Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived The characters of a Jester
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CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Name: Nox Gelida Caeruleum
Age: 367
Weight: 214 lbs
Height: 6 feet 11 inches
Sex: Male
Race: Caeruleum "Vampire"
Powers: Boasts a wide variety of powers. Can easily keep up with speeding vehicles on foot. Has been known to lift upward of six hundred pounds. Incredible physical durability, capable of withstanding mid-range explosives and high caliber weapons fire. Possesses a quick acting regeneration ability, the limits of which have yet to be found. Carries with him an aura of unshakable, frigid air, which he can suppress as well. Other auras are ones of charisma and magnetism, and another of pure, unmitigated fear. Seems to have a bottomless stomach, capable of eating great amounts that should be, otherwise, physically impossible. Talon-like claws and shark-like teeth have been know to rip through steel and concrete with ease. While not capable of flight, Nox's raw physical capabilities allow him to leap exceedingly far, and exceedingly high. Highly resilient to injury, capable of shrugging off or simply ignoring wounds that would lay low even an exceptional mortal. On top of this, it seems the vampire can also, magically, slow his descent, as if somewhat ignoring gravity. Can influence weak minds with words alone, though the stronger the mind, the more he struggles. In extreme cases of duress or danger, the nosferatu can enter a state of suspended solidity, or in layman's terms, turn into fog very temporarily. Thanks to runes of servitude, the Caer Lord can create Spawn, monstrous abominations that serve his will. Finally, he can create Thralls, conscious beings who retain all their knowledge, their power, and their appearance, while still being magically linked and loyal to their horrid master.
Appearance: Broad of shoulder with eyes of luminous ice, the sole surviving member and heir of the once prestigious House Caeruleum, is an opposing figure. Standing closer to seven feet than six, the once third boy of an ancient family cuts a swathe through others with an aura of pure power and a dark gaze full of contempt and disdain. Though black is easily his favorite color to adorn, his wardrobe is actually vast and varied, ranging almost every color of the spectrum. With a moderate body frame, long silken hair, and an icy disposition, Nox both draws and repels those around him.
Brief History: The third boy, or the third male heir of the Caeruleum family that once was, his families downfall came after a near century of prosperity that Nox remembers quite well. Through violence, blackmail, occult magics, and acquisition of thralls, or mind controlled slaves, the Caer were far above most other families in the hierarchy of the city, though not all. Envy and betrayed allies rallied behind a secret banner, however, and with a unique alliance of Hunters, decimated the family down to its roots, save one seed, Nox. The Caer were wildly regarded as one of the most cruel and bloodthirsty families, power driven and insane, and it was only because of this factor that the humans agreed to even a temporary truce. They were a threat to all factors and elements within the city, and had to be exterminated. Nox remembers all of this.
Now that the Caer are growing in numbers once more, and Nox is the Patriarch of the New Caeruleum Empire, his powers continue to grow. When in the presence, approximately one hundred feet, and his physical and supernatural attributes grow even more powerful. His physical body seems to grow to almost eight feet tall, and his muscles expand, pushing his weight to border on 250 pounds. His strength explodes exponentially, at least tripling to what it normally is, and his reflexes and agility get a nice little boost as well. Even without being near his "family", Nox's destructive capabilities have become all the more dangerous. In addition, he can now control an additional Thrall for every spawn or family member under his control.
Age: 367
Weight: 214 lbs
Height: 6 feet 11 inches
Sex: Male
Race: Caeruleum "Vampire"
Powers: Boasts a wide variety of powers. Can easily keep up with speeding vehicles on foot. Has been known to lift upward of six hundred pounds. Incredible physical durability, capable of withstanding mid-range explosives and high caliber weapons fire. Possesses a quick acting regeneration ability, the limits of which have yet to be found. Carries with him an aura of unshakable, frigid air, which he can suppress as well. Other auras are ones of charisma and magnetism, and another of pure, unmitigated fear. Seems to have a bottomless stomach, capable of eating great amounts that should be, otherwise, physically impossible. Talon-like claws and shark-like teeth have been know to rip through steel and concrete with ease. While not capable of flight, Nox's raw physical capabilities allow him to leap exceedingly far, and exceedingly high. Highly resilient to injury, capable of shrugging off or simply ignoring wounds that would lay low even an exceptional mortal. On top of this, it seems the vampire can also, magically, slow his descent, as if somewhat ignoring gravity. Can influence weak minds with words alone, though the stronger the mind, the more he struggles. In extreme cases of duress or danger, the nosferatu can enter a state of suspended solidity, or in layman's terms, turn into fog very temporarily. Thanks to runes of servitude, the Caer Lord can create Spawn, monstrous abominations that serve his will. Finally, he can create Thralls, conscious beings who retain all their knowledge, their power, and their appearance, while still being magically linked and loyal to their horrid master.
Appearance: Broad of shoulder with eyes of luminous ice, the sole surviving member and heir of the once prestigious House Caeruleum, is an opposing figure. Standing closer to seven feet than six, the once third boy of an ancient family cuts a swathe through others with an aura of pure power and a dark gaze full of contempt and disdain. Though black is easily his favorite color to adorn, his wardrobe is actually vast and varied, ranging almost every color of the spectrum. With a moderate body frame, long silken hair, and an icy disposition, Nox both draws and repels those around him.
Brief History: The third boy, or the third male heir of the Caeruleum family that once was, his families downfall came after a near century of prosperity that Nox remembers quite well. Through violence, blackmail, occult magics, and acquisition of thralls, or mind controlled slaves, the Caer were far above most other families in the hierarchy of the city, though not all. Envy and betrayed allies rallied behind a secret banner, however, and with a unique alliance of Hunters, decimated the family down to its roots, save one seed, Nox. The Caer were wildly regarded as one of the most cruel and bloodthirsty families, power driven and insane, and it was only because of this factor that the humans agreed to even a temporary truce. They were a threat to all factors and elements within the city, and had to be exterminated. Nox remembers all of this.
Now that the Caer are growing in numbers once more, and Nox is the Patriarch of the New Caeruleum Empire, his powers continue to grow. When in the presence, approximately one hundred feet, and his physical and supernatural attributes grow even more powerful. His physical body seems to grow to almost eight feet tall, and his muscles expand, pushing his weight to border on 250 pounds. His strength explodes exponentially, at least tripling to what it normally is, and his reflexes and agility get a nice little boost as well. Even without being near his "family", Nox's destructive capabilities have become all the more dangerous. In addition, he can now control an additional Thrall for every spawn or family member under his control.
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CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Name: Izaic Swigelf
Age: 21
Species: Lutetian Human
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 186 lbs
Hair Color: Chocolate brown, slightly darker near the ends
Eye Color: Brown-Hazel
Skin Color: Almost bronze from the amount of time he spends in the outdoor gym and the sparring yard
Body Frame: A medium frame with wide shoulders and a fair amount of muscle. A gymrat / body builder, though not for vanity. Has the perfect body for physically demanding, long term tasks.
Bio: A cocky braggart who loves to pick on those obviously weaker than himself. Loves to play the part of the dumb jock, even though he doesn't lack for mental prowess. This proselyte, towards the end of his training, nearly aced through his psychology and tactic based courses, though his greatest strength lies in his natural affinity for great-swords, as they match his personality, physical attributes, and attitude towards battle. Like most bullies, there is a fuel that drives his outward aggression towards others, and he hates knowing the cause of it. Despite the nearly ceaseless barrage of insults he hurls towards other students, as well as threats and acts of violence towards them, no one can question his devotion to the Monastic Order. Or at least, to the Lutetia itself...
View attachment 8
Age: 21
Species: Lutetian Human
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 186 lbs
Hair Color: Chocolate brown, slightly darker near the ends
Eye Color: Brown-Hazel
Skin Color: Almost bronze from the amount of time he spends in the outdoor gym and the sparring yard
Body Frame: A medium frame with wide shoulders and a fair amount of muscle. A gymrat / body builder, though not for vanity. Has the perfect body for physically demanding, long term tasks.
Bio: A cocky braggart who loves to pick on those obviously weaker than himself. Loves to play the part of the dumb jock, even though he doesn't lack for mental prowess. This proselyte, towards the end of his training, nearly aced through his psychology and tactic based courses, though his greatest strength lies in his natural affinity for great-swords, as they match his personality, physical attributes, and attitude towards battle. Like most bullies, there is a fuel that drives his outward aggression towards others, and he hates knowing the cause of it. Despite the nearly ceaseless barrage of insults he hurls towards other students, as well as threats and acts of violence towards them, no one can question his devotion to the Monastic Order. Or at least, to the Lutetia itself...
View attachment 8
CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Name: Kurtrin 'The Golden' Hayes
Age: 71
Species: Lutetian Human
Height: 6 feet 1 inch
Weight: 171 lbs
Hair: Grey to snow white, with a sparse peppering of black
Eye: Dark blue-green, almost black but the color is there
Skin: Fair complexion with pale skin, though due to years of intense field work, training, and teaching, normally has a golden, bronze tint.
Body: A medium frame with broad shoulders. Despite his age, maintains a body fit for physical activity and long, grueling hours.
Distinguishing Marks: A thin, triple scarring, like a scratch across his left eye. In his old age, the eye is beginning to somewhat dull, and he fears going blind in it. On top of that, his left shoulder bears a vicious bite mark, similar to a sharks, and his abdomen houses several piercing and stab scars.
Normal Attire and Gear: Every day, no matter how it makes his joints feel, he dons the armor he was commissioned in the later years of the Caer Skirmishes. It has proven itself to him, standing up to many a fel creatures blows, and even allowing him to survive a confrontation with one of the accursed house's 'nobles'. Despite his preference for the broad bladed longsword, Kurt also favors a high caliber .357 caliber, 8 chamber revolver.
When net dressed for service, his garb is much simpler. White linens and slacks normally, never without his comfortable, long broken in leather combat boots. Sports a deep 'V' to help show off his muscles and chest hair, both of which he is proud to have kept in his elder years.
Personality Profile: An old man, set in his ways and unsure of the new generation. A patient teacher, hardened soldier, and wise mentor, Kurt would love nothing more than to 'retire' to the Monastery in his old age, but the times do not allow it. Despite that, when he is not on active duty, he spends much of his time checking in on the newest wave of the Church's various orders.
Ideals: Despite a lifelong commitment to the church, it is mostly for the purpose of battling evil, and the morality that comes with it. The religion itself he could take or leave, but he'll defend what it stands for until his last breath.
Morales: The weak and defenseless should be guided and defended by the strong and powerful until they can take care of themselves. A punishment much match the crime. Mercy is a double edged sword, powerful and dangerous all at once.
Flaws: After his years of service, he has taken to the bottle rather hard in his off times. The things he saw in his childhood haunt him every night. Especially visions of...her. Is uncomfortable in the cold, not physically, but due to a psychological effect the feelings triggers in his mind.
History: Kurtrin was a proselyte, a quickly rising one, when a family declared war on the Monastic Order. It seemed silly at first to the five year old. Although he was sheltered for the next twelve years, once he took the Silver, the fresh paladin was thrown into the frozen hell known as the Caer Skirmishes. Skirmishes. What a joke. The historians who called it such don't know what happened. The utter chaos and slaughter those monsters brought. For four years he endured that hell, until, through proving himself in the field, he was moved to a protection detail for one of the Bishops of the church.
It was there he met Avacyn Caer, in her attempt to end the life of one of the higher ranking members of the church. He had the scars left from her assault. He'd help swing the many blades it took to take that horrid creature to its end. He suffered the consequences. The night terrors. The cold sweats. Sometimes, he could still hear her voice.
And now, with the arrival of seemingly another Caeruleum uprising, Kurtrin 'The Golden' Hayes, Paladin with a service record of over fifty years, begins to feel a familiar chill...
Age: 71
Species: Lutetian Human
Height: 6 feet 1 inch
Weight: 171 lbs
Hair: Grey to snow white, with a sparse peppering of black
Eye: Dark blue-green, almost black but the color is there
Skin: Fair complexion with pale skin, though due to years of intense field work, training, and teaching, normally has a golden, bronze tint.
Body: A medium frame with broad shoulders. Despite his age, maintains a body fit for physical activity and long, grueling hours.
Distinguishing Marks: A thin, triple scarring, like a scratch across his left eye. In his old age, the eye is beginning to somewhat dull, and he fears going blind in it. On top of that, his left shoulder bears a vicious bite mark, similar to a sharks, and his abdomen houses several piercing and stab scars.
Normal Attire and Gear: Every day, no matter how it makes his joints feel, he dons the armor he was commissioned in the later years of the Caer Skirmishes. It has proven itself to him, standing up to many a fel creatures blows, and even allowing him to survive a confrontation with one of the accursed house's 'nobles'. Despite his preference for the broad bladed longsword, Kurt also favors a high caliber .357 caliber, 8 chamber revolver.
When net dressed for service, his garb is much simpler. White linens and slacks normally, never without his comfortable, long broken in leather combat boots. Sports a deep 'V' to help show off his muscles and chest hair, both of which he is proud to have kept in his elder years.
Personality Profile: An old man, set in his ways and unsure of the new generation. A patient teacher, hardened soldier, and wise mentor, Kurt would love nothing more than to 'retire' to the Monastery in his old age, but the times do not allow it. Despite that, when he is not on active duty, he spends much of his time checking in on the newest wave of the Church's various orders.
Ideals: Despite a lifelong commitment to the church, it is mostly for the purpose of battling evil, and the morality that comes with it. The religion itself he could take or leave, but he'll defend what it stands for until his last breath.
Morales: The weak and defenseless should be guided and defended by the strong and powerful until they can take care of themselves. A punishment much match the crime. Mercy is a double edged sword, powerful and dangerous all at once.
Flaws: After his years of service, he has taken to the bottle rather hard in his off times. The things he saw in his childhood haunt him every night. Especially visions of...her. Is uncomfortable in the cold, not physically, but due to a psychological effect the feelings triggers in his mind.
History: Kurtrin was a proselyte, a quickly rising one, when a family declared war on the Monastic Order. It seemed silly at first to the five year old. Although he was sheltered for the next twelve years, once he took the Silver, the fresh paladin was thrown into the frozen hell known as the Caer Skirmishes. Skirmishes. What a joke. The historians who called it such don't know what happened. The utter chaos and slaughter those monsters brought. For four years he endured that hell, until, through proving himself in the field, he was moved to a protection detail for one of the Bishops of the church.
It was there he met Avacyn Caer, in her attempt to end the life of one of the higher ranking members of the church. He had the scars left from her assault. He'd help swing the many blades it took to take that horrid creature to its end. He suffered the consequences. The night terrors. The cold sweats. Sometimes, he could still hear her voice.
And now, with the arrival of seemingly another Caeruleum uprising, Kurtrin 'The Golden' Hayes, Paladin with a service record of over fifty years, begins to feel a familiar chill...
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CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Name: Kagdun of the Ebon Flange
Race: Mira - Ironclaw Tribe
Age: Adult age, lost count of years
Build: A warrior's build. A fight's build. A physique meant to intimidate the meek, and bring about violence.
Hair/Fur: Dirty-off white fur with streaks / spots of darker coloring, ranging from ashy grey to black
Eyes: Sky blue cyan, bright and piercing
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 256 lbs
Equipment: Brass-iron chest plate. Iron chain mail hauberk that goes down to just above the knees. Scale mail gauntlets and boots. A heavy, hand-and-a-half black steel flanged mace, which Kagdun often wields from the back of his mount (a giant albino dire boar with minimal hard-leather barding). These things, sometimes minus the boar, the Miran warleader always carries with him, along with three enchanted items:
A white-gold Miran tail ring) This rune engraved ring, more a circlet fitted around a fluffy tail, gifts the fur-face with unnaturally quick reflexes for his size, but this only activates if Kagdun is attacked from the side or from behind. As such, it also doubles as an early warning system in the events of sneak attacks. As one more added bonus, as long as he wears the ring to sleep, this protective ring's properties continue to work even then.
A violet amethyst studded horned iron helm) Despite the four horns made of raw gemstone, one pointing in each cardinal direction, this helmet comes across as a very crude piece of work, but this is intentional. The purpose of this head wear is incredibly simple, and that's to protect its owner from projectiles...but only the head. Everything from the base of the neck down is fair game, if you have fair aim.
A crackling, warm-to-the-touch shard of obsidian glass) This particular item's uses are twofold. The first activates when placed in the pommel of any melee weapon, and its a rather simple effect. The afflicted weapon becomes wreathed in black-on-white flames, causing strikes and blows dealt to not only burn its victims flesh, but also the mind, disrupting arcane capabilities in equal proportion to damages. This effect can only be used once a day, and only for a fifteen minute interval. The second use is far more complicated, and dangerous. If shattered, a dangerous and nigh-uncontrollable creature, seemingly composed of the same ebony and ivory flame leaps forth, attacking anything and everything in sight, until it burns itself out. This...being...is excessively dangerous, and Kagdun is loathe to release the magic starved elemental unless the situation is incredibly dire, and he can guarantee his own escape.
Skills: Having been raised among the Ironclaw, the Ebon Flange has been trained in the ways of war. Gifted with proficiency in a variety of both armed and unarmed combat, nothing in his wide repertoire comes close to his otherworldly gift with the long mace from which he earned his nickname. A skilled rider as well, and an able, if simplistic, tactician, its no wonder the Mira has managed to accrue a small but steadily growing band of mercenaries, thugs, and raiders.
Brief History: Kagdun doesn't speak much about his life prior to his exile from the Ironclaw. Few, if any, of his merry band of cutthroats know that their leader bears the title of Shahta'an, although not officially, as he was never formally exiled. Instead, his banishment comes in the form of never being able to return, for fear of his own life. His hands are stained with the blood of his kin, a cousin, and a lover who spurned him for said relative. Both were slain by his hand, and when their leader, Raast, found out what he had done, Kagdun's life was considered forfeit. Instead of facing his alpha with courage, and accepting his fate, the one-time coward ran. Ran far, ran fast, and never looked back. He did not escape unscathed, however. Twice, he was nearly caught, and twice, he suffered terrible wounds. Hence why a good three inches is missing from his tail. Why the skin under his fur, particularly around the ribs, spine, and shoulders, are covered in brutal, terrible scar tissue. Why several fangs are missing from his jaw, three in total.
Since then, he's lived the life of a bandit, where he slowly began to make a name for himself. Traveling merchants began to disappear, found gutted. Then, it would escalate to small caravans. Somewhere alone the line, he acquired the skill to ride into combat, and with it, his ferocious flesh-eating white steed, the dire boar Snow Tusk. He cultured a reputation steeped in fear, and power, and such things drew other dangerous folk to his side. Over the years, his numbers have grown, from one, to ten, to forty bordering fifty. Vicious men, deceitful elves, war hungry orcs, the list goes on. Some came with nothing but swords, spears, and shields. Some came with horse or pony. Some came with crossbows and javelins. A couple came with gifts both arcane and divine. A savage group, raiding trade convoys and small fiefs, a scourge to the common folk, and to those caught unaware in general. In the lands in which they roam, few don't know the name of the warband which the Ebon Flange leads, and its banner, tattered and bloodstained.
A mira skull, painted red with sanguine, on a patchwork field of collected flags of surrender and the dried skin of fallen foes. The calling card of the Crimson Pride.
Race: Mira - Ironclaw Tribe
Age: Adult age, lost count of years
Build: A warrior's build. A fight's build. A physique meant to intimidate the meek, and bring about violence.
Hair/Fur: Dirty-off white fur with streaks / spots of darker coloring, ranging from ashy grey to black
Eyes: Sky blue cyan, bright and piercing
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 256 lbs
Equipment: Brass-iron chest plate. Iron chain mail hauberk that goes down to just above the knees. Scale mail gauntlets and boots. A heavy, hand-and-a-half black steel flanged mace, which Kagdun often wields from the back of his mount (a giant albino dire boar with minimal hard-leather barding). These things, sometimes minus the boar, the Miran warleader always carries with him, along with three enchanted items:
A white-gold Miran tail ring) This rune engraved ring, more a circlet fitted around a fluffy tail, gifts the fur-face with unnaturally quick reflexes for his size, but this only activates if Kagdun is attacked from the side or from behind. As such, it also doubles as an early warning system in the events of sneak attacks. As one more added bonus, as long as he wears the ring to sleep, this protective ring's properties continue to work even then.
A violet amethyst studded horned iron helm) Despite the four horns made of raw gemstone, one pointing in each cardinal direction, this helmet comes across as a very crude piece of work, but this is intentional. The purpose of this head wear is incredibly simple, and that's to protect its owner from projectiles...but only the head. Everything from the base of the neck down is fair game, if you have fair aim.
A crackling, warm-to-the-touch shard of obsidian glass) This particular item's uses are twofold. The first activates when placed in the pommel of any melee weapon, and its a rather simple effect. The afflicted weapon becomes wreathed in black-on-white flames, causing strikes and blows dealt to not only burn its victims flesh, but also the mind, disrupting arcane capabilities in equal proportion to damages. This effect can only be used once a day, and only for a fifteen minute interval. The second use is far more complicated, and dangerous. If shattered, a dangerous and nigh-uncontrollable creature, seemingly composed of the same ebony and ivory flame leaps forth, attacking anything and everything in sight, until it burns itself out. This...being...is excessively dangerous, and Kagdun is loathe to release the magic starved elemental unless the situation is incredibly dire, and he can guarantee his own escape.
Skills: Having been raised among the Ironclaw, the Ebon Flange has been trained in the ways of war. Gifted with proficiency in a variety of both armed and unarmed combat, nothing in his wide repertoire comes close to his otherworldly gift with the long mace from which he earned his nickname. A skilled rider as well, and an able, if simplistic, tactician, its no wonder the Mira has managed to accrue a small but steadily growing band of mercenaries, thugs, and raiders.
Brief History: Kagdun doesn't speak much about his life prior to his exile from the Ironclaw. Few, if any, of his merry band of cutthroats know that their leader bears the title of Shahta'an, although not officially, as he was never formally exiled. Instead, his banishment comes in the form of never being able to return, for fear of his own life. His hands are stained with the blood of his kin, a cousin, and a lover who spurned him for said relative. Both were slain by his hand, and when their leader, Raast, found out what he had done, Kagdun's life was considered forfeit. Instead of facing his alpha with courage, and accepting his fate, the one-time coward ran. Ran far, ran fast, and never looked back. He did not escape unscathed, however. Twice, he was nearly caught, and twice, he suffered terrible wounds. Hence why a good three inches is missing from his tail. Why the skin under his fur, particularly around the ribs, spine, and shoulders, are covered in brutal, terrible scar tissue. Why several fangs are missing from his jaw, three in total.
Since then, he's lived the life of a bandit, where he slowly began to make a name for himself. Traveling merchants began to disappear, found gutted. Then, it would escalate to small caravans. Somewhere alone the line, he acquired the skill to ride into combat, and with it, his ferocious flesh-eating white steed, the dire boar Snow Tusk. He cultured a reputation steeped in fear, and power, and such things drew other dangerous folk to his side. Over the years, his numbers have grown, from one, to ten, to forty bordering fifty. Vicious men, deceitful elves, war hungry orcs, the list goes on. Some came with nothing but swords, spears, and shields. Some came with horse or pony. Some came with crossbows and javelins. A couple came with gifts both arcane and divine. A savage group, raiding trade convoys and small fiefs, a scourge to the common folk, and to those caught unaware in general. In the lands in which they roam, few don't know the name of the warband which the Ebon Flange leads, and its banner, tattered and bloodstained.
A mira skull, painted red with sanguine, on a patchwork field of collected flags of surrender and the dried skin of fallen foes. The calling card of the Crimson Pride.
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CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Full Name: Harik Jayie
Title: The Icebrand
Age: 19 Years Old
Gender: Male
Bloodtype: B-
Bloodline: Caeruleum Lineage (Diluted through generational skip)
Species: Human-Caer Hybrid
Occupation: Traveling pyromancer / Professional treasure seeker
Orientation: Bi (Prefers Males)
Physical Traits
Overall Attractiveness: Above fair
Eye Color: Dark blue, almost dull
Glasses or Contacts: Never
Hair Color: Raven black with a blue-ish sheen
Hairstyle: Natural bed-head looks, similarly feathered hair
Weight: 153 lbs
Height: 5’9”
Skin Tone: Only the barest scraps of bronze cling to otherwise porcelain skin
Dominant Feature: The eyebrows and eyes
Psychic: Somewhat
Persona
Favorites:
Color: Red, has had a fascination since birth
Music: Classic Rock
Literature: Historical Fiction
Mode of Transportation: Foot
Habits:
Drinking: Yes, when he can
Smoking: Same as drinking, only doubly so
Mannerisms: Lazy and hedonistic when not on the job / Ridiculously series when on a job or excited
Optimist or Pessimist? Optimist
Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert
Logical or Emotional? Emotional
Business or Pleasure? Depends on the situation
Confident? Very
Animal Lover? They’ve never liked him, so no
Greatest Strength: Apart from mastery over the more clever tricks one can do with arcane fire, Harik possesses an extraordinary amount of determination
Greatest Weakness: Tends to get too “relaxed” a lot more than he probably should
Priority: Find out why he can’t get Lutetia out of his damned head
Philosophy: You only get one, let’s make it fun~
Religion: None (yet)
Background
Familial Relations:
Mother: Albatala Thalaj Jayie (Missing)
Father: Habdul Jayie (Missing, presumed dead)
Brother(s): None
Sister(s): None
Aunts/Uncles: Nox Caeruleum (Great Uncle)
Grandparents: Carmina Caeruleum (Deceased)
Homeland: Caldonia - Valore
Type of childhood: Lots of traveling, some fun, a fair bit of time spent worrying, and always feeling incomplete
First Memory: Waking up and feeling hungry
Education: More or less homeschooled in his early life, has taught himself primarily during his travels
Biography: Caldonia wasn’t an easy part of the world to grow up in. No place on Valore really is, but physically, few match the toll the heat and the sands take on you. Harik was born to a mother from distant Lutetia, a woman possessed by voices and dark urges to harm herself, and sometimes others. His father loved his mother all the same, and for many years, kept both his family safe from his dearest Albatala.
Sometime during his adolescences, Harik developed a fascination with fire. One that his father disapproved of, but one that his disturbed mother encouraged. Said it would be good for the ‘family’, but for some reason, her husband could never tell which family she meant. They found him a plethora of teachers and masters and sages to teach him the ways of the flame. The sheer power of fire, the draining powers of sand and salt, and most importantly, the influential trickery that raw heat can force upon the eyes and ears. Around this same time, two sins began to consume more and more of his thoughts:
Hunger and Greed
After his parents went missing, he roamed the land with his skills, finding promises of treasure and adventure, all the while cultivating a sort of filthy reputation amongst others that shared his profession of interest. He’s lived this life for about three and a half years now, making and losing a good number of friends, enemies, and partners, but for about a month now, his dreams have been invaded by one place. Lutetia. His mother’s homeland. He feels drawn there, almost as if not by choice, but by instincts he can’t ignore, and after weeks of fighting, the Icebrand has fellow step foot in the borders of the city proper…
View attachment 161
Title: The Icebrand
Age: 19 Years Old
Gender: Male
Bloodtype: B-
Bloodline: Caeruleum Lineage (Diluted through generational skip)
Species: Human-Caer Hybrid
Occupation: Traveling pyromancer / Professional treasure seeker
Orientation: Bi (Prefers Males)
Physical Traits
Overall Attractiveness: Above fair
Eye Color: Dark blue, almost dull
Glasses or Contacts: Never
Hair Color: Raven black with a blue-ish sheen
Hairstyle: Natural bed-head looks, similarly feathered hair
Weight: 153 lbs
Height: 5’9”
Skin Tone: Only the barest scraps of bronze cling to otherwise porcelain skin
Dominant Feature: The eyebrows and eyes
Psychic: Somewhat
Persona
Favorites:
Color: Red, has had a fascination since birth
Music: Classic Rock
Literature: Historical Fiction
Mode of Transportation: Foot
Habits:
Drinking: Yes, when he can
Smoking: Same as drinking, only doubly so
Mannerisms: Lazy and hedonistic when not on the job / Ridiculously series when on a job or excited
Optimist or Pessimist? Optimist
Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert
Logical or Emotional? Emotional
Business or Pleasure? Depends on the situation
Confident? Very
Animal Lover? They’ve never liked him, so no
Greatest Strength: Apart from mastery over the more clever tricks one can do with arcane fire, Harik possesses an extraordinary amount of determination
Greatest Weakness: Tends to get too “relaxed” a lot more than he probably should
Priority: Find out why he can’t get Lutetia out of his damned head
Philosophy: You only get one, let’s make it fun~
Religion: None (yet)
Background
Familial Relations:
Mother: Albatala Thalaj Jayie (Missing)
Father: Habdul Jayie (Missing, presumed dead)
Brother(s): None
Sister(s): None
Aunts/Uncles: Nox Caeruleum (Great Uncle)
Grandparents: Carmina Caeruleum (Deceased)
Homeland: Caldonia - Valore
Type of childhood: Lots of traveling, some fun, a fair bit of time spent worrying, and always feeling incomplete
First Memory: Waking up and feeling hungry
Education: More or less homeschooled in his early life, has taught himself primarily during his travels
Biography: Caldonia wasn’t an easy part of the world to grow up in. No place on Valore really is, but physically, few match the toll the heat and the sands take on you. Harik was born to a mother from distant Lutetia, a woman possessed by voices and dark urges to harm herself, and sometimes others. His father loved his mother all the same, and for many years, kept both his family safe from his dearest Albatala.
Sometime during his adolescences, Harik developed a fascination with fire. One that his father disapproved of, but one that his disturbed mother encouraged. Said it would be good for the ‘family’, but for some reason, her husband could never tell which family she meant. They found him a plethora of teachers and masters and sages to teach him the ways of the flame. The sheer power of fire, the draining powers of sand and salt, and most importantly, the influential trickery that raw heat can force upon the eyes and ears. Around this same time, two sins began to consume more and more of his thoughts:
Hunger and Greed
After his parents went missing, he roamed the land with his skills, finding promises of treasure and adventure, all the while cultivating a sort of filthy reputation amongst others that shared his profession of interest. He’s lived this life for about three and a half years now, making and losing a good number of friends, enemies, and partners, but for about a month now, his dreams have been invaded by one place. Lutetia. His mother’s homeland. He feels drawn there, almost as if not by choice, but by instincts he can’t ignore, and after weeks of fighting, the Icebrand has fellow step foot in the borders of the city proper…
View attachment 161
CaerBear
Well-Known Member
Name: Hachu Yukime
Age: 27
Nationality: Lutetian, raised most of his life in Shintechi
Weight: 6'2"
Height: 157 lbs
Hair: A bright crimson in shade, far too long to be manageable, with only the slightest of waves to it
Eyes: A dirty pale blue, more grey than anything
Abilities and Powers: A magician of all sorts by trade, though not the adventurous type, save a few rare instances. A practitioner of many schools, being most adept at the art of conjuration and summoning, though is still a fair hand at divination and evocation both Natural and Arcane.
-Conjuration and Summoning: A list of servants nearly a mile long, Hachu's reach into the Planes is deep and practiced. Minor demons and devils answer his call, as well as elementals and various forms of lesser celestials. Other beings answer his call, such as otherworldly drakes and fel-corrupted lizards from planes long since fallen into the Abyss. While it is impossible for even he to gauge his own power in this field accurately, if one had to measure a guess by some sort of standard, Tiranoth's Law of Circles would reason him to be nearly a master of the Third Circle, and now, the Shintechi native seeks to move on to more powerful entities. While most rely on rituals and complicated runic patterns to properly summon and control these beings, Hachu is gifted with a family heirloom, a ring of pure white-gold, free of any sort of engraving or mark, and yet, seems to function as some sort of planar conduit, allowing him to call forth creatures with the power of his voice alone.
-Divination: While not a novice at this craft, the magician knowledge of this school of the arcane is by the weakest he boasts. Location of unshrouded people within a mile's radius is the best he can normally muster, and even non-magical disguises seem to fool him at times.
Evocation, Natural and Arcane: Simply put, evocational magic is that which has the ability to harm or damage. Offensive spells meant for battle, or defensive spells that focus more on striking back than outright protection. In this, he is modestly gifted, having access to spells derived from raw force, psychic manipulation of the physical, weaponized mana in its raw form, electricity, and harmful toxic vapors.
Brief History: Born to a well off but far from wealthy family in Shintechi's more rural provinces, his father's lineage hailed from overseas, on the continent of Issunar though he too had spent all but the first four or so years of his life on the oriental island nation. His mother, a proper mage in her own right, had encouraged the young man to follow her on the path of the arcane, and was the first to guide him into the world of pulling forth outsiders and binding them to your will. It seemed the fiery redhead had a gift for such, enslaving his first Hellhound by the age of eleven. Seeing this, his father, a man ever silent about his bloodline's history, passed onto him a ring that he said had belong to his great grandfather. When Hachu pressed him on who this man was, the father was ever and always stalwart and resistant to answer. Eventually, he was given an answer, though not one so direct.
When the time had finally come that his mother had no more to teach him, Hachu's father approached him during his packing. Originally, he'd intended to set off for Caldonia, to study the art of calling forth capacious djinn and smoldering ifrits. Instead of this, at the last possible moment, the parent told the son to instead seek out Tiranoth, on the continent of his birth. His father hadn't quite seemed himself then, and it had made the young mage uneasy, but his progenitors had already booked him passage, by boat no less. So it was that Hachu set off for the Necropolis of Issunar, unsure what to expect, and unsure why he was sent...
Age: 27
Nationality: Lutetian, raised most of his life in Shintechi
Weight: 6'2"
Height: 157 lbs
Hair: A bright crimson in shade, far too long to be manageable, with only the slightest of waves to it
Eyes: A dirty pale blue, more grey than anything
Abilities and Powers: A magician of all sorts by trade, though not the adventurous type, save a few rare instances. A practitioner of many schools, being most adept at the art of conjuration and summoning, though is still a fair hand at divination and evocation both Natural and Arcane.
-Conjuration and Summoning: A list of servants nearly a mile long, Hachu's reach into the Planes is deep and practiced. Minor demons and devils answer his call, as well as elementals and various forms of lesser celestials. Other beings answer his call, such as otherworldly drakes and fel-corrupted lizards from planes long since fallen into the Abyss. While it is impossible for even he to gauge his own power in this field accurately, if one had to measure a guess by some sort of standard, Tiranoth's Law of Circles would reason him to be nearly a master of the Third Circle, and now, the Shintechi native seeks to move on to more powerful entities. While most rely on rituals and complicated runic patterns to properly summon and control these beings, Hachu is gifted with a family heirloom, a ring of pure white-gold, free of any sort of engraving or mark, and yet, seems to function as some sort of planar conduit, allowing him to call forth creatures with the power of his voice alone.
-Divination: While not a novice at this craft, the magician knowledge of this school of the arcane is by the weakest he boasts. Location of unshrouded people within a mile's radius is the best he can normally muster, and even non-magical disguises seem to fool him at times.
Evocation, Natural and Arcane: Simply put, evocational magic is that which has the ability to harm or damage. Offensive spells meant for battle, or defensive spells that focus more on striking back than outright protection. In this, he is modestly gifted, having access to spells derived from raw force, psychic manipulation of the physical, weaponized mana in its raw form, electricity, and harmful toxic vapors.
Brief History: Born to a well off but far from wealthy family in Shintechi's more rural provinces, his father's lineage hailed from overseas, on the continent of Issunar though he too had spent all but the first four or so years of his life on the oriental island nation. His mother, a proper mage in her own right, had encouraged the young man to follow her on the path of the arcane, and was the first to guide him into the world of pulling forth outsiders and binding them to your will. It seemed the fiery redhead had a gift for such, enslaving his first Hellhound by the age of eleven. Seeing this, his father, a man ever silent about his bloodline's history, passed onto him a ring that he said had belong to his great grandfather. When Hachu pressed him on who this man was, the father was ever and always stalwart and resistant to answer. Eventually, he was given an answer, though not one so direct.
When the time had finally come that his mother had no more to teach him, Hachu's father approached him during his packing. Originally, he'd intended to set off for Caldonia, to study the art of calling forth capacious djinn and smoldering ifrits. Instead of this, at the last possible moment, the parent told the son to instead seek out Tiranoth, on the continent of his birth. His father hadn't quite seemed himself then, and it had made the young mage uneasy, but his progenitors had already booked him passage, by boat no less. So it was that Hachu set off for the Necropolis of Issunar, unsure what to expect, and unsure why he was sent...