Sign Up Bell and Book and Candle

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue][i]In a vaguely disturbing world, disturbing at least to the trusting masses, there are lines. Lines of love, lines of time, power, energy, magic, darkness.... All connected to form a web, a web of both Discord and Harmony. And this Order that is created sustains the life of this world known as Tzinsene.

Magic is commonplace. Curses, Counter-Curses, Blessings, Glamours, Charms, Hexs, and everything in between abounds. Here, everyone is separated by both race and religion. Creatures seldom mix with others, save perhaps faeries and Elves of all kinds. Dragons and Dragourets are feared and respected. Asuras, demi-demons, and various trickster spirits are considered annoying and dangerous by the majority, thus banished on sight. Of course ... this method of banishment is temporary. The Darkness is shut off from the light by dark forests, blasted deserts, and wide oceans. Sirens, Nyads, and Dryads are found in great abundance along with various sprites, earth angels, and small moon shades.

All these beings get along vaguely well, but when the strings of life are tweaked, bad things happen. Divine discontent arises. The gods, see to absolutely nothing except their own praise. They will keep most things in check, but a break in the web is beyond even their control. A line could snap at any time, but this tension keeps everyone in line. Until now. Lately, various small things have been going wrong. Nothign serious, and hardly anyone notices. ....yet.

Our time period is roughly mid 15th century, gothic style architecture, built by elves and drows mostly. Style of dress is vaguely mideval, magic users are common, warriors are nice, and transvestites are interesting.[/i]

Signups follow this basic scheme. Adhere strictly, give me a sample dialouge/descriptive paragraph and you could get in. Be sloppy and ugly and you may kiss my natural asian ass for free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/COLOR]
[color=seagreen]Name: be creative, no Joe Smith or Agent 054BZ49869.

Age: anywhere from 0 to 2000 is acceptable.

Species: All of the above and more, but absolutely no humans and NO talking animals unless they have human bodies/heads.

Calling: Sorcerer[ess], Warrior, Preist, Politician....be creative.

Physical characteristics: Height, weight, eye/hair/skin color, build.

Appearance: pictures are better.

Biography: ....this is where you show me your stuff.

Random fact: ..excatly what it sounds like.[/color]

[color=royalblue]You lucky souls get mine later...if I'm not satisfied with the results...EDIT and try again. [/color]

[Baron Samedi]

Ahoy, ahaya, Raiha. [Heehee]

Ok, let's have a wack at this...

Name: Ruben Granite

Age: 112

Species: Mountain Troll/Ogre halfbreed

Calling: Ex-mercenary, currently pursuing a career in the Tours and Travel industry.

Appearance: around 3.5 metres tall, 1.5 metres wide. Arms, like... logs. Big, oaken logs, built to crush stone in the Mountains. Verging on 1 and a half tonnes in wieght, Ruben is no ballerina... though that was his childhood wish. A mottled greenish/grey punctuated by mold spots, no hair to speak of, and a head the sixe of a bucket, Ruben is not what we would call a friendly looking fellow. But he tries. Muscles are a natural feature of Trolls and Ogres, and being raised on the verge of Civilisation: Granite-Fold Mountains, he is about as big as they come. His friendly smile is enough to ruin any chances of his at a friendship.

Biography: A shy boy by nature, he was 'enlisted' in the army. After 5 hours in solitary confinement, he gave in, and willingly earned his bluestone, just like all the other trolls. However, he was quite quiet and calm and.. well, basically a wuss. He was teased. He hated fighting and killing. So they kicked him out of the Corps.

Bumming around the mountains, eating a few stray dwarfs, Ruben came up with the perfect idea.... Travel! He would take people on guided treks though the mountain passes to other countries of the mountains, make money, and be a really wonderful, sweet guy. Perfect occupation for him.

He is currently waiting around for the High Council to pass his permit through, and has to dig his own bluestone for supper. A very sad state of affairs. But he is up for anything, and will probably be applying for a job shifting defecation at the local village. Those latrines need cleaning out, otherwise the whole town would smell worse than it already does. Which is already pretty bad.
I mean, he gets a shiny badge and everything, what more is there? ....

Weeeellllll. He doesn't really get a badge. The head of the town does, and villages are supposed to be one happy family... and families share... but Ruben doesn't need a badge to prove his self-worth. Not really.

Random fact: All Ruben wears is a loincloth made of tough leather. But it isn't to hide his naughty-bits, no. Trolls and Ogres don't have naughty-bits... they are born from very old boulders. So, no parents, and no sex. What an incredibly raw deal.


Anyway, here's to me getting in.

[b] What was the problem with my post Raiha? I assume it was the garbage disposal bit sooooo.... I changed it. Anything else, don't hesitate to PM me! I got the impression that this was a bit of a ... tongue in cheek RPG. If it isn't I'll readily alter my signup again. This sounds interesting, but would be good if it was.. funny too.[/b]

[Raiha]

[color=royalblue]*cough* ....did you catch the part about the 15th century? *clears through*[/color]

[Hinata]

[COLOR=purple][SIZE=1][FONT=century gothic]

Name: Tr'shiel Zogaurd

Age: 450( looks to be 25)

Species: Siren

Calling: Sorceress

Physical Characteristics: 6'0" long blonde hair that reached her waist. Has green colored eyes, and the pupils are like slits. Skin is the color of fresh milk.

Appearance:

Biography: Born into a society where wooing and ruling or men was mandatory, she was taught how to be hash and cruel. Although the men of their species were present, they were only used for copulation and ocassionaly a few other acts.

But as tough as the teachings were on her. She didn't take every single one of them to heart. Her training to be a sorceress taught her much and she is very powerful among her people, but she still has a lot to learn. Since love is seen as a weakness she has hidden the fact that she is in love. In love with one of her own species.

She still hides it to this very day and has so far only suffered for it. Her magic has not progressed and she is struggling to become stronger and stronger. Shen the truth does come out. He, Leon, becomes banished and she is seperated from the majority of her peole forced to become stronger and more knowlegdeable, due to the ascenion to power later in her life.

In every generation sirens choose one of their own to become a Sorceress of Light. She is seen as the strongest of her kind and as the most wise. She leads a solitary life and is only allowed to bear on child that will serve her and one day become like her. If the fates have it like that. She was born to become that one, and now must prepare for it.

In only fifty more years she will be assigned to the position and will remain there for 500 years. But not wanting to give her love up, she sneaks off to find him. Not only putting her life in danger, but also his and the fate of her people at a stand still.

Random Fact: Just like her people, Tr'shiel can sing beautiful songs. These songs are said to trap the males of all species sending them to their doom. In fact only a few Sirens, every 500 years are chosen with such a task. [/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[DeathKnight]

[color=crimson][b]Name[/b]: Kenneth Ul'sirusal

[b]Age[/b]: Quite unknown.

[b]Species[/b]: Asura

[b]Calling[/b]: Nefarious Swordsmen.

[b]Physical characteristics/Appearance[/b]: [url=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/173475/hmas2.jpg]Picture.[/url] [url=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/173475/hmas.jpg]Picture 2[/url].

[b]Biography[/b]: Rumors abound of this man, one who kills without reason, mercy or hesistation. Dark, light or otherwise there is a long list of 'incidents' of mass slaughter that have his name on it. An enemy of several Gods in a literal sense, his footsteps bring an eerie calm to the surronding area..

Kenneth seems to first step into written records 1,872 years ago, as a wanderer who assassainted a powerful, well liked elven sorceress for money- a move that shocked many people back then. How could an Asura have done something of that sort without notice? None other before had done it, how could he have slid under the scope?

The answer was never found.

Over the years he has shed the blood of those that were innocent, those that were wanted and those that just got in his way. Whole towns, at times, disappeared- the remainder being a literal rainfall of blood from the heavens. He got his pay, and once again moved on- to better, more lucrative contracts wherever they might be and whomever they might leave in pieces.

But, a couple of months ago he disappeared from veiw completely. Intially, this caused great alarm- it was overtly suspicious that this, a denizen of the shadows, would suddenly disappear. After a few silent weeks, the suspicious lingered, deep within their minds. The shadows remain in an uneasy silence, unconfirmed sightings abounding in several places..

What is he doing?

[b]Random fact[/b]: He enjoys good food.[/color]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue]No, the tone of this piece of RolePlay is serious....tragic even, partially humorous, but more of a wicked dark humor.
~~~~~~~
Name: Kellnine Satell Megelani

Age: Lehuriel Dentari [1000 and more]

Species: Sidhe/Moon child

Calling: Lady of the Pard.

Physical characteristics: 5'7", 120lbs., Blue/Silver, Blackish hazel, pale cream, slender.

Appearance: Posted in the begining. Underneath the dress, there is nothing.

Biography: The daughter of a very powerful preist and one of the lesser Divine, Kellnine has made a living out of being powerful and secluded. Her calling, the Lady of the Pard, losely translated into the common tongue, means that she is the watcher of the forests, the guardian of the vales, and all things venerous. Occasionaly, people will seek her out and find that she is both kind and nurturing, despite her tendency to silent destruction of all things unholy.

Her mother gave birth to her on Tzinsene, then left without a qualm. And her father, a dedicated preist, waved her off and transplanted her in the forest in the roots of a rose. She grew quickly, separated herself and met the first creature to ever care about her. A huge panther, strong, talkative, wise, and her friend. He cared deeply, and passed his work on to her, a father and mother figure in one. And so she became the Lady of the Pard. Feared, but respected, sought out for her skills in healing and banishing, but generally left to her own devices.

As a Lady, her responsibilities are losely defined, leaving her a great deal of shakedown time. And during these in between times, she discovered something about the creatures that roamed in her woods. Something unexpected.

Random fact: She can transmute herself into a large feline.[/COLOR]

[Corey]

[b]Name:[/b] Johanas Milintarien

[b]Age:[/b] 114

[b]Species:[/b] Rengale

[b]Calling:[/b] Priest

[b]Physical Characteristics/Appearance:[/b] [i]-See Attachment-[/i]
6'2", 275lbs

[b]Biography:[/b] Rengale are born full size. Birthed from their mothers the largest they will ever get. Johanas' mother died after giving birth to him. The bleeding was too much. not every Rengale goes into the practice of their religon, but enough do. The Rengale worsihp Ryn, the God of Dreams, and therefore are endowed with the power of Dreamscaping, or traveling peoples dreams.

Johanas entered the priesthood at the age of twenty. His training went quickly, as all do, and he was assigned to a Citadel in the city of Molcum. The place of worship drew Rengale and all kind of other races. Johanas was extremely content. He loved spreading the word of Ryn, and he loved the people he got to meet.

Seventy years after he joined the priesthood, the average age of a Rengale is about 400, he found corruption in his religon. The high priests did no more than embezel the money they recieved and no one seemed to care.

He did. He murdered every single high priest he could get to. After that, he began traveling the countryside, preaching the [i]good[/i] word of Ryn.

[b]Random fact:[/b] Johanas enjoys ceader-bark tea.

[Domon]

[COLOR=firebrick][SIZE=1]Name: Aidian Salanzar

Age: 20

Species: Draconian

Calling: Warrior

Appearence: [url=http://otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=421876]right here[/url]

5' 9" 130 lbs, usually wears a red sleevless tunic over his chest but his wings are always exposed. (van's character layout of course ^_^ )

Biography: Aidian doesn't truly remember most of his past, usually he'll remember bits and pieces but mainly he doesn't can't remember anything. The only major thing Aidian remembers is seeing a beautiful woman talking to him and being loving to him, she had wings just like his.

For most of his life Aidian has been living as a sword-for-hire and has helped out small villages and has earned the title "The Warrior Angel" due to the fact that his wings always are exposed and seem to spook anyone who opposes him.

Aidian has always been trying to find more people like him but he has not been successful in his attempts, usually these attempts land him into trouble. One instance would be when he was hot on the trail of a rumor that spoke of another person like him but he ended up landing in a large bandit's hide out, he barely escaped that little incident, he'd killed most of the bandits but still had to flee from the main bandit.

Aidian tends to be cold hearted towards others until he warms up them, he usually cuts to the heart of things and tries to be effecient.

Random Fact: Enjoys being outdoors.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[Deedlit]

[color=009966]Hmmm....I haven't done an RPG in a while. I probably won't have time to post my sign-up until tomorrow, so I hope the spaces don't get filled up just yet.[/color]

[Circ]

Name: Circalliel

Age: about 230

Species: Elf.

Calling: Servant of Nature.

Physical characteristics: Thin, 5'7'' tall elf wielding a tortured wooden staff with a green crystal embedded in it's head. Long floating grey-white hair. usualy wears a large green robe. Whole body save hands and head is actually of very greenish tones.

Appearance: See pic, but without the arrows.

Biography: Circalliel is a sort of druid. A wizard living and drawing all his power from the surrounding wilderness. When a young child, he was extremely akin to the plants and the animals. He grew up living in the woods and the plains, andeventually vowed to never hurt a natural living being (This [i]doesn't[/i] include most sentient species, rather more magical in nature).

Following this, he cast a strong Chlorophyllia spell on himself, allowing him to process the sunlight to feed upon. He does notseek other company than the wild animals, or the occasional ally to slay some problematic demon. He is a powerfull, taciturn wizard and his forest lore is often looked for by adventurers and sorcerers of various races.

Random fact: Usually vows by "the heart of Alluana" (Elven goddess of the Earth).

[i][size=1]Baron Samedi: That sounds like you've recently read some Terry Pratchett...

Raiha: I originally wanted to use the call "Servant of the Pardic Lady", but I want your opinion first.[/size][/i]

[Raiha]

[color=royalblue]Well.....as flattered as I am....it's not a good idea for the story line I have in mind. It doesn't quite work for this. You could have been one long ago, but not now. Perhaps you were relocated and given your own uniqe domain.

Lovely to see you again Deedlit, I thought you had dropped off the face of the earth.[/color]

[Circ]

no problem. I'll just stay a Servant of Nature ;)

[ColourDeaf]

Be warned. Looooooong bio ahead.

Name: Sueldan

Age: 18

Species: Human (bog-standard, nothing special)

Calling: Bodyguard

Physical Characteristics/Bio:

The noble yawned as his carriage rolled on past the a local manor, lulled into lethargy by the gentle rocking of the cab and the soft pattering of rain on it's roof. He turned to his Servant, who was sitting quietly opposite him.
"When are we going to get there?"
"We should arrive there before tomorrow sunset, sir." the servant, a pretty young woman with blonde hair replied, bowing her head at the word "sir."
The noble sighed and looked out of the window, propping himself on his elbow. A traveller was walking down the street, not so uncommon, but there was something strange about him...
He wore the cloak of one of the local militia, but it hung loose - overly loose, rather - on him, and was clearly meant to be someone else's. He did not stagger like any other Militia-man would do, coming home at this time of night he was more likely to be drunk than anything else, but rather carried himself with a certain grace and dignity, although he still huddle slightly to stave off the wind and cold from the rain, which was understandable.
As the coach drew nearer, the man became more intriguing, and the noble struggle to make out details of him. His cloak was that of a militiaman, but underneath he wore incredibly simple, bordering of crude clothes. His shirt was a grey-black tunic of coarse wool, and his trousers were brown and frayed at the bottom, his feet wore heavy boots of black leather, though they were caked with mud. The unmistakable shape of a scabbard hung from his hip, the leaf shape synonymous with Gladiatorial combat.
At last the carriage drew next to the man and the noble could see his face. It was young, though fully into his manhood, and heavily scarred on his right hand cheek. His jaw was thick set and held firm. His nose was thin and angular, and his cheekbones jutted out only even so slightly.
His eyes...
His eyes were as crystals, translucent like a rainbow caught in a teardrop, flashes of colours ever shifting like oil on water, cold and emotionless. Emotionless...all but the slightest edge of fear. Not the sort of fear of a man walking to his death, but of a child, lost and alone without a parent's guiding hand. The eyes turned on the noble and seemed to tear a scar into his soul. They were not disturbing because of the colour, the lack of emotion or anything like that, but they were clear...by God they were clear. The man was completely lacking in deception, he had never lied in his life, or so it seemed. His entire life seemed to be set out in front of him, clear and without guilt. Around his neck was a fine gold chain of Estillian design, all loops and twirls, holding a tiny silver lock just below his throat.
The man was a slave.
The Noble's wagon rolled past the traveller, and the noble turned away from the window, his eyes only slightly wide, his face the barest touch paler.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" the servant asked, her voice seeming far away.
"No...no it's fine." he sighed
He could still feel the man's eyes boring a hole into his back.

******

The traveller still looked at the carriage as it rolled on past him, walking backwards a few paces before turning once more to the road in front of him. They all reacted the same, every one of them. They all stared at him, as if gawping at a corpse, disgusted yet unable to tear their eyes away from the sight.
The traveller, Sueldan, drew the thin cloak around his shoulders tighter, shivering with the damp and cold of the night. His back felt as if it was on fire, it always did in the cold. The scars felt as if they had been made today. He could still feel the scourge tearing across his back, the whip lifting into the air before it-
He shook his head as if to dislodge the memories. He plodded on down the road like a tired mule, willing himself to make each step and hold the monotonous pattern, left, right, left, right. He had no food, no water and no money, hunger gnawed at his stomach but his throat was not parched, his thirst slacked by mouthfuls of rain water. Hungry and tired, he carried on down the road, his mind wandering to escape the drudgery and cold of the night.

******
The sounds of the crowds and the smell of blood thundered through his senses. The boy watched as the two fighters slashed and parried and circled, looking at each other for the faintest glimmer of an opening, the slightest edge that could win them the fight. The boy was captivated as he watched the two men twist and dodge their opponent's blows, the way they risked their lives just to gain another second of life, oh, the blessed irony! The two fighters dealt blows that would have left a normal man dead, only to have their sword blocked by a shield lifted at the last second.
They were like wrathful gods, the only gods the boy knew or could ever believe in.
"Ysp!" a voice shouted from behind him, the thick accent drawing the word out to sound like "Eersp". That name, how he hated it! It was an insult, plain and simple, it was almost literally translated as "living miscarriage, freak of nature." The insult was one you only gave to your worst enemy, or the most heinous of traitors.
It was the only name the boy had. His eyes made him a freak of nature, something that should never have existed. They made him Ysp.
The boy quelled his anger and turned to the caller, a stocky man with a missing arm and a scar that covered half his face. His name was Nish, and he was the fighting pit's Quartermaster, the man in charge of the fighters and the fights. He was obsessed with his work, working the combatants to the bone in training, punishing them severely for the most petty of misdemeanours, but pampering them lavishly at a job well done, especially when it increased his own standing. The boy stared at the man for a few moments, his breath caught in his throat. Nish only saw any of the slaves for one reason.
"We need fodder for the pits, boy."
-------------
the boy, no more than 14, stood in the middle of the fighting pit, other slaves, many of them older than him, huddling together for meagre protection. One of them, a man that had been serving the fighting pit dutifully for his entire life, had burst into tears, and had curled up into a ball on the sand, his sword forgotten. The boy's hand gripped around his own sylca, a leaf bladed stabbing sword that felt as if it weighed a ton in his hands, until his knuckles turned white and threatened to break.
The crowd cheered, the doors open and the Gladiators, number 5 in total against the 15 slaves, marched in. Their swords, finely crafted rather than the rejects the slaves were given, glinted in the sunlight. The pit champion, a mountain of a man name Kahjar the Fearless, marched in front of them, his huge physique and air of menace making him seem like a God calling his wrath upon them.
It was a massacre.
Many of the slaves didn?t know how to use a weapon, most of them never having held a sword in their life except for cleaning them. The ones who did know how to use their weapons were cut down first, as a matter of principal. Before their bodies even hit the floor the Gladiators were upon the helpless slaves. The crowds screamed in delight, there was nothing like a good bloodletting to get their spirits up.
Kahjar the Fearless, the God-made-man of the fighting pit, loomed over the boy, having knocked him over with a casual backhand. His sword was raised to the sky, the boy holding up his sword horizontally in a futile effort to ward off the attack. Kahjar looke down on him, a smirk slapped across his face -
And saw his eyes.
For the first time in his life, Kahjar the Fearless hesitated.
The boy reacted on pure instinct, his sword seeming to be held by someone else. Before he had even registered what had happened, the Point of his Sylca was embedded the Gladiator's chest, the blade torn through his heart.
The boy was numb as the crowd screamed, some in delight, some in rage, some just in shock, and the guards rushed in, dragging him off...
-------------
The lash came down in a streaking arc, already crimson with the boy's blood. Ysp was screaming in agony that bordered on agony, but would not slip into merciful unconsciousness.
"You BASTARD, you WHORESON, you YSP. Kahjar was the best man I had! He could have made me the richest man this side of Cathay! YOU betrayed me, YSP!"
It seemed for hours the lash came down upon his back, the insults were shouted into his ears, but when it finished, the last words that came from Nish's mouth terrified him the most..
"You are going to pay for him."
-------------
Two and a Half Years Later
Ysp sat hunched on the pallet that served as his bed, his back throbbing dully. It was going to rain, he could feel it. his back always got worse before it rained. The skin covering his spine no longer seemed human, but the scales of some monstrous lizard from the far South, the lash scars deep and thick, crisscrossing each other until they terminated at his lower back. The boy was now a young man, his body hard and toned from the constant practicing, the fights leaving a myriad of scars across his entire body.
He was a Gladiator.
Moreover, he was the Pit Champion, the nameless fighter that never lost.
He rubbed his hands, now manacled and tethered by a chain that led to a loop in the wall. Nish said that someone important was visiting, and it was a precaution. The door knocked, and he heard voices outside, one unmistakably Nish.
"Yes, yes, he's just through here, my Lord."
"Are you sure he's your best fighter, he looked a bit young on the sands."
"Ah, his youthful vigour makes him the most eligible candidate for this job, sir!"
The door creaked open, and Nish scuttled in, followed by an man who was undeniably an Aristocrat. The Aristo looked over the young man a moment, and turned back to the door, gesturing for someone to come in. A girl walked in, most probably the same age as Ysp, but maybe a year younger. She was beautiful, not pretty that the free Gladiators, the ones who fought for themselves, not for the pit, often bedded, taking them from the local taverns and brothels, but actually beautiful. Her skin was as white as porcelain, clear and unblemished by even the slightest mark. A dress of pale gree hugged her figure nicely, loose enough to be free flowing and light, but tight enough to exaggerate the swing of her hips as she walked. Her eyes were a steely grey, and her face had sharp, elfin features, steel disguising velvet. Ysp's mouth went dry and he struggled not to stare. The man walked over to Ysp and put his hand under the boy's chin, lifting it and turning it left and right, examining his face.
"What's the matter with his eyes?"
"Oh, nothing, sir! Merely a little birth defect."
Ysp was shocked, distracted by the girl, he had never noticed how the man had stared unflinchingly into his eyes.
"How long has he been fighting?"
"Two and a bit years."
"That little?"
"He has already proved himself to be the Pit Champion."
"Rather..." the man said distractedly, studying the boy like a corpse at a butchery. "Alright, I'll take him.
"Father, I really don't see the need for this." the girl said, her voice was sweet to Ysp's ears, if somewhat pert.
"IT is a precaution, my dear. There are so many dangers in this world for a young girl like you it is necessary - nay, imperative - that you have a bodyguard."
Bodyguard?
"What about one of the guards at the house? They have always been loyal, and I know Nath has been looking for a job like this."
"I would rather prefer if he was someone with actual combat skill, and drunken brawls don't qualify." through the entire debate, the man hnadn't turned to look at his daughter once. She sniffed disdainfully and folded his arms over her chest.
"Do you at least know his name?" she asked, and the old man looked at Nish.
"He was never named. It is a formality that is not normally given to pit slaves. I thought the title Pit Champion was enough!" Nish said, hcuckling nervously.
"Quite...he shall be called...Monach" she said, using the old Estalian word for "Servant"
Nish turned to the man, eager to get the deal sorted
"Alright, sir, if you will just follow me we can finalise the payments for lovely Tiaan's new servant..."
-------------
Ysp had been at Tiaan's house for a couple of months now, and he had settled in as well as possibly could. Few of the people there spent any amount of prolounged time with him, due to his eyes, save Tiaan and her father, and even Tiaan spent as little time as possible with him, normally retreating to her bed chambers, the one place Ysp couldn't follow her (he still thought of himself as Ysp, it had been his name for years, and old habits were hard to break). She was cold and aloof to him, despising the idea of a stranger being in charge of her wellbeing. He didn;t blame her, but he preformed his duty nonetheless, standing outside her door until one of the night watch came to relieve him, following her around when she ventured into the town, wary of any sort of disturbance.
And so it went, for three months.
Soon after that Tiaan began to settle into the idea of a bodyguard more, and Ysp saw a new side to her, one she normally hid from all but friends and family. She was a passionate girl, with a interest bordering on obsession with the Gypsies, that exiled race of beautiful, murderous people (or so he had been told). She grew closer to Ysp, a rock of loyalty, and often seemed to watch over him more than he did over her. She had had his bed moved into the room adjacent hers, a small cloakroom that was not so different than his other room in the Servant's quarters, they were both cell-like, but at least this one had a window. After a years since he moved into the house, she bestowed upon him the name Sueldan, an ancient Gypsy term meaning "favourite pet," although she never told him, with mock pomp and ceremony. The newly renamed Sueldan had smiled at this, taking pleasure in the knowledge that she was maybe a bit more than his mistress, that maybe Tiaan was his friend.
He was still, however, in lover with her.
-------------
Sueldan rubbed absentmindedly at the gold necklace around his throat, a sign of slavery, but more importantly of Tiaan's affection. The room was dark, the moon clouded over that night and no lantern to light it. The door creaked open and he turned to it, expecting one of the night watch to stand there, telling him about his new watch rota, but it was still closed. The one that was open was the one that connected his and Tiaan's room, which had been installed six months prior. Her face was covered in tears and she trembled slightly with silent sobs. Silently she walked over to Sueldan, who was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest, which was bare, though he still had his trousers and shoes on. He started, not sure what to do, but then lay his arms around her shoulders, hugging her gently.
"W-...what's wrong." he asked, hesitantly
"I feel so trapped here." she mumbled into his chest, pressing her body a little more into his.
"But, you're a free woman, Tiaan."
"It never feels like it. Everywhere I go it's like there's a collar around my neck tethering me to the house, this aristocracy. I could never leave to do what I want to do. I could never be truly free."
"Tiaan, you..."
"What would you know about freedom?! You?re just a-" she spat out the words, but choked off the last one, looking up at him apologetically.
"A slave." he finished for her, wanting to pull away and just go. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, like he had just found Tiaan's true feelings for him for the first time.
"Sueldan, I-I'm sorry."
"Why?" he whispered, "It's not like I'm anything else. I just thought that..."
"But I don't..."
"Don't what?"
"I don't see you as just a slave." she said, the apology rushed and slightly flustered "I don't see you as a slave at all! You're possibly the best friend I have!"
"Mistress, you don't have to"
"Don't call me mistress! It makes me..." she trailed off
"What?"
"Feel like an old, perverted woman." she said meekly.
They both let out a half-hearted chuckle, then lapsed into silence, their arms still around each other.
Tiaan hadn't seen Sueldan without his shirt on, he normally had a tunic on even in the hottest of weather, and was shocked at the sheer number of scars that adorned his body. He hands felt a strange texture around his spine.
"What's wrong with your back?"
"It's nothing, Tiaan..." he started, but she would not listen
"Lie down." she commanded, going back to her room and bring a small portable lantern that lit up the whole room. he was lying on his stomach as she examined his back, gasping at the scars.
"Who did this?"
"Nish."
"Who?"
"The man you bought me from. He was a severe quartermaster to me."
"I see...does it hurt?"
"Only when it's wet, or about to rain." He lied, there was always a dull throb. Before he had finished the sentence, he felt cool hand touch his back just below his shoulder blades, wonderfully gentle.
Tiaan worked on massaging the ruined skin, the damaged muscle, until it felt loose and malleable. The throbbing was gone, but he knew it would return in a while, he turned over and looked at her, seeing her as he had seen her when they first met, unblemished, pure, beautiful. She looked into his eyes unflinchingly, just staring at them, and leaned down, pressing her lips into his. She kissed him passionately, and he returned it with all the strength of his soul. They drew back, and looked at each other.
It could never be.
Never be.
They wept.
"My Sueldan..."
----------------
A month had gone by since then, and they had hardly said a word to each other, with Sueldan pending most of his time simply doing his duty loyally. They were in town now on one of Tiaan's shopping excursions, when she pulled into a back alley and leant close to him, whispering in his ear.
"You have to go."
A group of young girls giggled behind them, seeing them as two lovers muzzling.
"What?"
"We can't be together anymore."
"Why not?"
"I'm arranged to be married."
His eyes widen ever so slightly and he grew a tiny shade paler.
"It's a social marriage to help my family."
"But why?"
"My betrothed is rich, he can get me the best protection there is."
She pulled a small bag out of his winter coat.
"What will happen to me?"
"My father's going to sell you back to the Pits. I won't let that happen." She pressed the bag into his chest
"Inside here there's a militia cloak and some money. It should last you a short month. Let no one know you're an escaped slave" he went to say something, but she pressed a finger against his lips.
"Goodbye, my Sueldan."
She swept away from him, around the corner.
He leant back against the wall, sliding down it until he was in a sitting position. He pulled the bag closer to him, resting his forehead against it. His life was in tatters and he had lost the woman he loved. He had no idea about the world and he was alone. He wanted to die.

Random Fact: Can't read, write or count

((Sorry, got bored and carried away))

[Dmitri_Dragoon]

[COLOR=darkblue]Name: Garl Ironfist

Age: 250

Species: Dwarf

Calling: Warrior/Mercenary

Physical characteristics: Height: 4'8" Weight: 235 lbs. Eye color: Green. Hair color: Brown and red. Skin color: A leathery color. Well tanned in most cases. Build: Being a dwarf. He is very stocky. Short, but very solid.

Appearance: [url=http://jeffreykbedrick.com/thumbnails/dwarf.jpg]Garl's picture here.[/url]

Biography: Garl was born in the mountains like any good dwarf was. After all, dwarves are miners, so they must stay close to their livelihood. But not Garl. He stayed in the mountains long enough to learn the basics. Fighting, drinking, and metal working.

When Garl was a young dwarf of 100 years of age he left his home in the mountains and decided to find something else in life. At first his travelling didn't bring anything up, nobody wanted a dwarf around.

It wasn't until a bar room brawl that he got noticed. Emerging from a pile of ten bodies, covered in blood, some of it his own, he was quickly hired by a paranoid merchant.

Even though he was a tough dwarf and good at fighting, not even he can withstand a surprise attack that left him unconscious and his employee dead. Once again, Garl was on his own to fend for himself. Luckily for him he was recently paid, so he wasn't broke.

Though he soon was, because he drank all his money away, and once again got into a drunken brawl. Which he was victorious once again. Needless to say, Garl is a drunk most of the time. Though he does know when to quit.

Random fact: Garl is a typical dwarf. He's always complaining about something the 'Surface' people have done. And as mentioned before, he loves to drink.[/COLOR]

[PiroMunkie]

[size=1][b]Name:[/b] Ardwin Voelve

[b]Age:[/b] Undetermined.

[b]Species:[/b] Gargoyle.

[b]Calling:[/b] Sorcerer/Scientist

[b]Physical Characteristics:[/b] In full stance, Ardwin is approximately 10 and half feet tall from foot to head, and about 13 feet including the horns. Wingspan is roughly 30 to 35 feet. Weight averages around 398 pounds; heavier when he is stone. His eyes are naturally green, but glow white when performing sorcery and red in rage. Ardwin's skin is a deep grey, and is as coarse as the stone it becomes. His build is slender/average, but is incredibly strong.

[b]Appearance:[/b] [URL=http://www.onlinegamescompany.com/war/forsale/gargoyle.jpg]Picture[/URL]

[b]Biography:[/b] Ardwin's main purpose is the preservation of his species, and make them a more dominant race. Their numbers have been dwindling as long as he could remember, falling at the hands of other species who would cross their paths during the day and destroy them while they were still in stone form.

He believes strongly that he is one of the last hopes for the gargoyle race. The knowledge of science and sorcery is extremely uncommon among his species, and so he strives to put it to good use. He wants to better the gargoyles. Ultimately he strives for the day when he can figure out a way or a spell that will allow them to walk in daylight.

Critics among his species speak daggers to him, saying that it is impossible for such things to happen. However, he has already made his own personal advancements, such as making his stone structure nearly indestructable by normal means.

Counter-acting these critics, Ardwin has an army of support who cheer him on to make them walk in daylight. They are all tired of seeing their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, and grandparents destroyed in their most vulnerable state. Their time must come that they will be able to defend themselves, and that is what Ardwin has in mind. A so-called "revolution" of the gargoyle kind. A greater species. A superior race. Then take revenge on all those who have ever done his people wrong. He wants a war, and he knows only the strongest will survive.

Rumor has it that he is getting closer to fulfilling his hidden agenda.

[b]Random fact:[/b] He is a vegetarian.[/size]

[Raiha]

[COLOR=royalblue]Wow...so many males in this rpg... Deedlit! Come back to me!

And while we're on the subject, let me get back to you on who's in so far....

Nevermind, I'll just send you PMs. If you don't get one, go whine to your master.[/COLOR]

[Shikaku Kitoku]

[COLOR=crimson]Name: Uthefergat'el Des'jukilop
Age: 342
Species: Half-Grey Dwarf, Half Drow (hmm...something went wrong with that relationship)
Calling: Mercenary/Hired Scout
Physical Characteristics: 5'1, 174 lbs (damn dwarves), for the rest see attachment
Appearance: See Attachment
Biography: Uthefergat'el is the son of a Grey Dwarf and a Drow. Not many people know how, or why, a Grey Dwarf and a Drow were embraced to make a child. No one wants to find out either, especially Uthefergat'el. He grew up in the darkness under the soil, where most Dwarves and Drow live. Infra-vision, the common sight for the denizens of the darkness, is an ability that Uthefergat'el, or Uthgat for those not smart enough to remember his full stature, like humans, and dwarves for instance. His mother, a Drow priestess to Lloth, killed his father while she was still pregant with him. Apparently, she grew tired of him. After his birth, Uthgat grew into adolestsence quickly, like most Drow do. He started training in the ways of melee combat, not wanting to learn to use a bow, for he believed it took all the fun out of fighting. Instead of training in the use of a sword, Uthgat trained himself in the usage of dirks. He has mastered them, and has mastered the way of throwing them, for those rare occasions where he DOES want to use range. Although it looks as if he has only 2 weapons, Uthgat also has 2 small daggers, a long pin-like weapon, and his fists and feet for weapons. He does all of this because he is coniving, evil, and loves chaos. After listening to his mother ramble for 20-30 years, he decided to shut her up and killed her in her sleep. After that, he roamed the tunnels of Dwarves, Goblins, and the like, killing, hiring, or just terrorizing for 18 years. When he grew bored he came upon the surface world, where chaos REALLY reigned supreme. Deciding to stay on the surface, Uthgat learned many languages, and the ways of many beings. He now hires himself out as a Mercenary, or a Scout for those who pay enough. In all jobs, he usually kills, whether the contract involves it or not.
Random Fact: Uthgat like to cut out a bone from all of his victims to add to his collection. His collection is going to be used to make armor..out of the bones. He will not take the big ones...for the little bones are so much more fun to gather.[/COLOR]

[Deedlit]

[color=009966]lol No, I'm still here Raiha. :) School's just been getting in the way. =_=;

[b]Name:[/b] Liiryis Tynthaan (goes by Iris)

[b]Age:[/b] 745

[b]Species:[/b] High Elf

[b]Calling:[/b] Mage/Elementist

[b]Physical characteristics:[/b] height-5'5"; weight-115 lbs.; eyes-midnight-blue with gold specks; hair-long and brown with a few gold streaks; skin color-pale; build-slender; scars-one that runs across the palm of her right hand

[b]Appearance:[/b] She wears a black tunic that is lined on the edges with silver runes, black leather boots, and a midnight blue cape with a hood. She wears a belt around her waist that holds two pouches---in one she keeps her spell components, and in the other she keeps a few vials, money, and her flute. (I've been searching all over for a good picture, but I guess I'll have to draw and scan it later when I get the chance.)

[b]Biography:[/b] Iris and Teryn, her twin brother, were together as children, there was always mischeif about. The two were practically inseperable....until their parents sent them away for special discipline. They had noticed that Teryn had a warrior spirit, so he was to be sent away with some human friends of theirs for training with the sword. They discovered that Iris had a special gift for the Art of magic, so it was arranged that she should be sent away to the School of Sorcery and Magicks to nurish her talent.

Hundreds of years have passed and she has finally graduated from the School. Right before her departure, Headmaster Elistane warned her that traveling abroad was dangerous, so he gave her a magical flute. It could do a few small things, and, as Iris later discovered, if she ever came into any danger she could pass herself off as a traveling bard and be left alone. Thus she has traveled for many years, but she must now be more cautious than ever because of what has been recently happening....

[b]Random fact:[/b] She's allergic to the plant called Hocklee-berry.[/color]

[Doukeshi]

[b]Name:[/b] Belial

[b]Age:[/b] Infinitum

[b]Species:[/b] Demon

[b]Calling:[/b] Prince of Arrogance

[b]Physical characteristics - [/b]

[b]Height:[/b] 5,8
[b]Weight:[/b]
[b]Eye/Hair/Skin:[/b] Grey/Black/White
[b]Build:[/b] Muscular, toned and lean

[b]Appearance:[/b] (use attatched image to get the basic idea of his facial appearance and build) Wears a worn, knee-length leather coat over a dark grey, hooded tunic. Fingerless studded gloves adorn his hands, and metal capped boots his feet. Wears soft black leather pants with metal kneecaps. A simple broad sword hangs at his waist. The whole effect is one of an unasuming traveller...to the ignorant.

[b]Biography:[/b] Belial is one of the chosen amongst the hierarchy of Hell. Lord of Arrogance he has spent his infinite years praying on the souls of the mighty and the proud, delighting in their downfalls and the pain that he inflicts. Originally an angel under God, Belial was one of the first to follow Lucifer down the path of the Fallen, leading Satan's legions against the armies of the Lord.

He has existed for thousands of centuries and walked the earth under many guises. His seductions have been many and have left several demonic children to torment and punish mankind as their father would see fit. Belial is worshipped by many but bares little concern to his would be acolytes, viewing them with amusment if little else.

Far from indestructable, Belial's cunning and wit have been the main reasons why he has survived the long ages, watching the rise and fall of civilisations and marvelling the carnage that humankind wreaks upon itself.

[b]Random fact:[/b] Belial loves the smell of jasmine

[Raiha]

[color=royalblue]To those who made it, you shall know this by a PM sent in your general direction. Do not cry if you did not make it. Instead, go home and think about your life.

You may now commence living.[/color]

[Revelation]

[size=1][color=ff66cc][B]Name:[/B] Ariela Pyrin Kishandri- Kellnine only calls her Ariela, others call her Pyrin

[B]Age:[/B] unknown- but looks of her early 20's

[B]Species:[/B] dragouret/demon

[B]Calling:[/B] Sorceress/ bodyguard and friend to Kellnine Satell Megelani- More widely known as Mistress Pyrin

[B]Physical characteristics:[/B] 6'1", 142 lbs, glimmering black skin, 6'5" black with dark indigo trimmed wings, pure silver eyes but changes according to her emotions, shimmering blackish indigo hair, slightly muscled and slender, a slim scaled 2' tail

[B]Appearance:[/B] See attachment- for now until a dragouret picture is found.

[B]Biography:[/B] Being born from a powerful dragouret father and wealthy demon mother, she was shunned and her family was moved elsewhere. Being hunted every few days, her family was on the run at all times.

One day, the hunting stopped. Her father and mother settled down. As her father gathered wood and food, her mother cleaned and cooked. When her father gathered enough, it was then that she was able to train. Her father was a warrior and needed to train his child to become strong, fast, stealthy, and cold at times.

Soon, her training had came to a stop when her father was killed and her as well. Gathering what she could, she made a run and flew off to the highest mountain and found a cave where she trained and worked to make herself nearly immortal. In fact, she was immortal.

As she grew to become a beautiful winged demoness, she became one of the most feared half species on the world. She sought work in assassination, as well as a bodyguard to those who needed protection. She was given a calling, the Black Angel. She would kill quietly and quickly. No one ever knew she was the one who killed, for the reason of the fact that she always placed an item of an enemy of the person she killed in the same room. She never trusted anyone except herself.

After many years, she was found by the Lady of the Pard and knew there was a fate to be given. Whether it be death to her or death for those who came across her.

[B]Random fact:[/B] Ariela was formerly known as the Black Angel. She is a former assassin and is now with Kellnine, at times scouting, keeping company, or protecting her when she does not feel like protecting herself. She is also able to transform into a dragon, as well as any feared creature. She is still known as the Black Angel to all, but those who know her well, call her as Mistress Pyrin, the venom of death.[/size][/color]