A plague has hit the land of Lendria. Many from all races aside from the undead have keeled over with little warning, bodies writhing and locking into horrid positions, faces twisted into agony. In the burning calderas of the far north and the icy south, something is amiss. Whether connected or merely coincidence, something dark and quite forbidding is brewing in both places. No one knows what the plague is, where it came from, or why some are immune, but they have each sent their champions in the hopes that they can band together and combat what is to come. However, in the veins of these beings lies ancient prejudice, some races refuse to work with others, this could mean the downfall of their champions but in order to root out the cause of the plague they must work together, which is easier said than done. Each new day sees a darkness encroaching on the kingdoms in the center of the massive continent of Lendria, drawing closer to the mountains of the east, the swamps and forests of the west, and the plains in the center of it all. All hope of Lendria lies with these champions, if they fail it will mean the downfall of the world.


Elves: The elves of Lendria consist of three races: the Mornsong tribe of peaceful, androgynous elves with light skin and an affinity for nature, the Duskwalker tribe of somewhat violent, xenophobic elves, taller than the Mornsong tribe and with much darker, almost black skin, and the Devkarin elves, a tribe of dirty, brown-skinned elves who care little for appearances, their affinity being for the magic of plant-based undeath. Within the elves lies mutual hate among the other races and of their own subraces, such as all three elven races hate one another for their own reasons.

The Mornsong: The elves of the Mornsong tribe are a peaceful lot, though they will fight back with their bows and nature-based magic to protect their home and children. Androgynous and of a rather short stature, with the tallest of them being only five feet nine inches tall, the Mornsong are a delicate tribe physically. Despite their delicate frames, however, they are a tenacious lot when it comes to defending their keep, proving to be deadly accurate with their bows and proficient with using their forest home as a weapon. The Mornsong hate the Duskwalkers due to the destructive type of magic they use, dubbing it impure, while also hating the Devkarin due to their uncivilized nature.

The Duskwalker: Dark-skinned, tall, and intensely xenophobic, the elves of the Duskwalker tribe will do their best to send any invaders home on the shield they bring to battle. Standing at an average of six foot four, the Duskwalkers have a reach advantage in close combat against their pale brethren, proving distrustful even of another elven tribe. Wielding a brutal mix of polearms and heavy swords, the Duskwalkers put their reach to their advantage, their magic consisting of a mix of slight nature magic and destructive black magic. The Duskwalkers despise the Mornsong due to the reason they are ignorant and arrogant not to use all the resources, like destructive magic, while they hold the same hate for the Devkarin as the Mornsongs do.

The Devkarin: Normally found inhabiting Lendria’s swamps, the Devkarin elves are by far the dirtiest of the elven tribes. Of a brown skin tone, the Devkarin blend right in, their hair normally in a messy assortment of braids or dreadlocks. Averaging a little less than six feet tall, the Devkarin are a middle ground between the welcoming Mornsong and the violent Duskwalkers, proving welcoming but distrustful of newcomers. When called to fight, the Devkarin elves call on the noxious swamp magic and plant-based undead they have created, though they are quite capable of wielding twin scimitars or short bows with deadly proficiency. The Devkarin are simple, they hate just because the Duskwalkers and the Mornsong look down on them just because they don't dress up and look like fairies.

Dwarves: The dwarves of Lendria are a short, stout, and proud people, hailing from the mountains to the east. Their alliance with the goblins is a tense one, but one that profits them greatly. For their protection, the dwarves receive whatever they wish from the technically proficient goblins for a fraction of the price another race would get. The dwarves are heavily armored and armed warriors when the time calls for it, braiding their thick beards with battle charms and donning their platemail, wielding hammers, swords, and axes. Dwarves are prejudice against the elves due to a simple fact, elves like forests, dwarves like to cut down trees to fuel their fires to melt down the metals they mine out from the earth. Though dwarves don't hate the other races as much as the elves, but that doesn't exactly mean they have to like them other than the goblins.

Goblins: The goblins also hail from the east, proving to be the most technically proficient race, surprisingly. With a gift for the mechanical that borders on the genius level, the goblins can make anything requested. A short, weak race, the green-skinned goblins rely on the protection of their allies to keep them safe. Goblins don't really hate that much mainly due to the need for protection, though they hate anyone who insults their ability to create mechanics out of metals.

The Hard Shell tribe: Amongst the green-skinned goblin race, there is a sub-race that has come to be known only by its antics in the mountain highlands. Only standing to the average human’s waist at the tallest, the Hard Shell tribe of goblin is small, tan, and shelled along their backs like a turtle, though the shell is ridged and bumpy, unlike a smoother turtle shell. This shell is good for when the downhill charging becomes headlong tumbling, protecting them from harm. Tricksters by nature, the Hard Shells are not truly hurtful in their intentions, though it often comes off as such. One of their favorite “pranks” is to roll a large boulder down from a ridge in an attempt to “bowl over” their intended target. Some of the Hard Shells are gifted in magic, yet most are too dumb to know how to properly use it even if they do possess it, more likely to hurt themselves and others.

Kithkin: A race of short, large-eyed humanoids from the plains, the kithkin are almost akin to dwarves, though are nowhere near as stout. More in tune with the magic of Lendria, the kithkin fight with short swords, bows, and their own brand of magic, channeling the light of the plains into a dangerous spell called the Sunlance that, if misused, can set fire to the plains. Their eyes are large and golden in color, having no pupil, the kithkin divided into two tribes. One tribe of kithkin is distrustful of all others, while the other is welcoming and even seeks out other tribes to trade with, looked down on by their cousins.

Dragonsoul Knights: A rarity in all of Lendria, the Dragonsoul Knights are a fierce people. Riding large lizards that could be compared to the smaller monitor lizards of the plains, the Dragonsoul Knights channel the spirits of the slain dragons. When whipped into a frenzy, a single dragonsoul can decimate a regiment of normal soldiers, the dragon spirit inside them granting them superhuman strength, agility, and stamina. Just as the dragons of old were rare, so, too, are the Dragonsoul Knights which their lies the deep set hatred. Dragons that reside withing the Dragonsoul Knights might have a personal vendetta against a single race for some dragons were slaughtered maybe by that race. Though the Knights are brave, they aren't in the least bet civilized like one would think of a knight, more barbaric than a regal knight like the Knights of the Reliquary. Both sets of knights have a silent hatred for one another, the Dragonsoul's think that the Reliquary are too reserved and focus more on purity, in other terms, a snobbish know it all.

Knights of the Reliquary: A secretive sect of humans hailing from the four winds of Lendria, the Reliquary Knights seek to protect the ancient artifacts of sun, forest, mountain, water, air, and swamp. While the artifacts in themselves are odd, they do grant boons to their defenders, namely magic of the type of the artifacts name. Reliquary Knights normally adorn themselves in simple chain mail overlaid with white clothing, covering their heads with hoods fashioned onto their scarves. Carrying on average a longsword and a shield, the Reliquary Knights rely on their light armor and quick speed to keep themselves safe, channeling the magic of their relic to aid them in battle. The Reliquary Knights have a mutual, 'secret' hatred for the Dragonsoul Knights due to where they get their powers from a unnatural, 'evil' source and not to mention their uncontrollable fury that makes them lunatics.

The Leonin Pride: The leonine people of the plains, living in a somewhat strained but peaceful coexistence with the kithkin, are a group of bipedal, lion-like humanoids. The leonin live in small communities, a united people, but a divided people in the sense that there are many wandering nomadic tribes. The leonin follow after the prey of the plains, trading with the kithkin to get some of the things they grow, giving them meat and weapons in return. Wielding large staff-like weapons consisting of a flat, spade-like blade on one end and a large weight on the other, the leonin prove to be fierce warriors despite their shunning armor, using their natural agility to their advantage. The leonines usually keep to their own to a point that they don't dislike anyone, but that doesn't mean they trust the races either, especially now that numbers are strained due to the plague.

Faeriefolk: A tiny race, the faeriefolk normally never even break a foot tall. Weak of physical form, but strong in the ways of magic, many are the archmage who come from the faeriefolk. Within the faeriefolk race are many subtypes, such as the blue-skinned, red-haired faerie women who prove to be some of the most proficient in magic in all the land of Lendria. The Faeries keep to themselves like the Leonines but for a whole different reason, they think they are better than the rest of the races, similar to the elves, which one would think they get along due to their similar nature but no, they're too stuck up to be in the presence of one another.

Treefolk: An ancient race of sentient trees, the treefolk are the lorekeepers of Lendria. The treefolk hardly ever leave the forests, though they are capable of mobility, they are wary of leaving. Many the sapling has left the forest, never to return and through the root systems, many treefolk parents have heard of the death of their children. To gain the knowledge of the treefolk is a long process, first requiring that one forges a bond of trust with them. From there, it is only a matter of time before one is imparted with all the knowledge that they want, need, and more. It is how the sages of the Lendria World Library have come by all the information they have gathered. The Treefolk are a usual gentle race but they seem to have it out with anyone other than the Elves or Faeries due to the other races who chop down the trees of the forest to burn in fires, though they are not so easily angered however to the point to kill someone.

Flowstone Channelers: The flowstone channelers are a rather secretive race, keeping to their own aside from a select few delegates sent out from the Flowstone Sea. While not truly a sea, if the flowstone channelers wish it, they can turn the Flowstone Sea to a liquid state and sink any advancing army into the depths, from which there is no return. Almost every channelers has a ragtag appearance, clothing made up of pieces of other clothes they have found or scavenged, normally covered in a layer of fur from animals they have killed, though there is two commonalities…all flowstone channelers wear soft leather boots akin to those of the pirates in children’s tales and they always wear gas masks, no matter what, unless comfortable in their homes or in the company of close friends. The Flowstone Channelers are like the 'hippies' of this age, though hippies is a loose term for it, they do not hate any spesific race but that does not mean they are incapable of killing or fighting.

Rules:
1. No posts under one paragraph.
2. No godmoding or powerplaying
3. Keep romance to a public level.
4. No complaining.
5. Be patient. I don't intend for this to be a "fire off as many posts as you can as fast as you can" type of thing. That's just no fun at all. Remember, quality over quantity...but that doesn't mean you have to aim for short posts.
6. I'm adding this under the rules heading, but it's more of a polite request. I'd like to have one of each race, if possible, unless we get great interest and have enough for one of each race and subtype...then we can have more than one champion from each race.

Character Sheet:
Name: (Your character's name goes here.)
Age: (Be reasonable.)
Gender: (Are you male, female, or genderless?)
Race: (Races listed above, any questions, just ask.)
Description: (Can be picture or writing or maybe both, but remember I want a good description in the IC thread.)
Personality: (How your character acts.)
History: (A bit about how your character came to be.)
Weapons: (What your character mainly uses or carries on him/her/it.)
Powers: (If your character has some unique ability, make sure its not over doing it a bit like: Can kill instantly with this power.)
Extra: (Anything else you want to add that doesn't fit in the other categories.)

{Big thanks to my bud Blackfang for cleaning this up for me. I'll be adding my Flowstone Channeler bio tonight or tomorrow morning after some sleep.}

Name: Alby Bhaird
Age: 72
Gender: Male
Race: Faeriefolk
Description:
Alby is ten inches tall, which is tall for a grig. He hunches over a bit, which makes him look smaller than he is. Light grey skin and pale blue hair make his dark eyes look like pits in his head. He carefully combs his hair back from his brow, and keeps his sideburns trimmed neatly. His face is lean and wolfish, his long pointed ears enhancing the effect.

Alby prefers to wear elegant, if simple, clothing in subdued colors, and is never without his bracelet, an armband made of mouse-skin leather decorated with brightly colored chips of mica and gemstones. A puckish grin promises mischief, and slender, nimble hands promise that it will be clever mischief.
Click me

Personality: Alby is a bit less hostile towards the big people than other faeriefolk. He's a rogue, trickster, tiny Casanova, and puckish scoundrel, and enjoys playing pranks. He once turned an entire house invisible and spent the entire day laughing as the people stumbled over and around obstacles they couldn't see. When he manages to get serious about something, however, he can be very focused and diligent. More clever than smart, Alby's education is limited to reading and enough mathmatics to add up money. His informal education is impressive, though. No lock or trap has stopped him yet, and no guard has ever managed to catch him when he sees something he wants.

History: Alby is odd amongst his kind in that he seeks out the big people. Less odd, perhaps, is why. He's learned that the big people have all the best things. Alby is a rich faerie, trading away things he's stolen from the big clumsy humans. A pilfered earring makes a good present for whichever faerie lass he's currently wooing, and a few needles traded away to the warriors earns him friends and favors. A ring makes a good crown and bribe to the faerie royalty to get him out of trouble. A mousetrap for the hunters ensures a seat of honor at the next feast. His crowning glory was an entire beer keg, retrieved with the help of an unsecured wagon and some illusions to get the horse moving.

All these favor's he's earning are burned through quickly, given the amount of trouble he causes. He's stolen and broken a lot of hearts, and he suspects that the king knows about the night Alby spent at the palace last year. He's not entirely sure, but the newborn faeriefolk prince might have his nose, and if the king noticed, it'd explain why the king is sending him to certain death on this silly "champion" thing.

Weapons:
-Bow: Alby won a very nice bow off of a brownie hunter in a dice game years ago, and has become very skilled with it. The arrows are only about three inches long, but when he's aiming for an eyeball the size of his own torso, hitting vulnerable spots isn't hard.
-Rapier: Very finely made, Alby's sword is too small to really be practical against anything taller than two feet, but he's very proud of it and uses it when hunting weasels.

Powers:
-Grig Fiddle: Like most grigs, Alby carries a fiddle. Unlike most grigs, he's mastered the art of bardic music, and can ensnare the minds of others with his music. Whether inspiring courage in the face of certain death or inciting a mindless panic, Alby is one of the best bards alive.
-Illusions: Virtually every faerie knows a bit of illusion magic. Alby is quite good at it, and can throw a glamour over entire villages without too much difficulty.
-Wings: Obviously, Alby can fly. He is quite fast, and flying is actually easier than walking over long distances.

Claiming Leonin; Profile in the Making.

Name: Todesko Jolrael Zelasco

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Race: Flowstone Channeler

Description: TJ, as he likes to be called, is a rather unassuming young man, his physical build rather average in comparison to some males one could find in the land of Lendria. His skin is a rich chocolate hue, his face smooth and hairless, never seeming to grow any hair save upon his head. His eyes, too, are a rich chocolate color, darker than his flesh, however. When actually let down, his hair, as dark as a moonless night, falls to his shoulder blades. It is hardly ever down, however, for he keeps it up in the braids most all Flowstone Channelers keep their hair up in. The ends of his braids are adorned with ornate beads and polished bones, tight to his head until they reach the back of his neck, hanging free from there. His face, likewise, is hardly ever seen, for TJ, like all Flowstone Channelers, wears a gas mask. Inside the gas mask’s filters, he keeps an assortment of chemicals and herbs that he mixes together to smoke or even just inhale, doing various things. Upon his throat, there are a few lighter-colored scars, remnants of an attempt to give him the ability to speak, even if he was born with no vocal cords.

Moving down to TJ’s torso, one can see that he is fit, rather muscular if one could see beneath his clothing, yet he is not a bodybuilder by any means. The muscle he has comes only from his daily life, from carrying pails of flowstone when called upon. His skin, aside from his throat, is flawless, not a scar upon his torso. Clothing his torso is a long-sleeved shirt that he can’t remember where he picked it up, a vest over there. Atop the shirt and vest he wears a long, flowing fur cape that falls to his mid-shin, giving him a hermit-like appearance when he stands hunched. Just below his navel he wears a black sash, that sash being where he normally hung the things he carried with him, larger tools tucked into his backpack under the fur. For defense, TJ has a rusted chain mail vest he stole off a dead man beneath all over his other clothes, though it is a piece of crap…that’s all he can get being a scavenger.

Going further down TJ’s impeccable, yet not overly impressive, frame, one can see that out of all his muscles, his legs would have to be his most powerful. Being one of the runners early in life had started him off on the right track, giving him muscled legs and a speed unmatched by most of the Channelers. It was one reason why he had been chosen as the champion of Caer Zilas, the capital and fortress for the Channelers. The clothing on his lower half consists of a pair of knee-length shorts and chain mail leggings. Atop the shorts and leggings, he wears a pair of tight leather pants, made from a deer he found dead and left to the carrion feeders. Down upon his feet, just like every other Channeler, TJ wears a pair of soft leather boots, the rubber soles just thick enough to provide grip and moderate protection whilst also letting TJ feel the ground beneath his feet.

Personality: TJ is far from excitable most times, but he can be worked up. He is always quiet, though, for he has no vocal cords to speak with. He normally keeps to himself since he finds it hard to communicate, often mistaken for simple because most of the time he is quite out of it. He smokes quite a bit of his own specially made herbs, mixed with just the right chemicals to produce a high unlike any other…the world goes rainbow-colored and nothing seems to matter, at least for him. He keeps a journal just so he knows he’s not going crazy, recording things day by day. He is quite forgiving most times, but if brought to a fight, he will not hesitate to use his abilities to kill.

History: TJ was born to two of the more strict Channelers in Caer Zilas, teaching him all they could, even from the early years. They expected him to start speaking far quicker than most other children did, though he never did speak. They consulted a physician about it after two years of silence, not even a cry from the baby when he was discontent, and found just why…he had been born with no vocal cords at all. Despite having no ability to speak, he proved to be a somewhat intelligent, if rebellious, child. Reading and writing came naturally, as did his control over the flowstone the Channelers defended themselves with. If anything, TJ had inherited the control of both his parents and his control only grew as he aged. Soon enough, he was in such control that even his parents couldn’t stop him if they didn’t work together, for most parents, if a child was bad, encased them in flowstone to the neck…TJ would just turn the stone fluid and run off. Aside from the single surgery to try and get him to speak, his early life was rather uneventful.

When the plague struck, Caer Zilas seemed to be one of the least affected cities, the majority of the casualties coming in the form of the delegates sent to other cities. It seemed as if the plague were spread by contact with the infected, though contact with the corpses seemed not to infect the living. TJ was just a mere runner at the time, yet he was the only one that the council would be willing to “sacrifice” to be a champion, for they saw it as a suicide mission. They briefed the young man, telling him all he needed to know, then sent him on his way. He was given very little, for it was not their way to overload a delegate when they could scavenge for themselves. He has no true prejudices, merely suspicions against those he does not know yet.

Weapons: In the vein of weapons, TJ carries a small and diverse array. For hunting, the council of Caer Zilas gave him a short bow and a quiver of arrows, and he also owns a carving knife and cleaver for skinning and chopping up anything he kills. For a main weapon, however, he carries what all Channelers carry…a long staff made of a blend of almost unbreakable orichalcum metal and wood up the shaft, topped with a gem of unsurpassed beauty, TJ’s specific stone being a large ruby. With that staff, he channels his already formidable flowstone manipulation abilities into the magically imbued stone, amplifying them threefold.

Powers: Unlike most in the Flowstone Channelers, TJ was found by the council to have two latent powers…one was the fact that his body naturally stores static electricity and can also create its own, though he doesn’t yet know such. All he must do to create more static is rub his hands together, though if ever he could find a natural source of static electricity, such as a large sandstorm, he could become a living generator. The second and most dangerous power, however, is that he can harness and control the same type of magic that allows the kithkin to use their Sunlance, which can burn as hot and bright as the center of the sun. He has yet to find this out, either, though if a kithkin realized this and was able to channel mana through TJ, that kithkin could harness a Sunlance that only the gods could rival.

Extra: Upon TJ’s back, atop his pack, rests a large gourd full of flowstone, light as a feather for a Channeler, though it would be a few hundred pounds in liquid form for anyone else, quite a bit heavier in stone form. Inside the pack TJ carries a flint striker, tinder, a bedroll, and a bit of food he’s preserved himself. In some of the side pockets, he also carries extra herbs and Lucifer matches, which can be struck on any surface and will even burn under water like a flare. The last of his items were acquired from the council itself...four injection tubes of the flowstone "virus" that can be injected into normal soil to produce more flowstone.

Name: Demetius Fulvus (prefers more human-sounding name of Dimitri)

Summers here on Lendria: 21

Gender: Male

Race: Goblin

Description:

Shelf Life:
Demetius Fulvus is a Goblin that was born in the midst of a heated ‘civil’ war - villages and towns, plundered and ransacked and burned by the many warring tribes, were commonplace, and it was almost impossible to find a permanent dwelling without having to fight for it. The Goblins fought with harsh ferocity against each other, the individual tribes creating unique weaponry to use against each other, all tribes feeding off each other’s ingenuity to make bigger, better, stronger machines. And that was where Demetius came along.

Although not completely excelling in any one area, Demetius shows a knack of versatility and practicality that quickly lead him up the ranks of his own tribe’s army. With his sharp right eye, he is able to spot the enemy from far away, and with his steady, dextrous hands, he is able to operate any standard long-range firearm that is given to him, whether it is from his own tribe’s armoury or stolen from the enemy’s. He will do whatever it takes to win – so long as it is logical. Loving a good challenge, he will march headstrong into the battlefield if he alone has the slightest chance of survival, much to the dismay of his teammates; because of this, he never keeps a team mate long. Even going so far as sacrificing one of his own in order to spot the location of several fellow snipers, Demetius is known as Demon Dimitri by all tribes, and is sought after by many, although he is forever loyal to his own, whatever ‘loyal’ means to people like him.

It should be noted, however, that his right eye was used in a rather unfortunate accident – his tribe had experimented on him for a new-found invention snatched from a recently conquered town. With it, they would attach enhancements on his eye in order to let him see far greater distances with a sharpness and accuracy that would forever be unmatched. However, the experiment went wrong – somewhere along the way, they had done something wrong and... Well, Demetius’ eye was never the same. Although he could still use it for long-range sight, it is prone to bleeding due to stress on the ocular nerves and the resultant blood vessels. As well, whenever his right eye has to dilate (such as through excessive happiness or when it is unnaturally dark out), the eye will become stressed and bleed, though not of the same ferocity compared to when it is used. The only upside is that he is able to control when he can use his right eyes’ super-sight, which is almost never.

Tats and the like:

Unlike many of his Goblin brethren, who would hastily spend hard-earned gold to desecrate their bodies with tattoos and piercings and other unconventional knick-knacks to show off their pride and ‘honour’, he preferred to let his body stay clean. This lack of bodily design actually made him stand out from the crowd, and clearly showed he meant business. His own ferocity was enough of a marker for most troops. Standing at around the bellybutton of a regular ‘human’ (the standard measurement, it seems), he carries himself as if he were much taller – and for a reason.
Unarguably the Champion of the Goblin Race after a rather messy challenge involving a dozen large tribes, and a battlefield the size of a mountain, Dimitri (a uniform name that is pronounceable by all tribes) has the leadership and the ability to charge forth an army. His build is still uniformly Goblin, consisting of two large, soft ears that are heightened to hear any subtle sound. His face is a grim one, snub snouted in the centre with a mouth from which two subtly sharp teeth barely break into one’s view. His eyes are dark and piercing, a total and absolute brown and black. It’s nearly impossible to denote the difference between his regular eye and his ‘injured’ eye, save for the incredibly small scars at the sides of his eye sockets.

The rest of his stealthy body is protected with light fabric, albeit several layers of it – short and heavy tend not to bode well in a fast-moving war. It generally consisted of a light-weight chain shirt, which went over top of a leather vest. Overtop of this still is a standard trench coat that goes down to his knees. He wears military-issue boots and slacks, shined and pressed respectively. Around his torso is a cross-belt that contains his weapon of choice in several pieces, as well as his ammunition cartridges. If worse comes to worse, said cartridges can be detonated to release their entire package in a large explosion of shrapnel and general destruction.

Personality:

Dimitri is a Goblin of practicality, of efficiency, and of ruthlessness. He is selfless only to his mission, even if it meant the destruction of those around him; so long as the mission is done, he sleeps well at night. A generally well-spoken man, his versatile vocabulary and easy-going behaviour belie his much darker intentions. Although he never dreamed of becoming the Goblins’ champion, he accepts it with a great pride, and with it he lifts himself to do the nigh-impossible – naturally, since he holds on his shoulders the hopes, the dreams, and the honour of the Goblin race.
He is still an ever-changing Goblin, steadfast in his ideals but not so set-in-stone that when a truly life-changing event or realization occurs, he is unable to swallow his pride and change his ground. Unfortunately, this rarely occurs, and he thusly defends his beliefs like a lion would to her cubs.

Weapons:

The X-Bow (read Cross-Bow) is a versatile weapon created with the collaborative efforts of several leading tribes to award to the victor that would represent all of Goblin-kind. Their invention was the X-Bow, a crossbow-like weapon created mostly of light-weight alloy. The prod consists of two separate sections, each (when viewed individually) looks and acts like falchions. The string is a retractable metal whip that can be taut enough to launch the bolt several hundred metres when at the hands of a deserving sniper. The body consists of several notches for gears, and indeed the prod itself can be moved in order to push the X-Bow back to form a double- or single-armed weapon that ideally rests on the forearm.
(will try to draw/provide pic if things progress)

Powers:

Born with no especially magical or influential powers (like most Goblins), Demetius had to make do with his innate ability to manipulate mechanical objects and metal in general; indeed, he is able to understand the mechanics behind any given tool within minutes, and master its use within hours. As well, he is able to create his own (albeit much cruder when compared to the actual Goblin engineers) weapons should the situation call for it. Highly versatile in this way, he can create impromptu weapons within a moment’s notice to suit the weapon, all because of his natural understanding of engineering and “arts and crafts”, as he would often say when in the middle of making something.
Lastly, although this would barely constitute a power, he is unafraid and unaffected of fire. Sure, it may hurt, it may burn and blister and boil his skin, but he is still able to move and bend and manipulate anything within a fire, whether it be a simple cauterizing of a wound, or to pick up and start working on a heated piece of metal. Still, nothing special – just an affinity to fiery pain.

History:

Well, isn’t this what the roleplay is all about? >3 Allons-y mes ami!
(But I digress – his history has been quickly gone over in the description section)

Everyone who has applied so far looks good. I'll give it a few more days to see if we get any more takers for the rest, then I'll work up an IC. If no one else applies, I may double-up with either a kithkin champion or the treefolk champion. That I'd have to decide when the time comes. But as I said, all in all, everything looks good so far. Still working on the idea and tweaking it, too.

[b]Personality and the Inner Workings of his mind:[/b] Innerly wise beyond his years his Social appearance varies from person to person, basically a 'how you treat him is how he treats you' kind of individual. While sacarstic, purposely ignorant to subjects that are unpleasant to him. He can also be good natured and reliable to those exhibiting kindness and fair generousity, even if it's not to him.

Respect beyond normal standards is not something to take for granted, he speaks on equal terms to ranks or royalty (considering there is not much left) until they have proven themselves worthy of their title. Some people just don't deserve it and he compulsively finds it wrong to even address them that way, which is once more mistaken for being snobbishly rude and a general sense of 'holier than thou'. Though on the brighter side of things his concept of equality has also fosters fair relations among odder races, people whom others might throw aside in disregard.

A very brief history: The recent third of his life was spent in solitude, ever since the destruction of his home. It's amazing how a single carton of infected grain could have brought upon the downfall of such a majestic empire, plentiful of healers and physicians none which have ever met a disease that evolved. In a single night, within the depths of slumber and sacred silence. . .

The air filled with the stench of burning flesh as families set their infected ablaze, painfully knowing that their kin are no longer among the living. [i]This is what must be done. Tears from the grieving were the only waters dousing the flames, others who could not mourn anymore stared with dry eyes at the writhing figures within the blaze.

A strange young man watched with no remorse as they burnt, merely curiousity at the crackling sounds abound the charred wood and while his trauma was still suppressed in a state of shock. He ran blindly down the streets to the Bazaar, he knew his feelings would soon catch up to him and before they do he would have been long gone, leaving the chaos and aftermath behind for those foolish enough to stay to rebuild their home. Then only miles away from the capital would he realize that his family was deceased or lost, then let what happens next happen. Afterall, there was nothing left holding him back. He thought, with the logical part of his mind the only concious one, he began raiding various abandoned stores.

There were Purifiers or what people called them for the lack of better name, members of an unknown sect whose existence were as abrupt as the plague itself. They brought what order they could to the scattering masses, might as well have given them refuge to their dwindling counts. Not among them was Delgren, who would rather seek out vengeance than stay and await more such mayhems.[/i]

Swords and stuff: Almost iconical of him is the Gnarled wood he holds in his right hand as a walking stick, twined from the roots and branches of the reculsive Argilius tree. It holds little value to the untrained eye, not faring better than even a rusted corroding sword. That is, if you intend to swing it at someone. But add abit of quirky hand gestures, a quick recital of finely tuned words with an hour's of preparation under the sun and you might shed some light on it's directing qualities as dazzling fireworks sprout from that same swing.

Alongside is another signature piece, one which never fails to give away his identity as an arcanist of sorts, the frayed concial hat with a wide brim. Used to center and focus the thoughts of the wearer in the past, while keeping them distant from the outside world. It has become rare to see anyone wearing these over something more fashionable and not as troublesome, but when the world has been turned upside down and even cloth is hard to come by, you have to stick to the traditional stuff.

In all the deceptive mundaneness, one thing stands out noteworthy of fascination and value. A Sir'kir threaded by a weave of fibre around his neck, hangs loosely and imbuing his barreled tunic with it's refreshing blue flare. While not kept, it provides much needed illumination in the darkness. Even though not matching the degree of a torch, it has never stopped glowing since the day he rescued it. Not too shabby for a person who travelled miles alone, you loose some belongings you gain some belongings. As all tales must follow suit, so must the wardrobe.


Racial Trait: Prodigious Learning Pure Humans, given their short lifespans and above average stature. Proneness to illness and intolerance to harsher habitats, are a race most would never understand how they managed to be one of the most successful species around. It surely was not anything physical, generation after generation humans still looked the same. Skin, physiology and habits.

But they overlooked the mind, humans are indeed prodigies compared to other races or subhumans when it comes to grasping concepts and innovation that intergrates these in ways unfanthomable. Be it philosophical, mechanical or magical. The humans have adapted to their stunted durations by making most use of it, allowing them to have an almost intuitive aptitude about the workings of the world.


Extras: Sir'kir is translated to sliver of soul/spirit, it is found in the core of almost every professionally crafted golem. When touched, it is soft with a distinct mix of warmth and cooling sensations swirling along the surface. Claylike in texture, it molds to pressure till it almost breaks then it stifles and becomes a true solid before bouncing back into a blob not without leaving a fun illuminating trail on your fingers. Children in the past often drew publicly with them, no one could call it vandalism because the writings vanish with the slightest breath or a drop of rain. Now that many of the crafters have passed away, both itself and it's use have become a rarity.

The Erxelar: The Erxelar of the Ernton Conclave are a peaceful group of anthropomorphic elephant monks. The Conclave rests dead center of the border between the north and the central plains. It is the last friendly stop along the way to the Northern Calderas. The monks are glad to help any and all travellers in need of their assistance, freely giving of themselves, for it is their belief that their god helps those who help others.
The Rhox: The Rhox, like their cousins the Erxelar, are a group of anthropomorphic animals, yet not elephants. The Rhox are a more violent band of rhinoceros. They do not live in a single place like the Erxelar, instead on the move constantly, nomadic and moving along the border, never going too far each way. While more violent, they will not just murder carelessly, only killing when they themselves are attacked. They will, however, rough someone up if they so feel the need. On that note the Rhox are very short sighted like their four-legged cousins, so most do not use ranged weapons but merely close combat weapons, if one happens to attack one or a group it might be easier to diseued them by using ranged weapons.

The Children of the Fang: The Children of the Fang are a race of humanoid creatures with thick green skin and horny protrusions all along their backs. They also possess a pair of large, bull-like horns, hands possessing five claw-like fingers. They are not normal hands, however, for they possess only three true fingers and two thumbs on each, as well as only four toes on each digitigrade leg. Fierce but not quite smart, any Fangchild can be a deadly opponent unless outwitted, which is easy to do. One could stump a Fangchild by merely telling a riddle, though this is not advisable for the Fangchild might become frustrated and attack with more ferocity than before, seeing it would likely have a headache and blame the riddler for giving it to them.

Griffins and Mistral Chargers: The griffins of Lendria, whilst mostly benevolent, will attack if one approaches their young who have not yet attained flight. The lion/avian hybrids are a fierce lot, though if one can manage to befriend one, they are loyal companions. Griffins can be found anywhere, yet are most numerous in the mountains where they can roost up high and keep their young cubs safe from predators below. At a time merchants would capture young griffins to sell to royalty as pets, but one event where the griffins formed a direct assault on one royal family to rescue their kin was the breaking point in which the merchants refused to capture any more of them. The Mistral Chargers, on the other hand, are always ornery, found literally everywhere, herds of them roaming all of Lendria. The Mistral Chargers are called such for their tendency to hide in the pervasive mists of the Lendrian early morning, charging anyone who wanders too near. Only if taken young and trained can a Mistral Charger be used as a companion, the largest of them achieving the size of a draft horse. It is easy to distinguish a Mistral Charger from a regular horse, though they hold the same body and form, the Mistral Chargers have sprouted wings from their shoulders, large feathery wings that usually hold the looks of a hawks, powerful and able to gain speeds for short distances.

Lendrian Wurm: The Lendrian Wurms, while rare, are by far one of the most dangerous opponents one could face. Most common on the plains, but there are other types of wurms for each terrain type in Lendria. The most dangerous of the wurms are the Southern Frostwurms, a type of wurm capable of exhaling its freezing breath in cones of intense cold. The most common wurms are upwards of fifty feet and at least one ton, though the largest wurm on record took the measurement taker an entire day’s ride to move from its tail tip to its head. The battle to kill that wurm had been fierce and no wurm that large has been found since. All of the wurms are similar aside from size and color, they appear like giant worms though with a twist of a lot scarier than your average earthworm. First they have large segment plates over their long snake-esque bodies, different species might have added attributes, some have thinner plates, some thicker, and some with spikes added to them. Also they have eyes though small and beady that can see blurred images, just enough to know what to attack and how to eat it. Along with that they have giant maws that open up to reveal that they are fully capable of shredding you to bits with their serrated teeth which resembles that of a shark's with rows of teeth.

Boldwyr Giants: The giants of Boldwyr, a small citadel in the mountains, living in a somewhat strained coexistence with the dwarves, are a race of gigantic, red-skinned humanoids with white hair being most common. The largest and oldest of the Boldwyr giants attain a height of upwards of fifty feet, between twenty and thirty for younger giants, though there are exceptions. Grimwaer, the giant lord, is by far the largest of them all, standing a full head taller than even his advisors. Unlike speculations, giants are not mindless brutes, rather they have a very organized society and are smart, though not on the genius level most of the time, so outwitting them would not be the best way to handle the situation.

Narcomoeba: The Narcomoeba are a rather odd race of creatures. Resembling airborne jellyfish, the narcomoeba are pure illusion. However, if a narcomoeba touches the bare flesh of a creature, it will scan its memories, for it is a living memory itself, and take the form of its most horrid enemy, making itself solid. The only way to kill a narcomoeba without trouble is to use any type of attack that can affect physical beings or to avoid the creature all together. They are not an aggressive type of creature, they thrive on basic instincts, they have no apparent reason to do anything, though they may accumulate an aggressive memory and attack unprovoked.

Lendrian Wraith: Most commonly found in dark alleys in the cities of Lendria, the Lendrian Wraith is the physical manifestation of anger and murder in a city. If, however, truly abominable crimes are committed elsewhere, wraiths can form there, as well. Nearly impossible to fully kill without an exorcist, the Lendrian Wraith is unaffected by weapons not blessed or enchanted. It can, however, rend flesh from bone with its wickedly curved claws. The most common form of a wraith is that of a humanoid figure in a dark, hooded robe missing its sleeves, the hood up to cover its skeletal face. All that can ever be seen without jerking down the hood is its skeletal jawbone, the hood holding a supernatural darkness that will not disperse. Most times a wraith has no legs beneath its robe, instead floating along.

Needlespire Arachnids and their cousins: The mountain called Needlespire houses a race of gigantic spiders, spinning their webs between the large peaks. With even the smallest of them larger than a man, the Needlespire arachnids are no laughing matter. These smallest arachnids, however, guard the hatcheries to guard their young until they are large enough to guard the next generation themselves. They do have cousins spread far and wide all across Lendria, though they do not always approach the colossal size of the Needlespire originals. These race of spiders are a direct threat to merchants who wish to cross onto the western cities that run along the coast of the ocean to trade goods there, many merchants have dared to go through in hopes of riches but most never do return as they get trapped within the webs of these spiders.

The Merfolk: The Merfolk of Lendria are numerous and diverse, ranging from beautiful human upper bodies with fish-like lower halves to horrid amalgamations of fish in a human-esque upper frame. The latter type commonly resembles catfish with the protrusions upon their face. They inhabit all of Lendria’s freshwater lakes and rivers, though they do have cousins who have adapted themselves to the single ocean on Lendria’s surface, for Lendria consists of mostly land which makes the Merfolk rare and it is considered a blessing to see one, though some claim it is a curse for those of the religious nature claim that they are demons that should be purged from the world, thus dwindling their numbers greatly.

The Nezerites: The Nezerites, named so for their progenitor, Nezeriel, the Lord of Vermin, are a race of anthropomorphic rat people. Skilled in the ways of the shaman, the Nezerites commonly channel the abilities of their patron spirit animals, even if they do resemble animals themselves. The older Nezerites generally are revered by the younger generation, though there is a shared animosity between generations significantly close together. Many Nezerites can also use their long pink tails as weapons or as a separate grabbing appendage. Unlike other races who use heavy armor, the Nezerites commonly construct their armor from the ironbark tree, called so for its properties resembling iron…it is hard to burn, hard to work, and hard to cut. The shamans of the Nezerites use staves for weapons, the more powerful Nezerite shamans possessing those made from the bones of their ancestors. All Nezerites possess digitigrade legs, making their homes in the swamps.

Dryads: Unlike dryads of mythology, the dryads of Lendria are more akin to sprites, save for the Ivy Hair Dryads. All other races inside the dryad race attempt to trick, pester, or generally just aggravate any being they come across. With their knack for disappearing directly into trees, the dryads can effectively avoid any confrontation up close or even at range. The Ivy Hair, along with their close cousins the Children of the Fern, are the most human, possessing soft, fleshy bodies. The only differences are their luminescent eyes, of any color of the rainbow imaginable, and their long, flowing waves of ivy for hair, commonly so long that the tips brush the ground. The Children of the Fern greatly resemble them, yet instead of having graceful ivy falls, their hair consists of large ferns sprouting from their skulls. Other dryads look even less human, from having wooden growths along their flesh all the way up to consisting of living bark themselves. Due to a dryad’s innate magic, wherever one goes, small bits of nature grow, leaving a graceful fall of leaves, even if they have none on them, in their wake, as if wind had blown through a forest.

Centaurs: The centaurs of Lendria, aside from the Rotok Clan, are innately peaceful, living in nomadic tribes all around the land, sticking to no one area for long. Their only commonality is that they avoid the mountains. Unlike goats, no matter how graceful a centaur, they find it extremely difficult and annoying to navigate the winding, gravel-strewn mountain paths. Out of all the centaurs, however, the Rotok Clan is the most inhuman. The Rotok commonly sprout massive antlers from their skulls, a race of centaur descended from a merging of warhorse and man. The largest of them can have antlers that can and likely have killed people, possessing sharp points along the entire lengths. On top of the antlers, the Rotok’s human-like upper half is commonly tinged green for reasons unknown. Unlike their peaceful cousins, the Rotok take up residence on the border of the forests and swamps, only ever showing themselves when they wish to raid.

Spirits: Lendria is a magically charged planet, which often results in spirits being produced from even the smallest of efforts. According to the Nezerites, if one snuffs a candle without first saying a small prayer, a vengeful spirit is created from the “soul” of that candle. The kithkin can verify this fact, however…their fields are commonly watched over by spirits that have been seen. The spirits of the fields are always of uniform nature, as well. If one were to judge the spirit by man sizes, it would be seven feet in height, yet it has no true body if it does not will it so. It is surrounded by floating lanterns to light its way, red ribbons falling from those lanterns. On its head it wears a massive straw hat, the diameter of that hat being much greater than the width of its own body. It wears a white robe, possessing black hair that falls to the very ends of its robe. If it wishes itself to have a body, the spirit of the fields is not truly seven feet tall…it is merely the length of its robes and hair that make it seem so in the air. It commonly carries a scepter in one hand and a sickle and bucket in the other. The spirits of the field, whilst beautiful and rare, are not unique, for each spirit is exactly as the next.

Olisex Wizards: The Olisex Wizards, despite being oddly named, are a race of intelligent beings innately gifted with the ability of flight without wings. Whilst the wizards can master spells of any school, they most commonly have adapted themselves to wind magic to compliment the fact that their home is a floating palace normally hidden above the clouds, though it can be seen on cloudless days as a brilliant crystal castle in the sky. The Olisex Wizards are not named such because that is the name of their race, but because the creator of the castle was called Pontifex Olisexius Baeli XVIII. In truth, the Olisex Wizards have no true name for their race, for they are mostly secretive and prefer to stay inside their castle. As a testament to their progenitor’s skill with wind magic, the castle never needs to be managed, the place also massive. In relation to cities upon the ground, it is four times their size. As a race, the Olisex Wizards are most commonly pale-skinned or possessing flesh that is almost baby blue. Their hair is only ever two colors, black or white. The true defining feature of an Olisex Wizard is their rabbit-like ears that lay from the sides of their head rather than on top like a true animal's. They do not have any supporting muscles, so they droop constantly, often being worked into a wizard’s hairstyle to keep them out of the way. With wind magic, the Olisex can be dangerous from their castle, for they can pull all air from beneath a creature’s wings and send it into a freefall instead of allowing it flight. The most famous of the Olisex is Akasha, the Mirror Seer. Using her twin mirrors Yanki and Yanku, Akasha is capable of telling the future, yet she does not stay with the Olisex Wizards…despite being the most powerful, she is also the most unlike them, living the life of a hermit. Yanki sees the future as it will be. Yanku sees both the past and the future that could be.

The Aviaen: The Aviaen as a race is a broad term, for their subraces are many, but as a rule of thumb, if one hears the name aven, humanoid birds should come to mind. The Aviaen have no true defining features to distinguish them from other magical races aside from the Fateshapers. The Fateshapers of the Aviaen are capable of something no other race is capable of…a rejection of fate. Some call it blasphemy, but if a Fateshaper is present, as an example of their powers, the Fateshaper could take a man whose head has been ripped off, sew it back on, then perform their rites and incantations and the wounds would heal before the eyes of the onlookers. This, however, would drain the Fateshaper so badly that they would need to sleep for days on end just to recuperate.


The Planet Lendria:

Lendria itself is a single massive continent divided by a vast spider’s web of rivers, dotted with ponds and lakes that would put other realms’ lakes to shame. The only other source of fresh water on the entire planet is the ice of the Southern Glaciers. If one takes a look at the planet when facing the center of the plains, then spins it one hundred and eighty degrees on its axis, one would find the one and only ocean upon the entire planet that houses Lendria.

To the far north, at the very top of the planet, the calderas of the north rest, bubbling and boiling even the air there. Dotting the north are volcanos that continuously spout ash and smoke into the air which causes the air to become thick with the noxious fumes so that only the hardiest could survive. Between the massive volcanoes the earth crumbles into pools of molten lava like lakes and rivers perversed with heat that suffocates most plant life and life itself. Here lives fire spirits who thrive on the heat, burning everything in their wake as they hop from lava pool to the next along with Fire wurms to make themselves completely at home in this fiery wasteland that holds a giant, ancient evil within the depths of the molten lava.

To the south, the glaciers sit pristine and white as the day they were frozen, untouched by man or any creature, or so people think. Towards the south, when heading towards the glaciers, the land begins to break up into small islands of land between the large rivers that cover Lendria, becoming colder and grimmer the further one goes. However, in the dead south it is capped in ice as far as the eye can see, just like the north, only the hardiest could survive in such climates such as the Monks and frost wurms along with dark secrets that were better left undisturbed.

To the west lie Lendria’s great forests and swamps, the border being split on a jagged diagonal running from the northeast to the southwest. The forests and swamps never truly depart from one another, however, for many trees grow inside the swamps and there are many noxious pools of swamp gunk dotting the forests themselves. Most of this land in sunken in with water or mud along with the occasional quicksand that devours up any traveller stupid enough to lurk into the great swamps. Inhabiting these swamps are the Rotok Clan of centaurs, Devkarin elves, Nezerites, Fangchildren, a few dryads, hags, and maybe a small swamp wurm, small in comparison to the Frostwurm cousins.

The central plains are truly a thing of beauty, long, wavy grass almost always making waves as if it were a vast ocean. The grasses are both help and hindrance to the kithkin, for with their short stature, it makes it ideal to hide inside, yet also has a tendency to get in their way. Also these plains that hold barely any trees and a scant few rocks for protection is the home to the Leonin tribes, a few regular centaurs, maybe a group of griffins, along with the spirits of the grasslands.

The mountains housing the dwarven kingdoms and the goblins they protect lie to the east, rising high into the sky. The highest peaks reach up into the clouds, disappearing into them on all but the most cloudless of days. This rocky terrain is home not only to dwarves and goblins, but also the Needlespire spiders, a few griffins, and the society of Boldwyr giants.

Not only the land is inhabited by these creatures but the skies are just as filled with beings as is the land, ranging from the clear skies of the plains to the storm clouds surrounding the mountains to the ash hewn skies all the way to the dark skies of the south. In these clouds thrive the Aviaens, Mistral Chargers, as well as the floating castle that holds the Olisex Wizards.

This could have been quite a thread, unfortunate that it had to die halfway within the first 3 posts might I add and I seemed to have left out something . . .that's right MONSTER ATTACK!

Well, I can honestly say it wasn't for lack of effort on my part. It was just that no one who applied seemed to give a fuck aside from you. I worked hard on this, actually, and my bud helped me clean it up and explain it better when she proofread my stuff. I wanted this to work. I even had a basic plot skeleton and the reason for the plague all planned out and shit like that. The people who applied never posted aside from the leonin, though, and plus Blackfang's been having a bit of trouble, so she's essentially fucked and MIA for now, so it's just me and you that even give a shit anymore.

You can't count me out of this one yet.

Since nobody but wizard was posting I was assuming that I'd have to wait till everyone's ready.

But as days gone by I think it’s just us three here.
[But I also have to claim some fault on my part, with spring break around the corner, major assignments keep blocking my fun and computer time.]

If you guys still want to continue then I’m game.
Just tell me if it’s still alive.

All right. So here it is. I apologize for the long delay between posts. Since Blackfang doesn't feel up to posting in anything anymore, I need a solution to this dilemma...what do we do with her character? Do I ask her for permission to kill her off? Do I find some way to just tastefully remove her from the roleplay? Or do we start a new thread for all the people we have left, which, if you guys are still interest now, is very few.

So this I pose to you, my fellow roleplayers, as a solution to what to do with the character of my friend. I know not what has happened to her, only that her attention span has decreased greatly, to put it in her words. She can't keep her mind on a post long enough to finish one anymore. I, for one, would like to continue, but I've been trying to figure out what to do. Also, if you've seen the bio for my Sith cyborg, you'll realize why I've been distracted, as that monopolized my time. Now that he is done, I have my brain back. Now I leave it for you, my friends. All I need is a confirmation that you wish to continue and some idea as to what to do with Blackfang since she's incapacitated. Thank you.

A thread doesn't end once it is posted, recruiting players don't only happen at the start. I suggest starting a 'Recruiting new players' thread in the OOC and related forums, redirecting with a link to this thread. Since it will be recently posted, many watchful members will notice it on the recent threads page. As for your friend, you can with her permission move her character around or out of the place and do what whim with her there is or till she is ready to return to this place. You cannot blame her just because she has not posted, most of us have real lives here and there will be times when things more urgent than a thread will surface.

The solution has been tested and is as good as reviving a thread, also if you think your posts get enough reads you can advertise this thread in the signatures.

Ahh, very true. I'll be working up a "Recruiting New Players" thread soon, though I do seem to be quite slow these days. Curse my brain and its ability to work up a character from scratch...mainly because I normally am forced to take it down once I do. For my friend, though, I've gotten her permission to do with her what I will and I've decided through popular vote to make her a usable NPC for all. Hopefully someone else can manage her...I've never had any luck with anyone's characters but my own. I can try, though.

Also, I wasn't trying to blame her. I was merely relaying from her to you exactly what she told me. She really has been having trouble concentrating, even when she has been on-line. It's not that she has been busy all the time. She's told me the times when she has been busy. Even now, I think, she is considering going to someone to ask about something to help her concentrate. As it is, though, I'll be working up that thread sooner or later, unless someone else beats me to it. I won't count on that happening, though...I don't expect others to do my job.

I am very very interested in posting on here. This seems like it has the potention to be a wonderful thread! But I must warn you, it has been a couple months since my internet crashed, so my roleplaying ability may have gone down a little. I ask you to forgive me if my bio isn't quite as grand as the others, but please don't make the mistake of thinking that I am a 'noob'. Also, another warning: My internet connection is quite terrible, and crashes often, so if I go a long period without posting and without saying anything about it to anyone, it is because my internet crashed and I have no had the chance. Now, on with the bio.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: M'iertrag Vllithrein, or Mirtek Ven, to anyone outside of his race.

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Race: An elf of the Duskwalker tribe

Description: Mirtek is found to be like the rest of the people in his tribe. His heigth allows him to see over the heads of most other races. Mirtek is certainly not of the biggest members of his tribe when it comes to his muscular structure, but he is also not the smallest, falling somewhere in the middle, leaving him with the ability of being able to weild the great two-handed sword of his ancestors with ease without looking like a savage brute.

His dark, almost blue skin stand in stark contrast to his white hair. His straight hair is of medium length, coming down to cover his pointed ears and falling over his eyes, when he allows it to. His eyes, although slightly larger than most races because of his elven heritage, are built with the same basic structure. The white, the iris, and a black pupil in the center. His iris' are of a beautiful shade of red, though most beings see them as a sign of malice, of evil.

If one could get past the fact that Mirtek is a "Dark Elf", they would come to see that he has handsome facial features. The ends of his ears portrude out from his snow-white hair. His straight nose stops above his dark lips, those lips concealing his straight, white teeth. If Mirtek ever smiles, it is a beautiful smile indeed.

He is almost always found wearing the armour of his ancestors. The medium-weighted mix of leather, plate, and chain-mail offers quite the defensive shell around him. Although there is no helmet or shield, the Duskwalkers seeing them as signs of cowardice, the rest of the armor is there. Under the cuirass is a common cloth shirt, which is then covered by a layer of chain-mail. The chain-mail acts as a final layer of protection from penetrating arrows/blades. The cuirass, which is a mix of plate and leather, lays over that. A layer of plate covers his chest and shoulders, the peices individual and bolted together to offer more freedom of movement. Covering his stomach and lower back where the plate does not is a few layers of hard leather, each placed where they offered the most protection whilest also providing freedom of movement. His legs are covered with simple leather leggings. Over that are individual pieces of plate that cover his thighs and shins. The peices are tied with a strip of leather around the back of the leg (much like catchers gear in Baseball/Softball, yet individual instead of one piece)

He has leather and plate boots that cover his feet and leather vambraces on his wrists. All of his armor is colored dark blue, or black depending on a certain races visible spectrum of color, and is embroidered with an intricate design of gold.

(for more info on his facial features and the topmost layer of his armor, please look to my avatar.)

Personality: Mirtek's personality differs greatly from that of other Duskwalkers. His peoples hatred for other races was once found in him, but his hatred has faded away and been replaced with a quaint curiousity. He is willing to befriend and study all but his still hated elf cousins, the Mornsong and Devkarin.

Coming with his curiousity of other races has also come a curiousity for nature. He cares more for the tree's and indigeonous species of the world more-so than his Duskwalker brethren.

Most species would, and most do, automatically assume that Mirtek is a hateful, evil creature who wants nothing more than their lives. The few people that he would actually get to know, however, would come to find that he is a gentle, caring person who's only relation to the Duskwalkers is his appearance and hatred of elves.

History: Mirtek was born and raised alongside his Duskwalker people, his elders breeding into him the xenophobic hatred of all other species. Mirtek was raised within a miliaristic family, his father forging an excellent swordsman out of Mirtek.

Mirtek was out scouting the forest for any intruders when he happened upon a young human child who had gotten seperated from her family. Instantly he drew his sword to spill her blood... but something about this human child kept him from doing that. This young girl looked up at Mirtek with tear blurred eyes and held out a hand to him, which, for some reason, Mirtek took in his own.

Mirtek managed to return the small girl to her human camp, telling her not to say a word about how she was brought back. The camp was secluded and just on the edge of the Duskwalker territory, leaving the humans safe, yet cautious, in their small camp. For years the young girl returned to their initial meeting spot to talk with Mirtek. He heard many stories about many different races, his hatred growing smaller as his fascination grew bigger.

One fateful day, however, changed everything. Mirtek was off-duty and enjoying himself when Duskwalker soldiers grabbed him and without a word began dragging him through the streets of his town. His eyes widened with horror at the sight of a young red haired girl, barely into her teens, on her knees in the town square with her hands bound behind her back. Mirtek was thrown to the ground, his head forced to face the young girl by a strong grip in his hair.

"No! You can't kill her!" Mirtek screamed. The Duskwalker standing above her smirked, his thoughts on the relationship between Mirtek and the human girl confirmed without any questions being asked. He raised his sword above the sobbing girls head. She looked up at Mirtek, tears falling from her eyes as she prepared to die. Tears welled up in Mirteks own eyes as the blade fell, severing her head from her body.

All strength gone from his body, Mirtek was dragged along with ground and thrown out of the town. "M'iertrag Vllithrein, you are hereby removed and exiled from Duskwalker territory. If you are to ever return, you will be killed on sight."

Since then Mirtek has been wondering the world, often cast away from towns or threatened by death because of his Duskwalker heritage.

Weapons: Mirtek only carries two weapons with him. His first and foremost is the family heirloom that has passed down through generations of his fathers, finally falling upon him. The blade is long, it's sheath upon Mirteks back. The hilt was of an intricate design. The part that Mirteks hands would grip was made of dark blue leather, comfortable enough to weild without causing aches in his hands. The butt of the hilt was like the foot of a great bird, the talons wrapped around a blood red gem. The gem was rumored to contain magical properties that kept the sword in pristine condition and kept it from breaking, though those rumors were yet to be put to the test. Between the blade and the hilt was an intricate we've of black metal, the points adding to the overall since of the swords importance.

His other weapon is a small, curved knife that usually rests in it's small, concealed sheath on his right shin. (The blade is like the one that Aragorn uses in Return of the King, for those of you that have seen it)

Powers: Mirtek has no extraordinary powers. Like all members of his race, he is attuned to the magical spectrum of reality, easily allowing him to learn and cast spells. The hardest of which are the magics of White, the easiest for him being the Black magics.

Extra: Nothing that I can think of.