[Characters] The Covenant

[Hanz]

Post your basic info, character sheets and backgrounds ONLY here.

[jaerauq]

Name: Amery Indenbriar
Age: 17
Alignment:Lawful Good
Class:Cleric
Deity: Korada
Height:6' 0"
Weight:124 lbs.
Skin: Fair with a spiral of korada on her forehead.
Hair:Blonde
Eyes: indigo
Domains: Healing and Magic
Motto: I am the light. No matter where I go, or what I see. I will smile and sing praises.

 

 

Description: This lithe but tightly muscled young girl has a smile that can only be described as wanton and simple. She is not dumb in any wise, but her single minded dedication to her deity has made her seem more welcoming and easily trod on than she actually is. She wears an ornate but scarred suit of fabric laden armor, and a wooden shield with the hammer and anvil of house Rous. Why she wears another houses shield, is the question of many... On her hip is a white metal morningstar and her back pack is laden with scrolls and cure-alls. She is a bit dirty, as she has been moving from battlefield to battlefield, and has not returned to the city in a very long while... She wears a "slightly too large" suit of patchwork armor. Rent and resewn in a dozen different places. The Armor is washed, but it appears quite well used. Her shield is uncharacteristically large as well, almost a tower in her hands with iron spikes running up the length and width of it. And she holds her morningstar high, unnatural light giving it a holy glow occasionally. She has seen enough war to become detached, as she is yet to be wounded in battle. She does not fear, she simply smiles and does her duty.

 

 

Personality: Bubbly is the misconception. She is quite dedicated to bring others to the path of light and good. She will do whatever is necessary to further the agenda of the Holy Pantheon, but as she is still a girl her capabilities are quite limited. She is wise beyond her years if not a bit bold. Her actions are always premeditated, and her words are rarely idle. She will sing whenever she can, though she is no bard, in praise to the Holy Pantheon, and she will raise the spirits of her friends. She thinks no man is a lost cause and if allowed, will naively try to spread the good will of the Holy Pantheon and the ways of enlightenment.

 

Backstory: Amery earned her status among the clerical ranks of Sumdiveas at a young age. She started out her life as a simple milkmaid singing songs to the gods of Harvest and praying for good will. Her mother and father, who raised her in a small Korada worshipping sanctuary village, had raised her kindly and taught her all she knows. Her father was a monk of Korada and taught her the ways of meditation. She had been destined to become a monk when she was 7, though she was quite unskilled in the art of unarmed combat, but her father had always commented on her inability to discipline herself... so she had never earned her monk capabilities when the Summermist army came rolling through
The elders and children hid beneath the hillfort of the village, while her mother and father (both monks of Korada) went out to defend the village... Weeks passed and eventually the food dwindled. When Amery and the others emerged to the ruins of the village. Amery was crushed. She fled into the wilderness and started a great pilgrimage to learn why the gods had taken away her family... at age 11 her travels brought her to Sumdiveas. The Church of Korada took her in immediately and she rose the echelons of the church. She met little resistance on her way to becoming a full fledged cleric, eager to do the will of her god. If she is in the city at all, (as she hasn't been recently) she spends much of her time living in the streets of the city praising her God and spreading his word to the downtrodden under the watchful guard of Pudd the mentally ill older altarboy and skilled Spearman.

 

Roleplay Example:

The rising smoke and fetid miasma from the filthy battlefield around her caused the men to choke as Amery and her brood checked the rising piles of corpses for Sumdivean survivors. As Amery bowed to examine a corpse, the procession of monks and greybeards began to drone. Above them the spiral of Korada hung proudly in gold and silver.
Below Amery, a Summermist squire writhed in pain from his shock-seizures. His chestplate rent open from a halberd still in place. Amery shook her head. It was out of the question. "I'm sorry lad...its not your lucky day...Pudd!" She called behind her dismissively. The dumb, brow beaten lad drooled as he slammed his spear remorselessly into the squire. The squire twitched a bit more, and then watered the churned earth with his blood. Amery ignored the scene, singing to herself a simple farm song as she found a Sumdivean knight beside a shorn black mare with a horrendous lance wound through chest.
Amery stopped her song and rushed to the aid of the knight, muttering the words to a minor healing spell as she simultaneously pulled the cracking lance from her throat. Blood gushed. The lady knight wore a cheap suit of armor, made mainly out of reforged dinnerplates and interlaced fabrics. Amery pulled out splinters of Summermist pine from the wound, but it seems there was no staunching it.
"Don't waste..." The Older woman began to say. Amery knew her well... this was the hedgeknight who had forged her morningstar... the girl she had healed whenever she entered the lists. "...Don't waste your magics on me.." Amery began to protest, until the woman moved her lower armor back to show her gaping entrails, ripped open by a savage sword cut. This woman was already dead... "Don't mourn... me." Amery put an ear to the knights mouth. She was not sorrowful. Diana wasn't the only friend she'd lost to this war. "Take my, hammer... bring it to my father. Take...nngg...shield... you must tell the tale of Diana Rous the hedgenight wherever you wear it..." and with a gurgling death rattle of the Hedge-knight was gone. Amery looked up with a solemn smile as the smoke rose higher. More corpses were being piled and burned. Amery took up the amazingly heavy steel warhammer in her thin and waifish grip. The weapon was well crafted no doubt. But she could never wield such a weapon. She gestured to Pudd. The slow but muscular boy was eager to do his duty, though his mind was not right and he didn't seem to comprehend the actions he took. In the eyes of the church, Pudd was little more than a a machine to carry out the gods will. But Amery pitied Pudd. She handed Pudd the Warhammer and said: "It's for Duke Rous. See that it gets to him." The boy waddled off eagerly, his spear held high like a banner. "I envy that boy's sense of duty." She heard the elder seneschal say in passing, censer swinging as he passed. She looked back at her feet and grabbed up the shield. "Another day of death. Korada grant me strength"

The gifted red and violet Rous shield was Ironwood and rent, but Amery took it gladly as a gift from the dead. She needed a new shield anyway after last weeks incident, and her little buckler was thoroughly unsuitable. "May the Pantheon remember your sacrifice... for all men surely will." Amery moved away to find herself a torch. The piles needed burning as the night fell... and the rats would soon be out to defile the heroes.

[Hanz]

[dbaque]

Name: Sir Galahad Corben
Age: 70, still young for his kind
Race: Tiefling (Pitborn, Soul Seer, Fiendish Sprinter racial variants)
Class: Paladin (Holy Tactician archetype)
Alignment: Lawful Good
Deity: Ragathiel

 

The heavy clank of mail sounds as Galahad enters the room. The holy knight cuts a grim figure. Even through his heavy armor & helm, the marks of his tainted blood are plain. Crimson eyes glare through his visor, while horns & cloven feet peak out. The crest of Sumdiveas is visible on his cloak and tabard. While certainly unsettling, there is no air of malice about the armored warrior.

 

House Corben takes great pains to hide its ancient shame, an old dalliance with demons. However, the tainted blood invariably reveals itself every few generations. Galahad's was one such generation, bearing the unmistakable marks of his demonic heritage. Much of his life was spent demonstrating time and again that he was nothing like his fiendish forebears.

Galahad faced all manner of distrust and scorn as a boy and as a cadet in Sumdiveas' military academy. This opposition only drove the young tiefling harder to prove himself the equal of his peers, if not more. He warred unceasingly against his baser nature with an iron discipline. He developed into a fine warrior and cunning tactician. Despite his fiendish appearance, few men were more honorable and noble, on or off the battlefield.

Despite his stellar efforts, after his graduation from the academy, none would take the lad as a squire, none save a servant of Ragathiel the Empyreal Lord. The holy knight saw in the lad a kindred spirit to his own master, an archdevil's son who rose to become a fierce commander of Heaven's hosts. Galahad came to see the same, and few patrons possessed a more devoted servant than the young tiefling. With the war against Summerloft, Galahad had plenty of opportunity to show his mettle and righteous fury. His efforts in the war not only earned him his knighthood, but his dogged determination also caught the eye of Prince Albert.

 

The armored tiefling waits patiently outside the tent flap. His stance betrays only his years of military discipline and none of puzzlement & anxiety brewing his mind at his unexpected summons. A rustle from inside brings him sharply to attention. The flap is drawn back as various captains and commanders of Sumdiveas' armies file out from the meeting. Galahad does not miss the not-a-few glares and sneers sent his way by certain of the officers, but his face remains impassive behind his helm. The file ends, and some time passes. Then, a page peeks his head out of the tent and signals Galahad inside: "The prince will see you now." Nodding, he steps inside to find Prince Albert poring over a map of the battlefield. The soldier bows low and quietly stands at attention.

The prince at last looks up at his summoned guest. He walks up to the tiefling, regarding him before addressing him. "Galahad of House Corben," the prince remarks and, as if reading from a ledger, goes through the tiefling's accomplishments. "... and presently squire to Sir William the Ragathielan."

"Aye, m'lord," Galahad replies concisely but respectfully.

Gaze still fixed probingly upon the tiefling's crimson eyes, the prince continues: "Still, not one officer or noble has vouched for your character. Nor has any seen fit to recommend you for promotion, save Sir William."

With a crestfallen lilt from the reminder, he answers: "Nay, none, m'lord."

"Has your family any tradition in Sumdiveas' military ranks?"

"Nay, m'lord. My entry is the first in many generations." A seething voice whispers within him that the prince already knows all this and is merely making sport of him. The tiefling mentally quashes the familiar voice with pitiless rigor. As so many times before, it is but a prelude to his savage blood's usual cries for satisfaction. Schooled and disciplined as he is, the tiefling does not let on as to this war within.

"Then, Galahad," the prince concludes, "why are you here? Why do you think yourself worthy of joining the ranks of Sumdiveas' knights?"

The voice within rages anew, steely resolve alone keeping its fury impotent. "Permission to speak freely, m'lord?" The prince offers a curious nod. In a voice, mellifluous despite the subtle grating beneath, "M'lord, none are worthy to join the knights' august ranks, save they of exemplar personal virtue, boundless determination, and proven loyalty to fair Sumdiveas. I am neither so bold nor so sagacious to weigh my own worth. That task is in the more capable hands of you, m'lord, and my master, Sir William. My purpose here is but to discover whether I, all effort and diligence poured out, might possibly be deemed so worthy. I do apologize that I can provide no sagacious voice to vouch for me," hinting no ire for his scornful detractors. "I have only my own efforts and merits to speak on my behalf, m'lord."

Prince Albert stares intently at the tiefling in silence before bidding him to doff his helm. Galahad blinks confusedly but complies. The eerie horns of his helm are not mere decoration but rather fitted to his own. Ruddy complexion frames blood-red eyes. Tight lips hide wickedly sharp teeth. Heedless, the prince looks all the more intently at Galahad, seemingly staring into his soul. Some moments of this pass in silence. Prince Albert breaks the silence: "Worthy indeed you have proven and more besides. Once your master has dubbed you, return here. I have need of the services of a knight such as you."

A surprised Galahad brightens, "Gladly, m'lord. And thank you." Redonning his helm, he bows and takes his leave, all the while wondering what mission the prince might have for him.

[Herb]

Name: Knight Brother Ferris
Age: 71
Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin *Sword of Valor Archetype*
Alignment: Lawful Good
Diety: Iomedae

 

 

Appearance:

Ferris stands at a rather daunting 6 foot 5 inches, and has a broad and powerfully built frame. A long sword always rests in his scabbard at his side and large shield hangs from hooks on his back, well polished and protected armour showing underneath a warm and well made cloak. When he's not wearing his helmet his long coppery locks of hair hang down just past his collars and a thick beard adorns his chin, though most note of his golden gleaming eyes that almost seem to penetrate into your soul and judge you on the spot.

 

Background:

Ferris was a simple man in his childhood growing up in the shelters of his fathers Manor house, being taught to be a nobleman and how to act and attribute yourself in such situations, but for Ferris is was simply not what caught him, so he petitioned his father to allow him to train as a knight in addition to his studies. Many heated hours of debate and bartering later and the deal was struck.

For most of his young life he trained during the morning as a nobleman, and the afternoon was taken up with sword craft and fighting practice. This carried on until one particular day when he was out with both his parents and his small convoy was attacked by a large group of bandits, the guards martialed it's defence quickly and the fight was upon them, Ferris being the way he was launched off his horse and plowed into the fray when he saw a small unit of his guards get flanked. Simply unable to sit and watch them killed he charged into the flanking bandits and held them off long enough for the guards to regroup and come into to join the fight.

After such a heroic display his father realised that he was simply not cut out for a life at court, instead he spoke to Ferris and agreed to send him off for proper training as a Paladin. It was during his training he first came to the attention of Iomedae, and he became aware of a strange sensation watching him from afar. The Paladins training him took more interest in training him and pushing him further and further then he thought he could ever manage to go.

 

RP Sample

 

The carriage rolled down the dusty road a handful of guards mounted on horseback surrounding it, their eyes scanning the horizon as much as the road infront and behind them. Out of nowhere an arrow whizzed through the air and stuck the carriage frame, guards alerted by the thud spun into action and pulled the slow moving carriage to a stop and surrounded it. Shouts erupted from the woods on either side as armed bandits stormed out and attacked the guards.

Ferris and his family where well protected by the guards as the sounds of fighting clashed around them, he moved to leave the safety but his father quickly pulled him back.

'Get your ass back in here! That's what they're paid to do...protect us!' his father barked trying to pull down the protective shutters.

Ferris looked distraught and look at his father pleadingly 'The guard's are outnumbered father, they won't be around to be paid at this rate, and neither will we!'

Out of the corner of his eye Ferris spotted a small group of bandit's sneaking up past the side of a couple of guards and come in on there flanks. Ferris bolted then, quicker then his father could react. Ferris darted out of the door and had his sword drawn before shouting commands at the guards.

'Pull back!, concentrate your defence on the carriage. You're being flanked!' by the time the words had left his mouth the bandits were upon him, his training springing to his mind, his sword flicking deftly to parry and block attacks and occasiosnaly attack and assault when opening's appear.

 

[Muggins]

[CHARACTER SHEET]

Application Name: Baldwin Olyver. Race: Elf. Class: Wizard (Spellbinder!). Age: 147. Alignment: Lawful Neutral. Deity: Irori. Theme: Solitary Deep Sea Fish. Description: Baldwin, with his short, white hair and arrogant scowl, seems young for his age - even for an elf. Although pedantic, he's nevertheless a fair and just soul, caring for himself as much as he does others. Irori's sense of perfection has manifested in his choice of garb; practical, utilitarian and stylish. Short and slender, his most notable trinkets are his spellbook - a necessary item for all wizards, of course - and spectacles, both of which serve to emphasise his prideful, no-nonsense demeanor. Backstory:   Baldwin Olyver was born for greatness. It didn't matter that he was an orphan, abandoned on the steps of Irori's church to be raised. It didn't matter that he, as an elf, took the same time to reach adulthood as it took his childhood friends to have great-grandchildren. Above all, however, it didn't matter that he wasn't talented in the divine arts. Baldwin practiced for decades under the belief that, some day, he would unlock his inner potential and Irori would recognise him as a worthy scion. That day never came. Instead, when he was about ninety years of age, he met with an elven wizard - and, shortly after, began his training as a mage. While he never received recognition from Irori, he was content to bend the cosmos to his will, step by step, as many elves had learned to do over the centuries. His efforts eventually earned him a missive, inviting him to join the crusade as one of their worthy, competent paladins. He accepted, of course. RP Sample:   Of all things, being late was the thing that Baldwin hated the most. Whenever he could, he would always arrive early - however, there were others who didn't follow his dogma. They were the kinds of people who showed up half an hour late to everything, even though they'd been awake for hours earlier. Miranda was one of those people, and he's taken it upon himself to tell her what he felt. So Baldwin found himself, on all places, outside her house on a starry, moonlit evening. He could've hired a band of minstrels to draw her attention to the windowsill, but instead he'd chosen to fling rocks at her windows until one of them opened and a head popped out. After several minutes of doing this, however, he grew bored ans simply knocked on the door. "Miranda, I've something to tell you," he stated, most plainly, to the door. He knocked it thrice, as one must do with doors, and waited for her to arrive. Even if she hadn't heard him, there was something pleasant about stating one's intentions. The door opened. Inside, Mirandra's beautiful form stood in the slightest silhouette, illuminated by the light of candles within her house. "Baldwin?" she queried innocently, puzzled by Baldwin's arrival, "did I leave something behind, dear?" "No, save your words," Baldwin replied, "for I have come to break up with you. Yes, from this day forth, I have had it with your tardiness and forgetfulness. From this day forth, I will suffer no more from your incessant lateness! From now on, I shall walk alone on this dreary path we call life, for you have sentenced me to such a fate." "Baldwin, I'm flattered, but-" "Save your words, for they make this harder than it already is!" he declared, dramatic in tone and flair. An arm rested across his forehead as Baldwin gazed towards the night sky for a split second, then returned his distant gaze to Miranda. "I must go now, my love, before I grow any fonder of you," he sighed, "but please, know that while cannot stand your poor timing I enjoyed every moment we spent together. Know that I could not remain with you anyway, for I have been called to serve this great city. Know that I will miss you, Miranda!" "But we're not even-" "Farewell, Miranda!" Baldwin cried, so that all the neighbourhood might hear, as he fled into the night. It had been done; he had broken up with Miranda. Alas, he would have liked to have known her for longer than a month; perhaps there was something redeemable behind that tardy shell of hers, hidden away from prying eyes. He would never know, for he had received the call of the crusade and would remain a mere wizard no longer. No, starting from tomorrow, he would be a paladin. A majestic, marvelous paladin, the likes of which they'd never seen.