The Golden City [ a literate original ]

[GuardianOfHearts]

The sun sets, and a fire seems to ignite over the land. You shield your eyes against the blaze, and ahead of you looms something hugely vast: you think to yourself, Is it a mountain, a mirage, or has the sunlight hardened into stone before me? For what you see certainly looks as though it was built from dull sunshine. However, it is none of these things. It is a city.

Yes, a city, one created almost entirely from smooth desert-yellow stone that seems to drink in the sunset. It is tall and wide, almost impossibly so, but that it because it is built upon tiers that are each maybe a mile or half long. You try to count the levels, but you lose track. Eighteen, twenty, twenty-three? Somewhere around that.

Here and there, from close-set buildings, a tower will rise, and at the top, what must be a palace sits like a crown. Amidst the dusty gold stone are snatches of lush green, showing that there are, in fact, trees and other plants.

Outside of the city, people are gathered near the river that passes by, doing this or that while watched by a peaceful herd of horses- or are they gazelles? –in the distance. But now, everyone is hurrying to get back inside. Here, apparently, it isn’t good to be out after dark.

What the city itself lacks in color makes up for it in the incredible variety of its people. A cacophony of languages and a muddle of faces make up the population. And despite all the hustle and bustle, it seems to be relatively peaceful, prosperous; and yet you are warned, even now behind the sturdy walls, to find a place to stay during the night. And this seems odd, for what could be so dangerous here, amidst music, magic, and laughter, in- where are you?

Welcome to the Golden City of Ledonaath.


+[Recap]

Yep, that’s the plot right there. Nice, free-form, character-driven. Here your creativity can go nearly unlimited. Within reason, I’m giving you free rein over everything from flora and fauna to culture. This city is a melting pot, if you haven’t realized.

But just because I didn’t strap you down with a set of storylines doesn’t mean that it’s totally lazy. No, lots of things can and will happen, and you can make them up too. Just remember to read the rules!


+[Setting]

I explained some in the opening. Ledonaath is more often referred to as the Golden City because of its darkly-gold color. Like I mentioned, levels, twenty-eight of them to be exact, build it up. They connect to a tall cliff behind it. The terrain is a grassland/savannah type. The Windlewyth River runs past the city on its right side, continuing further on to the ocean, several miles away. Ledonaath has several parks built in it, a couple taking up entire levels. This has attracted its own animals, though there are menageries that keep most of them. Stables are built on every level for "beasts of burden" {horses, ostriches, zebras....} that make travel in the city possible.

The city is peaceful. Yes, there are rogues in it, and murderers, and other ne'er-do-wells like any city, but Ledonaath does not war. It has no army, only Guards that make up the law enforcement and Sentries who watch and control traffic going in and out. Because it is such an important center for trade, no one seems inclined to try and lay seige to it.

Legend has it that the city was made, hundreds of years ago, by refugees from many different nations fleeing from war. And since then, the tradition of being a nexus for myriad different ethnicities has continued. The city does not condone prejudice, and slavery is illegal. For the most part, there is tolerance, and places of worship for more religions than you can shake a stick at have been built.

And yet, there is not complete repose. It's truly impossible for a city, any city, to be free of all forms of discrimination. Hate crimes are not unheard of, though the City Guards try to work against it.

The lowest few levels, closer to ground level, house mostly people who work on the river; traders who wish to reside closer to the gates; and inns that cater to travellers stopping through. The highest levels, predictably, house the wealthier and/or more important citizens. This is because the last three levels make up the palace, where the Royal Council resides and runs the city. Representatives from each level, called Envoys, meet there monthly.

And here is the most peculiar thing about Ledonaath: Being a melting-pot for culture also means being one for magic. Whether or not magic is the cause or merely a magnetic attraction is unsure, but many a strange thing happen in the Golden City, and it is well known that things grow dangerous in the deep hours of the night. People have reported seeing wraiths wandering around after dark, or been confronted by talking statues during the day.

Remember to be on your guard.


+[Non-Playable Characters]

The Watchers: Now, these are perhaps the strangest things about the city. No one quite knows what they are, but luckily, they don’t seem to mean anyone harm; they’re actually helpful at times. People speculate that they’re protective spirits who watch over the Golden City and its inhabitants. They come in the form of usually small, strange animals. And most often, you’ll simply catch of glimpse of glowing eyes or a shadow out of the corner of your vision. There have only been a few reported times in history that one of them has spoken to someone, and only to warn of great danger for the whole city.

The Plague: One of the several malevolent beings that haunt Ledonaath. If it has a name, no one knows it, and for the most part, people are even afraid to name it at all. It comes in the form of a tall, too-thin man, with ashen skin, diseased orange-red eyes, and dark blood-red hair. It slips into houses during the dark of the moon and selects a victim, causing them to instantly turn feverishly ill. Death is always within a few days, and no one has yet found a cure.

The Plague seems to be related, in some way, to the four other malicious spirits that roam during the days when the moon does not show. They are listed immediately below.

Insanity: The being that comes in the form of a short, feral-looking black-haired woman with yellow eyes and fangs. When seen, it is most often laughing or smirking. As the name implies, it induces madness in people, and generally likes to create chaotic situations.

The Elements: A trinity of beautiful sisters that are made from the essence of fire, water, and air, and have some control over such. They cause destruction when they can. Fires, floods, dust storms, if they come during the dark of the moon, you can bet your life that it’s caused by them. Fortunately for us, they aren't very powerful- only malicious. Clicky clicky, I found a reference pic!


+[Rules]

-->Be LITERATE. If you can't post two paragraphs or more, including satisfying grammar and spelling, I don't want to see you. Don't worry though; I won't bite your head off if you missplace a comma or don't get a word or two right. But there's no excuse for your posts looking as if you typed blindfolded.

-->Remember the guidelines about power-playing and god-moding. Common courtesy, ya know.

-->Keep stuff PG-13, you know the rules.

-->R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Respect me, respect your fellow RPers, respect yourself. I don't want any flaming in my thread. It's so pretty. Do you really want to make it ugly? If you feel the need to argue with someone that bad, please use the PM system.

-->No Mary-Sues. If you don't know what a Mary-Sue is, then basically, it's a two-dimensional character. Flat. Boring. Too damn powerful or cliché. I love originality to death. You don't need to have a tortured past to be interesting.

-->As the city is diverse, I adore introducing new races and cultures. So go ahead. But I don’t want you to be a 700-year old elf or whatever. And for my remaining sanity, please, no angelic or demonic characters. It seriously annoys me.

-->I uphold the right to boot you out if any problems arise or if I feel that your profile isn't up to par. And if I don't accept you, don't you dare post {after I will specifically ask you not to} and ask "y wasnt i excepted??". Once again, be kind to the sanity of this poor, battered RPer.

-->Be involved. I will allow absences as long as you give a notice- we don't want to think you've died, now do we? Upon your return, you will be given a summary and allowed to hop back in. Don't just leave for two weeks in Fiji and expect to come back with no problems.

-->Being involved does NOT mean rapid-fire posting. No one likes to come back after ten minutes and see twenty pages that weren't there before. Please don't do that. You'll make me cry.

-->Have fun! =D I love fun. I love whoever invented it too.


+[Profile] ~finally

Name:

Age:

Gender: {because sometimes, I do actually need this option}

Race/Ethnicity:

Occupation:

Level you live on: {1-25}

Personality: {how do they act? Quirks, habits, nature? I’d love to know. Make this longer than two sentences, please.}

History: {you’re okay to have fun with this}

Weapon/s: {make this logical. That's all I ask.}

Power/s & Abilities: {please don't be too powerful. Have some weaknesses.}

Appearance: {either a description or a non real-life picture and description. Because sometimes I wonder; Does that girl really want her character to have purple hair ... ? But links only please}

Theme song/s: {it’s fun. =D}

Other: {the place for anything else that needs saying!}

 

[Tobuoi]

Name: Pan
Age: 15, I suppose.
Gender: F for fish.
Race/Ethnicity: Mara
Occupation: Sort of a jack of all trades, Pan specializes in mechanics and visual art. She sells her artwork and her services.
Level you live on: 9
Personality: Pan can be particularily mood at times, with a certain suseptability to jealousy. However, she is genuinely good natured and outgoing, in most situations, and she's incredibly loyal to those who she cares about.
History: Pan doesn't remember exactly how it happened, but she almost wants to say that...her parents abandon her at the city when she was about nine years old. What she does remember, though, is being raised in the city's orphanage for several years before being allowed to live on her own at the age of fourteen. Pan has been getting along just fine, so far. She has a small home and a relatively inexpensive life.
Weapon/s: Pan has never really felt the need for any sort of weapon, but she does carry a pretty spiffy dagger/long knife around which she found somewhere on the street. She mostly uses it for work purposes.
Power/s & Abilities: Like all Mara, Pan has a superb sense for the arts. She has a way of entrancing others with her artwork, the way that a Siren would do so with song. Other than that, again, she has a knack for mechanics.
Appearance: Pan is petite, like all Mara. Also, she shares the defining trait of a feathered head in place of hair. Hers is mostly red with a bit of orange under the top layer. The race is also known for their strange methods of makeup...Pan, specifically, wears a light tint of orange makeup on her cheeks, almost like blush. Her eyes are a bright green and her face is spattered with freckles. Pan wears simple clothes such as capris, tank tops, and sarongs (it's a sort of wrap thing...can be used as a skirt or a dress). She wears standard sandals and a necklace around her neck with a dangling sword figurine.
Theme song/s: "The World is Mine" by Hooverphonic

 

[Katattack]

xP Still trying to think of a character you won't kill.

Will edit.

Edit: I PROMISE NO ROBOTS. GOSH. xD However... You might not like this any better... D=>

 

[Archetype00x]

Before I get to work on my template, let me just start out by saying this; wow. This is one of the more, if not the most, original role-play's I've seen in a long time. Maybe it's just because the melting pot theme is ideal to me, I'm not sure, but I really like how you set everything up. Thank you for this RP.

 

[GuardianOfHearts]

{ Kat, just stop trying to bring robots into this. D:< xD

...this is long. Sorry. }



Name: Rhyme.

Age: Unsure. She’s either fifteen or sixteen.

Gender: Female

Race/Ethnicity: Human.

She believes in getting her next meal, and leaves real worshipping to people with money.

Occupation: Street performer- she sings.

Level you live on: Homeless. She sticks around the thirteenth and fourteenth levels.

Personality: Rhyme is blunt and rough in her speech. She is a typical street-rat, clever, stealthy, and curious. She is easy-going, taking everything in its stride, and always viewing the world with a humorous {and cynical} commentary. She is not very empathetic and cannot read emotions very well; actually, she just doesn’t like to. Sensitivity is not at all her strong point. The only boundaries she knows or cares about are those society has pressed upon her, i.e., the divides between the rich, poor, human, and not. Rhyme has learnt, from observation and experience, how to follow those rules.

Other than that, she could care less about your feelings and how you think she should respect them. For her, respect is a thing hard earned, and no one gets the benefit of the doubt. The most annoying thing to her is people who don’t laugh enough. In her eyes, if she, a homeless street-rat, can be happy, then no one else has a good enough excuse not to enjoy life.

History: Rhyme, like most children growing up in the slums, did not have much of a happy childhood. She spent the first nine years of her life being shuttled around; trying to find a place she could be welcomed. As the story goes, her parents tried to sell her to a passing caravan of slave traders when she was four years hold, hoping to make some money. Apparently it worked, but as fate would have it, the traders left her behind. She was saved from the horrors of slavery by pure chance.

So in Ledonaath she stayed, on the lower parts of Level Eight. It wasn’t until she was twelve that she finally left, moving a few levels up in hopes to make her future- or at least get by –there. She had by then discovered her talent for singing, and started street performing. Not much else to say. She usually spends her nights in the Level Fourteen forest-park, sleeping in a tree amongst the birds, whose songs she likes to hear and mimic.

Rhyme never steals, despite her need. This is not so much a moral thing as it is a control issue: she wants to be able to make it by her own abilities, not by thieving, and looks down on it as lazy and feckless.

Weapons: Rhyme carries numerous small, cheap knives hidden about her person. Living unprotected in the slums, she knows three important things: how to duck, how to strike, and how to run.

Power/s & Abilities: Rhyme can listen to the wind. Being a singer herself, she has a soft spot for it, and the wind spirits seem to like her. Sometimes the breeze will bring her bits of conversation or other noises carried from around the city. Not very useful, but she likes it, and once and awhile, she’ll pick up interesting news.

Rhyme is also a very talented singer. When she sings, her slang and hardened speech drops away. She has an incredible range, and can mimic a variety of voices and sounds. Music is her life, and not just because it puts food on the table she doesn’t have.

Appearance: Rhyme is about 5’’4’ ½. She tends to look taller though, because she’s so long and gangly. This is partly because of her genes, though mostly because she hasn’t seen three square meals a day in years. She has a wide, well-shaped mouth, a long nose, and slightly slanted sea-blue eyes. Faint freckles adorn her tanned skin. Her hair is a bright yellow, and it doesn’t get tangled. This is because, a few years ago, Rhyme got annoyed enough, took out a rusty knife, and chopped it off- rather unskillfully, as parts of it are uneven. Now it just goes to her ears, feathering around her head in a messy dandelion-like halo. It may make her look even more patched at times, but she likes it because now her hair doesn’t give her any trouble.

Rhyme wears a pair of castoff tan capri pants that were once long on her until she, like her hair, took a knife to them. Now they reach just past her knees. They’re a bit tattered, but it’s the best she can do. Her shirt is two different colors of blue in places due to a bad patching job. The best article of clothing she owns is her pair of fingerless green gloves, which she found a few years back. She doesn’t have any shoes, probably wouldn’t wear them if she did.

Theme songs: Born for This and For A Pessimist, I’m Pretty Optimistic by Paramore.

Other: Rhyme makes up her own songs.




Name:
Arianrhyx Sayre. {Ahri-AN-ricks Sair} As this is a mouthful, she goes mostly by Arian, or Nyx.

Age:
Sixteen, almost seventeen.

Gender:
Female.

Race/Ethnicity:
Human Anima witch.

Occupation:
Owner of a magic shop, where she sells mostly potions and ingredients but also magical implements. It's called Three Steps Sideways.

Level you live on:
Nineteen.

Personality:
Nyx is a very intense person, full of contradicting personality traits and odd quirks. For example, she’s extremely optimistic and rather imaginative, but she’s quite practical too. Nor, for all her seriousness, is she uptight. In fact, she’s rather charismatic, if often reserved and enigmatic. Nyx can be a steadfast friend, but she’s used to keeping to herself and has no qualms about being independent ... but given the choice, she won’t work alone.

While she is realistic, trying to think things through in all situations, her natural impulsiveness works against such traits. Given that, her odd way of looking at fear- “Just do it anyway!” -and her compassion, she often gets into tight situations.

Nyx has no problem with stepping aside and following others if she thinks it’s the best course of action, for she knows her limits. Paradoxically, she’ll usually be the one to take control of a situation and lead if no one else will, or if she knows she’s best suited.

History:
Arianrhyx was not born in the City. Actually, she doesn't know where she was born.

She came to Ledonaath when she was just six years old, riding on the back of a horse, at the head of a group of tired, dirty, draggled ... children. She barely remembers her journey to the city, much less what caused it. She vaguely recalls her own home, and family. Her most vivid memories are that of a fire, and battle. And someone she thinks might be her mother setting her on a horse and directing a group of refugee children out of danger.

She and the other survivors- none of them over seven -arrived in sight of the Golden City as the sun set, searching for safety. The sentinels of the watch towers sent out a group of guards to them, and when asked who they were, little Fay, nearly falling off her horse from exhaustion, merely murmured, "We're lost. We're lost."

That was how Faynyx and the other refugees came to be known as the "Lost Children". Not much is known about them.

A few days after being led into the city, Arian was adopted by a woman named Talsmera Sayre, who was the head of a menagerie. Arian spent most of her time there, learning about the many fantastical creatures that Talsmera cared for. She was taught to read from bestiaries and texts on herbology.

This was probably when Arian acquired the more reserved nature she has now. Taking care of sometimes mortally injured animals, she realized even at a young age that she would often have to harden her heart.

Two years ago, when Talsmera fell ill to the Plague, she brought Arian to her bedside.

“I’m sorry … I have to leave you so soon, Arian,” she said, her voice hoarse from coughing. “But I want to protect you still. There is something you must do.”

Arian dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand to stop from crying, using her free hand to hold Talsmera’s. “I’ll do it, Tally. What is it?”

Talsmera didn’t answer right away, taking the time to sit up, a laborious process as she was swiftly weakening. “Take my spirit. It will be my last gift to you, Ari.”

Arian took an involuntary step back, horrified, her Anima lurching unpleasantly at the idea. “Talsmera, no! It would be wrong, unholy, you taught me never to-”

“You cannot refuse the last request of one who is dying,” Talsmera said sharply, momentarily silencing her adopted daughter. She coughed for a minute before continuing. “But I would never ask that of you. No, this is something different. I want you to siphon the essence of my spirit. This strength I give to you, for my soul is ready to pass on anyway. I will be unharmed, but will leave you with a lasting protection.”

Arian considered this for a few minutes while Talsmera subsided into another fit of coughing. For a fifteen year-old, it was a lot to take in.

“It can be done, even by me? It’s not … necromancy?” she asked, refilling Talsmera’s cup of water and bringing it to her lips.

“It’s not easy. But it is not an evil practice.” Coughing again, Talsmera reached over and pulled from a box on the bedside table a triangular pendent on a short chain. A black opal was incased in the silver. She handed it to the still-shocked Arian.

“I got this a long time ago. It’s a catalyst.”

“Where…?”

“Stop wasting time with questions, Arian. Begin the spell now … Please.”

Arianrhyx worked long into the night, for the spell was difficult and she was still unsure. The process was made all the harder by her grief, but as she had done with countless dying animals, she tried to push her feelings away and focus on the task at hand. But with Talsmera, it was much harder to do.

Finally though, it was done, and Arian, worn out, sat down on the floor by the bed. She sobbed and clutched the necklace with one hand, grasping Talsmera’s hand tightly until it slackened.


From there on in, Arian was mostly alone. Talsmera had left all her inheritance to Arian, so she was well off fiscally for at least a while. Also, her upbringing prepared her for being counted as an adult in the world by the age of sixteen, which was not too far off.

And by her sixteenth birthday, she had placed the seventeenth-level menagerie {also hers by inheritance} under management of an old friend of her and Tally’s and opened up her new shop on the nineteenth level.

Weapon/s:
Battle gloves. They are made of strong leather and a light, durable metal that reaches to the elbows. Attached to the above wrists are two "claws" that arch over past the fingers, creating lethal spikes when making a fist. Running from the bottom part of the wrist to the elbow are sharp blades made for slashing. The guards are silver-black, and the blades are made of strange, twilight-coloured metals.

Power/s & Abilities:
Nyx has learned how to control her Anima, the magical core theoretically located within each person’s soul that can be called forth with the right willpower. She summons her Anima and commands it verbally to form a spell. However, it can be capricious, almost like a different entity inside her, sometimes draining or invigorating her after a spell or ignoring her commands completely. Like most powers, it reacts strongly to emotion; occasionally causing it to go off on its own or do something that Nyx calls “backlash”, whipping out and back at her with a sharp pain.
Along with years of training, she's skilled in various arcane arts, mostly potion-making and spells.
She also has smatterings of several languages, necessary in such a city. But she's not that good.

Appearance:
Arian usually wears an effeminate type of frock coat, like a long hooded shirt attached to the bottom part and cinched at the waist by a girdle, the rounded tail reaching down to her knees with the front end a bit shorter. The cloth is formfitting and light to allow for movement and coolness in the hot weather. Living where she does, her clothes are mostly in pale colors. On her feet are tall brown boots, lacking heels and securely tied.

And always, her opal pendant rests around her neck. True to Talsmera’s word, she has not been visited by the Plague.

Theme song/s:
Nemo by Nightwish and Lose Control by Evanescence

Other: Nyx has two animals.
An Appaloosa mare named Aniron, and a dragonling named Raouhmo, who is the size of a small cat and will get no bigger.

 

[Prophet]

GoH, last time I joined this RP, I was rejected for literacy reasons. Hopefully this time I will rise above that. I will edit with my template tommorow.

 

[Thelonepickle]

Name: Mime Emayle

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Race/Ethnicity: Ikaareus (Temporarily Exiled)

Occupation: Street musician

Level you live on: 14, outside the Ikaareus' settlement.

Personality: Mime's originally warm heart has been scarred one too many times. For as long as she could remember, she had always tried to salvage some part of that light inside of herself, clinging desperately to her religion and culture, trying to keep the image she had of herself. Eventually, though, betrayl, loss, and abandonment caught up with her, giving her an extremely low self-esteem. Having given up on herself, she longs to be with other people, to make them smile, to feel like she's worth something. Her goal in life is to get back into her community and show them that she's changed, and she has no room for distractions. Her hatred of humans is justified in her mind.

History: The Children of Ikaa choose twenty-five sacrifices a year, and being born to one is an extreme honour. Mime, in fact, was born to two. Her parents were sacrificed when she was a mere five years old, but she was proud of them and pleased with her noble birth. According to the beliefs of the Children of Ikaa, Mime would live an extremely hard life, but it would have a happy ending, even if most children born of two parents destined to become the blood of Ikaa usually had lives on the shorter side. She would rise to great honour in her short time with the clan in many ways.

Because of Mime's pleading, the human, Salem, was allowed to join the clan. She felt this was a huge accomplishment on her part, for humans were the lowest scum in existence, and taking one in proved that she was worthy of great tasks. His training was rigorous, but Mime felt he should be grateful, as any other human would've been turned away instantly, if not executed for even attempting to join the clan.

Salem became tired of the clan's so-called wickedness to him, and he came to Mime one day, when she was fourteen and told her that she and he could run away from the corrupt world together. The girl couldn't believe Salem's stinging words, and she refused to listen to his reasons, most of which contained blasphemous ideas and scathing remarks about her people. She couldn't leave with him.

He told her he loved her.

She told him to run away.

The community blamed the failure on Mime, as the boy had been her responsibility. More merciful members of the Council of Ikaa decided that it was their fault - assigning the girl a boy two years her senior? It was a wonder she was even alive.

Mime couldn't stand her people for destroying the name of her love, and she couldn't stand herself for loving him. She vowed never to love another human, never to love another boy.

Mime's name and honour were spared, and she was given the job of Ikaa's Muse, to apologize for putting too much weight upon her naive shoulders. As Ikaa's Muse, she had to be educated in the art of playing the Sikkuhlet, a beautiful instrument and Ikaa's only inspiration. She completed her training and would've begun immediately.

Would've. At Mime's Opening Ceremony, where she would've begun to play her Sikkuhlet's first song and hear the voice of Ikaa in her ear for the first time (and so few were given that chance), she was found out.

She could still remember the look on her tribesmen's faces as they learned of what horrendous crimes Mime had committed. She had still been, after all these years, in contact with Salem. As punishment, she was exiled from her community and stricken from their records, as if she never existed.

Salem was drowned, but only after Mime was forced to tell him she had never loved him. Then, she had to stand and watch.

Now she lives on the borders of the Ikaa Settlement, not allowed to pass onto their territory, trying to think of some way to rejoin her clan.

Weapon/s: A rough, plain spear. The only ornate thing on it is an old, silver pendant on a pale blue ribbon. It is nameless and has no past, as far as Mime is concerned. Just like herself.

Power/s & Abilities:

Sikkuhlet: The instrument is a pale disk entwined with the same pale blue ribbon as that draped around her spear. When not in use, the Sikkuhlet is slung over Mime's shoulder, tied to her back. When in use, it is tied around her left arm as her right hand bears its silver beater. When tapped in different places, the thin disk lets out different tones. The mysterious, haunting sounds of the Sikkuhlet are said to be immune to any dark magic, any tampering, and any sabbotage. The Muse must guard the ancient instrument by any means possible.

Appearance: Mime's hair is short, falling, at its longest point, to the middle of her neck. She doesn't fuss with it, she just lets it fall wherever it wishes. The emerald locks range from vibrant lime to a deep, forest green. Her brilliant brown eyes are light enough to look yellow in some lights. Mime's face is heart-shaped, her chin coming to a defined point. Sometimes considered a flaw in her culture, it's incredibly endearing when she smiles. Her lips are pale and always chapped, and her dark skin is subject to blisters around the shoulders - Delicate skin around the wings is considered bad luck to her people.

The girl stands at about five three, with a muscled, slender build. Her figure is a little flat, but she has a lot of character. Her featherless wings span over two feet, and her talonesque feet are armed with sharp nails.

Mime dresses in the traditional garb of her clan, although the uniform has become incredibly ragged in her year or so of exile. The increasing amount of filth demands that she retrieve new clothes, but she cannot afford it at this point and time.

Theme song/s: Dripping Faucet - Catch twenty-two.

Other: Mime is a mute with a severe gambling problem and a hatred of spiders.

 

[Sean]

Name: Morixen

Age: 17

Gender: male

Race/Ethnicity: Human

Occupation: Delivery boy

Level you live on: 14th

Appearance: Morixen's eyes are a bright hazel with short-cut black hair. His skin complection is an off-white besides his upper back which is a tad darker. .Morixen wears light-blue overalls with the with the strap part hanging down at his knees. Over his black long-sleeve shirt he wears a dark-blue T-shirt.

Personality: Morixen has lots af friends as well as enemies. Most see him as a calm, self-controlled person. Others portray his as a one stuck up cocky bastard. His controled side casuses him to avoid and talk his way out of fights. The cocky personality causes him to start it. All the time.

Abilities: Morixen is very agile and has extrodinary reflexes at times when needed. For example, if a glass vase is about to fall he can catch it without even looking at it. Morixen also uses geomancy. A magic that controls the alterations of objects. If he is on water then he uses water-based attacks. If he is on dirt then he uses earth-based attacks.

History: Morixen has lived on the fourteenth level as long as he could remember. Although, he had no 'true' parents he lived in an orphanage with various children. During his seventeen years in Lenodaath, he has gained the trust of many people as well as thier envy and hate. All of his friends has either been adopted of ran away from the orphanage.

His first job as a merchant, went horribly wrong. He was fired due to the fact that his stand was robbed and three people were killed. Now as a dilivery boy he can roam all over Lenodaath and have much more freedom than most.

Other: Morixen has the worst luck in all of Lenodaath.

 

[Swag]

{Finished}


Name: Roran.

Age: Seventeen.

Gender: Male.

Race/Ethnicity: Human.

Occupation: Expert Pick-Pocket; He does a little street performing on the side with his guitar.

Level you live on: Roran is a free spirit, and doesn't like having just one home. What level he's on depends on what he's doing. If he's pick-pocketing he can be found on levels 20 and up, if he's just playing his guitar for some cash he could be anywhere from 12 to 16. You can never find him when you want him, and when you don't want him he's right in your face. He's always just, around.

Personality: Roran is an easy soul, taking life one day at a time. He likes to have fun and laugh, and doesn't stress very many things. He knows what he needs however, which is why he is a pick-pocket. He admits he doesn't like doing it, but it's necessary. He is usually happiest while playing his guitar however, letting his mind meander and letting the music take him wherever it may. He can sing a little bit, but he's not anything special in that area. He is very dreamy, often looking into space and thinking deep thoughts about the world around him.

When dealing with other people he comes off as a cool, street smart, yet funny guy. He knows how to charm the ladies, and can be sensitive if need be. He cares about those he cares about, which is not very many people as of late.


History: Roran was born into a moderately poor family in the midsections of Ledonaath. He never got to know his mother, as she died in child birth, so his father and he became close. His father taught him how to pick-pocket, a thing he did rather well, until he was able to do it better than him. He also taught him how to fight, as when his father was young he was taught by his father; and his father was taught by his father before him.

Roran always showed a strong desire for music, and especially loved the guitar. So, when he was 13, his father went out and "bought" him a brand new guitar. Roran picked up on it like a fish to water, and it was in that moment that he learned of his magical power to control sound. Now, not only did he practice music, pick-pocketing, and fighting; but controling his power as well. His plate was full, in a good way, and his father was with him every step of the way.

One day however, the unthinkable happened; his father got caught in the act of theivery. When tried he was found guilty of many other thefts as well and was sentenced to 20 years in prison. With the loss of his father, Roran was lost for awhile. He didn't know what to do or where to turn to, and seemed to be depressed all the time. After a while however, he realized that moping wasn't going to make his dad come back any faster; besides the fact that his dad would hate to see him like that anyway.

Now he just roams the streets, taking each day at a time. He comes and goes as he pleases, and he's come to love it that way.

Weapons: Roran is quite possibly one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the Golden City, learning the trade from his father. He can use anything around him for weapon, but he usually just uses his greatest weapon of all; his body.

Power/s & Abilities: Roran can, to a certain extent, control sound. He can make it very low, or ear screechingly high. He can change a persons voice at whim, including his own, and make it sound as if a voice was coming from somewhere it wasn't. When he plays his guitar, he can use his ability to tune into the specific melody that makes a certain animal entranced; allowing him to control it to an extent. Also, he can single out one specifc sound out of a group of different sounds, and can hear any sound from up to a mile away.

Appearance: Roran stands approximately 5'11 1/2". His skin tone is a kind of carmel brown, and his eyes are chocolate brown. He keeps his hair cut short, so that it just looks like the top of his head is black. He has sort of rugged sideburns and beard that comes out to three different points. He keeps his body toned, between working out and staying healthy to the occasional time he has to run from someone; be they guards or patrons in a bar.

He adorns a green camoflague(sp?) hate that fits perfectly on his head. He has a hunter green army jacket, and a black T-Shirt that comes to his mid thigh and another shorter white T-shirt under that. Around his neck is a chain with two dog-tags on it; one for him and one for his father. He wears green camoflague(again, sp?) pants with black boots. He usually has his guitar around his neck, and when he doesn't it's hung on his back.

Theme Song: "Killing Me Softly" - The Fugees {Great song if you haven't heard it, just ask and I'll get it for you}


Other: Roran despises bees and other stinging bugs.

Roran has a pet muse which he named Cait; it can usually be seen on either one of his shoulders, on top of his head, or even following lovingly behind Roran. The young boy has thoerized that his pet is indeed magical, considering that whenever it moves little green sparkles trickle behind it and dot it's path. What exactly the creature can do however completely escapes Roran. Cait.

 

[The Big Lovin']

((I am almost done with my character, but my brother is kicking me off the computer. So I will have it up tommorw ^_^))

 

[)-(The Anomaly)-(]

I'll join...i'll have the profile up tomorrow.

Edit: Okay it's up...

 

[Samber]

This sounds insanely fun.

Name: Sahara Nieves (nieves is lots of snow in spanish so its desert mixed with snow. )

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Race/Ethnicity: Human/ Feral creature

Occupation: Full- Time Pickpocket

Level you live on: 16

Personality: Sahara can be lively at times, when she cheers for a sucsessful pickpocket attempt. and at other times she can be very serious depending on the situation. She has a habit of rubbing her cat-like ears and bending them in odd ways.

History: Sahara was born poor, she had learned the ways of the pickpocket very young to help support her family. Though her parents are dead now due to the mysterious workings of the plauge, she still has her brother Derreck who looks completely human.

Weapon/s: A dagger always hidden in her belt, it is very sharp. she got it from a shady merchant, he said it had mysterious capabilities such as changing color.

Power/s & Abilities: Sahara can sense if someone is lying or not, it is a strange power but it has helped her in the longrun.

Appearance: long brown hair, Furry cat like ears. her hands have extendable claws. the only part of her body that has animal like hair is her ears, everywhere else looks completely human. Her eyes are a honey brown, and skin a warm tan color. She wears worn out clothes such as old black boots, shorts and a baggy t-shirt.

Theme song/s: sway by micheal buble

Other: Sahara is deathly afraid of big spiders and hates loud abnoxious noises. since she has sensitive hearing.

 

[)-(The Anomaly)-(]

Name: Rem S. Leap

Age: 17 almost 18.

Gender: Male

Race/Ethnicity: Viscuslector Human

Occupation: Part time-criminal mastermind, part time Therapist.

Level you live on: {19}

Personality: Some might call him bi-polar, some just call him strange, but he calls himself and actor. No he doesn't act as a profession, but when you're a master thief ones got to keep on his toes and not let the enemy know the real you. He's a con-man and he's manipulative, yet, he has a soft spot for beautiful women.

History: Well, i could say that I was raised in a foster home, with no friends and so i turned to a life of crime...but that's not it. I could say that i was born into a bad family who regularly beat me so I killed them and became a thief...but that ain't it either. I was raised by a lovely woman name Rovia Nix. She was my birth mother and my fathers name was Reven Nix. He was also my birth father. So you're wondering why my last name is Leap and not Nix. Well, if you read the profile on my personality, you will realize that that's probably the fiftieth alias i have since I began my life in crime. Anyways, the Nix's were wealthy and healthy people, no one hated them and I was well nourished. So people who really know me ask, Why leave such a ritzy life. What do I tell them?

"It was much to Boring." Yep, that's the secret. I ran away from home at the age of fourteen and began my life as a Mastermind. I'm pretty smart too, but that's not what makes me special. There's an ability passed down to my family called the Hearts Touch. I make physical contact with someone and I can see their past, their present, their future or their emotions. Yeah it's useful, but, not safe enough in my line of work. So i went to a nearby magic shop. I asked for a spell that they could teach me. They taught me the force field spell. A powerful field that surrounds me in a dome of hardened magical energies. It keeps me alive and protects me rather well. The down side is that I have to use more magical energy if I'm using it at the same time as Hearts Touch. I have to split my concentration in two.

That's life though, it ain't easy..

Weapon/s: A pair of pistols that are very useful when magic fails. Hidden knifes in both sleeves.

Power/s & Abilities: Hearts Touch: View the past, present, future, or emotions of anyone just by making physical contact. ((like in the Dead Zone, but more expanded.))

Field Spell: Surrounds Leap in a durable dome of magical energy.

Appearance: He has black hair and wears a pair of black shades. He wears long expensive coat, purchased with the well earn money he gains from being a "Therapist. The coats are normally long light brown of gray trenchcoats. He has two gun holsters on his hips, but hey are security locked to only open when his fingers touch them. He has pales skin and blue eyes which makes his black hair even darker. In the end he looks handsome. He's not to muscular, actually he's abit on the agile and quick side. He wears a pair of black pants with a while shirt under the trench coat. He's 6.1 and weights 199 pounds.

Theme song/s: Frou Frou's: Psychobabble

Other: Doesn't like to kill. He like to make his plans clean unless he has no choice.

 

[The Big Lovin']

((I apologize for the spam))

Name: Icura Reyaizen

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Race/Ethnicity: Agarie

Occupation: Hunter/Rural Worker

Level you live on: 5th

Personality: Unfamiliar to the Agarie nature, Icura is a quiet soul, embracive to his peace and loneliness. His evasion of a social life has resulted in him working for long hours and perfecting his trade. Even so, he has a habit of staying up long hours indulging in the countless numbers of books in the library. (I assume there is a library). He is a humble and modest person and will not stray to do justice for his fellow citizen.

History: Icura was born into a small family, consisting of his mother and younger brother. Although it wasre that a member of the Agarie will abandon their family, a majority of his life was spent taking care of ill mother, up until her recent death, and watching over his brother. He had been working in the fields since he was very young, and took up hunting on the brink of adolescence (since then, he has become a legend in the field), in order to support his family and pay for his mother’s medical treatment. It didn’t take too long for his brother to take up work either, the two constantly seen together in the city, usually carrying in a large catch or wheeling a cart full of goods.

But when their mother died a few years ago, the two had disconnected. They hadn’t seen each other since then. It is suspected that his brother fled into the forest in mourning, and more than likely killed by the evils of the night. But Icura remained strong, living his life alone in his small house. His morning hours would consist of work and his evenings usually in the library or participating in some sort of community service. He hadn’t been a social person, although many people seem to be very fond of him, even the wealthy. He has established a life for himself and no one could take it away.

Weapon/s: Icura’s only weapon is every weapon. His natural abilities as a Agarie combined with his knowledge as a hunter leave almost any weapon at his disposal. But as far as favorites go, he is a huge fan of spears and bows.


Power/s & Abilities: As an Agarie, he was born with natural strength and speed, but he also has the ability to enhance his eyesight to the point that he is able to see through things and over vast distance. The detail becomes so clear in everything, that nothing is escapable in his vision. The only problem is that when he uses this ability, his hear dulls to the point wear he is nearly deaf. But he has learned how to read people’s lips and feel and understand different vibrations.


Appearance: hunter by ~X-seven on deviantART


Theme song/s: Planet Caravan - Pantera

Other:

The Agarie are a fierce race of human like creatures, usually being very larger, the average height being 6’4 and muscular, and very aggressive. They usually live in nomadic like groups, following herds all across the land. The Agarie are also spiritual people. They have used a form of magic that enhanced one’s physical abilities, using the Agarie language to do so. (( I will post more about them in a little while))

 

[ForgottenRemnant]

Hey I'm new Guardian so I hope you won't be too harsh on me. I'm going to try and get a template up by tonight.

 

[GuardianOfHearts]

{ So many lovely people here. <3

mikep, you're the only one I don't accept on questionable literacy. I'm sorry. Good luck in your other endeavors.

Everyone else has fine templates. I'm not starting yet though, because there are still several people I'm expecting. Should be good to go later on.

I hope no one minds me throwing a political wrench into this RP. Humans beware. ;D }

 

[Prophet]

Here is my template. I hope it meets the requirements. Oh and I don't mind the political wrench. Wrenches are always fun.

Name
Christopher "Chris" Gezeus

Age
16

Gender
Male

Race/Ethnicity
Human

Occupation
Chris works at a local restaurant. He is a waiter, bus-boy, stock-boy, cook, among various other things. He is also a devout monk.

Level you live on
The restaurant Chris works at is on the 14th level, although he lives farther down, at the fourth level, the same level as the monastery. The library is on the fifth level.

Personality
Chris, to put it simply, is an idealist. He lives by a strict set of morals, always trying to do the right thing. Although this originally made him unpopular at first, his genuine kindness eventually caused those around him to love and respect him. He is loyal to his friends, but enjoys being independent in his actions, guiltily feeling that some of his other friends might bring him down in his goals. Chris is highly intelligent, perhaps even to genius level, yet he still is slightly naive about the ways of the world. He is very calm and serious most of the time, speaking in a slight monotone that does not reflect much emotion, despite the compassion he feels for others. He utterly falls apart when speaking to beautiful girls around his age, except for those he has already become good friends with. He is slightly clumsy, being responsible for several broken dishes at the restaurant where he works, but when he gets into the rhythm of his martial arts, is as graceful as he is deadly. However despite this, he does not like fighting, and resolves to try and stop problems with words rather than with his fists. He is also deeply spiritual, being part of a monastery on the fifth level, where he lives when not at the restaurant, his house on the fourth level, and the library on the fifth level.

History
Not much is known about Chris before he ended up on the steps of the Monastery on a lonely abandoned night some sixteen years ago. Wrapped in dirty cloth, whimpering softly as the rain poured down, one of the Monks of Ledonaath who was going out to run some errands stumbled upon the abandoned infant, and quickly brought him inside. The Monks of Ledonaath brought him into the community, and with the help of a few of the rare female monks, helped nurse him back to health. Although Chris was still as death for the first few days, at the end of the week, his eyes shot open, and he was breathing lightly. The monks breathed a sigh of relief. Chris would live.

As he grew up the monastery, he was brought up in the spirituality of the Monks, in the philosophy and religion of the Cebrus. There is a spiritual energy force the lives within everyone. It does not discriminate and neither should we. It is kind, so also we should be. It shows us the truth, so we should speak it. (Imagine a mix of Christianity and Buddhism). He was raised with a set of morals that were nigh unbreakable. It was not restrictive for him, since he had never ventured outside. To him, it was simply the way one lived. There was nothing else. He was trained in the martial art of Cebrus, which utilized the fluid movement of one's legs, the longest part of the body, for defense. It kept the body, which was a temple unto the spiritual energy, healthy, and also allowed one to defend oneself from spiritual and physical evil. Chris quickly became a master at this martial art, yet never thought he'd have to use it. After all, what evil was in the world? His world was perfect. Living with the monks, he had everything, no worries, no temptations, no anything! It was an ideal life, and he had no intention of changing it.

However, the monks thought otherwise. Despite his eagerness to be admitted into the Order of Cebrus, in order to become a monk, the Brothers had again and again refused. He did not know why, and it upset him terribly. If only he knew what the Brothers knew. Every generation of Monks, there was a Servant. The Servant was a monk given great power, designated to be the one to venture out into the city to bring about the will of the spiritual energy force. The monks believed, no they knew, that Chris would be the Servant. But they did not tell him. Instead, upon his turning 13, the age in which the Cebrus believed that a boy turned into a man, they led him to the Monastery door, opening it wide, and for the first time in his life, the boy saw the City of Ledonaath.

The Monks told him he would have to live in the outside world now. He would have to make his own living. He could visit daily, as much as he wanted, but the Monks gave him clear instructions that he was to live in this outside world. Chris cried softly as the Monks hugged him goodbye, but the Brothers were strict. Chris had no belongings except for the deep red robes the monks had given him and a long six foot quarterstaff that he wielded as a walking stick and defense. Yet as he clutched it, walking through the fourth level of Ledonaath, he was so afraid of whatever he might face, that he was unsure if he could even use it.

His first encounter with the real world was a gang of thieves, five of them to be exact. They leapt upon the road, surrounding him instantly, their wicked eyes lighting up with a sinister fire as the fingered their knives with dark intentions.

"Hey baldy," laughed one of the robbers with spite, licking his knife slightly, "I hear that bald monks like you got a lot of money. Why don't you cough some up for us?"

"Idiot, monks don't got money," said another thief darkly, "They's all about giving away they're stuff."

"Oh, well then I'm sure baldy won't mind giving away his stuff to us," replied the first thief, snarling as he turned to Chris, "Give it up baldy." Chris was frozen, his first encounter with the real world leaving him frozen. All his defensive techniques were lost to the fear, like fire being swallowed by quenching icy water. His hands were like lead and he couldn't move a muscle. The thieves simply smiled, laughing darkly as they circled around him, gathering toward him closer, closer, closer.

"Leave him alone!" shouted a voice, and through his paralysis, through the fear, he saw a figure standing before him, standing in front of him, charging at one of thieves, who appeared to be the leader, "This is for my father you bastard!" The thief leader only laughed.

"Your father was in the wrong place at the wrong time girlie," he laughed, leaping aside as her silvery blade missed him by inches and grabbing her wrist, pulling her up so that her face was inches from his, "Seems like that habit runs in the family. Why don't you hang around for a bit girlie, and after we deal with baldy, we'll show you the, eh, scenic route out of here." The girl spat at him viciously, and he only smiled, twisting her arm around and pushing her toward his comrades. She fell to the ground with a thud, her silver blade skidding across the ground with a cascade of sparks. A few of the thieves laughed, and two of the more adventurous leapt upon her, pinning her to the ground and going ahead of their master's threat.

Suddenly the feeling shot back into his limbs, and his quarterstaff lightened up against his hand. He felt a powerful feeling rush through his body, and the words of the Cebrus rushed into his mind. Defend the innoncent. Fight against the Wicked. His hands gripped the quarterstaff with righteous anger and he screamed, leaping forward as he let the feeling take over his body, and he leapt forward, the quarterstaff striking out as he lashed out against the thieves around him.

The next thing he remembered, he was in darkness, his eyes opened, groaning lightly to reveal a stunning vision before him. A beautiful girl was sitting beside him, her hair dark and curly, and her eyes a stunning deep blue. She was wearing a light blue jacket and a average length jeans skirt. She was like a goddess to Chris, who had never seen another girl besides the rare female monks that entered the Monastery. And those were well above forty. He almost gagged on his tongue at he looked at her. He had never known hormones before, but now they came back in surges.

"H-hello," he said, trying to sit up, but the girl interrupted him.

"Easy does it," she said placing a long slender finger on his chest pushing him back down, "You've been unconscious for about a day now. We were beginning to get worried." As her finger touched his chest, Chris felt himself melt, and he collapsed back down into the bed, gazing up at her with wide eyes.

"W-where am I?" he asked tentatively, and the girl answered all his questions within the moment. He was on the 19th floor of Ledonaath, in a restaurant called the Golden Diner. The girl was Sandra, daughter of the ex-owner and now the complete owner of this establishment, her father having been killed in a robbery done by the gang that Chris had run upon. Chris listened to all this with a look of awe upon his face. He tried responding to a few questions she had, but all his answers seemed to come out as babbling. Sandra smiled, and seemed to understand. She offered him a job at the restaurant, and Chris agreed. He didn't know what kind of world this was, but this kind of luck could only be divine intervention.

Now that three years have past, much has changed about him. He can now talk to Sandra with relative ease and he has been promoted to cooking food, washing dishes, running the cashier, among other things. He has grown his hair long, so that it reaches down to a few inches above his shoulders. He has discovered the library, his second favorite pastime, and now is prepared to live out his life in the Golden City.

Weapon/s
Chris wields a long, six foot bo staff, formerly made of hardwood, burnt and polished so that it was nigh unbreakable. He has since built another one, made of metal, built to be telescopic so it can shrink down to six inches, capable of fitting in his pocket.

Power/s & Abilities
Chris has the ability to negate the powers of those around him, whether it be derived from magic or from other kinds of means by physical touch. He must touch the skin of that person in order to negate their ability, and the effect lasts only as long as the physical touch has been in contact. For example, if he touches a person for one second, their power will be inactive for one minute.

Chris's second ability is the ability to manifest emotions into reality. When the people around him feel a single, strong emotion, Chris automatically releases those emotions into reality. For example, if the people around Chris are all feeling a sense of fear strong enough, Chris will automatically manifest that fear into some sort of creature. His own emotions are enough for him to create small things, like a bird manifest of his hope, yet the more emotion, the stronger and larger the creation will become.

Appearance
At his current age, Chris is tall, standing at about 5'11." He is very skinny and somewhat gangly, his long limbs and tall stature amplifying this fact. He is not very muscular, instead giving off the lean impression of being "fit." His hair is long, reaching down to a few inches above his shoulder level, and a deep dark black, with a slight natural red tinge going across the front like a highlight. His features are somewhat Asian appearing, yet do that diluted sense of being a mix of another culture. He is handsome, yet not overly so, and the fact that girls often begin the conversation makes it all the more difficult for him. He usually wears jeans and a plain black t-shirt, except when the weather is cold. In that case he wears a plain, black hooded jacket. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, and his fingers are long and slender, perfect for turning the pages of books in the library or for playing the piano.

Theme song/s
Stand my Ground- Within Temptation

Other
Chris enjoys taking long walks amongst the many levels of the Golden City, where he can collect his thoughts, meditate, and pray. He is an excellent piano player, yet falters in most sports besides his martial arts. He also is unaware of his duty as the Servant.

 

[Samber]

ooc: when are we going to start? i'm kinda excited.

 

[The Big Lovin']

((I apologize for the spam, but I must bump to show my interest))

 

[Samber]

ooc: Where is guardian of hearts?? he/she was on today i saw them in the RP section have they forgotten about it?