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  #1  
Old 08-30-2014, 09:47 PM
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Lords of Damnation

Those who seek to crush noble Talingarde beneath their booted heel.
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Old 09-02-2014, 04:19 PM
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Name: Th'Rax
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Evil

 


 


 

Last edited by Ballingray; 09-03-2014 at 02:07 PM.
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Old 09-07-2014, 10:17 PM
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Name: Zandarith Sanguine
Race: Luminarii
Class: Rogue
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Alignment: Neutral Evil

 


 


 
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Last edited by Osellic; 09-11-2014 at 02:40 PM.
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Old 09-13-2014, 05:10 AM
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Name: Grimm Hacksaw
Race: Hobgoblin
Class: Two Handed Fighter
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Appearance: Like most of his hob brethren, Grimm is a stocky, thickly built man with a greenish-grey cast to his skin. Having been through a scarification ritual at a young age, much of his body is covered in toughened, leathery flesh, made hard by knives and fire over the course of months. The same fire took a toll on his eyesight however; one of his eyes has gone pale and lost its darkvision, and the other is useless. His staure marks him as tall for his own race, but of average human height at 5'8". His tightly corded muscle and bulk still make him a large fellow, tipping the scales at just over 215 pounds by human reckoning. He carries himself with both pride and caution; with the air of someone who's looked death in the eye often enough that it no longer frightens him, but he isn't looking to catch another glimpse. Left to his own devices, he'd dress comfortably and without ostentation.

Personality: Grimm is a bit of an odd specimen among Hobgoblins. His killer instinct and matter of fact nature smack of his kin, but when outside of the heat of battle, he's a rather easy going fellow, content to let the soft times last while they can. Grimm also possesses a strong streak of gallows humor that sees him through hard times. More than once, an arrow meant for him veered and struck a friend in the skull in the thick of battle. Best way to get over that sort of thing was to mourn quickly, then laugh it off and keep moving, in his mind. Dwell on it too long, and you end up very dead, very quickly. You have to be realistic after all. This is not to say that he isn't still an exemplar of the famous Hob discipline. He has been a soldier since his birth, and he behaves accordingly. He would never be lax or lighthearted about performing his duties. If he had any at the moment, that is.

While he has never had formal study of any kind, Grimm is well versed in a few subjects that his parents emparted to him. As his clan's chief Siege Master, his father was able to show him a great deal about the nature of building and cities, and of course how to best knock them down. His mother was able to teach him about certain forms of medicine and anatomy from her work as an apothocary for the army during the Goblinblood wars. He isn't the quickest man around, but these pursuits have made him a tad more intellectual than many.

In general, The Hacksaw is a man to be reckoned with, and an effective killer if need be, but his easy nature and quick smile have won him as many battles as his blade, and he's aware that that's the only reason he's still alive...for three more days at least. Once, his commander Kettlebreaker gave him some advice for dealing with people: "A big man hits you once, you ask him why he did it, and calm the bastard down. He hits you again, run if you can. But if he chases you? Lose him, then come back when he's Sleeping and gut him til he can't bleed no more, burn his house down, and piss on his wife for good measure. Who's gonna hit you then?". Words to live by, those.

History: During the later days of the Goblinblood Wars in southern Isger, the goblin hoards and their hobgoblin commanders had grown desperate, hemmed in as they were by the armies of the Chelish hellknights and Andoran infantry. They began using every resource they had at their disposal in an attempt to stem the tide of the conflict. This included, but was not limited to, pressing their own soldiers on the cusp of adulthood into service. And so it was that young Grimm, son of Olak Bloodpick, son of Sinder Horsehide, was conscripted to join the fight against the human coalition. Though disappointed, his parents did not fight the matter too fervently, and hobs are not nearly so sentimental as man. Grimm had been trained for combat his entire life, but the horrors and glory of war still were a shock to him at such a young age. His superiors never found out, but during his first skirmish, he survived by hiding in the trunk of a decayed tree. If they had, he would have of course been executed. Such cowardice didn't last long, however. After ahis first full engagement, where many a good hobgoblin fell around him on all sides, the shock drove the fear right put of him. Instead of something terrifying, death became a another part of life for him, but one he was intent on outrunning as long as he could. After these fights, he earned his name, Hacksaw. He had learned something of medicine from his mother, and put it to use caring for the wounded. For many, this meant amputation with a hacksaw.

The wars did not last a great long time after after he had joined them. The humans might have been weak as individuals, but the combined military might of four nations was simply too much for his superiors to handle, even with brutality and retain on their side. The numbers were utterly overwhelming. In the mad scatter for life that followed, Grimm and his battalion were separated from the rest of the hoard, and ran cross country until they had reached relative safety. His commander, Arak Kettlebreaker, was one of the finest warriors Grimm had ever known, and was determined to keep his men alive by any means necessary. There were about forty of them all told. Quite a few mouths to feed, and most of them were used to slaves handling menial work for them. As much as many of them no longer had a taste for war, all that was to be found in those days for a hardworking hob was mercenary jobs. And so they set about finding it. Grimm was quite popular with the rest of the men, quite with a joke, and quicker with a blade, he earned their admiration both on and off the battlefield. For years on end they fought together, building a fearsome reputation.

Unfortunately for the band, work is hard to come by in peacetime. Foolish and desperate for coin and bread, Kettlebreaker took a job that he knew was dangerous from the outset. A group of naive cultists had been putting together a plan to kidnap the princess of Talingarde, Bellinda, and hearing their references, hired them to do the dirty work. Grimm and the rest cared little for some backwater nation or their royalty, and they agreed to rumbling bellies. But the job was utterly and completely botched. During the assault, Grimm became cut off from his fellows, while he didn't see it happen, he heard them being butchered to a man within the princess' chambers. He hurried to their aid, but was caught and captured by the Knights of Alerion themselves, desperate to protect the royal line. Arrested and convicted to high treason, Grimm is restless without his friends, and unsure of how to get himself out of this scrape. He finds himself a soldier without anything, or anyone to fight for.
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Inscribed by Louis XIV on his Cannons

Last edited by Sinister; 09-14-2014 at 01:03 AM.
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  #5  
Old 09-13-2014, 06:41 PM
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Bshaff Bshaff is offline
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Name: Zerah Rishik
Race: Changeling
Class: Oracle of the Outer Rifts
Gender: Female
Alignment: Neutral Evil

 


Appearance:
Zerah is a goddess in her own right. Standing tall at 5'9" her slender, toned body dominates over most that gaze upon her. She has a pale white skin that still reflects the white tattooed ancient words that cover her left arm and back. Her long, pin straight, black hair contrasts her other striking features giving Zerah a dark aura about her. Her changeling background can be seen through her contrasting eye colors. One eyes being a dark chocolate brown contrasting with the piercing green of the other. People often say the eyes are the window to the soul but with Zerah's eyes it's difficult to see the soul at all. Zerah carries herself with pride and it often appears as if she is gliding across the ground instead of walking it. Black, purple, and red are her favorite colors and majority of her revealing garments sport these colors.


History
Zerah, like most changelings was born of a hag mother and human lover to her. As is common, at birth Zerah was left on the steps of a foster family to be raised by them. Zerah was born during the reign of King Markadian IV. She was left on the steps of a small cottage on the outskirts of the city of Gastemhall. What seemed to be a quaint village on the outside dealt with many dark dealings underground. Anton and Tessix were the couple living in the cottage at the time and at the sight of the child they quickly rushed her inside, making sure that no one saw. The first few years of Zerah's life were lived in secrecy. Her new foster parents took good care of her and loved her deeply, but never let her leave the house or let anyone in to visit.

On Zerah's 5th birthday everything changed though. Tessix was frantically running around the house searching for something, unbeknownst to Zerah. She was overturning chairs and looking behind every piece of furniture when Anton also comes bursting in. "Tessix, Did you find something for the ritual? We must go now! If we are late they will come looking for us." Tessix behind tears whispers, "I can't find anything for the sacrifice, I can't believe we forgot it was today. What are we going to do?" Anton and Tessix then begin to whisper into each others ears while looking back at the small Zerah. Anton rushes over to Zerah and picks her up. "Well I'm going to take my sweet Zerah upstairs and give her some birthday cake. How does that sound little one?" He then kisses her on the cheek and begins to walk upstairs when a loud knock is heard on the front door. Anton hurries up the stairs as Tessix opens the door. A deep voice is heard from downstairs, "The two of you are late for the ritual and it is your turn to provide the sacrifice. We cannot keep Asmodeus waiting. Where is Anton?" Pounding feet are heard walking up the stairs and in no time two massive men in black and red cloaks are standing in the doorway. Anton attempts to shield the small child from them but it is too late. Their eyes instantly dart to the small Zerah and in no time she is being held in their clutches. [B]"Well well, it looks as though you have found your sacrifice. Or does she belong to you? You haven't been hiding this child from the church now have you? You know what the punishment is for that. Either way the child is coming with us. It is time for the ritual." [/B Tessix is on the brink of tears and looks to Anton for reassurance. He pushes her forward knowing that they must follow the leaders towards the ritual. Once they reach the ritual room Zerah sees a large circle of people in red and black cloaks standing in a circle chanting. In the middle of the circle is an altar which is surrounded by a large black circle. The guard hands Zerah back to Tessix. Tessix begins to pray over her with tears streaming down her face that splash down onto Zerah's cheeks. The chanting comes to a halt and Anton and Tessix are commanded towards the center of the circle. Anton too whispers a prayer to Asmodeus, "Please spare her Asmodeus, she will do great things for you. We will raise her to glorify your name." He then turns and lifts up the small Zerah. "Our sacrifice to the great God Asmodeus. May her blood strengthen your power." He then places her onto the altar and Tessix and Anton rejoin the circle both quietly crying. The chanting starts up again in a language unknown to Zerah. Around her the altar bursts into flames and she begins to cry out for her parents but the chanting has become too loud. Suddenly light flashes on the child and words are being carved into her left arm, the same words as the chanting. Instead of the fire growing it immediately goes out. Everyone in the circle suddenly breaks into confusion. One of the leaders approaches the sacrificial altar and looks at the child's arm. In glistening letters reads the promising oath to Asmodeus. He picks up the small child and speaks to the group, "It appears that not only has Asmodeus spared the sacrifice but has chosen her to be the future leader of our movement. Asmodeus has touched and blessed this child." Tessix and Anton rush over to Zerah crying and hold her close. Zerah would continue to be raised closely as an Asmodeus worshipper and leader of the church as she ages.

It wouldn't be until Zerah had turned 17 that she would have her life turned around again. Times had gotten rough for the Asmodeus followers with all of the purges happening in the kingdom. Her and her family were constantly on the move running from those that did not believe the same as they did. When the new king Markadian V came into reign the purges began to die down and Asmodeus followers went completely underground to keep their practice alive. One day the Asmodeus church was meeting underground to study the ancient texts and spend time in prayer dedicated to him. Suddenly the doors are burst open by a massive brigade of knights all armed with massive weaponry and torches. They began throwing the torches and lighting all of the tapestries and books on fire. Mass chaos ensues as the knights are blocking all of the exits from the church. Anyone that attempts to run immediately gets shot down by flaming arrows. Zerah sees everything that she has grown up with completely being destroyed. She begins frantically scanning the room for her parents. She sees her father Anton blocking her mother Tessix from two guards that are approaching. He gets on his knees and begins to plead for them to spare Tessix. Zerah begins to run over to them when she sees the guard swiftly behead her father and grab her mother. The guard brings Tessix over to another group of women that had been gathered up. Zerah drops to the ground in anguish at the sight of her father. She looks back at the guard and mentally captures his face. That will not be one man that she is soon to forget. She knows at this point that there is nothing she can do to save them. She then remembers a small hiding place underneath the moveable altar where special sacrifices are kept. It was small but it was her only hope. She turns and sprints to the altar before she hears the screams of the women cry out and drop to the floor. She raises the altar and crawls into the compartment located underneath and lowers the altar back down sealing herself temporarily in the darkness below. She waits there for what seems like hours before raising the altar back up. The room is now smokey and dark. The remains of burnt and bloody bodies scatter the floor. Everything and everyone that she had ever known had been taken from her just like that. She lets out a scream and feels the hatred boiling in her blood. She goes to her mother's dead body and holds it as she cries. She swears to Asmodeus that the knights of Alerion would pay for what they had done. She would bring justice to her people and bring the reign to the true king, Asmodeus himself.

Zerah let that hatred continue to burn inside of her as she trained and studied in secrecy and loneliness for years. From that day revenge burned inside of her. She knew she was not strong enough on her own to take down the Knights of Alerion let alone the King for that matter but she had to start somewhere. So she plotted to find the Knight that murdered her parents. That was a face she would never forget. She was able to get a hold of guard records and by many sneaky patrols around the guard territories she was able to discover the name of the man who murdered her family. Richard Havelyn was his name. After that it wasn't hard to ask around town and discover where he lived. The day had finally come that she would strike. She had made an elaborate plan to sneak into his home in the dead of night. She planned to lock him into his bedroom and light the house on fire. Since her people went up in flames so should he. It would be easy and traceless. Her plan did not go as smoothly as she had anticipated however. Unfortunately being a very powerful Knight of Alerion she did not account for extra hidden security by his home. Before she made it into the house was caught and captured by the guards for trespassing on government property with criminal intent. She was immediately taken to Branderscar prison where she would have to plan her next escape...Asmodeus would not let her end come now.

 

Last edited by Bshaff; 09-18-2014 at 12:38 AM.
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  #6  
Old 09-14-2014, 06:25 PM
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EDIT: Hey sorry, I tried to edit from my phone and it totally messed up my formatting. I re-posted my character sheet, now that I am home. Also the requested roll is under the rolls spoiler button

Freak
left-aligned image

Name:Freak
Race: Ice Elf bastard
Age: Appears to be around 16 human years old
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Class-Sobriquet: Witch
Description: Freak, stands roughly 5'8" and weighs 120lb's on a good day.
Several visible scars cover his body and face, two of note being a boat anchor on his left arm,
and a long line of tick marks swirling around the left wrist and arm of Freak. This swirl of scars
starts with a very old slash starting at the wrist, and ends with a wound made very recently.
Freak has a rather unpleasant stench, possibly due to the infestation of bugs in his hair, or the
blood and mold crusted pants he is wearing. Freaks eyes are mostly a natural blue, however
when focusing on a person or object of interest, his eyes will appear to freeze, and emit a dim blue light.

 





Character Sheet
 


Last edited by CaptainJohnHawk; 09-14-2014 at 06:28 PM.
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Old 11-27-2014, 03:43 AM
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JFlynn JFlynn is offline
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Sheet: https://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=52092
Name: Luthien Elzario
Race: Dhampir
Class: Warpriest
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Deity: Nerull

AppearanceLuthien has the appearance of a human, 5’6 inches tall, and once had a shapely frame. That was long ago, of course, during a time when the fields were thick with fattened humans bleating to be reaped. Alas, due to misfortune, years of atrophy, and betrayal, her figure is sickly and grotesque…for the time being, that is. Despite her apparent frailty, the young lady carries herself with a mysterious grace, albeit, akin to a shriveled rose. Short, choppy, raven black hair drapes over her face and wispily fans midway down her neck. Crooked bangs guise a malicious pair of grey eyes that are cold as tombstones. There is yet a spark of fairness clinging to her brooding visage, but rarely will she don a smile for anyone but prey.

She prefers rags above riches, practicality over aesthetics. What trust remains rests in the elegance of death, and the rapture of violence. The steadfast oath of plated armor is her only relief, and the song of the Reaper’s scythe is a sweet lullaby before the feast. Always, her garb must be black. Should she ever practice her faith in the light, something rust-red would suite her macabre tastes.


PersonalityLife has a funny way of destroying your faith in it. Perhaps, she should feel grateful for only being half-alive. The meaning of why we exist, why the world is rotten and cruel, may be a conundrum to the simpletons of the world, but existence has always been perfectly clear for Luthien. For her, existence comes at a price, for her survival has always coincided with the death of others. Does she pity those people? Does a wolf pity the weak, or an owl the vermin in the fields? Moral questions are tiresome. Conscience is a luxury, but only that—as conscience is no indicator of character, but has led to far more bloodshed than some would care to admit. Men and their morals are the monsters here. She’s merely a quiet scavenger in their wake, and has always been content living with that grisly arrangement. Pious men and their righteous blades are the true foes of enlightenment, so there is little remorse when faced with slash or dash. The meats have their walls, and their castles, and kingdoms—but they’ll never be free as a crow.

Luthien is every bit a high-born Lady, despite having no family or estate to speak of. Arrogance and contempt for the living was instilled in her at a young age, along with a zealotry that rivals that of the Knights of Aurelion. Her one desire is to spread the faith of Nerull, though deep down Luthien longs to live a carefree life…like what her human mother had. Inevitably, the world and everyone in it—even the sun—will be swallowed by perpetual darkness and the depths of Winter. Hopefully, with Nerull’s ascension, one day the filthy side of her that lives, along with all its cares and useless whimsy, will perish along with the world.

Dhampirs survive by wearing façades, and though it is not unreasonable for her to cooperate with beings that would otherwise be considered food, the benefits of forming alliances would have to significantly outweigh the cons. Despite the urge to murder those she considers “blood-beaters”, or “lesser riff-raff”, regardless of their station, Luthien is well practiced in restraint, and can find other means of releasing her savage frustrations. Delving into an intriguing subject often does the trick. Deciphering scrolls and artifacts is one of her interests…as learning about the past, and how the world works may provide clues on how to destroy it.


HistoryBorn one miserable and dreary night in the city of Ghastenhall to a refined, though arguably vapid human—a lesser noblewoman named Sorsha Merendi—as soon as the child was revealed to the fading mother, she died with a hideous scream. Truly, not anyone of consequence. The father of this child, however, certainly was…the midwives thought to drown the creature in a pail of water, but the shadow that leapt through the window had them drowning in their own blood. Lucian named the girl-child after himself, as siring this abomination had been his intention all along.

Growing up during the days before the great Battle of Tamberlyne, it was a tumultuous time where even the best of friends could find themselves clashing blades—while for others, it was a time to revel in the aftermath. Lucien was a garish, unabashed vampire at night, with his rapier-cane, flamboyant crimson silks, black leather, and a crooked feathered hat for added flare. Traveling near areas plagued with disease and hardship, poor folk confused him for a wealthy merchant or passing Lord. Like sheep, they followed him and the small child, some even trying to steal her on occasion. Endlessly, the sheep bleated all manner of pleas for just a small gesture of mercy….They were obliged of course, promised a few coin and some-such, when really he proffered death. The sight of Father ripping out throats was common place. “Nothing but riff-raff, my dear, mindless scrap.” He coldly laughed, “Never pass up the chance to rid the world of vermin.”

By vermin, he meant everyone. No one was spared, because Lord Nerull—The Reaper, The Foe of All Good, He Who Revels in the Slaying of The Living—demands that the world be cleansed of smelly blood-beaters. His children are the dead, but, being half-living, Lucien instilled in his child a deep guilt. “When you’re older, you must murder as doubly hard if you hope to appease The Reaper. You were born to walk in the light, and murder in the light, to defy the petty gods and defile all that is good. That is your purpose, Dhampir.”

Most of Luthien’s life was spent in isolation. Lucien hunted every other night and made sure she was sated on the blood of urchins, nameless babes, and whoever else he could snatch. Orphaned children, in particular, found Lucien fascinating. The myth of the Ghastenhall Prowler was born as rumors surfaced of a killer in the alleys, but no one of importance took interest in investigating. For many, the disappearance of hundreds of undesirables came as a relief. The laziness of officials made it easy for them to live in relative comfort, but Lucien wasn’t satisfied simply scrounging on the fringe. Soon he procured a poor and dilapidated manor-house under questionable means, which allowed them some measure of privacy…yet, despite never seeing any bodies, there was always a faint trace of blood and decay in the air. As a present, seeing how his daughter was always alone, Lucien gave her one of the previous inhabitants—a prim and obedient elf with curly almond hair and clever green eyes, named Ephren Krayth.

Located within one of the shabbier districts of Ghastenhall, the manse fell even further into disrepair as the years wore on, and nary a soul dared linger outside the gate, as it had a reputation of being cursed. A ballad was even written that any who ventured inside would be dragged to hell, sung throughout Ghastenhall by Lucian himself.

Ephren was such a wonderful pet, the only friend she ever knew. While Lucien was away, sometimes days at a time, no doubt off fulfilling his hedonistic needs at the brothels, the boy guarded and jumped to her every whim. When despairing, Ephren worked hard to cheer her up with magic. When hungry, he prepared her meals and even offered his blood on occasion. The boy easily embraced Nerull and together they studied the arts of death, ending each session with prayers for destruction amid the ruins of the haunting manor. Though prohibited from going out, at least they had each other.

When war broke out between House Barca and House Darius, Luthien’s desire to fulfill her dark purpose only heightened.

 


 


 







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