Exile II, the story: Full Character CDs

Author	Topic: Exile II, the story: Full Character CDs
mung Shock Trooper Member # 258	written Thursday, February 3 2005 05:01 Profile Homepage #0 Please only those of the RPG post and only post your full, complete CDs, thank'ees... By the way we're ready to play...if you havn't noticed:D NAME; Lashmier RACE: Nemphilim SEX: Male HEIGHT/WEIGHT: 6’ 200Lbs BUILD: Massive HAND: Ambidextrous DATE OF BIRTH: 805 IE PRODESSION: Brigand/Mercenary PALCE OF BIRTH: Nemphilim fort near Fort Genrick DESCRIPTION: Lashmier is a huge cat with black fur and white patches on his face, hands, feet, and across his chest. His right arm bears magical tattoos that affect his hair as well as his skin dyeing them both a silvery white. The tattoos are vastly powerful spells and glyphs that counteract a certain enchantment from a gauntlet which Lashmier acquired from a traveling mage. The man tragically died before being able to tell Lashmier that the item had not been identified as safe or not and was being sent to the lair of Motrax for further investigation. Apparently the gauntlet was far from safe and began immediately to change Lashmiers body into an ethereal substance. Through some miracle of luck Lashmier was able to find a suitably able mage to fix the ravages of the item. The gauntlet, however, could not be removed. The effects of the magic on his hand was permanent so Lashmier is cursed to bear the item forever. A wonderous thing it is to bear nonetheless. Made of silver and set with stoned black as jet and crimson as blood. Intricate patterns and glyphs are carved into the metal and the gems seem to swirl with their own inner life. The dexterity of the gauntlet is amazing, giving it’s user nearly perfect precision with tools no matter how small or fine the detail. Two inch claws extend of the fingers of the gauntlet making it a capable weapon as well. The gauntlet seems to also be able to magnify the simplest spells changing the blaze of a flame to the ferocity of a fireball. All in all it’s a very adaptable item ( ) The only armor he wears is a chainmale scarf which acts as a coif. The chain is raged and hangs behind his in strips, some reaching to his waist with most not passing his middle back. His chest is bare and his left arm is covered to the shoulder with a thick layer of spiked armor. Articulated to perfection, the glove was created by master craftsmen available to only those with the money you get from a life of thievery or politics. Across his back are strapped two cutlass’s aproximatley a foot and a half in lenth each. The hilts are angled downward and outwards for easy access and the tips potrude over his shoulders a few inches. The blades are each blackened steel with almost a blue shine when the light hits the razor edge. His pants are those of a traveling swordsman. Wayleighed within sigh of his destination the man was easily enough killed and stripped. Although his sword cleanly took the head of one of Lashmiers companions. The pants are large and seem to be comprised of hundreds of stripps of leather laced together and interspersed with bits of chainmale to reinforce them. Numerous pockets can be found throughout the pants. The sword is quite a wicked weapon. Four feet long and slightly curved, the metal seems to have been…folded. But of course that’s not possible. The blade bears perfect balance and amazing speed, seeming to pass from one point in the air to another without having to pass through the space in-between.(hehe:) The sheath is of black leather and strapped about Lasmier’s waist with another length of chain. He wears no shoes save for a loupe of cloth to protect the soles of his feet from any damage. If necessary he dons a pair of curious wooden sandals also found on the young swordsman. About his neck and from his ears bangles numerous silver bells. Interwoven in the chain and one from each ear, the bells create a musical cadence with any movement. His appearance is pleasant, with sharp handsome features in his face. His voice is loud yet not to the point of being annoying. Across his shoulder he caries a worn bow of Lemon wood. A quiver at his hip holds barbed arrows with razor points. PERSONALITY: Lashmier is a pleasant person to be around. Easy going and ambitious. With few faults besides a touch of egotisticality. He seems to be a born leader, actively taking charge of situations and easily handling dilemmas. His quick wits and silver tongue lend his easily to the role of diplomat for the group and his size and dexterity make his obvious for bartering with merchants of a less reputable nature. When faced with a situation that has gone from bad to worse Lashmier is quick to take control and prefers affirmative action to any one of his men being hurt. He has been the leader of a brand of brigands from since the age of 16. Approaching his 18’th birthday he has become accustomed to people and their problems and learning to deal with them. Background:-} Lashmier rolled over in the night. His eyes opened taking in the walls, the floor, the softly glowing fire. He sat up letting his wives hand slide from his chest, pulling the blankets aside and stood up Soft brown hair and eyes as green as moss. A soft smile played across her lip. A faint sound echoed from outside his door once again, obviously what had awakened him. Not so much curious as tired and annoyed he slid a cutlass from under his sleeping mat and padded over to the door of his chamber. He touched the latch just as a something smashed into it from the other side. The door exploded inward along with the frame, tearing chinks of stone from the wall. He heard his wife scream as a shape emerged into the low light of the room. He caught a glimpse of tabby fur as a huge fist backhanded him, spiraling him across the room. He leapt from the debris of the floor and launched himself at the huge cat before him with a snarl, his blade raised. From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow slide into the room after the huge cat. It raised a hand and released a blaze of energy which slammed into him bearing him to the floor once again. This time he rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. The fur of his chest froze into tiny icicles and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins. The last thing he saw was the huge cat pick his wife up with a single arm and drag her from the room. The dark shadow looked back across the room, a snarl crossed his lip. Eyes burned like coals in the near dark and everything faded from view. He woke, perhaps a moment, perhaps hours later. His head felt groggy, blood had dried on the side of his face. He staggered over to his bed and clasped his other cutlass pulling it from under the worn leather and cloth. He hobbled to the door and raised his hand, resting his forehead on his forearm against what was left of the door. He began to wander down the hall, empty of anyone, the sounds of a ritual filtering through the dim passages. He staggered into an open hall, light blossoming from a huge bonfire in the middle of the floor. Figures danced about the room spiraling about a central dais and three figures atop it. One was the huge tabby cat, the other was the black shadow…a shaman. And the third was--- was his wife. She was bound hand and foot to the alter, Her slender form and soft fur highlighted with flickering shadows from the fire. The dark one held a knife, the blade a wicked curve of cold blue steel. His eyes found his wife’s, her mouth opened, a cry, a scream, or a sigh… he never found out. He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the floor, everything going dark again. Lashmier’s eyes cracked open. The first thing that he noticed was that it hurt to much to move. The second was that he was moving, being carried by rough hands. Suddenly light exploded about him. He squinted out again and found that we was outside. His eyes closed against the brightness but he was still being carried along. A few moments later he felt himself falling. Falling and landing. To be truthful the latter hurt more. Darkness closed over him once more. Above him two soldiers moved away from the edge of the rubble pit. Behind them a huge tabby walked forward. He frowned down into the gulch and pulled something from a bag. Two long curved blades and their sheaths. With a distainful motion he chucked the two items into the pit after the Lashmier. His lip curled in a snarl and he turned away motioning to the two other to follow him. Advantages:-} Uncanny Dexterity:-} His heritage lends its self to amazing dexterity and what could be called cat like reflexes. This ability isn’t limited only to his movements but also to his fingers. Such as working with tools and blades, poisons and other such alchemists abilities. Night vision:-} The basic animalistic ability to reflect any sort of light to magnify his natural sight allowing him to seemingly see in the dark. Persuasion:-} When bargaining and when leading he has numerous abilities at his disposal in order to achieve what most attempt to with force. Clever words and a silver tongue are far better allies then muscle. Magically apt.:-} Due to his gauntlet. Ambidextrous:-} Trained with two weapons all his life which enables him to extend his ability to more then simply weapons. Literate:-} Able to read the common languages and some ancient writings in order to study. Trilingual:-} Speaks Human, Nemphilim, and Slizerkian. Disadvantages:-} Renegade:-} Despised by both Nemphilim and Slizerkians for his abandonment of his culture. Handicapped:-} Lacks a physical right hand, although his gauntlet functions just as well if not better. ABILITIES: HEALTH: low SP: low MAIN STATISTICS: STRENGTH: average DEXTERITY: beyond average INTELLEGENCE: excellent WARRIOR SKILLS: EDGE WEAPON: grand master BASHING: inept POLEARM: average THROWN: inept ARCHERY: master DEFENCE: novice MAGE: Various spells PRIEST: Various spells MAGE LORE: adept ALCHEMY: inept ITEM LORE: inept OTHER SKILLS: DISARMING TRAPS: perfect LOCKPICKING: perfect ASSASSINATION: average to master(depending on weapon) POISION: master LUCK: perfect [ Thursday, February 03, 2005 11:13: Message edited by: mung ] -------------------- ...well I thought it was funney...? didn't you? Posts: 296 | Registered: Wednesday, November 7 2001 08:00
Sticky Infiltrator Member # 4256	written Thursday, February 3 2005 10:22 Profile #1 Character Description Bustle, hurried people running, shouts, comotion is the order of the day. All over Exile a war is being fought and everyone is keeping busy. But in one spot peace and calm prevail. Unperturbed by the racket one man slumbers on. NAME: Milton RACE: Human DATE OF BIRTH: 803 Imperial Era PROFESSION: Just graduated from Camp David. Promoted to Aide-de-Camp for one of the generals. PLACE OF BIRTH: Unknown APPEARANCE: Calmness, Confidence radiates out from one place. People turn to look, stare, whisper to each other. "What is he doing" they ask. The object of their attention is a man. Dressed in an upgraded version of the standard Exile Army armor this man stands in the middle of the busiest forges in Exile. A brooch that holds his cloak shows him to be the helper of one of the most prominent generals that Exile has. But this man just stands with his head down, and eyes shut. The apprentices of the forge weave their way around him casting irate glances, but not daring to complain of the sleeper that is in their way. A big man who takes up a lot of space, his body shows the signs of much toil over his short life. His downturned face has several curious scars on it, and the telltale raised scars that start on the lower part of his neck and dissapear beneath his armor tell of at least one severe whipping in his past. Boutell, the smith, walks over and loudly clears his throat. Since this has no effect he shakes Milton. The soldier immediately wakes and grins at the smith. Geniality shows all over his face, but any who were discussing him quickly turn away, hoping that he did not notice their stares. Personality, Strengths, and Weaknesses: STRENGTH: STRENGTH - Years of hard manual toil have not weakened Milton but given him might that is unproportional to even his large frame. STRENGTH: Knowledge of several small spells allows him to combat his tendency to move slowly WEAKNESS: An aversion to mages and spell casting makes him overly dependent on potions. It also makes him a very reluctant spell caster. STRENGTH: Genial Giant: Very sociable, converses easily with most people. Due to his position he knows many of the leaders of Exile's army. WEAKNESS: Sleepy: Somehow he never gets enough sleep. This makes him somewhat slow in combat and has earned him bruised ribs many a time for oversleeping. WEAKNESS: Weird things freak him out. More likely to fight then to attempt and make contact. Often connects random creatures to his hatred of mages. WEAKNESS: Color Bind: "So you said to pick all the red herbs?" POSSESSIONS: Light Bronze Chain Mail - Good quality though it is bronze. Mithril Halbard - Unwilling to get this magically enhanced. Arrrow - Some stupid goblin shot Milton with a pointless arrow. Kept as a good luck charm. Standard Exile Uniform- Durable, built for wear, rather stupid looking. Standard Exile Boots- The Latest technology allows the equipment of Exile troops with boots, no longer do they have to troop around in homemade contraptions. BACKROUND- Milton recently graduated from Camp David with highest honors. No complaint could be made against his performance except that he could always find time to sleep. This would have been a breaking quality if it were not for his amazing strength and tactical ability. Even though he slept far more often than his comrades in the Camp, Milton managed to do far more than them while awake. Before Camp David Milton had lived with an old swordsmaster. A hard bitten old man with a tendency to get drunk, the swordsmaster was not much of a mentor or father figure to Milton. He taught Milton the rudiments of all weapon forms and allowed him full access to his small arsenal of weapons. It was here that Milton found the only thing that he considered his friend. His halbard, an incredible weapon that only the strongest could wield, had never only rarely left his reach since he had first aquired it. In the isolation of western Exile, just north of Fort Remote Milton practiced for hours on end, honing his skills. For what he was practicing he could not tell, but without the company of men or women, he didn't have much that was better to do. When he wasn't practicing he would sometimes go talk to the the old man that he lived with. If the man wasn't drunk he would only talk of going to raid the gremlins for more of their wine, and make Milton come along. The old man in his drunken state however told Milton once that he had found him. The old man had found Milton when investigating a strange light near his hut. In the middle of a massive burn mark on the cave floor he had found a child of about 8 and had taken pity on it. Milton does not get shooken by much, but when he thinks of his childhood before the swordmaster he has a hard time not wincing. No memories of parents, love, or happyness exists in his past, merely an existance of pain and toil. Milton's first memory is of cringing in a corner while an invisible band struck him, while a voice shouted "Sleeping again? Get Up, Get Up" In memories of events closer to the present Milton can associate a face with the voice, at first merely a blur and then more definite. A pillar of green fire, rises up in his memory with the voice shouting "Throw him in" while the face was a passionless mask. Crystal clear Milton can remember the long grey face, filled with power and malice. A wizard's face. Technical Character Description: (Contains only in-game information) Name: Milton (no other name known to him) Species: Human Advantages: - Magically Apt - Toughness Disadvantages: - Sluggish Abilities: - Health: 150 - Spell Points: 60 Main Statistics*: - Strength: Great - Dexterity: Good - Intelligence: Great Warrior Skills**: - Edge Weapons: Basic - Bashing Weapons: Basic - Pole Weapons: Grand Master - Thrown Missiles: Unskilled - Archery: Unskilled - Defense: Master Magic Skills: - Mage Spells: 3 - Priest Spells: 5 - Mage Lore: 5 - Alchemy: 0 - Item Lore: 5 Other Skills**: - Disarm Traps: 0 - Lockpicking: 0 - Assassination: 15 - Poison: 0 - Luck: 15 (*in that order: Low, Mediocre, Good, High, Great) (**in that order: Unskilled, Basic, Skilled, Excellent, Mastery, Grand Mastery) Possessions: - steel plate mail - fine cloak - a steel halberd - a pair of boots - 1 arrow - two daggers (unidentified) - a brooch made of ivory (from the surface, with no known magic powers) - a sack of 0 gold pieces (just a sack I guess) - 30 units worth of food. [ Thursday, February 03, 2005 10:25: Message edited by: m's provocation ] Posts: 564 | Registered: Wednesday, April 14 2004 07:00
mung Shock Trooper Member # 258	written Tuesday, February 8 2005 05:19 Profile Homepage #2 This is Dr. Peppers Character CD... I'll be posting for her a bit of the time... Name: Glennis Species: Human Age: 30 Sex: F Height/Weight: 5-8/145 Build: Brawny Hand: Left Advantages: Toughness, Good Con Disadvantages: Sluggish Description: Gray hair and eyes, pock marked face, squashed nose, lots of old hairline scars. Wears a royal blue hooded cloak over a short leather tunic. Carries a leg from a fancy dining room table. It's solid black oak, carved with scrollwork and the end is shaped like a lion's foot clutching a ball. Personality: Antisocial. Abilities:- Health: Good Spell Points: Great Main Statistics:- Strength: Great Dexterity: Good Intelligence: Mediocre Warrior Skills:- Edge Weapons: Mediocre Bashing Weapons: Great Pole Weapons: Good Thrown Missiles: Mediocre Archery: Mediocre Defense: Good Magic Skills:- Good Mage Spells: Mediocre Priest Spells: Great Mage Lore: Good Alchemy: Mediocre Item Lore: Great Other Skills:- Disarm Traps: Mediocre Lockpicking: Mediocre Assassination: Good Poison: Great Luck: Mediocre -------------------- ...well I thought it was funney...? didn't you? Posts: 296 | Registered: Wednesday, November 7 2001 08:00
E=MC Hammered Infiltrator Member # 1092	written Saturday, February 12 2005 18:26 Profile Homepage #3 I'm pretty sure this goes in the Exile trilogy board...but what the hey. Name: Shea'haratei Race:Unknown, of human origin? Sex:Male Height/Weight: 207cm 110kg Build:Above Average Hand:Ambidextrous D.O.B.: Unknown Profession: First prime of the Khaal'ai, a scret militairy service. Place of Birth: Unknown Description: Shea'haratei is quite tall, wearing only long brown robes that have been enchanted when passed on to him by his martial arts master Sheer'na, which make the wearer seem like they pretty much fly through the air and is of moderate protection to most blows. Although Shea'haratei hasn't much of a build, he can inflict more damage than those who are bulky, due to his increased speed and training in his Jilitier, an ancient martial art of his people. He has shaven black hair with completly shaved off above ears where tattos take the hairs place, these tattoos follow down his arms and back, and are of cultural background, to give strength in battle. He wears 2 katanas at his shoulders facing down on his back and two scimitars facing the other way. Inside his robes he has two wicked short mithral waveblades. His boots are only leather of a surface cow, which where taken off a slain empire soldier. On his fingers he has sveral gem set rings. Personality: Shea'haratei is loyal to those he serves. He is also knwon to show no fear to those that make his companions run. He is very pleasant to be around, but if you give him reason to, he will kill. He is very calm and relaxed, even in battle. His wits and battle tactics have seen no match. Background: Unknown to humans, which are refered as the Tauri by Khaal'ai, which tend to like their privacy especially when backgrounds are asked by other races. Advantages: -Above average strength -Extremly fast and agile -Excelling hand to hand combat, and with blades and poles -Extremly enduring, burn him as much as you want, he won't go down. -Immune to disease -Shiuk Na-a special ring that acts sort of like night vision and the like. Blinding Shea'haratei will prove nothing, the ring is im-movable -Literate- great knowledge of the races and their language Disadvantages: -Get on the wrong side of him and he will kill you -Apart from that there aren't much Abilities: Health: average SP: none Main Stats: Strength: above average Dexterity: exceptional Intelligence:above average Warrior Skills Edged:exceptional Bashing:not as good Pole:mastered not prefered Thrown:capable Archery:inept Defence:exceptional **No mage skills** Item lore:average Other skills: Disarming traps: above average lockpicking:master Assasination:grandmaster Poison:average Luck:perfect My largest post ever...wow that took me like half an hour to do that. -------------------- When you think you can't get any lower in life and hit rock bottom, God hands you a shovel. Following the rights movements You clamped on with your iron fists drugs being conviently available for all the kids Minor drug offenders fill your prisons You don't even flinch All our takes paying For your wars against the new non rich Posts: 615 | Registered: Friday, May 3 2002 07:00
Solodric Warrior Member # 3978	written Sunday, February 13 2005 11:16 Profile #4 Sorry to post something other than a CD here but...what is this and WHERE do I sign up?! Posts: 125 | Registered: Friday, February 13 2004 08:00
mung Shock Trooper Member # 258	written Sunday, February 13 2005 15:19 Profile Homepage #5 ...You realize that you've completly ruined the who meaning of this post by posting something that wasn't origionally in the post topic and sich a disturbane could throw off the ever so faint grip on sanity that the person who started this whole damn thing has and make him suddenly feel very...disapointed...but hey:P Send me a imp (instant message: private(I made that all all by my lonesome:)) and I'll get back to you on a character and joining...as for what exactly it is...it's an RPG that's takeing place at this moment where I'm going through the game Exile II crystal souls with a personal party of people...LIke the game but...better...so, join if you wish...and, btw... NEVER POST HERE AGAIN!!! ARGGG):: ) >>>>>> [ Sunday, February 13, 2005 15:19: Message edited by: mung ] -------------------- ...well I thought it was funney...? didn't you? Posts: 296 | Registered: Wednesday, November 7 2001 08:00
Arancaytar Law Bringer Member # 2984	written Wednesday, February 23 2005 06:08 Profile Homepage #6 It looks like I am ready to post. Sorry for delaying this long. ____________________________________________________ Character Description People become Adventurers because they seek for something. Some desire fame, some power, and others wealth. Many wish to prove their strength, and some want to find their destiny. Few, however, are motivated primarily by their thirst for knowledge... Name: Daryl Mycroft World: Ermarian, born in 801 IE Race: Human Profession: Mage/Soldier Mycroft has only recently finished his apprenticeship at the Tower of Magi. He is currently enlisted in the army of Avernum and fighting in the Empire War. Age: Twenty-two (823 IE, in the midst of the Empire War) Place of Birth: Formello, Northeast Avernum. Appearance: A man, of mediocre height, stands with his back turned. He cannot be taller than five feet. The grey cloak he wears is of a rough cloth, and looks both uncouth and worn. Beneath this cloak, his garment is that of an adventurer: A light armor made from boiled leather, and beneath it a tunic that has seen better days. All in all, he looks closer to the observer's idea of a vagrant than a mage, let alone a scholar. His tanned, leathery skin betrays his long and arduous travels even more than his cloak does. He carries a light, but gnarled, twisted staff that an Avernite will recognize as carved cavewood. This staff is unadorned and has nothing set in its tip, but there is a small inconspicious warding sigil etched somewhere far down its base. A mage trained in the lore of runes would recognize it as a minor charm, simple but very effective, rendering the staff almost unbreakable. The staff shows signs of wear like the mage himself, and must have been used as a bashing weapon at more than one point in its life. Getting tired of being stared at from behind, the man finally turns aroud. His young face comes as a surprise to anyone who would have judged him older. He is in fact in his early twenties, even though in all but his face he looks over thirty, and his garb makes him look still older. Mycroft's face is dominated by his bushy eyebrows and the beard he has recently stopped shaving. He has a high forehead even at his age, but he has always had that. A rugged, but not unpleasant face to look at, over all, and his weatherbeaten skin only adds to the effect. His dark brown eyes contain the wisdom brought by years spent studying the arcane lore. But they are not dulled, nor calm: A fire appears to glow deep in them; the never-ending hunger for more knowledge and more experience. The burning desire to learn. Mycroft's features shift into a light, knowledgeable smile in greeting, but they cannot hide a certain curiosity as to who this unknown observer might be, and what may be learned from him. Personality, Strengths and Weaknesses: Strength: Openmindedness & Adaptability Whenever a situation comes up where an encounter with a new, unfamiliar sight might prove disturbing, Mycroft's curiosity may cover up any initial unease. Weakness: Suicidal Curiosity "Oh look! Now that is a strange-looking insect indeed – it appears to be at least two meters tall when standing on its hind legs, is plated in green-brown armor and possesses pincers that seem to be its main weapons. It also appears to inherently radiate a forcefield… my analysing spells reveal it to be a simple, but very strong anti-magic field. Finally, it can run amazingly fast. I just have to note this down; I've never heard of this creature before… hey, why are you all running awa--- Aargh!" Enough said.  Strength: Ranger's Abilities Even after studying the magical arts in the Tower of Magi, Mycroft has retained the cave lore taught him during his apprenticeship to a sage in Almaria. With this comes experience in Cavelore, Navigation skills, and many other abilities necessary for surviving in the harsh environment of the Underground.  Strength: Magery Mycroft graduated from the Tower of Magi with honors shortly before his twenty-first birthday, in 822 IE. While he can – being skilled in the ways of a ranger – defend himself in close combat against weak opponents, his preferred way of fighting is magic. He knows most of the standard combat spells, as well as many spells used for magical analysis that aren't commonly taught to apprentices.  Weakness: Physical Frailty Daryl has an almost iron constitution, but when it comes to actual force, he is better off in the back of a battle, frying or riddling his opponents with arrows from afar rather than wielding a sword.  Weakness: Confidence in himself This comes as a real surprise. We have here a man striving constantly to learn more, to increase his experience. No one would possibly accuse him of thinking himself all-knowing; that would interfere with his continued quest for wisdom. Yet this same character will be over-confident when it comes to trusting his own experience and senses. He is reluctant to accept being instructed, especially on a topic he believes to know well. He may occasionally reject being corrected, even in matters that the other one is quite intimate with, and grow obstinate and stubborn. Even though such lapses never last long, they can cause problems in situations where quick action is required.  Weakness: Lack of social/practical skills: While, as described above, Mycroft is ready to interact with and adapt to other races and cultures with little or no inhibition, his actual social instruction is lacking. To simplify: In his life, an adventurer deals with two sorts of beings. Those he has to fight, and those who pay him for it. The latter are often humans with vast resources; merchants, rulers and the nobility - a social class that expects certain standards of behavior. When these people are concerned, Mycroft should stay in the back and let others negotiate, because he might botch things up, or worse, get saddled with a bad deal due to his weak haggling skills. Magical knowledge and cave lore simply is not all.  Possessions: A worn cavewood staff, light leather armor (cave lizard skin), a rough grey cloak (an heirloom from the surface), a tattered tunic (woven from cavewood cotton, an uncouth but durable material), a steel shortsword (also an heirloom), a tiny obsidian dagger used for etching runes (Tower of Magi standard issue), a pair of lizardskin boots, a cavewood bow, but no arrows. History: Daryl Mycroft was born in 801 IE to his parents Radel and Dora Mycroft, in the city of Formello, Northeast Avernum. He is one of a small generation of children born and raised in the caverns (there are only a few of these who were born before the Reconciliation; most inhabitants of Avernum are still immigrants, though the native descendant population is now on the rise). Radel and Dora had been exiled from the surface for vagrancy and unlicensed sorcery, respectively. They first met in Avernum. Daryl lived in Formello till the age of seven, when his parents moved to the city of Almaria on a trek. The roads were dangerous then, for it was the high time of the war against the Nephilim, who had recently united under the rulership of the human mage Anastasia and forged a temporary truce with the Slithzerikai, who had already ravaged the lands south of Formello some time back. The trip was not without risks, and the trek was guarded by experienced mercenaries and soldiers of the Crown. When the trek was ambushed by Sliths as it reached the shores of the southern lake to set sail for Almaria, it was young Daryl's first sight of a battle. His father Radel died in this battle, and his grief-shaken mother Dora was left to raise him alone once they reached the city of Almaria. At the age of ten, he was to be apprenticed to one of the craftsmen in the city ( who had a shortage of apprentices anyway due to the lack of younger Avernites, which gave him a lot of options). A solid choice might have been one of the Almarian vintners or wine-traders, but he did not want that. The other choices were either a former bladesman of the Empire army or the local scribe. Since the death of his father, Daryl had been wary and distasteful of anything related to combat or warfare, and so he became an apprentice to the scribe. Since the sage was also an alchemist and the potionmaker of Almaria, Daryl spent a lot of his apprenticeship learning the properties and uses of herbs, making potions, and of course gathering ingredients for his master. This was a tricky task, and the alchemist himself had learned a lot of the cave and nature lore that enabled him to journey through dangerous lands unharmed. He passed this on to Daryl. His apprenticeship was brought to a stop when the old scribe had never returned from a journey to procure some graymold from the northern caves. In spite of the best tricks that his cave lore gave him, he had been discovered by a raiding band of Slithzerikai. His body was never found. Daryl, now old enough to journey alone, had joined the next caravan to the Tower of Magi in the Southeast and, by a fortunate chance, managed to secure himself an apprenticeship in the then most prestiguous (and only) center for magical learning in all of Avernum. However, he did not much like the tower's risky environment in layers of intrigue and political struggles. No sooner had his apprenticeship been finished and he himself been certified a licensed mage, than he left the tower to go north. When he was twenty (in 821 IE, four years after the assassination of Emperor Hawthorne III) he arrived in the town of Formello, which he had last seen thirteen years ago. He stayed there for a while, making a little money from protecting traveling merchants and selling potions. A year later, however, the Empire War began as the Empire retaliated against the murder of its ruler. As the war grew increasingly desperate for the Avernites, Daryl in a mix of patriotism and unemployment desperation joined the army of Avernum. Just as the barriers sprang up, he was sent up with a rag-tag band of other enlisted adventurers to Fort Ganrick. It is now 823 IE. ________________________________________________ There we go... ----------------------------------- Addendum - Statistics: Technical Character Description: (Contains only in-game information) Name: Daryl Mycroft Species: Human Advantages: Magically AptCaveloreDisadvantages: FrailAbilities:Health: 35Spell Points: 25Main Statistics*:Strength: MediocreDexterity: GoodIntelligence: GreatWarrior Skills**:Edge Weapons: ExcellentBashing Weapons: UnskilledPole Weapons: UnskilledThrown Missiles: UnskilledArchery: SkilledDefense: MasteryMagic Skills:Mage Spells: 5Priest Spells: 0Mage Lore: 10Alchemy: 17Item Lore: 9Other Skills**:Disarm Traps: 2Lockpicking: 4Assassination: 0Poison: 0Luck: 6(*in that order: Low, Mediocre, Good, High, Great) (**in that order: Unskilled, Basic, Skilled, Excellent, Mastery, Grand Mastery)Possessions:light leather armorrough grey cloaka steel shortsword (the necessary cliche-heirloom)a pair of bootsa cavewood bow, but no arrows.two medium energy potionsa silver ring without any magical powers (also an heirloom).a sack of 50 gold pieces (sum these up I guess)20 units worth of food. [ Monday, February 28, 2005 05:41: Message edited by: Daryl Mycroft [Arancaytar] ] -------------------- The Encyclopaedia Ermariana <-- Now a Wiki! "Polaris leers down from the black vault, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey." --- HP Lovecraft. "I single Aran out due to his nasty temperament, and his superior intellect." --- SupaNik Posts: 8752 | Registered: Wednesday, May 14 2003 07:00