Lyra Clear-Waters, Legacy of Fire

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Legacy Form:
-Form for the descendants or children of Elemental spirits


Name: Lyra Clear-Waters

Age: Lyra is eighteen years of age.

Gender: She is a female.

Eye Color: Lyra has dark brown eyes. They appear almost black when she’s frightened or sad and a warmer brown when she’s content. They have a certain sparkle in them when she’s laughing or amused, especially when she’s trying not to laugh.

Skin Color: Lyra’s skin is an almost dead white color. Though she spends time out in the sun and being active, she doesn’t tan in the slightest. While she may be perfectly healthy, having skin of such a white color sometimes gives the impression that she’s sickly.

Hair: Lyra had almost black hair when she was younger, but it lightened to a warm, earthy brown. It reflects auburn highlights when she’s standing in sunlight, but only then. It hangs past her shoulders , but she rarely pulls it back.

Height: She stands at 5 feet, eight inches. She stopped growing when she was fourteen to her great relief, though being on the tall side had advantages.

Physical Description: She’s thin, but not weak. There is a not unnoticeable layer of muscle to her that lets people know not to mess with her. She is rather short, but uses her size and underestimation to her advantage.

Personality: Lyra has a complex personality. She acts happy most of the time so it’s hard to tell when she’s upset. She’s very good at hiding her emotions, especially fear, uncertainty, and sadness. It was considered a weakness for her to be so distant, so she learned to cover it up. Sometimes when she’s upset, her barriers come down and one can see past pain, but that rarely happens. However, most of what one sees when they look at her now is who she is and not an act the way it used to be. Because she spent so much time covering up who she really was, she is very honest and it almost physically pains her to tell a lie. She will be dishonest if it protects her friends or those she cares about, but only then.

Mortal Parent: Her father’s name was Melawi, a traveling Elven wizard who stayed nowhere long enough to put down permanent roots or gather many friends. The only thing he left behind when he was killed by a troll was his young daughter and an extraordinary amulet of immense power. A salamander of living flames, it is a curious and dangerous magical object. (Upon his death, the amulet passed into the possession of his daughter, Lyra. Now she carries the most powerful amulet in the realms; an amulet that had been handed down through the generations and contains more power than it was safe to contemplate. It has power enough to catch and have caught the attentions of some of the most dangerous wizards in the realms... Such is the magical potential that it contains that it is responsible for many wizard to send hunters after her to capture the amulet and make it theirs. It is powerful enough that even The Shadow might have heard of it by this time. But, for Lyra, there is still hope. She has never used the amulet, only stored away more energy. The only reason that it hadn't been destroyed yet is because of The Shadow. With a little luck, it would aid in the war against The Shadow which must come sooner or later. And when that time was to come, the resistance against the malice will at least stand a chance. It is immensely old and its destiny is about to finally be unraveled.) After his death, Alrog was given the task of caring of her and did so the best of his ability.

Legacy of(Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Spirit): Her mother was a fire Elemental. No one knows what her name was or all that much about her, only what she personified.

Realm of Origin: Lyra is native to the northernmost realm of Lapidem, which would explain why she is so deathly pale due to the harsh, cold conditions.

Animal Companion(Optional): Lyra has no animal companion… or any companions for that matter. She prefers to walk alone, having too many bad experiences with people be comfortable in the presence of others.

Talents: While she would never admit to any talents, she is an extremely fast runner. Being half-elf and half-Elemental lends a hand, but she was born with natural speed that enables her to outrun most enemies. She is also empathetic, enabling her to see multiple sides to an argument. Because of this, it takes her a long time to come to a decision because she can see so many different possible outcomes.

Weapon*: Lyra can use a crossbow, but she prefers to use a double-bladed sword that she has dubbed Storm-Song. She loves the thrill of battle, but only fights as a last resort, preferring to fight with words rather than swords. When it comes to battle, she will often use her powers before reverting to weaponry because she feels it more efficient than the former.

Flaws**: One of her fatal flaws is being just too hard on herself. She often feels like a failure and is terrified of letting down the people who she cares about and who care about her in return. It’s easy to make her feel bad and if she does something that she regrets, she is known to spend days kicking herself about it. She can get nervous and jumpy around loud noises, but isn’t easily frightened or intimidated. However, she feels vulnerable and exposed in open spaces, preferring to spend her time in forested areas where she feels safer.

Powers(Must relate to Elemental parent): Lyra can summon elemental salamanders, creatures of both earth and fire, to her defense. These creatures pray upon the living and cannot be banished until they are fed. If not, then they linger in the mortal world until they find a source to quench their hunger. If Lyra is weak and unable to control them, then they are more than likely to turn on her, which is the biggest danger of this power. She can manipulate fire for an hour at a time, five times a day. This is very draining on her though and depending on how many times she’s already used the power, she sometimes passes out. Because of this, she wears a salamander amulet around her neck at all times, an object which can harness and store the energy of the wearer. She can also withstand temperatures of two hundred degrees, but no more. Due to her parentage being Elf and elemental, the aging process is slowed by a noticeable amount.

Backstory***: Lyra was raised by an old bard by the name of Alrog in the realm of Lapidem. Her mother did not care to raise her personally, leaving that task to another. Shortly after handing the child over, she vanished and hasn’t been seen since. It is possible that she is still alive and simply lying low, for Elementals do this far better than they are given credit for. Alrog was a traveling bard and took her on his travels across the realms for many a year. Because of this, she’s crossed into at least four of the different realms, save the realm where the Shadow dominates. Not only is that place feared by every sane soul, but Alrog could never find the gateway between the realms, even though he tried. Lyra was used to staying out of sight when they journeyed, but never discovered why until an unfortunate incident happened when she was of around ten years of age. See, Lyra didn’t know that she was part fire Elemental. She did know that she had strange, unexplainable powers, but didn’t know what they meant and didn’t know how to control them. Unfortunately, Alrog never told her a thing about how to control them or what the abilities meant so she was on her own. One day it exploded out of her at exactly the wrong moment. Not only did half of the village burn to the ground, but it marked her for who she really was. Terrified and plagued by the guilt of what she had done, Lyra fled. She sought asylum in the realm of Sylvia and spent several months there, but was drawn to the alien terrain of Scopulous. The sheer fact that the terrain was dotted with volcanoes meant that it was the prime place to develop and learn how to control her powers. With this in mind, she stayed there from the time she was eleven to sixteen there. Not only did she learn to control and master her powers there, but she also because a friend to the native dwarves and grew to have excellent survival skills in unforgiving climates. She disappeared again when she was around seventeen however, and very few know as to when she actually left Scopulous behind her and where she went afterwards.

Roleplay Example***: Lyra was running; fast. All she knew was the whistling of the wind and the feel of the over-hot ground as it made contact with her bare feet. She didn’t risk losing ground to look behind her, but judging from the sounds of pursuit, they were gaining on her. Not only were the men on horseback steadily closing in on her lead, but they were also armed. If she was caught, then she would die. Unfortunately for the mortals, Lyra had no intention of dying any time soon.

Just as that thought crossed her mind however, she tripped. Tripped! There wasn’t time for her to even cry out as she suddenly plunged over the edge of a cliff that she hadn’t even known was there. She fell only the Goddess knew how many feet and hit solid ground hard. Body bloody and bruised, she rose again shakily. One of the unfortunate benefits of being a Legacy meant that she was extremely hard to kill and her body healed far faster than the natural rate of a mortal.

Lyra raised a pale hand and studied it. Blood flowed freely from a gash around her wrist and her fingernails were broken and splinted. Taking a step forward, she stumbled and fell again. Body shaking beyond her control, she simply lay there, helpless. Above and behind her, shouts echoed down. The men couldn’t follow her without risking their own lives. In whatever roundabout a fashion, she was safe.

Any notes about your characters: Once she swears an oath, she is bound by her word and sees it out until the end; and, there is very little that will make her break her word. To her, a person is only as good as their word and would sacrifice her life to spare the lives of her friends in a heartbeat.

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Nymph/Saytar/Dryad
-A form for nature spirits

Name: Anatkah

Age: Anatkah is about fifty years of age; she stopped counting a while ago. Because trees age slower than people do, she only appears around fifteen.

Gender: Anatkah is a female.

Eye Color: She has hazel eyes that catch and reflect the light. They start out brown towards the iris and then turn to a vivid green.

Hair: Her hair is dark, mossy green with streaks of brown. When she's assuming a human form, it is often tangled with young leaves or pine needles.

Skin Color: Her skin color is a very pale green. When she's embarrassed, her cheeks flush a color similar to that of fir trees and she has bright green freckles scattered across her face and arms.

Height: She is six feet even, but appears taller because she is so slender.

Type of Creature: Anatkah is a dryad. Her host tree is a Spruce Pine Tree.

Physical Description: Being a dryad, she is very tall and slender like a sapling. Being only fifty, she is still very young by tree standards and will likely live for many a hundred years yet is she isn't cut down. She is quick on her feet with a light, airy voice that at first gives the impression that she is far less intelligent than she actually is.

Personality: Anatkah has a bright, cheerful personality. She would rather talk about light, frivolous matter than debate something serious; but, when the time comes to turn to darker matters, he council is usually welcomed.

Powers(Optional): She can shift between tree form and that of a humanoid at will, but it gets harder the longer she stays away from her host tree. She is a healer and can heal both mortal wounds and minor ones. She can activate this power seven times a day for minor wounds, but only twice for mortal wounds. If she heals a mortal wound, she cannot continue on and heal other various wounds until she recovers from using so much energy.

Weapons*: She prefers not to fight, but does keep a small dagger with her at all times just in case the worst comes to the worst.

Flaws**: Being a tree spirit, Anatkah can only be destroyed if her host tree is cut down. This gives her an air of over confidence and she has a bad habit of getting herself into tricky situations because of it. She also spends far too much time in humanoid form, preferring the human guise to the tree. Often, when she spends too much time out of her natural form, it takes her many an hour to not only locate her tree, but also to merge with it. Anatkah also cares too much about the safety and well-being of others, and can be easily lured into a trap.

Talents/Skills: Anatkah has few talents that she would admit to, but she is extremely persuasive.

Backstory***: There is little to tell of Anatkah's life, for her's is rather like that of most other trees. She started off as a young seedling and grew into a tree in the realm of Lapidem. For many years, she was too young and not strong enough to take on a humanoid form. Around her late thirties, she finally began to master the art of shape shifting. In the beginning, she could only stay away from her host tree for a short amount of time and had to return to her tree before her spirit faded. As time wore on though, she began to discover that she could stay away for longer and longer periods of time. At the moment, Anatkah is at the point in her life where is can life almost entirely without her host tree. If the tree was cut down though, she would die. Dryads are bound to the trees to whom they belong, and the final separation could possibly kill her. There have been times when her tree has rejected her when she's spent more than a week away from her host. Like it or not, Anatkah needs her tree to live and she'd better accept that before her longing to be human kills her.

Roleplay Example***: Anatkah sighed and opened her eyes; eyes that couldn't decide between green and brown. They were eyes that saw more than their depths let on. She flexed fingers; fingers that were pale green. She laughed softly, taking a step forward with human legs and feet. She took a few steps forward and looked back. Her tree seemed to almost smile back at her. She felt guilty for not remaining in it's comforting confines where it was safe. Still... She wouldn't be bound. She needed to be free, to roam the world, to see it for herself. She turned her head away and struck out. Her feet left no footprints behind her as she walked away.

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Standard Character Form
-Form for Elves, Dwarves, and Humans

Name: Merthissa

Age: Merthissa is fifty-three years of age; however, he always appears older as if he was in his sixties. Despite his age, his senses remain as sharp as he continues to be powerful.

Gender: Merthissa is male.

Eye Color: Merthissa has cold, almost colorless eyes like water in a glass. They appear empty of all emotion, cool and apathetic. Calm and calculating, the give those who look upon him a sinister impression.

Hair: In his youth, his hair was an almost opaque blonde and age has made little difference to it; now it is snowy white. He has a short, pointed bead and his thin hair falls to a rigid line at his shoulders.

Skin Color: His skin is a near dead white looking, folded and creased with the wrinkles of premature aging.

Height: Although he was taller at some point in his life, Merthissa shrank several inches when he approached his middle years. He used to be only slightly shorter than the average Elf, but now stands at 5'3" as a rather short human. While his height doesn't offer him an impressive figure, he has learned to use it to his advantage. When in disguise, it is easier to slip anonymously through the realms about his work when he feels the need to attend to it personally. He is often underestimated at first glance, which puts the element of surprise on his side when engaged in a combat situation.

Physical Description: Short, wiry, and gnarled with long fingers and chiseled features, Merthissa looks the classic wizard. Despite aging, he is still relatively strong and can give most people a run for their money who are foolish enough to try fight him. Even so, a battle with a wizard is hardly fair and Merthissa only rarely engages in physical combat, usually using spells and enchantments. He usually wears a long, tattered gray cloak with the hood drawn up to obscure his face and offer a sense of mystery.

Personality: The old wizard has a bit of a dual personality, which makes him unpredictable at the best of times. Only on rare occasions when his presence is needed does he ever reveal himself for who he is, an aging wizard who has been twisted by greed for power. He wears a false smile wherever he goes, cold and cruel. While he acts just like any other human, his mind is a dark one and he has yet to learn the difference between mercy and weakness. If asked a question, he seldom delivers a straight answer, enjoying the confusion as those who have the misfortune to run into him try to work out his meanings. However, he shows a softer side to his owl, Adriele. Fiercely protective, he loves the bird in a way that he seems incapable of expressing towards other creatures.

Type of Creature: Merthissa is human by birth and wizard by practice. When one comes into contact with him and ends up on the wrong side, he leaves them with a lasting impression as a warning and a reminder of his power and superiority. A burning ship, sinking beneath the seas is his mark and he has that design on a thick, gold ring that he wears constantly. It provides him with a sense of identity and distinction from other wizards.

Parentage: Fainion, his father, was a Fletcher for The Shadow. A man of low ranking, he managed to keep his tongue and hold a clear head. As the years went on, he gained favor with The Shadow. He was not what could be called a friend, but merely a source of information that The Shadow used to learn about the feelings of the people he ruled, ideas of rebellion that were whispered among the hushed streets, and other information that he, in his position, could not gather firsthand. Some might ask why Fainion did such, and the answer was simple. Times were and are hard in Caligo and he was paid handsomely for his services, making things more bearable for him and his wife and young son, Eowen and Merthissa. Fainion was not a bad man by nature, but he was willing to do anything to try to get out of the situation that he found himself and his family in. Eowen had no idea as to what her husband was doing, but if she had suspicions, she kept them to herself. She was a simple woman of simple ways and her husband's word was law to her. She did what she was told, spoke when she was spoken too, and kept her ideas hidden from sight. When Merthissa ran from the Caligo and caused the deaths of twenty soldiers and as many horses, The Shadow had his parents publicly executed for the escape as an example and a deathly warning.

Realm of Origin: He is from Caligo, but left it when he was twenty-eight. After developing his powers to the point where it was safe for him to attempt flight, he set fire to the stables and stole a horse, riding out of the chaos like a demon. He was always one for dramatics and this suited his purpose to the fullest. The poor beast breathed too much smoke however and the speeds that he pushed it to proved too much in the end, however, and it died before he reached the border. Stranded in Caligo a week's walk from the border with The Shadow's soldier's after him, Merthissa made a desperate decision. He set about to wait for the soldiers to catch up to him. Choosing his place of ambush carefully by a bend in the stream where he knew they would have to stop to refill their water-skins, his actions later were those of one who has nothing left to lose. Knowing that returning would mean death and that The Shadow was likely to kill his parents for his escape, he knew that he had only once chance to get out alive. Just hours after the horse's death, he heard the sounds of pursuit. He manipulated the water with his mind to rise from the stream, and smash into the soldiers. Few knew what hit them. Those that rode mounts were downed first, the falling bodies crashing into those that managed to keep their feet. In an instant, he preformed a simple spell of mind manipulation, planting the image in their minds that they were all bound, gagged, and exhausted to the point where struggling seemed a ridiculous idea. This left them in a near helpless state. What amused him, he reflected later, was that they could have blocked him out. He was powerful enough only to show them what they expected to see and they were limited by their own minds and crude ideas of reality. He crossed the border with time to spare as the soldiers by the remains of the stream slowly died from lack of food, enough water, and shelter.

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Talents: Talent? Ha. He could boast of endless talents from dawn til dusk, but he has only a few real talents that mean much of anything. For one, his is very persuasive and charismatic, making him able to draw people in and then to use them to accomplish his own ends. He is learned in the dark arts; bewitchments and spells that are all but forgotten. To channel this energy, he carries a long, polished staff of oak that is about a foot taller than he himself and that Adriele usually perches on top of. He is quick on his feet and his mind is as sharp as ever, seldom misleading him. He is crafty and can usually talk himself out of a situation in a pinch.

Weapon*: A long, polished staff of oak that is about a foot taller than he himself and that Adriele usually perches on top of. He uses this to channel magic, rather like a wand. It has a dual use, however. When magic fails to serve his desired purpose or when he is simply in a temper, Merthissa has been known to use it almost like a club. A blow to the skull from it can kill, though he usually goes for only seriously injuring people, taking delight at the pain in others.

Flaws**: He takes great delight in seeing others in pain and loves to torment people when he is bored or out in the middle of a project and needs to take his mind off things. While this may make him seem like a mischief maker, he is not. Merthissa loves power and would do anything to get it unless it puts his dear owl in danger. He cares too much about his owl, owing the fact that he cares so little about anyone else save himself. He thinks far too much of himself and too little of others and cares little for consequence unless it directly affects him. When he heard of the amulet that is said to hold nearly unlimited power at the age of fifty, he decided that he would capture it. Once he has an idea fixed in his head he doesn't let it go until his aim is accomplished, being far too focused on gaining power.

Powers(Optional): Merthissa is a strange wizard, in that he is largely interested in the mind. While he cannot directly control someone, he can strongly influence them by planting images, emotions, and ideas in their head that aren't real or that will instigate a strong reaction. He can influence emotions and actions this way, making the one that he is trying to manipulate vulnerable. He can do this three times a day for twenty minutes at a time. He rarely directly communicates with people through the mind with telepathy, but finds it useful in a pinch when he needs to instigate a reaction or send a message to one that he has sent out on one of his missions. This power he seldom uses, about once a month usually, but can use it as much as he'd like because it is a power of the mind and a mastery of himself, there is no magic involved in it the way there are with other forms of manipulation such as that of matter. Telekinesis is flashy and comes in handy in a pinch, but that is the extent. Merthissa is not one for using magic just because he can so does not often use this power, but he can do it five times a day and can continue to manipulate the object for then minutes at a time. While this is tiring, he has trained himself not to be particularly perturbed by the lack of energy and to quickly bounce back. Maybe it is because of Adriele, but he can transform at will, into a screech owl and only a screech owl. He maintains his mind, but turns his body, a small effort because he doesn't have to change what really matters and only how others perceive him. He can change himself only once during the day and then twice more during the night hours. He cannot make himself invisible, but he can make it so that his body takes on the same color and texture as whatever it is that is near to him, rather like a chameleon. The illusion takes much less energy than actually making himself invisible magically, but he can only use it once a day due to the tiring effects. Surprisingly enough, he has healing powers, but has only used them twice before and then only on his owl. It has been so long since he has needed or wanted to heal anything that he has all but forgotten that he has the power, rendering it nearly useless to him due to it just being forgotten. He can heal wounds of the mind and body; of the body five times a day and of the mind once a week because it is so draining, the mind being far more fragile than the body. He can work spells and curses with the aid of an out-dated spell-book that he bartered off a hag. He can do this throughout the day, though he grows steadily more weary the more he uses his powers. Because of this, he carries an amulet in the shape of his sign around his neck so that he can use energy that he has stored away when he needs to.

Backstory***: Born in the shadowy realm of Caligo Merthissa led a hard life as a child. Fainion, his father, was a Fletcher for The Shadow. A man of low ranking, he managed to keep his tongue and hold a clear head. As the years went on, he gained favor with The Shadow. He was not what could be called a friend, but merely a source of information that The Shadow used to learn about the feelings of the people he ruled, ideas of rebellion that were whispered among the hushed streets, and other information that he, in his position, could not gather firsthand. Some might ask why Fainion did such, and the answer was simple. Times were and are hard in Caligo and he was paid handsomely for his services, making things more bearable for him and his wife and young son, Eowen and Merthissa. Fainion was not a bad man by nature, but he was willing to do anything to try to get out of the situation that he found himself and his family in. Eowen had no idea as to what her husband was doing, but if she had suspicions, she kept them to herself. She was a simple woman of simple ways and her husband's word was law to her. She did what she was told, spoke when she was spoken too, and kept her ideas hidden from sight.

As a child, Merthissa discovered very early on that he was different from the others. At first, magic would just expode out of him in odd times and he would have to do some pretty fast talking to wriggle out of the situation that he would find himself in. He developed amazing persuasive abilities as he grew older to help him bail himself out of trouble. Sometimes people would die in funny ways, but no one ever knew who to blame and the web of fear thickened. Naturally, The Shadow soon got wind of the young man who was starting to become a force in his own among the common people whom he governed. At this time, Merthissa was in his early twenties. He had learned much of his powers, but was still not nearly as powerful as he is now. Foreseeing the possible danger in keeping someone so powerful so close, The Shadow decided to make quick work of the situation and destroy the young man. Thankfully for Merthissa, he was always a bright lad and vanished from sight around this time. Little is known as to what happened to him during this time, but it is believed that he simply went into hiding to escape the watchful eye of The Shadow. Merthissa managed to lay low, but was in a constant state of travel, never being able to stay in one place for long. Unwanted and unsafe, he wandered the realm alone. It soon became clear to him that the shadowed realm was not his place however. While he had avoided capture thus far, it was unwise to linger long. And yet… He was fond of his native realm in an odd way, for it was here that he had been born and raised. Even if it was dominated by The Shadow, he couldn’t just abandon his parents to fate. In the end however, he left anyway.

Merthissa fled Caligo when he was twenty-eight. After developing his powers to the point where it was safe for him to attempt flight, he set fire to the stables and stole a horse, riding out of the chaos like a demon. He was always one for dramatics and this suited his purpose to the fullest. The poor beast breathed too much smoke however and the speeds that he pushed it to proved too much in the end, however, and it died before he reached the border. Stranded in Caligo a week's walk from the border with The Shadow's soldier's after him, Merthissa made a desperate decision. He set about to wait for the soldiers to catch up to him. Choosing his place of ambush carefully by a bend in the stream where he knew they would have to stop to refill their water-skins, his actions later were those of one who has nothing left to lose. Knowing that returning would mean death and that The Shadow was likely to kill his parents for his escape, he knew that he had only once chance to get out alive. Just hours after the horse's death, he heard the sounds of pursuit. He manipulated the water with his mind to rise from the stream, and smash into the soldiers. Few knew what hit them. Those that rode mounts were downed first, the falling bodies crashing into those that managed to keep their feet. In an instant, he performed a simple spell of mind manipulation, planting the image in their minds that they were all bound, gagged, and exhausted to the point where struggling seemed a ridiculous idea. This left them in a near helpless state. What amused him, he reflected later, was that they could have blocked him out. He was powerful enough only to show them what they expected to see and they were limited by their own minds and crude ideas of reality. He crossed the border with time to spare as the soldiers by the remains of the stream slowly died from lack of food, enough water, and shelter.

It was the summer that he had left Caligo behind him that Merthissa encountered a tiny screech owl that was to become his only worldly friend. Tired, lonely, and without supplies, the young wizard stopped by a shallow stream for a drink of water under the shelter of the trees. He was hungry, tired, and his mind was still in a state of shock from what he had just accomplished. He had escaped Caligo, something that most people only could ever dream of doing, no wonder that he was feeling muddled up. He hardly knew what a tree was, had never seen soil so rich, never dreamed that there might be a place in the realms where there was water enough for more than a few drops at a time. To his mind, he had escaped hell to stumble into heaven. That night, he slept under the stars and felt completely safe for the first time in his life. The rustling of animals and the calls of birds did not frighten him as they might have done, but rather intrigued him. He didn’t know what they were at the time, but they felt so right, so natural, like something that he should know but couldn’t place his finger on why. In the morning, he opened his eyes and saw a tiny handful of fluff and enormous, pale green eyes sitting on his chest and staring at him. With a yell of shock, he shied away and the baby screech owl fell off him and into the dirt. There she lay for a moment before hopping to her feet and clicking her beak at him hungrily. Adriele, as he came to later call her, was Merthissa’s first and only friend. Perhaps it was because he was not yet old enough to have developed his disdain and scorn for all life; perhaps it was because he had just left behind him everything that he had ever known and needed a friendly face. Neither he nor we will ever really know the answer. The young wizard got over his initial fright and decided to take care of the owl until she was old enough to look after herself; that was what he intended anyway. However, he became dreadfully attached to her and by the time she didn’t need him anymore, he was too fond of her to let her go. On impulse, he gave her the power of speech so that he could understand her and she him. After that, Adriele became his constant companion.

Merthissa and Adriele crossed the realms and he eventually took up permanent residence in the human city of Tharlacolf in Sylvia. It was there that he developed his powers and learned about the realms and information about The Shadow and Caligo that had been denied to him while he had lived there. He learned many things and a terrible bitterness grew in his heart as he came to realize that the world was a cold, cruel place. After a few weeks in Tharlacolf, he received word of his parent’s execution and he vowed then to avenge their deaths. Merthissa did not start out as a bad man; he just went down the wrong road. In the beginning, his quest for power and understanding was because he wanted to someday strike a weakening blow against The Shadow. Later, it became he found that he was obsessed with power and the advantages it offered him. He remained fixed to the idea of taking down The Shadow, but he wanted to be the one to do it. He had no interest in working with others to accomplish his goal. Over the years, many learned of his powers, his potential, and his cruelty and he took up being an assassin for unknown parties who needed someone else to do their dirty work. He loved the suffering of others and accepted the requests readily. He didn’t care about the pay, as long as he got the opportunity to destroy another worthless soul. There were those that he was unable to take down, however, but he is not one to give up. In his lifetime, there have only been two people to evade him: The first was Erin Wolf, also from Caligo and the reason for the destruction of Endar. With Erin, Merthissa had a personal quarrel to settle, as he had taken shelter there while still in Caligo hiding from The Shadow and the people there had been good to him. And the other was an Elf maiden by name of Lyra Clear-Waters. Lyra carried the most powerful amulet known to the realms and Merthissa couldn’t resist the temptation to go after it for himself. If he was able to harness power like that, taking down The Shadow would hardly be impossibility. Unfortunately, despite close encounters, he has not yet managed to kill either of the two individuals. Like a bloodhound on the trail, he is relentless and the hunt is not yet abandoned.

Today, he still lives in Tharlacolf with Adriele, whose aging process he slowed so that he wouldn’t have to live without her. After her coming close to death twice in her youth and having to revive her with his powers of healing, he decided that he couldn’t bear to be parted from her if she died. He has since lost all interest in healing and has quite forgotten that he possesses the ability. Adriele is in the peak of health and has no intentions of abandoning her master any time soon.

Roleplay Example***: Merthissa sighed. This was impossible. He inhaled the pungent odor of boiled cat and prodded the contents of the cauldron with a ladle. According to the outdated spell-book he was using, every black cat had a certain bone that would make you invisible if you held it between your teeth. Right now, it seemed more like boiled cat just stank the place up. He wrinked his nose and tried to breathe through his mouth. Good Goddess, the stench was making him sick. It wasn’t a necessary spell, really. He could make himself appear invisible on his own without the use of the bone. However, he had clients that would pay handsomely for such an object and it had been an entertainment for him to watch the death struggles of the cat as he had tossed it into the boiling water. The novelty was wearing off though and he was starting to be more annoyed than anything else.

Adriele hooted softly from her perch on his shoulder and peered into the caldron with enormous eyes. She found what he was doing distasteful, but she was compelled to watch with a kind of horrified fascination. Unlike her master, she was far less interested in his little experiments and suchlike. Pain was part of the way the world worked, but she preferred not to watch while he was inflicting it. As time had gone by though, she had grown used to it and accepted it as part of her life with her master.

Bah. Merthissa spat in contempt and stoked the flames. The roared up and he seized his staff. There was a hiss of steam and smoke from the fur and meat that still hadn’t dissolved and the water in the caldron evaporated. At last. He tipped the caldron over on its side and a tumble of bones cascaded from it. Dropping to his knees, he sifted through the debris. He separated the bones that he knew would definitely not be what he was looking for and then made another pile of miscellaneous bones that he was unsure of. A highly polished sheet of copper served as a mirror and he tested the bones one by one, glancing at the mirror all the while to see if he had vanished. He had all but given up when he looked over and saw Adriele floating in mid-air, talons clutching some unseen object. Triumphantly, he spat the bone out and pocketed it. Well, at least it hadn’t been a fable for children. Satisfied, he banished the bones that lay scattered and the smoke and steam that had yet to drift out the windows.

Adriele hung onto her master’s shoulder, eyes closed. To all, it would appear as if she was merely sleeping as all owls did during the daylight hours, but she was wide awake. The poor cat. She was an owl and cats were her natural enemies, but she could feel nothing but pity for the creature that had fallen helplessly into her master’s clutches. And to what purpose? If she had been human, she might have wept for the pointlessness of the animal’s death. As it was, she went to sleep, desperate to shut it out, if only for a while.


Any notes about your characters: Just don't make him angry; Merthissa has been known to go into a berserker rage when his anger is aroused and that isn't something that anyone wants to be within a mile radius of.

Great job and nice details.

Approved.

Happy Roleplaying!

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^^ Gael in Werewolf Form Above ^^

Monster Form
-A form for Werewolves, Vampires, Abarimon, Nephilim, Giants, Mere-folk, and other dark creatures.

Name: Gaelgathor is his name, but he prefers to go by 'Gael' instead.

Age: Gael is twenty-three years of age.

Gender: Gael is a male.

Eye Color: He has dark brown eyes that appear to be almost black at first glance. They're slightly larger than normal human eyes and very expressive. Gael usually shows little to no emotion at the best of times; but, when he does, most of what he is thinking for feeling can be seen in his eyes.

Hair: A wild mane of thick black hair falls to his shoulders. He rarely bothers to cut it, but uses his hunting knife to sheer away the excess hair once is starts getting in the way. Because of this, it is in a constant state of untidiness and gives him a look of general apathy about his appearance.

Skin Color: Gael used to have skin as pale as a birch due to the fact that he spent very little time in direct sunlight, but it has darkened to tan in later years. Ashamed of being a monster and terrified of hurting those he cared about by accident, he did everything he could to stay away. This often meant retreating into Scopulous, away from his friends and family in Paludem, at the time of the full moon. Since then, he has become if not more comfortable with who he is, then at least more confident. It's only one night a month. As he started to accept his fate, he spent more time like a regular human and less time wandering and consumed with self-pity.

Height: He is 6'2" and stands a head taller than his father did when he was still alive their father's heights had become a running joke in the family. Gael didn't mind, as he would rather have been the cause of his family's laughter than their tears and it was just a harmless joke; anything to relieve the tension in the household, anything to make them laugh, anything that would relieve their burden in any way he could.

Parentage: Gwethe and Gawilil were the names of Gaels parents. Gwethe, his mother, was a simple woman with a kind heart who had been born in Ellianaya and lived there until the day she died. She was in no way perfect, but her two children, Gael and Adir, adored her and she loved them in return. Hair as black as the night fell to her waist in a heavy plait and she had blue eyes that always seemed to smile. When he was transformed, she did not turn her back on her only son. Gwethe was terrified of the idea of raising a werewolf and what that would mean for the future of the family, but she also knew that she loved her son and she couldn’t just throw him out for something that was in no way his fault. In the end, her good heart brought about their own destruction.

Gawilil, his father, was a fisherman. He had, like Gwethe, been born and raised in Ellianaya lived there until the day he died. He was a sharp man with a good mind and was always thinking about something or other. It may not have been what other would view as important, but it was in his very nature to question. He had dark brown hair with bangs that fell into his eye half the time and that his wife was fond of gently teasing him about. A small, wiry man with nimble fingers, he was light on his feet and gave the impression of being quick just standing still. Gawilil was different from his wife, however. While he loved his son, he was a realist. Raising a werewolf as part of the family was not a smart move in his mind and would only bring them all to grief… how very right he was.

Species: Gael was born a human, but can be classified as a werewolf. He received the bite that changed him when he was fifteen years old. Some say that a part of him died that night when he both lost and gained so much. What happened was simple. He was wandering around after dark on a night of the full moon, armed only with an obsidian knife, because he had forgotten to take in the fishing nets that he had left on the one of the docks after taking in the day's catch. It was a dark night and rain was falling steadily. The roar of the waves was nearly deafening, else he would more than likely have heard the howl from the nearby scrub or forest. As it was, by the time Gael noticed that something was amiss, it was too late. The moon slid out from behind a storm cloud, casting silvery light on an enormous wolf. There was no time to run, and even if he had tried, he would only have been able to make it a few yards. For a few moments, the werewolf and the boy only stared at each other and Gael made a decision that probably saved his life that night. He drew his knife and braced himself for the attack. He knew that there was no getting out of this one, not without getting bitten anyway, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. The battle that followed was short and one-sided. Gael stood no chance from the start, even with the knife for defense. Sustaining numerous scratches and several bites, the lad managed to hold his own for a full five minutes. In the end however, he received a blow to the head and blacked out. When he came to in the morning, he found himself feeling stiff, sore, and hardly able to breathe. For a long time, Gael lay where he had fallen without moving, he was scared to open his eyes. At last however, he could stall no longer. He opened his eyes. The left side of his face was sticky with blood; he couldn’t feel his right arm at all below the elbow; and didn’t have the guts to try to lift his head to see the mutilated mess that was his torso. It took until midday for the search party to find him and when they did, he begged them to kill him. Gael didn’t want to be a werewolf. He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t want to hurt anyone… Gael was fifteen years old and his life was already over.

Physical Description: Gael is tall and very thin. His cheekbones stand out in sharp angles on his face and he has long, slim fingers. His eyes appear to be slightly sunken in his face, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. His face seems almost too vulnerable-looking to be a werewolf, if it wasn't for the giant scars. Being a werewolf, he is faced with a lot of prejudice, most of it earned, and it is more than hard to get a decent meal unless he kills something himself. He has little appetite and usually will not eat anyway, even if he needs to eat and there is food to be had. A form of self-punishment, Gael is one who goes on living for reasons that even he is unaware of. He is one who longs for nothing more than to die, but who refuses to take the coward’s way out, in his opinion. He is little more than skin, bone, and hard muscle. Necessity has made his body strong and quick. The chief features of his face are three hugs scars, left behind by the werewolf that delivered to him the bite that changed him. They cover most of the left side of his face, marking him for what he is and a constant and painful reminder of his past.

Personality: Gael would rather run from a fight than start one, but this does not mean that he will not defend himself when his life is at risk. Even if he believes himself to be near-worthless, he does have a sense of self-preservation. He can be too hard on himself at times, but is a loyal friend once he manages to earn the trust of another. It isn’t that he has trust issues; it’s that trusting a werewolf is quite a lot to ask. Gael understands and accepts his fate, but despite what he may say otherwise, he remains bitter to it. He has spent many sleepless nights tormenting himself with images of all those whose deaths he is responsible for. He is prone to bouts of misery, but rarely shows emotion. Even if he is down, one would hardly be able to tell just looking at his face. He has a way of looking hard and cold, even when he is in a good mood.

Realm of Origin: Gael is from Paludem, and more specifically, the seaside town of Ellianaya. He currently lives in Lapidem. A man that looks far older than his years, his face is lined with sadness and guilt. In the end, his eventually aim is to make it to the Sol Mountains where he can live without hurting anyone.

Talents: Even though Gael tends to be on the modest side and acts as though he has little talent of his own, this actually is not all that far from the truth. He excels at whatever he tries his best at, but there is nothing that he is better at above all the rest. He is what he needs to be, a man of action and a man of the moment. If there’s anything that he can say that he does really well in, it would be concealing his emotions. His face is a mask that he has learned to make totally impenetrable. To those that he cares about, he lets down his defenses enough to let them know that he isn’t a monster… that there is still some humanity left.

Weapon*: Gael usually prefers to go unarmed, thinking himself enough of a monster without having to add to his reputation through unnecessary weapons on his person. However, he does carry a silver-infused knife, with a blade of six inches in length and is two inches wide where it joins the hilt, which he uses in case of emergency… and more than just emergency. The blade is both silver and steel, the steel being the primary component of the knife because of the relative weakness of silver as a weapon. Since turning into a werewolf, he has dedicated himself to killing werewolves. Because of this, he is viewed of as a traitor by his kind, even though there are those that sympathy with him. Being bitten is rarely voluntary and it is not a life that anyone in their sane mind would likely choose unless there was something major going on.

Flaws**: His greatest fear is being alone forever. As a werewolf and one of the most dangerous monsters out of nightmare, he knows exactly how people view and judge him and his kind. He is painfully aware that what friends he has are more than likely to move on at the first opportunity so as not to be in any immediate danger for any length of time. Once Gael swears an oath, he keeps it, no matter the price. This had gotten him into some sticky situations before and almost cost him his life on one unlucky occasion. Good or bad, he is brutally honest and always speaks his mind, even if it is much wiser to hold his tongue. This as well is a good thing in moderation, but he lacks tact and subtlety. While he does feel rather terrible at making people feel bad, he also tends to hold them in contempt for having such poor reactions to the honest truth as he sees it.

Powers: Well, turning into a werewolf at the full moon every month is not necessarily a power, but it is not a run-of-the-mill thing either, so it may as well be mentioned here. Every full moon, Gael is forced into a painful transformation from that of a human form into that of a dire, rabid wolf. During the night, he is cannot be held responsible for his actions and remembers nothing once he wakes up come sunrise. He would kill his best friend if he stood in his way, unable to think or feel anything other than a mad desire to kill. During his time as a werewolf, he has been the cause of twelve deaths. Eight of which died during the attack and three died of mortal injuries. The remaining one killed herself to spare her loved ones, once she realized what it was that she had become.

Backstory***: Gael was born to two hardworking people in the realm of Paludem, in the fishing village of Ellianaya by the shore. When he was three years old, a girl child was born whom his mother dubbed Adir. From the first, the little girl idolized her big brother, but did so in a way that she didn’t annoy him or hinder their relationship. Until her untimely death, they remained fast friends. He felt restless at home, though why he was unsure. Even before he was transformed, however, he spent most of his early days wandering. When he was twelve, he was apprenticed to his father to become a fisherman and things went as smoothly as could be expected after he became a monster.

The tentative reasoning in the household was that Gaelgathor was fifteen. He had been brutally hurt, but that meant in no way that he was not strong. Even if their son was a werewolf, his parents still loved him. His little sister found his scarred face terrifying for a year, but she eventually got used to it and nicknamed him ‘Wolfy’. The girl was twelve. Gael struggled with being a werewolf in the beginning, but after the first year of painful transformations at the call of the full moon, he found out that it wasn’t so bad. He had taken up wandering and was seldom seen in the village anymore. This was partially because guilt nagged at him for not being strong enough to finish it, to kill himself, and save his family before he hurt them; and, partially because he wanted to be nowhere near the village when the full moon came. Guilt followed him constantly and he viewed himself as a burden, a curse. His eyes took on a haunted quality and he walked with his shoulders hunched and head bowed, giving the impression of a beaten stray.

Gael was sixteen when the villager’s tolerance began to wane. It was also around this time that he started to become more comfortable with his identity. The three enormous scars covering the left side of his face that were his chief feature unnerved most people and marked him for what he was. Once he had worn them with bitter shame, but he found that he could hold his head up now. He felt almost proud that he had survived a werewolf attack, if not managed to keep from being bitten. Perhaps it was his reemergence back into society that was what scared the people of Ellianaya. The big question for them was: Why? Why had the werewolf suddenly decided that it was okay to be a monster? Why had he come back? People started skirting Gael in the streets, refusing to buy his father’s fish. Adir’s friends refused to play with her or even be seen with her anymore. Wherever he or his family went, whispers followed them. There were rumors that the entire family had been transformed by this time, that Gael had bitten them in the night, that his mother was a witch and teaching Adir the craft, that his father was a spy for The Shadow.

A few months after the rumors had started to fly, the village reached the end of their tolerance for them and open hostility took over. Children took pleasure in throwing stones at Gael and following him around and hurling abuse. It was worse for Adir, his little sister. At thirteen, she found that her friends and people whom she cared about were terrified of her and hated her. She was stoned to death on her way to market one day and that was the end of her life. Gael took personal responsibility for the death and was never the same sense. Nightmares plagued him and he was convinced at times that he could see her ghost wandering the streets with her head bowed. His parents did not hold him to any blame. Something had been bound to happen sooner or later and they were simply unlucky that Adir had been the one to have to suffer for it. If anything, this only made Gael feel worse. He was a monster and this, her death, had been his fault. He had killed her as surely as if he had mauled her in a transformation.

For a while, the village’s hostility died down, seeming to be content with the death of his sister for the moment. However, eventually, they rioted. Armed with crude weapons and torches, they formed a classic mob on the night before the full moon and raided the cottage that was where he and his parents lived. Gael and his father had known that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. As torch lights flickered into view and the voices of the maddened villagers screamed for blood as they sped towards their targets, his father turned to him and spoke his last words to Gael: “Son, it has finally happened. Get away from here, Gaelgathor. We shall hold them off for you. Now go... and don’t look back.” Before he could protest, his father had shoved him out of the house, the only time that he had intentionally used force on his son. Gael’s last sight of his parents was his father unsheathing a rusty sword and his mother, with a grimly determined expression in the face of death, clutching a club. The least he could do was run. One might question this. Why had he not stayed behind? Why had he not defended his parents against the mob? There was a simple answer to this, if not a pleasant one. Gael had a rigid code of honor about him, even before the bite, and he understood a little of sacrifice. His parents were giving up their lives so that he might live and if he wanted to honor that sacrifice, then the only thing to do was follow his father’s final instructions and run… So run he did. Gael left his village and never looked back.

Gael wandered for several lonely years, doing everything that he could to stay away from people when the full moon came. Despite his efforts, six people died over the course of the next three years. At twenty, he bore the responsibility for the deaths of his family and those of numerous other people who had never done a thing to hurt him. A great bitterness welled in his heart and he made a decision. It was a rash decision, based off of anger and suffering, but it was one that he stuck to in the following years. He decided that he would not hunt werewolves, he was not that kind of a person, but he whenever he came across one; he made it his business to destroy it. Still, he could not destroy himself, though many times he had tried. He never had the will, though, to go through with it. Deeming himself a coward and thinking of himself with a mixture of disgust, anger, and pity, his mental status became more than a little rocky. Unlike most males, he could be emotional when he was no longer able to fight his emotions and they come exploding out of him in moments when it might have been best to keep his head. He made rash promises that ended only in regrets and his life took on a new level of low. Four more people died during the year that he was twenty and one years and two the following year during his monthly transformations. Perhaps it is a good thing that he has no recollection of his deeds when he awakes from his trances, for if he had, he almost certainly would have driven himself mad.

How does your character feel about being a monster? Regrets or is the life satisfying?***: How does Gael feel about being a monster? What a question! He feels guilty, of course, that he is cursed so and that he is not brave enough to kill himself and have done with it already. He understands why he is ostracized, why people are afraid of him, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t bitter about it. The three huge scars across his face from his life-altering encounter are a constant reminder to himself of what he is and his shame. The way he thinks of it now, the blow was foreshadowing the next few years of his life. Three scars for the three members of his family to die. However, Gael is also defiant of who he is. He was turned into a werewolf through no fault of his own, so why should he be hated so? He hated (and hates) himself!

Roleplay Example***: Gael was running. No, that wasn’t accurate. He was sprinting. His bare feet beat again the dirt road in perfect rhythm, small dust clouds rising around his ankles. His midnight-black hair was blown back from his eyes and the white and scarred face it revealed was twisted with fear.

“Father!” As the words tore from his throat, he tripped on a small stone and all but flew through the air.

Tumbling head over heels, he landed hard in a crumpled heap on the ground and lay there, stunned. After a moment, he got back to his feet and started running for the cottage. Blood ran down his leg from a nasty scrape and there was a bruise coming out of his forehead, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now. There was only one thought on his mind.

“Father! Mother! They’re coming!” His voice sounded loud and panicky in the approaching darkness. The moon was almost full, only a few thin clouds obscuring it from view. The stars glittered coldly down on him and there was a hoarse shout from behind him not a quarter of a mile away.

Desperation gave him wings. Coving the last hundred yards in a matter of seconds, he skidded to a halt outside the door that his father had thrown open. As soon as he was through, he slammed it behind him. The small man looked up at him with a knowing expression, sadness shadowing his young eyes. Poor man, he was hardly more than thirty years old. His father looked up at him and there was a steely quality to him that he had never seen there before. Gael got the idea that the fisherman knew exactly what was going on. He looked to his mother, who was standing very straight near the back of the cottage, her eyes fixed on the lights with an expression of anger.

“Well, son. It has finally happened,” the man said calmly. He opened the door again and moved towards him.

“What? Father…” Gael looked at him with horror, staring at the open door then back to his father. “No! I won’t leave you here! Mother-”

But Gwethe had turned away. “He’s right, Gael. You can’t stay here. Not anymore.” Her voice was hard, determined… but pained too. It was the voice of a mother letting go of her last child.

“No!” His voice was disbelieving, hurt, but above all, it was full of horror for what they were implying for him to do.

Gawilil‘s face hardened. “Get away from here, Gaelgathor.” With that, he grabbed his wrist tightly and shoved him towards the door.

Gael wriggled and tried to fight, but his father was much stronger. With unexpected force, he was thrown bodily back. Disbelieving, he looked up at his father from the ground. No… Not this. It couldn’t end this way! They didn’t know what it was that they were doing! He was the monster, he should be the one staying behind. They couldn’t do this for him, not when he didn’t deserve to live.

“We shall hold them off for you. Now go... and don’t look back.” His father’s face was grimly determined. His tone bore no room for argument. He could see his mother turning back to face him. Her face told the same story. Grim determination in the face of death and his heart swelled with pride at their bravery, even if it was foolish. He bowed his head in defeat, he got to his feet. “I love you,” he whispered, just loud enough for them to hear him. With those words, he turned and began, once more, to run. If his parents were going to lay down their lives for him, he wanted to make their sacrifice worth it.

Gawilil left the door open, a defiant gesture to show that he was unafraid of them. He crossed to the bed that he and his wife shared and removed a rusty sword in its cracked leather sheath from under the straw-stuffed mattress. Gwethe picked up a club. She looked at her husband and there was fear in her eyes, but in no way was there regret; she would die to protect her final child… The noise of the mod was almost upon them now and what had happened with Gael had not taken very long, but it had been long enough to restore their sense of resolve. Before the mob reached them, Gawilil placed himself between his wife and the door. He was ready.

Really good as usual, Wolfie!
The only thing that I would like to know is what his human face looks like. You can use words or a picture or both, I don't care. He can't be a wolf all the time, right?
Other than that, everything looks great!
CRO

Edited.

Approved!
Happy Roleplaying!
CRO

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Standard Character Form
-Form for Elves, Dwarves, and Humans

Name: His name is Alrog,

Age: Alrog is seventy and eight years of age, and looks it as well. Age has left him wrinkled and bent, and he leans constantly on an oaken staff. Despite his years, he is still tough and refuses to be left behind in anything or be thought of as a burden. He hates being looked down upon or being viewed with contempt because of his age, which he doesn't view as anything important; it just is.

Gender: He is male.

Eye Color: One can hardly see his eyes due to the amount of bushy, white eyebrows covering them. In reality, they are a surprisingly dark shade of brown with lighter flecks of gold around the irises.

Hair: Alrog has a wild tangle of thick, white hair on his head that is still abundant despite his years. A long, white bead and mustache covers his face and falls to his waist, and he usually tucks it into his belt to keep it out of the way. He has thick, white eyebrows that fall over his eyes, obscuring them from sight unless he is shocked or horrified by something. First impressions of him usually involve thoughts of how, exactly, he manages to see.

Skin Color: His skin is white with hardly any tan, though he looks a shade darker than he really is due to a life that is constantly changing and on the go.

Height: Alrog is half dwarf and his height is the only aspect of him that it seriously impacts. He stands upright at five foot even, but he is stooped and appears to be more around four feet tall.

Physical Description: His hands are gnarled from age and his wrinkled face is covered largely by a thick, white beard. He we gives the impression of great age, even at first glance, though his personality contradicts that impression as soon as he opens his mouth. His eyes are large and clear, though hardly to be seen, and his mouth is usually set in a grim line and his face usually looks stern. His ears stand out from his head and taper into points, a souvenir of his dwarfish heritage. His fingers are long and bony, callused from his trade and nimble. When not playing his lyre, they are usually gripping his staff.

Personality: He was tough in his youth and he is still tough. His voice is strong and commanding and he likes to pick arguments and loves to prove that he is right. A sign that he is fond of someone would be constant bickering or acting hugely superior in their presence. While he likes a good argument, he secretly prefers a quarrel that will challenge his mind and give him and those around him a real chance to think of themselves. Deep down, he's a kind soul, even if that part of him doesn't usually come straight out. His years have given him wisdom, despite the way he can sometimes act and is full of advice. However, he will usually only give his opinion if asked.

Type of Creature: Alrog is a half dwarf.

Parentage: Eowir, his mother, was the daughter of a wealthy spice merchant, living along the southern coast of Paludem. She did what she was told and never questioned the life she lived, though she was more than aware of her good fortune in life. As the years went on and she grew from child to adult, Eowir started accompanying trading expeditions to Scopulous. Her father disapproved, but since he was constantly traveling, there was little that he could do to stop her. It was on one of these expeditions that she met Stone-Beard, Alrog's father. Since it was frowned upon in the dwarfish society for Dwarfs and Humans to mix, the relationship was kept a secret. Soon after their initial meeting, however, Stone-Beard was killed when a mine shaft collapsed. Eowir was devastated by his death and refused to return to the realm due to the now-painful memories that dogged her every step. Several months after his death, she gave birth to Alrog. As the child grew, his heritage was discovered and Eowir was cast out of society and her own father disowned her. Distraught and betrayed, she took her son and wandered the country side without any real direction or purpose. In the end, she began again and made her living in taverns and on the streets, singing and dancing for coin. Alrog was taught how to play the lyre at a very young age and soon became a part of the act. When he was eight, Eowir joined a band of traveling performers and Alrog tagged along. When her son was twelve, she caught plague, but miraculously survived. She lived for another ten years, a fall from a horse eventually ending her life. She was fifty and two years when she passed.

Stone-Beard, Alrog's father, was a dwarf, dwelling in the underworld of Scopulous. He was the son of a metal worker and when he was ten and two winters, he was apprenticed to him. However, he never excelled at the trade. His father was very good about it and allowed him to try his hand in the mines, and that was where he really took off and made a name for himself. When he was of about thirty years, one of his friends took ill and he ventured up to the world above in his place. It was there that he met Eowir and fell in love with her. Knowing that they would come to nothing but misfortune if the relationship was discovered, he convinced Eowir to keep it a secret. He saw her only a few more times before his untimely death in the mines.


Realm of Origin: Alrog was born in Sylvia, but due to the fact that his mother was a traveling entertainer, he never knew a true home and is familiar with all of the realms save, Caligo. However, he feels most at home in Scopulous and can often be found in the caverns under the earth. Not having the heart to hide his identity from his father's people, he willingly revealed his parentage. At first, he was regarded with hostility, but gradually, they became accustomed to his presence and his presence is tolerated, if with outward reluctance. Due to their pride, however, no dwarf would willing reveal being friends or even liking the half-blood. Since he was and is always on the move, there are and were few that he was ever close to.

Animal Companion(Optional): Alrog has no animal companion. He developed a dislike for squirrels in particular after one chewed on his lyre strings.

Talents: He is extremely talented with instruments and can play the lyre like nobody else and has been able to do so since he was very young, having been taught by his mother and then by others that he came in contact with. He takes great pride in his ability and is very protective of his lyre. His skills earn him a living and he is constantly on the move, never staying in one place for long. He prefers a life on the go and has from a young age. He couldn't image it any way else, but acknowledges that the time will soon come when he will no longer be able to support himself. While he is aware of this fact, he tries not to dwell on this fact too much and plans on dealing with it once the problem makes itself clear. He also is a talented healer, but does not consider the talent much to boast of because any idiot can mix herbs and create a poultice or a healing solution. This talent only comes out when someone whom he is close to needs assistance and then he gives in and does what he can for the unfortunate soul.

Weapon*: Alrog is not one for battle, but he does carry a carved obsidian knife that he uses for self-defense purposes.

Flaws**: Flaws? Alrog is in no way perfect and in many ways is very ordinary. He is conceited to a degree, though is not egotistical. He will boast about himself and his skills, but will stop before it gets too much on anyone's nerves. He is argumentative and has a slight problem of seeing too many perspectives on a single issue, and will change his views in mid-sentence as he thinks up new possibilities and outcomes. He is more stubborn than a mule and hates to admit that he is wrong in any issue.

Powers(Optional): Alrog has no powers other than telepathy, or mind-speak. Despite the way he appears, his mind is extraordinary open and willing to consider new ideas.

Backstory***: Alrog was born in Paludem, in Alowilia, the same town that his mother was born in. At first, his mother hid him from society, something that greatly confused the child as he grew from infant to toddler. In his early days, he was banned from looking out windows for fear that someone should see his face and from being in the same room as a door to the outside. However, Eowir gradually became more comfortable with her son and, eventually when he was around five years old, Alrog was allowed out of the house as long as he was with her. He was very quiet due to the fact that he rarely spoke to anyone in his youth. However, it soon became apparent that he was not pure human because he was a good foot shorter than the other children his own age. Horrified, Eowir and Alrog were cast out of society and her own father disowned her.

Distraught and betrayed, Eowir took her son and wandered the country side without any real direction or purpose. She avoid Scopulous all together and ventured into the southern end of Lapidem. However, the intense cold and harsh winters didn’t suit her and in the end, she and Alrog made it to Sylvia where they stayed for quite some time. Eowir had always been a talented singer, but nothing could ever become of her potential before now. When it came time to begin again, she used this talent to her advantage and made her living in taverns and on the streets, singing and dancing for coin. Alrog was taught how to play the lyre at a very young age and soon became a part of the act. The two became absorbed into a band of strolling players when Alrog was eight. He loved being in some place where he felt be belonged and advanced his skills on the lyre with the help of an older player who had once worked with the instrument in his own youth. This man’s name was Biorur.

Biorur was a strange man in many ones, and one of these was that he was mute. Biorur and Alrog first came into contact because Alrog was a budding musician and Biorur was a musician past his prime and now traveling with the players as a source of food and protection. Alrog was quiet by nature, so it took him a while to figure out that this man was not silent by choice. Once he realized that, he wanted to figure out a way of communication with him instead of having to continuously rely on hand gestures and nods of the head. With great reluctance, Biorur eventually taught the boy an unusual piece of Craft: the power of speaking with one's mind. Being a mute frustrated Biorur, because he was unable to speak with his mouth like any other person. So strong was his desire to communicate on a similar level to everyone else, that he eventually broke down the barriers in his own mind and breached the gap between what he thought was reality and his potential. Alrog was still a child and his mind was still open to the world and thirsty for knowledge and it did not take him long to breach those barriers for him just enough to show him how to finish the process himself. Once he somewhat understood, the boy was a fast learner and the final barriers fell away and he was able to communicate with his master without words, using only the power of his own mind.

When Alrog was twelve, Eowir caught plague, but miraculously survived. However, those weeks that she battled with it were some of the worst of Alrog’s life. He didn’t know why he himself did not get sick from it, being half dwarf seemed to have some protection against human diseases. Fearing that they too would catch ill, the players were forced to leave the pair behind. Alrog had limited to no knowledge of healing, and those weeks drove him to learn where he was lacking. No one was willing to come near the sick woman, but he managed to get advice from people and managed to nurse her back to health.

After wandering from Clan to Clan, from village to village for a few weeks, Eowir eventually caught up with the strolling players once more, but Alrog chose a different path. By this time, he was twelve and even though he was still very much a child, he was more than capable of handling and looking after himself. He watched his mother leave to go search for the players, remaining behind. Once she was out of site, he did not turn his back on his old way of life, but he did build a new one. The constant company of humans and other creatures was not to his liking, a remnant from his past that has followed him throughout his adult life. It isn’t that he doesn’t like people; it’s that he is far happier when there are less of them around or none at all. The child decided that he was to make a name for himself; and, that he would do it through his music. At first, he took to traveling with a bard by the name of Alæthad. He was a thin, wiry man in his middle years with a thick, grey beard adorning his face and bright, black eyes. He had a sense of humor and had a talent for story-telling, something that he tried to pass onto Alrog, who he eventually grew quite fond of. However, it was clear that Alrog’s real talent lay in his ability to play. Alæthad passed when Alrog was twenty and one years, victim of a rock slide in Lapidem.

Naturally, Alrog was more than a little upset at the death of his mentor, but by this time, he had acquired the life skills that he would need in order to take care of himself and survive in the realms. When he was sixty years, he met an Elvin wizard by name of Melawi, a man of at least twenty years his junior, in the outskirts of where the Tamalek Clan was currently camped, and of which Melawi was a member. The wizard had an infant with him, whom Alrog paid very little attention to at the time. What did catch his attention was the salamander amulet around his neck that seemed to pulse with curious energy. They passed some light conversation for a while before deciding to make camp for the night. Traveling onwards at night was unsafe in the tundra, and the added danger of a full moon only increased the danger. The two decided that it would be best to keep watch throughout the night and Melawi took the first shift. Just as the moon reached its highest, a howl shattered the stillness. Melawi had been on watch and was the most alert; it was he who dealt with the werewolf. Alrog was only just managing to get to his feet when the wizard finished dispatching the creature. Since that time, the two became fast friends. The time came, about a week, when they had to part. By this time, Alrog had even become attached to Lyra, the Legacy child that Melawi had sired. Alrog was uneasy about the child, but agreed to look after her if any hard ever came to her father. Soon after the promise was made, the two parted ways.

Alrog promptly forgot all about the promise until four years later. Melawi had been killed by a troll in Scopulous and a few weeks after his death, a man in a black cloak led a small child of four years to him in the pub where he was playing that evening. Alrog had last seen her when she was an infant, but he knew instantly who she was; the amulet around her neck was a dead giveaway. He knew instantly that Melawi had passed from this world; he now had a promise to fulfill. Over the next six years, he did what he could to keep the child out of sight and quite. Lyra accepted this without a question and learned quickly to keep her mouth shut and stay in the shadows. In truth, Alrog didn’t know what to do with her. He taught her some of his craft and was pleased that she showed potential, but she was a constant hazard. She had no idea that she was a Legacy and, consequently, bits of power just seemed to explode out of her when she couldn’t contain it any longer. He tried to tolerate it for as long as he could, for he enjoyed her, but the Elf was a danger to herself as well as those around her. The amulet around her neck seemed to absorb most of her power though, and especially as she grew older, the moments of slipped control came less and less. However, they also became more violent. The day came when she almost burned down a village. When the smoke and flames cleared, the child was gone and with it, his burden. While he was released, he was also disappointed that he hadn’t been able to tell her nor teach her who she was and how to use her powers. It was his own fault that things had come to this.

Alrog was very practical and did not dwell on this for long. He resumed his constantly changing life and did what he could not to think about the Legacy. Every once and a while, she resurfaced in his mind, but he always pushed her away. The girl was no longer of any consequence to him. He continued on in much the same manner that he had been before she came along, which wasn’t a challenge; the bard preferred life alone.

Roleplay Example***: The tiny, stooped figure hummed a tune as he tramped through the crowded streets. He was garbed in rough traveling clothes with the hood of his cloak pulled down low over his face. One, gnarled hand clutched a tall staff. A beard as white as snow adorned his wrinkled face, which was cast into dark shadow. You could not see his eyes. A bag was slung over one shoulder, which he treated with great care, being careful not to let anyone bump into it. Within it contained all he had ever really cared about in the world. As the man walked, the crowd moved around him, parting for him. To most people, this would have been seen as strange, but the man was anything but ordinary, even if he posed an unassuming figure. Hunched by age and tiny, he nevertheless looked like someone not to cross.

The man came to a stop at a fork in the road, swinging his head from side to side. Which way? Which road would take him to his destination? A few people cast him curious looks, but he ignored them. To him, they were of little to no consequence. What he really wanted to do was locate a missing Legacy, but that didn’t take priority for him. No. The girl was of little more significance to him anymore, even if he was curious as to what had happened to her. He really needed to find somewhere that would allow him to play and earn his keep, but with dark coming and no place to stay in sight, he acknowledged that he would more than likely have to find a place to make camp for the night. Stroking his beard, he shrugged and turned to the right, towards the setting sun. The Halfling wasn’t a romantic, but he needed to make up his mind and that made up his mind. He needed to go west, anyway.

Any notes about your characters: Alrog is allergic to dogs and can’t stand being around the creatures. He gets a runny nose and sneezes a lot, sometimes coughing hard enough to hurt. When this happens, he usually mutters some excuse and does what he can to leave the vicinity.

I like it. Bringing in a character from another's backstory, I see?

Anyway, your character seems good for the most part, I just have a few questions:

1. Where/when did he learn telepathy? Is it a natrual trait for him, or did he meet a sorceror along his travels who was willing to teach it to him?

2. 5' 11" is actually a reasonable height for a fully grown male human. I would think that a half-dwarf would be just over 5' at the tallest, since a full-dwarf would probably grow to about 4 feet (I know that's a minor gripe and not actually a question, but I just thought it should be noted).

Alrighty, I edited his backstory to explain his ability to use telepathy.

I think I'm going to leave his height the way it is because he stands upright at five foot even, but he is stooped and appears to be more around four feet tall.

Alright. I would approve it, but for some reason I don't have access to mod-tools. Wolf was trying to work on it, but he got busy with classes before he could fix anything. Any way we could fix that?

I'm not quite sure what's messing up, but I'll lock, move, and merge it for ya.