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Old Feb 2nd, 2014, 03:18 AM
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Djxyz2 Djxyz2 is offline
Mr Muscly
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Old Feb 5th, 2014, 12:09 PM
KingOldBoy KingOldBoy is offline
Mature Adult Dragon
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Tick Tukk


Tick Tukk best of goblins! Which means Tick Tukk best of all things! Well maybe Tick Tukk not best of goblins... Chief Ukk Lict can eat a whole badger. That is why he is chief and Tick Tukk is not. But Tick Tukk is better than all others! No stinky longshank is better than Tick Tukk. Tick Tukk has magic powers and they are the best magic powers. His powers come from his speed, which makes them strong! Tick Tukk no know where his powers come from though. The oracle says Tick Tukk is son of a god. Tick Tukk misunderstood and heard son of dog, so Tick Tukk kill oracle. Tick Tukk is goblin, not dog or god. Other goblins are jealous of Tick Tukk, so the kick Tick Tukk out of tribe. Tick Tukk no need tribe, Tick Tukk strong. Tick Tukk hears stories of "The Boss". Tick Tukk knows hes better than this "The Boss". So that is where Tick Tukk will go. Tick Tukk will show this "The Boss" how awesome Tick Tukk is. Nothing stops the amazing Tick Tukk. Tick Tukk always does and gets what Tick Tukk wants. Always.


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Old Feb 5th, 2014, 01:12 PM
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MundayKnight MundayKnight is offline
Now a Wizard
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Tharik Ironheart
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"I shall set your soul free"-Tharik Ironheart moments before his first kill.

Name: "I am the Son of Sin, the Child of Corruption, I am Tharik Ironheart and I come this day to set your soul at peace"

Race: "I am of the greedy creatures known as Dwarves. I have found myself to be less susceptible to the magics of my foes and have used this to my advantage many times."

Class: "I was being trained as a Monk mastering in the use of the bow in conjunction with the minds eye, I was thrown out of my monastery for they saw rage where there was none, my removal from the monastery has taught me to be adaptable and I have still retained my Vow of Truth, for lies are simple but insidious corruption."

Background: Tharik was born an outcast, his parents thrown from his clan for crimes Tharik he was never supposed to learn. As he grew his parents taught him hatred of his clan, hatred rooted in their banishment and nourished with lies and imagined slights. Tharik was trained from a young age in the arts of fighting but found that he was not exceptional with the axe or crossbow, and his only real talent seemed to be taking hits better than anyone around until his parents found him practicing with a bow in the forest near their home. He was no prodigy but his persistence and the peace that overcame him when shooting a bow made his parents feel genuine joy for their child.

Over time Tharik got better and eventually his parents sent him to a monastery to train in the ancient techniques of the Zen Archer. His masters there found him to be a quick study in most things but despite their best efforts they could never teach the young dwarf forgiveness, nor could they teach him the moral code his monastery held onto. Eventually they brought an emissary from his clan to the monastery so that the dwarf could learn of his people and possibly find that there was nothing to hate his clan for. When the emissary came in it required the master of the monastery to step between the young dwarf and the clan-member and debilitate Tharik before he would listen. When the emissary finished it took Tharik a moment to come to grips with what had happened, his mother and father had been thrown out of the clan for killing his father's brother and wife because they were taking Tharik's fathers business, a crime beyond repentance in the Ironheart clan.

Tharik continued training at the monastery for some time but was eventually kicked out because he could not quiet the rage inside himself other than when firing his bow. It is not rage that those fools seen in me, it is knowledge, the knowledge that all are wicked and for the peace of this world they must be cleansed... Tharik went home when he was kicked out and killed his parents, father first then mother, giving peace to their souls. He then left to go to his clanhold and lived with his people for a few years. He was finally thrown out when the tenth member of his clan was murdered with suspicion that it was Tharik who had done the killing as he was the only clan-member that used a bow and when asked of weather he killed them he spoke of having cleansed wickedness from the clan. They see not the corruption in their own kin, I committed no crime, I simply set the souls free of their greedy, wicked bodies... After being kicked out Tharik traveled to a nearby town and went to the inn to have a drink, while there he heard of a man who ran an enormous criminal empire. The more he heard of this "boss" fellow the more Tharik wished to find him, to learn from him, so that one day Tharik could use the resources of this society of thugs to cleanse the world of evil, knowing that it would end in him having to take his own life as all beings of thought in this world are wicked, even himself.

"How can I explain Tharik? Well he is strong willed, and tougher than any young being I have ever met but he has a fury in him that has not been tempered even with the years he has spent with us, I thought bringing his clansmen here to explain why his parents where outcasts may help but instead he seems to have simply reoriented his anger. I have heard him speak in his sleep, it seems to be a mantra and it terrifies me to my core, he simply says that the world is wicked and he shall cleanse it. Every night he says this and every time it seems more assured, as if he is convincing himself of something. When he is fighting and especially when he is using the bow he seems perfectly calm but outside of that circumstances violence seems to be a very short step away. I don't know what I can do to help him but I fear if we do not find a way to give him peace he will begin fulfilling his sleeping mantra."-From the diary of monk Korvas.



RP Sample:"Tharik get back to training, you haven't shot your thousand arrows for the day and I know you haven't done your running either. I would also like to talk to you when you are finished for the day."

Later that night after training has completed for the day.

"You asked to speak with me brother Korvas?" "Yes Tharik, what has been bothering you? You have never been the calmest of our members but you seem much more on edge today. I have also never seen you not do your training for the day, especially the practice with your bow. Is it what the emissary from the Ironheart clan said? I brought him here to help you get over your rage at the perceived injustice but if anything even more hatred has grown within your heart." "No brother Korvas, I hold no anger at what the man has told me, I simply see that I was right, there is wickedness in this world, in all of us, and it must be cleansed. Rage, fury, anger, these are all simply more ways for wickedness to enter the heart. I will continue training and my peace shall be found in the cleansing of evil in all its form, greed, lust, fury, complacency, all these things must be destroyed." "Tharik what you say sounds like you wish to purge the world of sin, this is a good ideal but there is no way of doing it other than the death of all sentient beings. While we may wish to end the evils of the world in doing so we must make sure we do not become something far worse." "But brother Korvas I already am something much worse, I am the child of murderers. I was born and raised to hate those that caused my parents such suffering and now I find that they brought it only upon themselves. I am wicked at my core and there is no way for me to deny this. A perfect world will not include me brother Korvas, but bringing it about will." "Thank you Tharik you may go now." Brother Korvas does not understand, he fears me and what I believe because he cannot grasp what I mean. The world is corrupt, each and every being, sentient or not, must be cleansed from this world. If only I could show him the light, show him the truth in my philosophy. To end suffering and corruption is my only goal, is that so hard to conceptualize?

Theme Music Light the Flame-Takenobu
Currently reading: The Monsters Know What They're Doing.

Last edited by MundayKnight; Feb 5th, 2014 at 03:15 PM.
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Old Feb 6th, 2014, 06:16 AM
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Adult Dragon
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Saint Marcus of the Ash, Scion of Darkness
Aasimar|Angel Blood
Anti-Paladin|Lord of Darkness

Birth of a SaintI was born with the spark of goodly divinity. In my veins flows the blood of Michael, Archangel of The Seven and leader of Heaven's Armies. This mattered little at the time of my birth, as my parents were more interested in flinging me into the nearest sewer drain. They were poor and hadn't the means to care for me. My mother was a prostitute, my father a blacksmith's apprentice with no forge of his own. Had they taken me to a church, left me on the doorstep of some merchant, or even just stuck me in an orphanage I may have grown into my heritage and brought light to the world. Instead, I was plucked from fetid slime by a man who would introduce me to a very different path. My sewer dwelling Savior turned out to be an Acolyte named Chaff. Chaff was pledged to a nameless God of shadows and debauchery. He took me to be raised under the sewers in the Temple that would be my home until I was seventeen. I did not know it when I was a child but Chaff was the lowliest of the priests and would profit greatly from 'rescuing' me. I still smell the stench of feces and feel the oppressive heat of the sewers in the dark of night when I revisit my parents deaths.

Trials and TribulationsChaff brought me to the Temple not knowing of the spark within me. Had he known, he probably would have raised me himself to gain greater favor with his God. As it was, I was left with a cruel woman who I remember only in the pain of the lash and the shame of innocence. Once I was able to speak well enough to be understood I was given over to a midling priest whose job it was to train young Acolytes. I was the youngest and my training extended far beyond the classroom lectures of the other students. The priest, who would only allow us to call him Dogma, took me under his wing and his voice still slithers through my dreams.

Eventually, Dogma began piecing together my celestial heritage. My unnaturally bright silver hair and too perfect face were what started his curiosity but it was satisfied when I was allowed in the sun and my shadow sprouted wings. My tutor rejoiced at this news. He was training the scion of an angel in the ways of darkness. What greater perversion was there? When Dogma saw this I was immediately brought before the head of the priesthood. I can still remember the first time I saw the man. Wrapped in the black cloak and armor I now wear and bearing the sword at my belt, he was the avatar of the Nameless and I felt the chill of fear in my bones. He radiated power as a fire radiates heat and I had to force myself to breathe while in his presence. His name was Nagloom and, upon hearing of the blood in my veins, he took me for his own.

Nagloom did not seem a harsh man, at first. He treated me much as the others had and if his beatings ended with him holding me and whispering his love for me then at least there were breaks in between. When I reached my teenage years, those embraces changed and I understood what kind of man Nagloom really was. The things he did to me while whispering his love haunt the deepest corner of my mind. At fifteen I was introduced to the man who had brought me to the Temple. Chaff had done well in the time we had been apart. It seemed that his talent for torture and manipulation had not surfaced until a couple years after he picked me up. Late bloomer or no, the man was a recently promoted High Priest and garnered more favor once it was learned that I was 'his child'. Having grown bored with me, Nagloom presented me to Chaff as a reward for his devotion.

Chaff was the only man to treat me as more than a thing. He showed me how to manipulate myself and, in doing so, those around me. I began to rapidly develop a martial and mental prowess that pleased my new mentor greatly. In the two years I spent at his side, I learned what the word trust meant. I did not know it at the time but the care he showed me was akin to a swordsman sharpening his blade.

Manifest DarknessOn my seventeenth birthday, Chaff arranged for me to be taken to Nagloom's chambers. Having dominated me for so many years the head of the priesthood trusted me completely when he opened his door and let me in. As soon as he turned to close the door, I put a dagger between his ribs. Chaff had explained to me that every pain I had ever suffered, every cruelty I had been subjected to, was Nagloom's fault. My mentor had trained me extensively and that training paid off. I slipped into my first kill's armor, donned his cloak, and strapped his sword to my waist. Chaff promised me a place at his side. I would have the power to subjugate those who had wronged me. Vengeance was mine and power was mine and all the priesthood would kneel. Except it wasn't and they didn't. My mentor branded me a traitor and called for my death. The only person I had ever trusted took my dreams and crushed them. I was able to escape the sewers, my victim's armaments serving me well. Once gone, Chaff apparently forgot about me in his bid to consolidate power and take Nagloom's place.

The first thing I did once I realized my freedom was seek out my parents. My mother was no longer a whore and my father had his own forge but they had not spoken in years. When I visited each, the lack of love in their eyes was all I needed to know they deserved death. It wasn't Nagloom's fault that I had been twisted and used. It was these people. These seemingly decent people had allowed my torture but I made sure they wouldn't do it again. After their death, I went in search of power. I am twenty now and I have finally found an organization that may be able to provide me the power I need to revisit the Temple. Power... Vengeance.. Kneeling.. Chaff may have delayed these things but they are mine by right and I will have them. I will have them in abundance and it will not stop at the Temple.

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Old Feb 6th, 2014, 08:48 AM
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Thorne Thorne is offline
Young Adult Dragon
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Last Visit: Nov 28th, 2014
RPXP: 42
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Name: Guy "Teeth" Southside
Class:Fighter, Unarmed Fighter Archetype
Background: Life on the street is hard. For the abandoned urchins which populate the roads and back alleys of every major city, every day is a struggle to survive. Most don't survive long. But some learn that not only does crime pay, it's the only thing that will pay the likes of them. Guy learned this early, and the lesson stuck with him. It all started with a loaf of stale bread. He and some other gutter rats found a bakery which would occasionally throw away stale bread in the alley behind the shop. For starving kids, this was a gold mine. The bread was hard as rock, but filling. But soon, an older boy, one much bigger than them, found out, and would drive them away so that he could have the bread all to himself. They were devastated, the bread had brought them hope, and now it was gone. But Guy had a plan. He told it to the rest of his little group, and although they were horrified at first, he convinced them that they had no choice if they wanted to eat again, and the punk deserved it anyways. They decided to go along with his plan, all except one, Midge. Try as they might, they could not convince him to go along with it, so Guy decided to leave him behind. They followed the older boy until he fell asleep. They crept up to him, then all piled on him at once, holding him down. Guy sat on his chest, a rock in his fist, and started swinging. The boy was bigger, but was not strong enough to fight off six boys at once. When they were done, he was still alive, but Guy had bashed all his teeth out.
When they showed up to the bakery the next day, the older boy was gone. Guy and his friends were excited and happy, triumphant in their victory. As they were dividing up the bread, their friend Midge approached them. They excitedly informed him of what had transpired last night, exclaiming the bread was theirs again. Midge approached to receive his share, but Guy stood in his way. The other boys looked confused at first, as Guy placed his hand against Midge's chest and gently pushed him away.
"No, none for you." was all he said.
Over the years, Guy engaged in almost every criminal activity you can think of, all in the name of survival. He learned to fight with only his fists, for those were often the only weapons available to him. He worked his way up in the world, from common gutter rat, to highly desired bodyguard and enforcer for the various criminal elements.
Personality: Guy is evil, not Evil. He doesn't seek to harm others for pleasure, the service of some dark god or demon. He even tries to avoid harming others for strictly personal gain, up to a point. If someone has something he needs to survive, or tries to mess with him, he does not hold his punches. And he will feel absolutely no guilt over it. It's just how the world works. He has a very dim view of laws and society, having gotten the short end of the social stick his entire life, he feels no need to uphold any sort of rule if he can get away with it. That being said, he's usually a pleasant person to be around. He has a few good friends, and not the "minions or people I am using to further my own end" kind of friends either.
Guy is very outspoken and bold. He enjoys making humorous and outlandish boast, and telling wildly improbable stories he swears are true. Having risen from such depths, he tends to have a positive outlook on life, or at the very least, his life.

Ideal: It really was a perfect day, at least in Guy's opinion. The sun was shining, the early summer day wasn't oppressively hot, like it could sometimes get, and the various smells of the city were almost undetectable, thanks to last night's rain. Guy felt so good this morning, he decided to treat himself. He made his way to his favorite bakery, whistling a jaunty tune. His arrival was announced by the chime of a bell. He stopped on the threshold to take a deep sniff, the scent of fresh bread filling his nostrils. A kindly looking old woman looked up from arranging a tray of rolls and beamed at him.
"Guy! How are you sweetie?"
Guy smiled, "Absolutely perfect Mabel. Why, the only thing that could make this day any finer would be a lovely cinnamon roll. You wouldn't happen to know where I can find one would you?"
Mabel played at looking pensive, her finger tapping her lips.
"You know, I think I just might. Let's see if my lazy lump of a husband is done glazing them."
After a few minutes of chatting with the old baker couple over a hot cinnamon bun, Guy said his goodbyes and made to leave. Just as he reached for the door, it swing open suddenly, and he was nearly bowled over by someone. That someone turned out to be a young man in a hood. No more than a teenager, if the eruption of pimples were any indication. The youth glared at Guy from under his hood, then shoved past him roughly.
"Watch it." the lad snarled.
Guy hesitated, torn as to what he should do to this insolent whelp. But he glanced at bakers, then decided to let this one go, for the sake of peace.
He was halfway down the street when he paused, felling uneasy. Just to satisfy himself, he went back to the bakery. One glance was all he needed to know his feeling had been right. The boy had a knife out, which he was waving at Mabel and her husband, both looking absolutely terrified. At the sound of the bell, the boy whirled around, but Guy was already in motion. His fist collided with the lad's pockmarked face, and he collapsed.
"Oh my! Guy, thank the gods you came! Are you hurt at all? Let me look at you."
"I'm fine Mabel, he never touched me. You two will be fine. I'll take this ruffian to the constabulary, he won't bother you again."
He dragged the groaning lad down the street, Mabel and her husband calling their thanks after him. When he was out of sight of them, he made an abrupt turn down an alley.
The youth had been slowly regaining his senses, and he groggily exclaimed,
"Oy, this isn't the way to the constabulary."
"You're right, it isn't."
Before he could say anything else, Guy grabbed his head and slammed his face against the wall, then dragged it across the bricks, leaving a red smear behind. He threw the lad down onto the muddy stones, followed by a swift kick to the guts. The boy wheezed and moaned, and managed somehow to get a few words out.
"Huuugghh....the...the constabulary."
Guy cracked his knuckles and regarded the young man thoughtfully.
"You know kid, there's a lot of crime in this city. The constabulary have their hands full. I would rather we settle this here, like gentlemen, then waste any of their precious time."
The boy tried to rise, buy Guy's fist slammed into his head, bringing him down again.
"I'm just considerate like that."
A few minutes later, Guy walked out of the alley, wiping his hands on a scarlet rag. He tossed the rag into a bin, then began walking down the street, whistling a jaunty tune. It really was a lovely day.
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Old Mar 19th, 2014, 01:58 PM
Cayzle Cayzle is offline
Old Dragon
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Last Visit: Jan 1st, 2019
RPXP: 411
Cayzle Cayzle Cayzle Cayzle Cayzle
Posts: 418
left-aligned image
Name: Tevaga Zarzuket.
Race: Female Half orc, age 18, born of half orc parents.
Class: Oracle.

Background: The shaman clouted her in the head again, so she knew he wanted something. When Tevaga had first been given to the shaman of her tribe, he would hit her because he liked to. After years of that, her hearing shot, he would hit because she could not hear him call.

This time it was to show her off to some stranger, a half-orc from far away. She used her powers -- the far-healing, the still curing -- and the stranger nodded, impressed. Tevaga had mastered the art of watching lips while seeming to look down. The stranger wanted to buy her! The shaman nodded, clearly liking the offer. She had no idea she was worth so much.

She had not really considered that she was the shaman's slave. She was still in her tribe. She still saw her ma and dad. But after she was sold to the gladiator-scout, she came to understand her position better. Leg irons are good teachers. But she did not like the lessons.

But she gave the gladiator manager his money's worth. She would sit in the front row, often dressed like a wealthy merchant's wife, on the arm of a rich man. But her job was to reach out her life sense and cure one of the fighters in the arena -- silently, with no motion or magic word. She could do this, taking the wounds from the fighter and applying them to herself, trading her own health for the warrior. Then, she could also cure herself without word or motion. Evidently, being able to heal at a distance, being able to cure herself so stealthily, those were rare skills. No one ever suspected, so long as she was careful not to heal the warrior completely. The gladiator she helped seldom lost his match. And her owner earned plenty. And shared none.

Tevaga watched for her moment patiently. She was always under guard. But once, in transit in a caravan crossing a desert, her guards relaxed their vigilance long enough for her to escape into the badlands. They did not think a deaf-mute could be clever, but she read their lips and knew when to make her move. A weakling human would have died, but Tevaga had learned to endure, and she survived. And after a long time on the run, she found her way to a new city.

Description: Tevaga has the greenish complexion, fangs, and turned up nose of her orcish ancestors, but she manages to make it look natural, even attractive, rather than disgusting. Her eyes are dark and her hair is black. She has an orcish tattoo on one cheek.

Personality: Tevaga has learned the hard way that the only one who cares for you is you. The only one looking out for you is you. Self-interest guides her every action and plan. She will not be a slave again. She will do what it takes to gain power, wealth, security. She is hard, rational, curious, and practical.

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