s home. Even within the architecture was aesthetically pleasing in its intricacies. The standards where high and the bar set, and even in this grand prospect he was still unsure of what was to be expected of him. He knew what was to come, and he dreaded it.

“You also need to begin to Walk the Path of Guidance,” his father continued. Lore frowned at that, his eyes rolling at the tradition which set his father’s jaw.

“What would I learn that is not already documented?” Lore challenged. He only did so for selfish reasons. Leaving his own kind meant willing isolation among people who would not understand or care.

“It is perhaps one of the most important ventures of your lifetime,” his father continued, his tone now more cold and severe. “We had hoped you would journey and take this walk on your own. This is something you must do, Lore. It is time you learn of the surface dwellers face to face. Experience a life outside your own.”

He wanted to protest, but at this point it was clear this was not a debate. Disappointment ran through him, but he nodded both in understanding and agreement. “I will do so,” Lore said.

And so it was set that his days would become less regimented and scheduled. For over two hundred years he knew the ins and outs of his life from studies to practices in the art of combat and magic. He set out from the third tier balcony to fly to his teacher’s own sky castle just across the way. Dark wings beat against the cold air and rushed among the clouds until he fluttered upon the balcony of Davant Geor who walked out into the open.

“This was purely happenstance,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I had no idea you were coming. Just here to water my little potted plants. What do you want today, Lore?”

“I am to Walk the Path of Guidance,” he explained.

“About time you got off your lazy ass,” she muttered.

“I wanted to divine with you one last time before I left,” Lore continued as he brushed away her comment. His furrowed brow still lingered to show his displeasure in her opinions, but she did not seem to care how her words affected him.

“You don't need me to hold your hand anymore,” she said as she tilted her watering can along her flower beds. Lore pursed his thin lips and shook his head somewhat in a thought. Did they not wish to be a part of his life until he proved himself more like his kin? He did not understand their shift in demeanor towards him as of late, and it was beginning to become abrasive.

“Then may I use your materials?” Lore asked. Davant sighed and set her watering can down.

“Fine, fine,” she said with a huff. It made Lore’s stomach churn to see his teacher in such a state against him, but he followed her into her estate without commentary. She never did like to let someone else use her supplies unsupervised. Perhaps he was being a tad manipulative in that regard.

It was perhaps the last time he would have to spend with his long-time teacher for a few years. While his kind lived long lives, he found that even a year in passing was still quite slow, and he knew he would find himself eventually homesick for his scheduled norm. Adventure awaited him in less than a day, and even with this small gesture he felt a rising eagerness to get it all over with so he return to a comfortable life among his own kind.






 
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WELCOME TO THE FOLD <3

Edit: Go ahead and post Lore's Full CS within your own Roster!
 
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He looks great so far! Go ahead and post a FULL CS within this thread!
 
I gotchyu
 
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*sings,* "I love you! I love you! I love you: YES! I do!"

I love the Sixties music.
 
GENERAL


Name: Charlotte des Chaine
Pronunciation: (SHAHR-luht dehs CHAYN)
Nickname: The Silver Soldier, the Free Knight of Norway, the Scandinavian Caesar
Titles: Dame of Scandinavia
Species: Human
Race: Nordic/Viking
Date of Birth: Ides of Winter
Age: Nineteen
Place of Birth: Vik, Kingdom of Norway, Principality of Scandinavia

"Out in the wilderness; out in the freezing, biting cold, there is freedom. For every once in an age, you might come upon a fighter ... a gladiator from long ago fighting for something dear to their heart ... and they think they are the best. I am a fighter, free knight, and soldier in shimmering silver armour. My name is Charlotte, and I live to fight: for chivalry, for charity, for honour. I live to fight and love it."



DETAILS

1 Paragraph Character Concept: Charlotte des Chaine was knighted by the Prince of Scandinavia after a fight and became her first lover imbuing her with his magic. She is furious in battle, fighting Autism a thousand years before a diagnosis, sleeps in her armour of one hundred percent sterling silver, and has a penchant for killing bandits and profiting from the kill- generously donating to the needy. Headstrong, overconfident, zealous, and every ready for the fight of her Life!

Character Arc(s): Fish out of water, transported to another realm of existence through magic thought once destroyed, trying to get back home knowing it will take years of effort, energy, heartache, and possibly loss of life.

Character Plot(s): Possible broken romance, action-adventure involving nobility and military, flexible mystery, flexible on others.

D&D Alignment: Neutral Good

Attuned Element(s): Water, Wind, Transmutation

Fleuntia: Luna.

Weapons and Proficiency: Regal Cutlass-Expert, Rapier-Expert, Short sword-Proficient, Long sword-decent, Crossbow-decent, Foil-Expert, Novice on other swords.




Stone received no pain from the Arrow in his right leg since the platinum blonde bathing in the waterfall shot him in his prosthesis. He had seen plenty, but Stone could not move since his false leg was stuck to a tree by the arrow. The woman was deadly accurate, for he saw her shivering as if with the palsy, and she had got him good! And before he could look back up (for he was thinking with the wrong head), his left arm was pinned to the tree behind him, and the mystery girl in the Fjords had slivered into her shimmering silver armour.

“Forgive me,” Stone told the Viking who drew her regal cutlass on Stone quick enough to draw blood right beneath his mask.

Before he could say he just wanted to look around, which would not have been a lie, she replied, “I forgive you only if you aim to fight.” Her hair was so blonde, it was almost white. And her eyes were a metallic steel-blue. The Sun hit her armour and blinded him. “I shot you in the false limbs to paralyse you, Nobleman. You have desecrated my honour by being the only person in my life to view me bathing. I want to fight you in your prime.”

“You knew I was noble?”

“By your uniform and sash.”

She grabbed for the leather mask covering the left side of his face, but his honour refused, and he grabbed her hand by the gauntlet.

“I wear the mask to cover a shameful scar,” said Stone. “Honour my pride, and we shall fight for your honour.” She relinquished and Stone let go. “My name is Stone the Lion, the Prince of Scandinavia, as you could probably tell by the prosthetics and hair.” His right leg was that of an actual lion as was his left arm. A taxidermist had preserved them to where the claws were fully extended.

“Charlotte the Silver Soldier is what I am called, of Vik, Norway,” she replied acidically still angry at him and not going to cool down no matter how cold she was.

Awkwardly, Charlotte wrapped a scarf around Stone’s eyes and grabbed her clothes and leathers. There was no way she was fighting with nothing between her cold, wet skin and the silver armour plating. She had already chafed her skin raw in the sensitive spots.

Stone asked her what she was doing, and she responded that she was replacing her dignity and covering her shame. After drying off and getting into proper wool clothes and leather gear and armour, Charlotte ripped the scarf off Stone’s face. She was immaculate. He had never seen such muscles before. He was definitely at a disadvantage. He had already lost an arm and a leg to a lion in Africa. He certainly did not want to lose his short-arm and third leg.

She pulled the arrows from his false appendages and eyed bloody scratch at his neck. She then, with metal gauntlets on, slapped the shit out of Stone’s cheek enough to make him cry two tears … and he had been attacked by a killer lion without much fear of dying!

“I was destined to be seen like this by the one who would be my first lover, Stone the Lion, Prince of Scandinavia,” she said, mocking his nickname and title. “But not by someone who lost to me in a fight.” With this, Charlotte broke Stone’s Nose with a left jab and gave him a black left eye with a right hook, knocking him unconscious.

When Stone came around, the fire that had attracted his attention had gotten much stronger and intense, and Charlotte was eating some fish she had caught with her net.

“I set your nose, but that does not count as our fight, Sir Stone,” she told him without looking up.

“Good, because I aim to fight you but not with my fists,” he said boldly enough for someone who got bested by the most feared European woman since Goth Queen Jaimie I conquered Normandy.

“You talk a lot … and you look a lot,” she quipped. “You can use your eyes and mouth, but how about the rest of you?” She spun up and tossed his rapier at him.
 
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