(Updated)

Name: Gramsil (Literally, Stone-Swimmer in the Dwarven tongue) He was known as Madai in his "previous life".
Gender: Male (spirit)
Race: Golemni (A Dwarven word for a magical machine)
Age: 635 (Since transformation)
Profession: None
Appearance: About 7 feet tall, with large hands composed mostly of claws, perfect for digging. Large black opals for eyes, and flexible stone for skin.
Weapons/Abilities: His claws, magic. Although Gramsil appears to be very bulky and heavy, he is surprisingly agile and has quick reflexes. He can also drain magical energy from others, although he still doesn't know how to control precognition, communication with animals, or the manipulation of earth. These three abilities are the ones he had back when he was Chosen, before his spirit was locked in his current body. Being composed of living stone, Gramsil is immune to almost all magics, although his spirit can be manipulated, like anyone's. He is, of course, virtually immune to melee attacks as well.
Brief history/other*: Created by Dwarven Spirit and Earth Elementalists, Gramsil is essentially a spirit somehow infused into a sculpture. It is still not known how he can move; his entire body is composed of stone, after all. Two large opals embedded in his eye sockets fuel his movements, gathering sunlight each day to provide energy for him to function. When deprived of sunlight for too long he will be unable to move. He has a history of miscommunication with others, due to his inability to speak and his appearance. He was originally a Human captive of a group of vengeful Dwarves. They attempted to turn him into a machine for use in the caverns or as a soldier. He managed to escape their enchantments and reach the upper world. At first questioning his very existence, Gramsil then roamed the land searching for his creators. So far he has been unable to discover more than their types of elements and his own abilities as a Chosen one. He remembers nothing from his Human life.
Description of original universe: This was an old roleplay by Raven Sparrow that never really took off. The world of Vahaera is kept alive by a magical and mysterious heart buried deep within the land. This heart had become tainted, causing chaos and destroying its Guardians. There are several races in Vahaera, the most common being humans, elves, dwarves, vilrae, and bestaed.
See link: http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/forum/vie ... sc&start=0
How you came up with this character: Don't ask me. It was a long time ago, and I don't remember the details. I had an image of what Gramsil looked like, and worked from there.

This sounds so fun!

Name: Kith
Gender: Male
Race: Half Shapeshifter
Age: 28
Profession: Pretty much a thieving bum. But don't call him that.
Appearance: Tall and pretty muscular, with black hair and dark brown eyes.
Equipment/weapons: A dagger, but mostly his ability to grow fangs/claws/venemous pinchers. As a thieving bum, his clothes arn't the best.
Brief history/other*: Throw a bunch of angst in a bucket and you've got it: he was sold into slavery at age eight by his own father, worked as a slave for 15 years, escaped (barely) and the closest thing he had to a friend was brutely murdered in front of him. He's been a tad bit peeved ever since.
Description of original universe: Fantasy, but not ever the top: like our world (about 1000 bc, give or take) with a dash of magic and imaginary creatures.
How you came up with this character: I was feeling extreemly angsty and wanted a character to match.

Name: Amaran
Gender: Male
Race: Elf
Age: 2013
Profession: Captian in the army
Appearance: Average elf height and build, curly red hair, grey-green eyes
Equipment/weapons: Killer with a bow, but not to shabby with his twin fighting knives (the ones that all the elves in LOTR have.) Garbed in light armor.
Brief history/other*: Nothing significant.
Description of original universe: Doesn't really have one.....
How you came up with this character: I needed a character, so I made one.

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

I'm making an assumption that the persone your playing doesn't have to be from an RP on this site, but if I'm wrong, tell me. And I hope this guy is all right with you as he isn't completly from a real-life universe, but not completly fantasy either.


Name: Kayne Rhydderch
Gender: Male
Race: Human (Welsh)
Age: 108 (Explain this later)
Profession: Wizard (Professional), Warden, Blackstaff (Explained later, too)
Appearance:

Equipment/weapons: A staff; MAGIC; a slender, enchanted scimitar; and multiple other magical foci/enchanted items
Brief history/other*: N/A
Description of original universe: It’s ‘The Dresden Files’ universe that Kayne originally came from. The DF universe is our own, except it has magic. There are wizards and witches (people with innate talent for magic that grows stronger as they grow older, they can live for around half a millennia), sorcerers (likes wizards and witches, but only use evocation magic), Wiccans (like ours, but they have minor abilities in forestry magic), vampires (Red, White, Jade, and Black Courts (Black Court are like Stoker’s Dracula)), ogres, faeries, ghosts, ghouls, specters, ect…

The Wardens are the White Council’s (which is the wizard form of government) secret police/military. They enforce the seven Laws of Magic, which are as follow: (1)Thou shalt not kill by use of magic, (2)Thou shalt not transform others, (3)Thou shalt not invade the mind of another, (4)Thou shalt not enthrall another, (5)Thou shalt not reach beyond the borders of life, (6)Thou shalt not swim against the Currents of Time, and (7)Thou shalt not seek beyond the Outer Gates. (First five laws only apply to humans.)

The Blackstaff is the White Council’s ‘wet works man.’ In the cannonical Dresdenverse, there is only one, but in the one Kayne comes from the Blackstaffs are a group of wizards. Blackstaffs are allowed to violate the laws of magic whenever it is nessary to do so, but they almost never violate the sixth and seventh laws because to do so could cause a paradox or release an 'Outsider,' very, very, very powerful demons.

Wizards and witches use magical foci (such as staves, swords, bracelets, and rings) to help them focus and channel their power. They also enchant things (such as clothes, belts, boots, and gloves) with magic. An example of a magic foci is a ‘blasting rod’ which helps control evocation magic and an example of an enchanted item is a belt that, once activated with a little bit of a wizard’s will, increases strength exponentially for a time.

Potions are potent brews that wizards can use in sticky situations. They are like enchanted items and can have the same effect, but they take much less time to make can only be used once. They require seven parts: one for the mind, one for the spirit, one for touch, one for taste, one for smell, one for sight, and one for hearing. A small bit of a wizard’s will must then be invested in the potion for it to work, else it is just a brew of a bunch of disgusting things. Most potions look, smell, and taste disgusting, but to add anything to better the taste would mess with the effects of the potion.

There are many types of magic. The main ones are thaumaturgy, evocation, ectomancy, curses, necromancy, veils, and wards. Thaumaturgy is your basic voodoo dolls, get a small part of someone (hair, nails, blood is best) and us it in conjunction with a representation of the person to do thing to them. Evocation is destructive; fireballs, explosions, mini-earthquakes, ect… Ectomancy is the art of speaking to willing spirits (doesn’t violate the fifth law because the spirit is willing to be communicated with). Curses are harmful magic that isn’t evocation, as they make deaths look like accidents. Necromancy is the art of resurrecting the dead and the older the corpse is, the more power it has. Humans have the most powerful corpses, but the fifth law forbids raising them, but there is a loophole that allows you to raise non-human things without punishment. Veils are just illusions, they let you put up a magical screen that makes people see something other than what is actually there (it canbe defeated with a wizard's Sight (see below)). Wards are defensive magics that block or deflect incoming harmful magics (such as evocation or curses) or mundane attacks, and the strength of the ward determines how well the attack is deflected.

A wizard's Sight allows them to see through veils and glamours and also see the true form of mortals and immortals, along with the echos of what has been done in that area in the past. Whatever is seen with the Sight stays with that person forever, be it good or bad, and it will always seem as though you just saw it.

A soulgaze is something everyone can do, though it is only so vivid with a wizard. The soulgaze starts when eye contact is maintainged for a long time (more than a second or two). During a soulgaze, both the wizard and the other person see into the depths of each other's souls and see exactly what they are. This, like what is seen with a wizard's Sight, never goes away.

The pentacle is the symbol of magic. Each point of the star represents a type of magic (Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit) all bound together by human will (the circle).

You never said it had to be short.
How you came up with this character: He was made up for an RP on a different site. I didn’t really take that long to make him up, I just needed a leader for the group in my RP and this guy was it, though I'm editing him down a little bit for this RP so he isn't quite so powerful (or so he doesn't have guns ).


I've also got a vampire character from the same RP that I'd love to bring in. Would it be okay to have a vamp, or would you rather I not?

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Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

As long as you don't make him too powerful, that's fine. Though we have quite a lot of characters already. I'm impressed by this participation.

I have most of the intro written, but I'm dead tired. Fear not... I'll have it posted tomorrow. I apologize for the delay.

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(Any room left for me to join?)

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

No worries LDM take your time

Do the characters from the same RPG know eachother? (like Tristan is in the same RP as a charrie of Tur)

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Will and Tur, I would say it would depend on when they were taken out of their world. If they met each other beforehand, then yes. If not, then no, and you two can use it to your judgement whether you wish to have them know each other or not.

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[here it is. I apologize for the length. and yes, anyone can still join.]


High Vassal A'theril Ascentis, de facto ruler of the New Realm, did not look happy.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, you don't look happy," the black-robed mage pointed out. He was seated in an overstuffed armchair facing an oaken desk. The human carpenters had fashioned this particular work of furniture to look like an cow - square and brown, with all four feet planted on the polished floor. Oh, the idyllic charm of human aesthetics. It made him want to puke.

"It has been three years, Erydera. My patience is wearing thin."

Denaris Erydera didn't feel like leaning forward, so he tilted the scrying bowl on the wooden cow until the watery face within sloshed into view. "Your Highness, I apologize sincerely. Your disappointment truly strikes me a blow to the heart. However, infiltration is costly. Procuring the King's trust requires time. And winning an advantage over the wheezing old geese in the Supremacy's court..." He sighed. "But I ramble. I cannot imagine how trivialities like the success of this mission could possibly concern you, safe in your little palace as you are."

High Vassal A'theril Ascentis, de facto ruler of the New Realm, suddenly assumed the tone and texture of an overripe eggplant. The lines of his face sharpened in the waters of the scrying bowl. He was bending in close. His voice dropped to a silken purr. "Tonight, Erydera. I want it done tonight. Excuses will cost you much more than your life."

The scrying bowl went blank.

Lip twisting in disgust, Denaris let it fall back with a thud, and it slopped water all over the surface of the wooden cow. He flexed his fingers as though preparing to cast a spell - a nervous habit that he really must break someday. Had he pushed too far this time? The High Vassel of the New Realm was hardly someone he wanted for an adversary.

Yes, they called it the New Realm now. Not the Sacred Realm - no, their ancestral birthright was overrun by these pompous humans who dared to call themselves the Scarlet Supremacy. The New Realm. The High Vassal - a reference to the ancient times when rulers were chosen by the Goddess herself. It was as though the elves were groping for an anchor in the storm. Something familiar to cling onto. Something stable enough to convince themselves that everything was all right, that matters were no different from what they'd always been.

He calmed his fingers at last and succeeded in steepling them, propping his elbows against the armrests. The chamber that King Jyden had given him to use as a study boasted a bay window entirely covering one wall. He gaze out and found his breath once again stolen by the view. The stone walls of the castle dropped away to courtyards and a sprawling city outside. Beyond the city walls beckoned the carpets of forest in their misty, emerald haze, and beyond those...

The Northern Waste. The mountains seemed much closer than they really were - those gray teeth thrust into the endless sky. It was under the shadows of those towering peaks that he knew his people waited, subdued, biding their time. Three years. Three years since A'theril Ascentis had sent the most powerful of elven mages away - away from the bleak slopes and barren caverns, where no elf could ever remain too long without going mad. Three years since he'd sent Denaris here, to the heart of the Scarlet Supremacy. Three years was not so long in elven terms, certainly not long enough for the High Vassal's patience to "wear thin." Perhaps matters were more desperate than Denaris had ever known. How many elven warriors and mages would pour from those mountains, once the time came? A hundred? Five hundred? Against the tens of thousands commanded by the Scarlet Supremacy? It was madness.

Twilight was slipping past the lowest of the glittering white peaks. Tonight, the High Vassal had commanded. Denaris shook his head, amused. Give him a window, some forests, a couple of mountains, and there you have it! For the next ten minutes he could think of little else but green trees and tall peaks and elvenkind's tragic doom. It must be the sylvan blood in him.

Well, he might as well get started. The spell would take hours to prepare. It was one of his own innovations, actually. He'd done his research, had borrowed a phrase from one spell or a hand gesture from another, and had patched them all together for an intricate mantra that, when articulated or gesticulated incorrectly - an inflection on the wrong syllable, a motion out of place - could very well bring the castle crashing down around his ears. Which would have been dandy, except for the fact that one toppled castle would hardly bring about the Supremacy's downfall. What would bring about the Supremacy's downfall, however, if everything went as planned...

As he rose smoothly to his feet and set about placing wards upon his study, he tried not to think too hard about success. Overconfidence in spellcasting had, in the past, caused many a pretentious mage to lose a soul or two, occasionally the mage’s own. Besides, the spell was due for another few months of polishing before he could deem it safe enough to perform. He'd take the necessary precautions to protect his own neck, of course. Nevertheless, the failure rate was very, very high.

Tomorrow morning, he would owe the High Vassal a plump, juicy I-told-you-so.

-----

The page boy named Grigor took one look at the smoke and wondered who would provide the more painful death - the King's advisor or the King himself.

He waited a few more minutes in the deserted corridor as he wrestled with himself, all the while watching the billows of smoke spewing out from beneath the door of the study. If he eyed the door long enough, he could catch the intermittent whoosh or flicker of blue light. King or advisor... King or advisor... One was plain frightening; the other temperamental. One could whisk him away to a lifetime of torture chambers; the other could turn him into a toad...

Toad it is, then. Hopping can't be that bad. He raised a timid fist to knock.

The door banged open before he had even the chance to touch it. There was a flurry of black robes, a flash of green eyes beneath a velvet hood. Poor Grigor jumped a foot in the air and stumbled back all the way to the other side of the corridor. "I changed my mind! I don't want to be a toad!"

"A pity. It'd no doubt work wonders for your complexion." The hood fell back, and for the first time Grigor could ever recall, the King's advisor was not wearing his enfuriating smile but a rather terrifying scowl. Grigor gulped. "What do you want?" Denaris demanded.

"H-His Majesty wants t-to see you, my lord..."

"What is it this time? It's late. Does he need help putting his nightgown on?"

Actually, it's early. Almost daybreak, in fact. But one did not contradict a mage. "He didn't say, my lord."

"Too bad. Tell him I'm busy." He turned. The door of the study slammed shut behind him.

Grigor's jaw dropped open. Exactly how does one tell the King that someone refuses to see him? And one of his personal advisors, no less! He was just contemplating bursting into the room and begging to be turned into a toad after all, when the door swung open a second time.

"On second thought, tell him I'll be along in a moment."

Grigor exhaled a sigh of relief and scurried back through the castle to find King Jyden.

-----

After a change of robes, a brush of his hair, and the customary illusion that rounded his pointed ears to make him appear human, Denaris proclaimed himself ready for an audience with His Irritating Majesty, King Jyden. Nevermind that half his study was still smoking. Nevermind that the spell, which had taken five hours to prepare and another five to perform, had nearly taken off all four of his limbs - one every hour or so. Not at all. He plastered on a cheery smile. Everything was perfectly fine.

Perfectly fine all the way up until the point when he walked into the audience hall. Dammit, he'd been so close to convincing himself that he might end up having a good day after all. Life just wasn't fair.

Standing at his habitual spot beside the throne was none other than Lord Raen, the perfect pain in the buttocks to begin a perfectly painful morning. Does he know? Denaris worried. Has the High Vassal thought to contact him yet?

The voice of sixteen-year-old King Jyden pulled Denaris from the process of multiplying his stress ulcers. Or rather, it plunged him deeper into a pit of dread. "My advisors and friends!" Jyden greeted warmly. "I called you both here to seek your counsel on a grave stalemate afflicting this kingdom. You see, the daughter of the Duke of Highdale is past age but refuses to wed the son of Lord Langrish, who as you very well know is one of my top benefactors..."

Denaris smiled. And nodded. And tried very, very hard not to meet Lord Raen's eyes.

-----

Silence in the forest did not bode well. Silence meant peril. Silence meant something dangerous - a predator, an enemy - crouched behind their backs, ready to spring.

Twenty men moved in formation behind her, weaving through the trees like shadows. Loyal friends of her father, the King, they were the most courageous soldiers that the infantry had to offer. Courage was a celebrated trait. Unfortunately, a courageous soldier does not always make a good one.

Why was she here? Her father had given her a task, she recalled. Something about reconnaissance. Something else about the war. Uncertainty upon the battlefield was an unfamiliar sensation. Then she remembered. She'd never stood on a battlefield before. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, icy and foreign in her grasp. She couldn't draw it - too heavy! What was she thinking? She'd never trained in swordsmanship! She'd never even held a sword!

"Ambush!" The cry sliced the darkness, then trailed off with a shriek and a gurgle.

She whirled around in time to see the shadows coming alive and an arrow streaking point-blank at her face. Then darkness.

The arrow was still embedded in her cheek. Steeling herself for the pain, Ryairon clapped a hand to her face to yank it out. Her hand encountered nothing - only a swollen lump by her jaw that stung and itched at the same time when she touched it. Bug bite. With a quiet curse, she opened her eyes.

High overhead, a tangle of verdant green blinded her. Sunlight shafted through the net of branches and dappled the forest floor. Her eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. The leaves were too broad, too bright. The sun was too strong. And was that the ocean she heard? She forced herself up but collapsed soon after, assaulted by a wave of nausea that brought to mind a badly cast transport spell. She slapped away the insects floating drunkenly around her head. Something stirred in the canopy of palm fronds, and as she watched, two birds painted the most vivid scarlet she'd ever seen burst forth and melted into the blue sky.

What in Mortnar's name was going on? Groaning, Ryairon attempted to sit up again and this time succeeded. Her long braid had come undone, letting her hair slip into her face. She tossed it back and looked around.

That was when she noticed the other people. About a score of them, scattered throughout the trees. Most unconscious, though some were beginning to stir.

Her hand flew once more to the hilt of her sword. No, it wasn't too heavy. And yes, she could draw it with perfect ease.

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Kith gasped for breath as he ran down the narrow ally. He serached desperatly for an enclave, a small hallow, any place where he'd be able to hide from view and shift into an animal. The Men behind him, however, weren't going to give him that chance. They hounded him ferociously, intent on getting back the goods Kith had stolen. Kith turned a corner, and, thinking he was out of sight, almost shifted. He stopped himself as he ran full on into man, loitering in the street. He glared at the man "Watch it!" He growled, angry that he had taken his means of escape. It was then Kith realized the trouble he was in. The road ended a few yards ahead, and on top of that, it was hemmed in by tall brick walls. Kith faced a desicion: fight or shift. He chose fight: it would be simple to shift and escape, but living life as a thief meant blending in and not making noise. The men rounded the corner, and spotting Kith, sped up with victorious shouts. Kith prepared himself for battle.

Then there was nothing.

The men in the ally were left dumb founded. Their quarry had dissapeared out of thin air.

Kith groaned and rubbed his aching head. He rolled over and felt the tickle of long grass. Where was he? Within a moment he had sprung to his feet. Recolection hit him in the face, and things weren't adding up. He had been steeling himself for a fight, on cobbled stone, at night, surrounded by walls. Now he was surrounded by sun, grass, and the bodies of other unconscious or confused beings.
"What kind of trickery is this?" He asked with a growl, turning to the nearest upright figure, a man holding a glaive.

Jateyani, lately crowned king of Kytana, wearily rubbed his head and wished fervently for the simple days of the rebellion. Facing a deathtrap tower was so much more interesting than a court full of flattering nobles. He sighed.

"Who next, Raies?" Jate asked his attendant.

"I believe....yes, the Lady Tylen." The attendant hid a small smile.

"Oh underworlds be cursed, not her," Jate groaned. He'd rather face anything than that woman. Including the whole of the late Raen's murdering elf army. Well, maybe he wasn't that desperate. Still, the prospect of facing one of her speeches with an already blistering headache merely seemed to be rubbing salt into a festering wound. "Ah, I believe royal audiences are closed for the day," Jate threw over his shoulder as he made a hurried escape through the door at the rear of the room. Stepping through, he had enough time to realize there was no continuing floor before it all went black.

His head hurt less. Jate counted this a miracle, as the few people he could see around him seemed to be rubbing their own rather tenderly. He supposed the relief of not having to face Tylen, for another day at least, had eased his pain. Wherever he was, it wasn't any place of Kytana he had ever been. Which was saying something. A voice filled the air, and Jate turned to see two men nearby. Taking a few steps toward them, he hesitated as he saw one of them holding a weapon.

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going on a journey through my old claims

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

"Oh shut up," Kira instructed her alarm clock as she slammed upon the snooze button for the millionth time and managed to push the clock upon the ground, still ringing.

"Ugh..." she grunted, dragging the blanket over her head to muffle the sound from the alarm out, but, alas, it still penetrated through the covers.

"Alright, you stinking thing, I'll get up!" Kira shouted at the alarm as she hopped out of bed, turned the alarm off, and took hold of as much self control as she could administer not to send the alarm clock flying towards China.

"Dang it!" she yelled, seeing the time and emmensely annoyed at herself. She ran to her closet and furiously sorted out what clothes she needed to wear, managing to toss a shirt or two on the floor in the process only, hopefully, to be picked up later.

Dressed in a bright, blue, button-up blouse and a dark pair of black jeans, Kira lunged into her convertible, tossed her open purse into the passenger seat, and proceeded to drive, do her makeup, and call one of her friends simultaneously.

(Ok. Are we in the realm yet?)

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[Lovely posts, everyone. smeag, they're actually on a random tropical island off the coast. Getting off the island will become one of their primary concerns.]

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(Oh ok.. so they have been placed on this island? I'll edit my post)

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