Famous Descriptions
Tiiron, the Squatting Bull of the Kankorans His long, dark brown hair
blowing with the wind, razor sharp eyes of unsaturated hazel, No taller than
a moderate soul, no thicker than a large young child, Tiiron stands
continuously upright. His moderately tanned skin hides him in the desrtous
terrain, liked together with piano fingers & fists of iron marrow.
[Yendri]: his bg was "Here lies a man with many paths to choose" [Yendri]: this is (according to Ramc) the same guy who had the "a rock fell on his head and he forgot" a while back.
As you look you see a happy and nice felar. He look like a cat.Becuase felars are cat like and that is what i am he says with a nice voice. I am a nice man but i can be veary meen.I like to people. I like to help people. But i dont like to say it because then people will always ask me for help.When i can not help some one i feel bad.
jader is from the city of var bandor he grew in var bandor for same time jader wants to be the smartest ginte in avendar and most paworful
A tall human with blue eyes stands before you grinning. His Circular blade of his dirk pertrudes from his shieth. His fingers tapping on his leg indicate his quick hands and thieving skills.
Erected infront of you, Is a 6'2 well built, Male Human. His hair, Fairly long, hanging just past his shoulders is pulled back into a ponytale tied with a piece of leather. He casts his gaze with eire red, glowing eye's. On his face, down across his left eye is a scar, slightly aged. Across his face holds a sorta, diabolical look. His shoulders are wide and broad. They carry him quite well. Around his neck is a family pendant that is slightly tarnished. His hands are sliced and scared, also quite large.
The creature before you nearly belies his Krakoran heritage with his shocking blond hair and his electric blue eyes. You can however see his racial features running through his body with hard muscles that are part genetic and part continued sword practice. Kyndig is in excellent condition.
Iliatil's background is: My tale is a tale for men, to be told by bards to men at bars for profit, for they will all love my story so well. Raised by my father, a welthy merchant, I learned early on the ways of buisness. I was never very good at making deals and counting on other men to make our wealth. I was never very good at making deals and counting on other men to make our wealth. My father saw me as a failure and an idiot. He sent me away when I was six-teen years of age before I could disgrace his buisness. The only thing I can say about my father is he was a very hard worker, and he always taught me that the key to anything was wisdom. Wisdom he had said would build or break empires. Taking only this and the clothes on my back, I began to work my way from town to town, sometimes raiding traders when I needed food or such. Thus I came to Var Bandor and begain making my wealth, my way. Such knowledge as I posses of trade routes and greedy merchants, have lead me to my calling as a bandit. A bandit and soldier of fortune I shall remain untill I have made my wealth, then and only then will I be satisfied.
A kind Kankoran walks by...
But you don't know that...
His shaggy grey fur is Driping with crimson blood...
He doesn't even look that old...
Theres nothing special about him, he has grey eyes, grey fur...
It must have been just an illusion because hes gone now.
Xander is in excellent condition.
Towering nine feet tall stands a creature covered gray skinned cloak. Behind this cloak, while grasping the handle of a covered weapon, two large eyes gaze upon your body in curiousness.
Rhagkha has some small wounds and bruises.
Standing at your feet is a small eyeless Shuddeni. With no eyes, the vision it has is very good for its effect. With darkish colored skin, he blinds in with the shadows to better his attemps of not beeing seen. All though to be seen with a darkish gray color, he is real small, like the size of stick, and fears no people.
Yugithryl is in excellent condition.
This human is about six foot four, and is built like a block of iron. His face cannot be seen as it is covered by a black steel face mask from the top of his forhead to just under his chin. A side long slot in the upper portion of the mask allows him to see, and three diagonal slits on each side of the lower portion of the mask allow him to breath. Besides the mask, he always wears a deep billowing dark charcoal colored hood that can easily be worn over any wears. His eyes are a steel platinum color and a green glow dances across his pupils with a dark silouet.
His shoulders are broad and muscular, and taper into thick sturdy wrists and strong hands. Upon his neck just under the left side of his jaw, is a tattoo marking of a green kite shaped war shield. Crested upon the shield, is two thick oval shaped loops, which enterlink with one another like a tightly strung piece of chain. A pillar like colomn, bridges the two loops together down the center. The pillar is a gray and black marbel color. Standing upright behind the shield is a black halberd inscribed with three green colored symbols.
Around his body is a sleevless black trimed dark charcoal robe that ties at the waist, and falls to just above the knees. It is loose fitting and able to fit over any wears, as a sort of over robe, in the way tunics or symbols of belief are worn over armor. On both sides of the front of the robe at mid shoulder, is the same design that is tattooed on his neck.
This rather young human seems to have a very horrid young life. All of his scars came from his father, for failure. His father always wanted exact perfection in every form, and skill he used. He never accepted defeat. When a group of well-trained swordsman came to their encampment, he was pushed to sparr with all of them. And if possible... Slay them. He slayed three of the eight... But one of them, was his true match. Yet the one that was his true match was... His father! His father had brought them all there to see if his son had truly learned to be one with his swords.. Apparently, this young one was.
Standing close to eleven foot, this silvery skinned man, covered in scars. Stares at you with piercing grey eyes. His face hard as rock seemingly chisled from stone. Wearing plate armor, and at his sides lay two giant greatswords strapped at his waist. He grins then turns and walks off. Tristan is in excellent condition.
There is a sinister looking bat-like nefortuan scholar with tetchily gleaming green eyes that behold with nefarious gaze the space he caroms about with flapping sounds of his leathery membranes between the thin arms. Upon the surface of the diaphanus membranes eldritch runes of shadowy substance writhe like crawling worms clothed in gelid auras of palpable chill. A broad nose sits flatly over a mouth full of vicious sharp teeth. The tips of his fingers are coated with pitch black shadow substance of which spiraling tendrils slither along hands and arms towards the shadowy runes.
650/650hp|606/606mp|406/406mv|14458tnl> Before you is a medium built human. Her hair is a fiery red, which is very straight, and hangs softly framing her face. Her eyes are a deep emerald green, and are small, and beaty. You notice her teeth are straight and white, as she is smiling all the time. Her breasts are farily big, and seem supple, and firm. She has a scar just above her breasts which runs diagonly downwards across her side. She has another scar across her left cheek right above her cheek bone, slightly touching her eye. Her skin is tanned, yet a little rough to the touch. She wears a chain around her ankle witch she trys to keep covered in memory of her sister.
660/660hp|619/619mp|412/412mv|19568tnl> look zypheria
Standing before you is a tall slender female. Her hair is fiery red with streaks of blonde which glisten ever so slightly. Her eyes are a dark shade of green rimmed around the edges with black. Her skin is tanned yet very fair. Her face has a scar which goes through her thin eyebrow right across her left eye. Her lips are shiny red, and full. Her breasts are round, supple, and firm. When you look closer at her, you notice: Zypheria is in excellent condition.
706/706hp|634/634mp|462/462mv|21188tnl> look mysti
Standing at about 5 feet tall, with the build of a goddess Mysti stands with long red hair cascading down her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her eyes glimmer while she flips her hair back, a bright emerald green. Lucious lips of bright red protrude slightly, almost ready open. As you pan down you notice her firm supple breasts fill her dress of blue silk quite well. Scanning further down her hips curve outward completing the perfect hourglass figure. Mysti is in excellent condition.
Jeshaer's background is: Let me begin by saying that the very first thing I did when creating this character was Google the name. Since I got ZERO hits, I assume that the Divine Presence who has harassed me four times in the past few months over names he or she didn't like will agree that this one is original.
Of the three dozen or so heroes I've had in this game, the one that I had the most fun with was an air scholar. This is probably due to several factors, but primary among them that I could simply wipe the floor with anyone stupid enough to harass me, and avoid people if I didn't feel like dealing with the rampant PK bullshit that so often pops up in an otherwise fun roleplaying environment. I enjoy that I can avoid people who just want to PK, while sticking to the context of a roleplaying environment and maintaining a role therein. I also really enjoy the frustration that air scholars inflict on PK-monkeys in general, and a few personal bastards in particular.
In general, I do not sink a great deal of time into writing backgrounds any more. After writing one about a year ago, and being told by a Divine Presence that it was too long, I came to the conclusion that the the entire exercise, at least for my account, was pointless. I started going the route of least effort, and I never found that my roles got any more or less immortal interaction as a result. The experiment convinced me that backgrounds, good or bad, do not earn you account points or anything else worth the effort. Therefore, the effort sunk into a background is entirely for my own benefit. I let it help me decide how to play a role. I consider it a memory crutch, and nothing more. Enjoy.
Jeshaer: No last name. Parents were simple farmers on Alensha, and didn't see the need for a surname. Got into air scholarly stuff on the Icewing. He thought the whole sailrune thing was amazing and immediately apprenticed himself to the air guild, hoping to get a job running a ship.
Like all ch'taren, he is good-aligned. He isn't particularly militant about it, though. He mostly just tries to do what is right for its own sake, not looking for any reward. Because of this, Jeshaer WILL NOT REQUEST ITEMS. He doesn't see himself as more "involved" in the good/evil fight than any mobiles, so requesting would be actually make him counterproductive.
Wynwyrd's background is: In a world... Where anything can happen, but nothing does happen, and vampires walk the earth... ONE MAN, is prepared to do what it takes, to GET THE GIRL. Wyndwyrn is... DURGANGOLOMANCANIMONGLOO!. Coming to theatres soon..... Somewhere, in a galaxy far far far away, in the land of avendar.... The waves, the sunshine, the stars, the moonshine. The booty, the loot..... Somewhere, in a galaxy far far far away, in the land of avendar.... The waves, the sunshine, the stars, the moonshine. The booty, the loot. He mentioned to be mentioned. The one born into a chaste relevant world of like-omish-paradise-now, given to the love of free cannibal meals of beautiful women and sacrificed goats and sheep. He could not tear himself away from her, but alas he has come to be known as the everlasting, only by her. He is strong like bull, fight like man possessed by demon eating chimp. He smoked from the rickmore bush by the valley of san guadmolo. Where he eat taco to stay like spaghetti; thin like bean and breakfast burito. As a child. Grown, he flew and flew and flew until the wind blew... Him... Away... That sunshiney day. Achew! His mother was as well. His siblings no more, took to the streets in protest. He knew then... That he would tread this path. Rivers would run golden with honey, blood would taste like milky potions. The sun rose from the west, and then there was no more. Now, one man, will do anything, to get her back... The adventure of wyndwyrn. Age 19 - sex: male-ish / occupation: hazardous, scholar, into men and magic - siblings - NONE / special interests: sailing a ship, sailing, sailing a ship with one man, sailing ships with multiple male partners. Mission: to get the girl. QUOTE: (YELLING) I didn't break the law, I AM THE LAW! '
Karnelus is shrouded in a long black cloak that seems to move with a life of it's own. Hands of pure bone extend below the cuffs, they are both adorned with a burnt mark. Though he often shadows his face from view, Karnelus's face is very pale with several scars running accross it. His eyes are entirely missing. The sockets where his eyes used to be are now hollow and appear to drink the light present around them. Ever present and following Karnelus is a large shadow that does not resemble the form of Karnelus at all. The shadow is significantly bigger and appears to have glowing amber eyes. This strange shadow can be seen in any light, even pitch darkness, as it always appears darker than it's surroundings.
[13 Human ATe] Karnelus Dh'Terrohk the Sprite
Noble and stern, before you the eyes of lightning reflect justice like a storm of judicary thunder. Wings, tipped in spear-sharp feathers, arrogant and noble, held in erect posture, militant and feverish, as if contemplating the halls of justice in their frenzied beating. Each breath, a frostbit wind, contemplating the breeze, as if in competition with it's flapping breath. A spirit, under pale garb, pale eyes, pale skin, and even paler hair, the color of wispy copper, mixed with sparks of greying silver, curling from the forehead like specks of light. The hilt of a sword protrudes from beneath monk-like robes that hide, like ignoble dogma, a soul steeped in justice, mercury, and the eyes of scales of equality. Protruding gently from beneath each sleeve, a delicate knit mail armor, form-fitting and hugging his waist, perfectly aligned with his sense of balance and finesse, as if each step is a pathway towards the spirit of the divine, and one cannot help notice his form, steeped in virtue, seems as well, built like the finely crafted blade at his side. As if the hilt were his ally, and the sword his religion, and naught else remains. Zakodari is in excellent condition.
Apocraphix's background is: Apocraphix Baltheozan is born under the divine sanctifications of Calaera. His name was given by a higher archmage of the Spirits that also means, 'Destroyer of Evil'. He was blessed and tasked with the preservation of the ch'taren Havens as a member of the Warband and commited to rid anyone with evil influence and intent to prevent corruption from spreading. He was sent to the school in Var Bandor to achieve a better understanding of the diety and to follow her guidance in his studies and practice of the spirit sphere.
In his early journey after his graduation, Apocraphix was scarred by a Wyrm of the Flame named Jarukaz, a shuddeni creature who devoted his studies in the divine fire. Apocraphix found refuge in the company of a few adventurers. One of them had also been scarred by the same Wyrm and called himself Indusrion, an ethron templar of the seas.
Vibolan's description is: From the shoulders of the slender aelin grow azure-feathered, majestatic wings that rustle faintly while they carry him. Unless willed to silence, the placid susurration of wind sifting through the manyfold feathers sometimes creates fey melodies and ghostly whispers. Judging, cerulean blue eyes set in a regal face of alabaster whiteness shine with curiosity. The face is framed by long strands of pitch-black hair, bound with delicate bands of silver and golden ribbons. Thin lips and sparkling white teeth display a calm, knowing smile.
Excerpted from Dehajazu's background:
Bucket List:
- hit hero
- acquire vast wealth
- lifetime membership to the Earendam gallery (!!)
- most well-dressed in all Avendar
- reputation for thieving, from everyone -- even if it means doing the lone wolf thing
- Tzajai or Alil tribute further down the line?
- Wanderers?
- it would be particularly sweet to strip that swordmaster Telmia of her entire inventory.
- it would be particularly sweet to strip Grenst of his entire inventory.
- find some way to hang out at Zilba's consistently
- when senile enough to appreciate great ugliness, marry witch of morn.
- quaff a fat sack of spirit wolf potions all at once, maybe become a wolf forever.
- triple backstab?
Standing in front of this being, your gaze falls upon wrinkled face. Like a blank canvas, it shows the emptiness of beginnings. His foul smelling skin is merely evidence of ascendance from the underworld. His devotion to the Shuddeni race is apparent from the meaning of his tattoo-like scars. His eye sockets hold low-glowing embers, in which he uses to light his smokes. He has long limbs, as is common for his race. However, his build seems to be much more solid than the average Shuddeni. One must really wonder about this Shuddeni's bloodline...
Ilim's background is: Where should I begin this tale? Do I start with who I was, or who I am now? Who I am now is simple. I am Ilim Undast. Before, however, I was Ilin Undast. A subtle change, perhaps, but considering I was once female it is perhaps more profound than you realize. You see, when I was originally born the realm was much different. The Spirit Palace was still a vibrant place. The Knights of Enaerai were only recently living in the Brintors. I was one of them. A minor member, perhaps. I had my place, and then... I was torn from it. The Guardians had attacked, and as one of the first out of the Fortress I found myself nearly surrounded. It was a manageable position only because my brothers and sisters were right behind me. For hours we fought. Back and forth. Casualties taken on both sides. Then it happened. The Guardians had a psionicist like me, though he was far more powerful. His assault began to tear me from my physical form, then a Void scholar finished what he had begun. A demon reached out, somehow grabbing my spirit and pulling it into the Void with it.
I don't remember anything beyond that. It was simply darkness. There was no time. No hunger. There was nothing. One moment I was filled with darkness and the next I was struggling to breath. I saw light. I smelled flowers. I couldn't remember much at all, though. At that point I could only remember my name. The men around me laughed when I told them, saying, "Don't you mean Ilim? Ilin is a woman's name. You definitely aren't a woman, boy." That's when I knew something was wrong. That's when I knew nothing would ever be the same.
The men who'd found me were merchants, traveling to the Hakurah Monastery. While they didn't need a child to slow them down they also didn't want to see me end up dead in the Brintors, so they took me with them. The monks in the monastery didn't hesitate when I was offered to them. I'd be trained by them, trained to be one of them. For a time that's what happened too. I went through the motions, always confused by what was going on. Then I met Iskasal. Immediately he sensed that I wasn't what I seemed. It was through him that we began to unlock who I was.
Indeed I wasn't mad. I spoke the truth when I told them my name. It's just that fate had a different plan for me than to remain where I was, when I was. He surmised that the child's body that I now inhabited was the unlucky recipient of a demon's attention. Possession wasn't unheard of, and it was always possible that somehow I was carried into the child's body with the demon, only to then remain when the demon was through with it. He wouldn't go into details as to why the child's mind was nowhere to be found, but it seemed that I was stuck with the body.
While I could remember some of the training of my previous life, I couldn't call on anything near the power I once did. Be this an effect of such long time within the Void or some physical limitation of the body I was in Iskasal wasn't sure. All he knew for certain was that I had the potential to grow and shape my mind and body if I wasn't afraid of trying. I remembered being taught by Kisjam. I remember how difficult that training was. I knew I was up to the challenge. So I accepted and took my place as one of Iskasal's students.
I would learn in time that things had changed much since I had vanished from my old body. Power had traded hands many times. Wars were fought. Even the Knights had changed. No longer did they call to Enaerai, but now instead to a new incarnation of Her called Enirra. Still, I gave an oath as a Knight of Enaerai. I will live by that oath until my soul itself is sundered.
