Character Name: Rez or Vektyr
Species: human / pure essence - Pure essence being the substance that all creatures are made of, the raw form of it anyways. Essence is the energy of the Earth and is usually commanded by no creature, usually, but rituals have taken place with virgins amongst the crowd. Later the virgins would give birth to those known as Sentinels or Earthen guards.
Appearance: Just a regular kid when you look at him, aside from the fact he doesn't really have a home. Dark brown hair and piercing green eyes that almost glow. He stands at a towering 7' tall but his form is lithe and lightly muscled. Usually wearing boots, camo cargo shorts and an old t-shirt, he can never really stay clean for long. When his form wants to shift, glowing purple veins cover his body before it all "melts" and reshapes. His forms canreplicate anything he sees to a T, so long as he has sufficiant practice in that form.
History: Mother had given birth to him 16 months after a ritual taken place on the intersection of several energy lines that course through the Earth. She had been the virgin in the group and willing to take the sacrifice, she dies soon after birth as her energy was absorbed into his. Rituals such as these are taken once a generation to replace the fallen Sentinels. Rez, a Sentinel has the duty of keeping natural and man-made at a balance tending to life wherever it flourishes. He was given a surrogate mother and allowed as much freedom as he could want.
Rez was taught to read and write and all the basics of such necessities but he loved to read so his vocabulary and understanding grew. He always knew somewhat of what he had to do, for the Earth's energy still coursed through his veins and still commanded the energy he held. He was able to command plants and small animals since 7 but his shifting came in later around 12. Rez's shifting is always sketchy at best, such as his first time ever. He was raised with several other children and one of which was a young girl of 13. Rez's mind had become so engrossed on her form that he shifted, in front of her, into the spitting image of her. He was immediately outcast by the children and kept to himself from then on.
At his 15th birthday he was set out on his own to wander aimlessly. This seems like a young age but nature had its way of protecting Rez, a pure spring here, a thickly canopied tree in a rain storm, a pile of apples in a meadow there. Since then he has preferred to stay away from humans but he goes where the Essence tugs him. Recently the Essence has been pulling him closer and closer to human and whatnot territory, throwing him to the wolves in more then one adventure.
Personality: Usually a loner but lets a few people in. Reacts harshly to angry people. Is usually a mediator to fights but tries to stay out of them. He has a very neutral approach to most situations but he keeps an air of humor about him. Not truelly having a family has caused trust issues with him and can anger Rez if it's brought up too much. If someone purposefully destroys something for no good reason within his vicinity (such as a plant or animal) it can send him into a violent rage that's devastating to behold. His biggest fear is being the last of his kind, and if there will ever be a ritual to overtake his position should he leave this world. Though he dreams of being normal, of having a loving family like a normal human.
Weakness: Strong electrical currents can disrupt his forms and wreak havoc on shifting. Magic can sometimes have similar effects as well though its more varied on the outcome... When just one specific body part is shifted, the whole form can collapse if the body is hit with a disruptive frequency (such as electricity or magic). Rez's anger can cause his ability to control plants and animals to go berserk, turning his immediate area into an army of psychotic plants and animals running off pure rage. Rez is unconcious during this stage and will not react to things normally. When the rage finally dissipates he usually falls into a deep slumber while his body is shielded by a large thick tree.
Weapons/Abilities: Parkour, self taught of course. Form shifting which includes specific parts instead of the whole body but only of things he has seen and can remember. Able to channel his energy to leave his main body but attached by a thin tether ( such as a key or projectiles). He has an innate ability to command plant and animals as well, but is extremely emotion based.
Requested Class in Chatroom: shape_shifter
Character Name: Alya
Appearance: Alya has slightly tanned skin and no freckles. Her hair is dark brown with lighter highlights, and is worn in a loose bun most of the time. Her eyes are an olive green with gold- colored flecks around her pupil. She usually wears loose fitting clothes, and despises skirts. She has a scar on her right wrist that was from the fire (see History). Alya likes to think it looks like a dragon, even if nobody else sees it.
History: Alya was born May 27 1997, in her family’s Cabin in Canada. She lived for about three years in Canada before her parents moved to California. They lived there peacefully for four years, before a fire, killing Alya’s father and scarring her for life, destroyed their home. She feels like it was her fault, even though the Fire station said it was just an electrical fire. After her father’s death, her mother took what little money they had, and they moved back to Canada. Alya has had a normal life since then, but her father’s death still haunts her.
Personality: Alya is a somewhat solitary Elf, but she has a compassionate core, and will help those in need. Alya does not believe in 'different' Kinds of people. She sees everyone as a whole World, without races. She will be as kind to another elf as she would be to an anthro or Mermaid. In other words, everyone is equal to her. What really pushes her buttons is when she sees people being racist. Racism and inequality just outrage her. Her favorite food is Ramen noodles, and she is a couch potato, though she will cease her couch- potato activities if her assistance is required. Even though it seems unlike her, she loves adventures, and sometimes actually goes on a few of her own. she also has a slight British accent for absolutely no reason. (It’s fake)
Weakness: she has a very bad fear of Fire, because her father perished in a fire, and she almost died as well. Her mind thinks too fast for her to actually process what she’s doing sometimes, or really most of the time , so that gets her into a multitude of situations, both good and bad. Aside from that she has no weaknesses, other than the fact she is a bad swimmer.
Weapons/Abilities: Alya has no special training, but she is an above average climber, both in nature and in cities. She is an expert markswoman, and an above average Sniper.
Other: she can handle a gun, but she prefers her bow because she has used it longer than any gun. Her favorite song is Home by Ellie Goulding.
Requested Class in Chatroom: Archers
Species: Rune walker. (Human by appearance with a slight tanned complexion and green eyes. A Rune walker was a race that had a higher connection and understanding of the planet’s energy)
Appearance: Standing at a fair 6’3 his arms and face a slight more tanned darker from his outdoor ventures. His physique resembles that of a young man working at a pier, fashion wise as well his attire consists of two torn pieces of cloth; an orange one around his waist that carries a dear memory for him, and a headband given to him by his care taker as a keepsake.
A well refined jaw line leads up to his cheek bones, which become quite full and rounded in his dorky smiles. Looking more like a youth with tattered clothing than a mercenary or archaeologist, Lasen prefers to keep hold of his loose clothing with the rare occasion that he put on some light leather armour. However it is usually his worn out cyan shirt that hugs his figure and loose white canvas 3 quarter shorts that he struts around in.
fav.me/d83iawb (drew this just for this XD )
History: Lasen was born into a recluse village far south from any of the monarch capitals. His father was a soldier who fought within the civil war of the mundane controlled territories, and had found peace in both the village of black burrow and his wife. One day however when Lasen was too young to remember, his mother had passed away from an illness and his father had disappeared. Left alone, Lasen was raised by the brother of the village chief whom he found love and care in. Though even so, living a normal life was not as easy as it would be.
On random occurrences, especially times of extreme stress or fear, Lasen exhibited a powerful surge of energy that coursed through his body, giving him enhanced strength more than any other man could muster. Because of the wars and the outward hate towards creatures and races of fey, magical and even astral kind, Lasen was marked as a freak of nature to be hidden within the tall village walls. The people feared that having him would result in a massacre either by him or the kingdoms up to the north. It was only due to his care taker that he was kept safe, but to the cost of his complete isolation on his 16th birthday where he was old enough to work as a woodsman in the neighbouring dark forest.
One day however, Lasen found himself approached by a travelling captain of a flying ship. He promised Lasen freedom in exchange for his unique abilities and to accompany him and the rest of his crew across the lands in search of tressures and artefacts. From that day onward, Lasen left and never returned to Black burrow, seeking out what this world had to offer.
Personality: Lasen can be extremely oblivious to certain approaches, having been isolated with only an elder to communicate with has given him sometimes a shy resolve. Though his lessons on board the ship have aided him in understanding various topics and even be quite cheeky at times. And is absolutely afraid of romantic approaches. Also prone to intense anger problems.
Weakness: Women, if he’s not being flirted at and feeling awkward to death. Psychic abilities he is defenceless against, Darkness magic, electric attacks, Anti magic fields drain him of his strength abilities. Alchohol does not bode well for him for various reasons.
Weapons/Abilities: Enhanced strength, high resistance to physical/kinetic damage. (Drawback; extremely exhausting) Pseudo-magic usage of minor manipulation of surrounding elements to form single use weaponry (Drawback; weak magic, weapons formed may only be used for a single strike) Wields a large machete like blade known as the ogre knife. (Powerful blade, though very wide arc swing that can be dodged quite easily for deft fighters.)
Requested Class in Chatroom: Sword_weilders
Character Name: Dawson Matthias Reynders
Appearance: Dawson is a somewhat homely fellow, standing at an imposing 6'2" but weighing in at a mere 130lbs. His limbs are long and gawky compared to his lean frame, and his joints jut out at sharp angles, making him quite spindly in appearance. Light, sandy hair is left unruly and uncombed (and possibly unwashed), wavy curls swirled at random as errant strands jut out at odd angles around a long, narrow face, often partially obscuring a set of dark blue eyes. Set under a set of thick brows that are nearly as unruly as his hair, his eyes are intense and brooding, usually trained in an unwavering stare at whatever he is working on. His narrow nose protrudes out from beneath his gaze, perfectly straight and narrow, and along with his prominent, angular cheekbones, only add to the sharpness of his appearance. Narrow lips stretch over straight, if somewhat tobacco-and coffee-stained, teeth. His neck seems almost too long, or at the very least too skinny, and on it his head looks like it should be bobbing around wildly. Despite this, all his movements are very controlled, almost graceful. His skin, though pale, is free of blemishes and scars, and looks very delicate, like a porcelain doll.
Dawson prefers a more old-fashioned manner of dress, even his casual attire. His outfit of choice is some variation of a tailored button-up, combined with a nicely-pressed vest and slacks, a pair of polished penny loafers poking out from underneath a neat hem. Occasionally he will add a nice tweed coat, should it be cold out or he is going to a special outing of some sort. In the event of the latter, he will also add a puff tie, and possibly a cane, to his ensemble. Regardless of what is he is wearing, he always keeps his reading glasses in his breast pocket, as he is extremely farsighted.
From first glance, everything about this man suggests that he is a scholar, and extraordinarily socially isolated and unaffected by conventions.
History: Dawson was born December 18th, 1980 at a hospital in Bedford, Indiana, under fairly normal circumstances. He was the eldest of two children, two years the senior of his younger brother, Issac. Even from a very young age, he was a whispy boy, dwarfed by Issac by the time Dawson was 6. Regardless, the two boys got along reasonably well, complementing each other's personalities and making them best friends, to the extent that they would forgo the company of other children for each other, lost in their own little world. Even school bullies generally left them to their own devices, as they were quiet and kept to themselves, in the classroom and on the playground. It was not until Dawson was 10 that he began to suspect that the world he thought he lived in was not quite as quaint as it seemed. While his parents, Marilyn and Stanley, were all smiles and full of praise for their two boys from the moment they brought them home, and remained that way whenever they thought their children were watching, but from behind closed doors Dawson could hear hushed arguments occasionally slip into slightly louder, and more virulent fights. As he got older, these slips only got worse, and by the time he was fifteen, both he and Issac knew that their parents no longer got along, despite their concerted efforts to hide their marital strife from the outside world. That year was difficult for both boys, and they leaned on each other heavily while their parents apparently were attempting to resolve their issues, in addition to worrying about their father, who seemed to be rapidly deteriorating as a result of all the arguing and who had begun to forget to go to work or even get out of bed, and the family would often go full weeks without seeing him around July of 1995. Then, a few months later, a mere week and a half before the boys were meant to return to school, Dawson's mother woke them early, explaining in a hushed tone that she and their father needed to go away somewhere for a while, and that he and Issac were to move to Montana to stay with their Grandmother Ruth, whom they had met on a few holidays but were not close with.
The pair flew to Montana, shoulders pressed together through both airports and throughout their flight as they silently drew on each others' strength and quietly discussed reasons for their parents' behavior in hushed tones. Ruth met them at the airport with open arms and thin lips spread into a wide smile. The boys soon learned that she was an extraordinarily kind and intelligent woman, who placed high value on manners and intellect. The first few months of living with her Dawson spent getting his elbows knocked off the table and books piled onto the shelf in his room. Issac resented her insistence that the boys focus the majority of their time on schooling, having recently garnered an interest in sports as he hit puberty and began to fill out. Dawson, on the other hand, seemed only to grow upward, and try as he might to enjoy sports with his brother and best friend, he found that he was not well designed for full-contact, or for moving quickly without falling on his face. Instead, he embraced Grandma Ruth's encouragement to further his knowledge and became an avid reader. Because of this, he and Issac began to grow apart at last, though they remained loyal to each other to a fault.
As his interests began to vary and he left the private bubble he and his brother had created all those years ago, he attracted a small group of close intellectual friends, with whom he spent lots of time joking around and analyzing various moral and intellectual arguments, studying and quizzing with, and all the manner of things that nerdy friends do. Outside his social circle, he received a bit of ridicule, as most kids like him will, but between his brother's defense of him and his own healthy sense of self-confidence, it never really bothered him very badly.
Dawson finished high school with exceptional grades, and received full academic scholarships to numerous prestigious universities. Eventually, with his grandmother's encouragement, he decided on Yale, who happily accepted his application with an offer of a full ride. College was much like high school for Dawson, who studied hard, and garnered a small group of friends who held similar reverence for their studies. He began to notice girls a bit more frequently now, having not had much interest when he was younger, and he found them to be somewhat intimidating to attempt to speak with romantically. While from a distance he found them beautiful, the "flirting" that came so easily to most others seemed to gum up in his throat before the words made it out, eventually rushing through all at once in a mangled cascade of gibberish, and after a few humiliating attempts at dates, he decided that he would rather just finish his studies and worry about being a lady killer later. He finally graduated after 6 years with 2 degrees, one in history and another in anthropology, as well as minors in linguistics and law.
After graduating, Dawson moved back home with his grandmother, who continued to groom him in etiquette, especially once she heard with amusement his failed attempts at wooing the opposite sex. He never fully managed to master the art of seduction, though he improved slightly from his college days. During this time though, Dawson wanted to learn more about something more difficult than manners, and a few months after moving back home he asked his grandmother about his parents and their unusual behavior while he was growing up. With some hesitation, Ruth admitted that her son Stanley had some reasonably severe problems with mental illness, having been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia in his late twenties, shortly after Marilyn had given birth to Dawson. The couple had tried desperately to hide his illness, following his medication regimen and therapy directions religiously, keeping him stable through almost the first decade of his diagnosis. Unfortunately, according to Ruth, mental illness such as this ran in her side of the family, with her own mother having had to be institutionalized while still pregnant with her. As such, Stanley only got worse over the years, forgetting or refusing to take his medication despite Marilyn's reminders and support, and paranoid episodes made him believe at times that she was trying to poison or hurt him. Eventually it was decided that he was better off in a facility that could better help him, and Marilyn's intent had been to go with him and come back for the children later, though a few months after they moved to California to go to a special hospital, she stopped communicating with Ruth and disappeared from Stanley's life as well, apparently overwhelmed by the burden of her sick husband, and had not been heard from except by a set of divorce papers sent to the facility where Stanley was staying, picked up by a courier a month later, after making sure they had been signed.
Dawson was distraught to know his mother was nowhere to be found, and his father was sick and alone, and immediately he wanted to know where specifically to find his dad. His grandmother provided him with the address and he headed out immediately, going to see his father for the first time in almost ten years. When he arrived, his father sat in a chair, staring calmly at all the people milling around him, smiling every now and again at the mumbling or ticking of his fellow patients. He looked much older than Dawson felt he should, with thick, dark rings under his eyes, wrinkles gathering around them and in his cheeks and forehead. Stray strands of grey streaked up from his temples into his thick dark hair, and while he looked healthy, he seemed frail. Dawson pulled up a chair across from him, leaning forward and taking a breath. Before he could even speak, his father's eyes flicked over his face and he grinned broadly, recognizing his son even after all these years. The two laughed and cried as they reunited, and they spent a good couple hours catching up and talking. After a while, though, his father's answers began to grow shorter, and less coherent, and Dawson found that he was not always capable of lucidity after speaking with a nurse about the change. Drifting in and out of a sort of distant haze, Dawson felt his father could not be made to go through this alone, and so he moved to Crescent City, California, a twenty-minute drive from where his dad stayed. He found a job working as a curator in the museum, with flexible hours and a good salary that allowed him to see his father whenever he pleased.
For the next eight years, Dawson worked at the museum and visited his father, talking with him when he was able and reading to him when he was not. He wrote to his grandmother and brother regularly, and they visited on holidays. He found a loft apartment that had plenty of room for his books and art, and spare rooms for when his family came around. He became an expert cook, and made friends of a couple of his coworkers that he went to dinner with now and then. However, in February of 2010, his father passed away from a stroke induced by the stress of his condition. Dawson buried his father, and fell into a shallow depression, much of his time having been occupied by his visits with his father, and he found himself finding solace in holing himself up in his study, reading book after book. He found himself becoming a bit more of a recluse year by year, and today rarely goes out for social events, reserving them for perhaps twice a year. His fashion sense evolved slowly into one styled by an older time as he stopped paying attention to the modern changes and trends, and as he advanced his appreciation for antiquities and rarities. He maintains his position at the museum, though he spends most of his time in his office or the lab, poring over artifacts or histories rather than interacting with his coworkers as he used to. He continues to write his brother, though his Grandmother Ruth passed two years after his father, peacefully in her sleep. He seeks knowledge endlessly, and perhaps also a purpose in this life.
Personality: Dawson is ever polite and courteous at virtually all times. Phrases like "thank you" and "beg your pardon" come falling out of his mouth as though on instinct, and he can be seen holding doors and bowing out of the way of oncoming people in his path with a gracious smile. He is very slow to anger, and when he is angry he relies on outsmarting his opponents with a quick wit and quick tongue, usually managing to insult them so subtly and quickly that they do not realize they've been slighted until after he is gone. Like his temper, Dawson has very good control over his emotions, generally keeping his composure cool. When approached in an aggressive or violent manner, he will almost always acquiesce immediately, though he is not above fighting dirty while he has an advantage such as their back being turned or them being inebriated in some way, going for sensitive areas like genitals or eyes and then running like mad. He is a pacifist at heart, avoiding conflict wherever he can and only relying on these underhanded methods when it seems that conflict is inevitable.
If he were to be approached in a flirtatious or seductive way by a female, he would not really know how to respond, other than to try and be clever, which usually ends up with him making a joke that is too complicated to be flirty or stumbling over his words and making no sense. He has no trouble talking to females on an academic level, but something about the idea of romancing one leaves him shaking in his boots, and so he avoids it at all costs.
Generally, Dawson prefers solitude, and enjoys the company of books and old objects to that of many people. While he can get along with people who have similar interests to him, he can often be socially awkward or inept, speaking on subjects that some consider distasteful or dull, or interrupting others speaking to correct them when they unintentionally distort a fact.
Weakness: Dawson is a human, and as such has all the weaknesses one would expect of a human being. Additionally, he is a rather lanky fellow, and not especially physically inclined, with a low threshold for pain, and in the face of physical combat he withers quickly. He wears glasses, as he is exceptionally far-sighted. He has no knowledge of combat other than historical war tactics, and is not street-smart in regards to fashion or other trends, nor as to the way to interact with individuals who are not of similar advantage and breeding as himself.
Weapons/Abilities: All of Dawson's strengths are in terms of his intellect. He reads quickly and has an extensive vocabulary, with an impressive memory thanks to his years of studying and practice at committing things permanently. He is an excellent chef, with expensive taste in ingredients and recipes, and on the rare occasion he does choose to entertain, he throws an impeccable dinner party. His manners and manner are that of a person from the upper echelons of society, despite his middle-class roots, and he fits into the upper-class events and outings without hardly even trying.
In terms of weapons, if he ever really had to defend himself, he does often carry a cane that he'd likely brandish if only to gain distance on his enemy to run away.
Requested Class in Chatroom: Non_Fighters