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Under Fallen Stars [Original Rp ~ Sign Up/OOC]



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Thor.

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Artemites paced slowly from one wall of the White Room to the other. He had made this trip plenty of times already, She was late, but he had grown accustomed to long waits and his mind was hardly on the time. A prayer for inner peace ran through his head, each word articulated mentally in his Homeworld's ancient tongue. Many lost their faith when they were Chosen. Artemites had been one of those. He had abandoned the teachings of the Temple in which he had been raised and taught. He had even given his body to a woman he hardly knew. It had ended up complicating things eternally. Artemites was taught celibacy, and he fought for salvation from that sin daily. She plagued his life now, though he loved seing her. He suspected he might have loved her if he had allowed himself to. But such times were past and was once again a devout in the service of God. Still he remembered the press of her body, and to his shame would probably hold on to that memory, even if he could forget it.

The sound of his footsteps echoing finally got tiresome and he sat in one of the blocky white chairs that populated the room. The room was white in the strictest sense. Everything from the floor to the ceiling was the shame shade of white that Artimetis was sure must have been disorienting when he had first come to the White Room. Often the objects would blur together if one didn't pay attention and Atremites couldn't help but wonder why.

He passed another hour or so in that chair before he stood once more. If She wasn't coming she could at least have the decency to tell him before hand. As he headed for the gold trimmed white door, the only thing in the white room not pure as the driven snow, he heard a slightly girlish giggle behind him. He sighed and turned to see the object of his misery.

Her name was Zenith and she was in every way the complete opposite of Atremites. She was a godless, chaotic creature, with no sense of propriety and a very feminine figure. Zenith was the one who had been closest to him when they were Chosen. And it she still was the closest, but after Artemites "found God" they had begun to argue. They had developed a relationship, however an eternity of celebacy was not something Zenith was prepared for and Artemites had betrayed his own beleifs more than enough in his eyes. They were one of the few Chosen from their generation who had stuck around to become Saints. As it turns out an enternal war with Evil did not appeal to everyone. The only other Saint was Jean-Marc. Jean-Marc had surprised everyone with both his decision to fight for The Good and with his decision to stay on for eternity. Jean was a loose cannon in all senses of the word, his abilities manifesting from his own turmoil, they also tended to be some of the most destructive that Atremites had ever seen. Then of course there was Kate.

Kate had been a big help in Artemites loss of faith. Chosen at the age of ten Kate had been shown many things that no child ever should have seen. She suffered more than Artemites had ever witnessed in his own time. Artemites had hardly witnessed half of it. Kate lost faith in humanity before she was ever given a chance to understand them. As such she stayed on as well. As a Demon. Trapped forever in a ten year old's body Kate resented almost everyone including herself. And she was strong. Very.

The sound of small feet came from behind him Artemites rubbed his Savior with his thumb. The Savior, the holy emblem Artemetis had gone through hell to get back, gleamed around his neck and he could feel the righteous heat growing in it as the small child approached.

"Are they here?" the voice was a man's and Artemites turned to find that Aro had joined them as well. Aro was a decent enough person to be fair. He had honor and those he interacted with he was very polite to. He had been a scientist on his own world, something Artemites had a hard time grasping, as the art of science was barely even a fledgling one in his own world, and as such he looked at things clinically. He said that the universe needed him to cause pain, so that was what he did.

Kate watched the preceedings with her haunted eyes but never spoke a word, Atremites made a visable effort to forgo caressing the emblem and his eyes grew distant. "They will be soon."

~~~~~~~~~

As you float through the blackness you wonder about the long illness you suffered. Untreatable and almost undetectable you slowly began to fade from the world. Your breathing shallowed and on that very last breath you found yourself in darkness.

A voice booms out to you. . . Who Are You?

Name:
Age:
Appearence:
Homeworld: [At least a paragraph of background excluding the name, unless you choose Earth]
Past: (Who you have been)
Present: (Who you are)
Other: (quirks, things that do not fit etc.)
Manifestation of Power:( what you can do)
Power Source: [Negative/Positive/Mental]


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rules:

1. The "Past" can be considered "Bio"
2. The "Present" can be considered "Personality"
3. We may or may not visit your home world but please put a bit of thought into it as the worlds are very important to who you are.
4. I have no limits on what is appropriate or not, if there are rules that you may be breaking that is between you and the Staff
5. Be cordial to other Rpers do whatever you want to their character, but do it because your character would, not because they sent you a nasty email etc.
6. Powerplay and Godmods are exclusive to moments when you have express permission from both the parties it will effect and myself
7. We will almost certainly need some people to play Saints/Demons I did not cover them all in the intro, they were merely some representatives, if you wish to make your own let me know and give me the same bio as for your characters.
8. Your character has no abilities until they arrive in the white room, and they are then just discovering what they are.
9. Remain active or do not participate. If you forsee yourself quitting the rp do so by withdrawing your character in a respectful manner, and allow the Rpers to control your character to a fitting death.
10. Do enjoy yourselves.
11. You may have more than one character but only if you can both handle it and provide an adequate second template.

EDIT: TO CLEAR SOME THINGS UP.

Almost all of your questions will be answered when the Rp starts but here are some things I kind of forgot.

The Power Source slot means what kind of energy Positive (Joy, Love, Compassion) Negative (Sorrow, Hate, Pain) Or Mental (just your mind)

Essentially you died and were sent here. Your illness would be the last few weeks of your life at most.

Saints/Demons go into already conflicting worlds and make the conflict either peak or dissappear.

You are Chosen meaning you are neither immortal, nor bound to fight for one side or another.
 
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Ordeith

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Name: Tsaraem Faulengard

Age: 47

Appearance: Tsaraem stands at about 5'11", of medium build, and yet incredibly thin, almost emaciated, due to intense starvation. His face, which was at one point rather full and youthful for his age, now seems to belong on a man ten years older than he; his skin, once smooth and filled with a vibrant flush of color, now resembled a dirty white pillowcase more than anything else, pale and sagging, with deep creases of worry and regret belonging to a man twice his years engraved deeply in the surface. Almost all of the flesh from his cheeks has withered away, leaving him looking as gaunt as a skeleton, his nose, chin, and cheekbones, which had already been rather sharp, now highly accentuated. His hair, the color of a creamy cup of coffee with a good deal of milk added, sticks out wild and ungroomed, though Tsaraem will often run his weary hands through it as if to fix it back in place, not actually doing any good but believing he has. Tsaraem’s eyes, stunning green emeralds, that once glimmered with a remarkable intelligence, now only gleam like the eyes of a madman, at times mournful as a widow’s, others, enraged like those of a cornered beast.

His garb, now appearing to hang on his gaunt frame rather than fit him properly, consists of an ivory-colored collared shirt, now heavily wrinkled, black pants tucked into knee-high boots of a similar color, the knees of the pants slightly threadbare, and a deep crimson coat, fashioned of a thick and luxurious fabric known only to Tsaraem’s world. The bottom hem of the coat is torn and soiled with ash, however, and several of the buttons are beginning to fall loose. Around his neck hangs a silver locket in the shape of the Faulengard family crest, a kite shield featuring a crowned griffon with a two-edged sword.

Homeworld: Tsaraem hails from the realm of Deinioch, an advanced and cultured world filled with mountains and forest. It was, anyways. Deinioch was, in many aspects, a utopian world, in which the advancement of knowledge was the only goal of the people, as they had all united in peace under the banner of Faulengard for centuries, and “war” had long been a term known only to scholars, “swords” being a sport of leisure. Here, advancement of oneself was limited only by the physical capabilities of the body and mind, some of which had actually been overcome by science. However, when the conflict of good and evil at last intruded upon Deinioch’s borders, the world was thrown into a state of panic and concern, and a desperate and loving king did what he could to save his people and his land.

Past: Tsaraem Faulengard was born into royal lineage as the first son of House Faulengard, the third noble house to hold dominion over Deinoch, and also the one to hold it the longest, its ruling family well known for their wise and just governing decisions. This mantle was passed down unto Tsaraem at the age of twenty-two, and for all of his life he strived for his people, doing whatever necessary to ensure that the worldwide state of peace remained. Not only in government, but in science and the arts as well; Tsaraem was both a well-reputed biologist and an acclaimed composer, having created several strains of plants that were genetically immune to disease and composing dozens of symphonies for the people to enjoy. All had seemed well until a minor noble house raised a rebellion against Faulengard, wishing to obtain the throne for itself, and throwing the already loose government into a state of sheer panic. Tsaraem, terrified at the aspect of loosing his power, came to the harried decision that the only way to oust this rebellion was to combat it, instead of solving things diplomatically, and he attempted to raise and train an army of the peaceful peoples to fight for his crown.

But the army wasn’t nearly well trained and organized enough, and instead of leading them to renewed peace and properity, King Tsaraem charged headfirst into a raging maelstom of even more chaos and turmoil. Nearly one third of the world’s population perished as a result of his attempts to eliminate the rebellion; the remaining two-thirds was completely outraged at the king for dictating such a foolhardy course of action, and the rebellion, sensing the fierce anger at the crown, took it to its advantage and assimilated 90% of the population into its ranks. Together, the rebel house raided his manor, the mob slaughtering the servants, royal guard, royal advisors, the entire royal family, and supposedly the king himself. Yet Tsaraem had fled the manor just in time, and survived, though it would have been better for him if he hadn’t. Upon returning to the shambles of his manor, Tsaraem was simply devastated. Every human being dwelling in the manor had been gutted and decapitated, including his own family, and Tsaraem knew that he was to blame. Since then, he has wandered the countryside, crazed and mournful, slaying all in his path while shouting the name his people dubbed him after the battle, “The War-Mongerer King.” The loss garnered by his actions has been too great a strain on him, and his body has since fallen into a pitiful state of decripitation, along with what remains of his mind.

Present: Before the rebellion had ever taken root, Tsaraem was a benevolent, generous man, always with a coin to spare for those in need, of which, thanks to him, there were very few. The man was also very clever and witty, being known all throughout the world for his fantastic sense of humor. But most of all, Tsaraem loved his family, more than himself or anything else in the world; every evening, even if there were matters of state at hand, the king would always find time to read to his two young daughters before they went to sleep. The only flaw that could be seen in the king’s soul was his great overconfidence in himself, believing that he could, and would, achieve anything and everything, and it was this aspect of him that lead him to his downfall.

Now, he is always weeping, mournful and self-hating, yet too afraid to commit suicide, muttering to himself the names of every single man in the army he lead against the rebel house, along with all of their families'. When the list reaches the names of his own family, he immediately stops in his tracks, collapses, and weeps on the ground in bitter regret. At times, if a stranger happens upon him when he is not quite so mournful, he will begin to show remnants of his past self, at times holding a pleasant and almost sane-sounding conversation with them, and even throwing in a joke here and there. But as soon as something in the conversation reminds him at all of anything concerning the death of his world, Tsaraem will enter an unstoppable rage, killing all living things in sight, including his companion.

Other: None.

Manifestation of Power: Tsaraem is able to form weapons and objects using the power of his mind, except that they are plainly shaped of blue luminescent energy, his favorite being a sword similar to a longsword yet with a slightly curved blade. He is also able to draw energy from the environment and direct it at his opponent in its raw state.

Power Source: Mental
 
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Eikre

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(Uh, yeah, I'm finishing this later.)

Name: Eikre Dar'Nell (EE-kruh dar-NELL)
Age: 24
Appearance: Eikre

Homeworld: Abeir-Toril (You know, THE FORGOTTEN REALMS?)

Past: Eikre was one of a set of triplets born to your friendly neighboorhood Elven protector-rangers of a small backwater town. Of course, this set of triplets gets to be screwed up in the head mentally. All three are highly-innately magical: Eikre gets spellsong, his sister Pandora enjoys actual sorcery, and his brother Vanyel is a psychic little bugger. They grew up...well..vaguely normal...well...as normal as highly powerful infants/children can.

On their "coming-of-age" party, an "uncle" gave them a map to a wondrous place named "Serathlia", which used to be an ancient city of magic. Course of action: Get friends and raid the place. On the way there, of course, there were many adventures/misadventures along the way (It's not been scripted yet. I'm planning on turning this bio into a webcomic...I just need an artist.)

And of course, seeing as the place they were raiding was a big MAGIC-LOADED place, turns out that the fabric of space-time is rather unstable. One plot-hole later, Eikre is tumbling into a white room for another adventure.

Present: Eikre is what some would call an "Airhead". He's an aloof kind of guy who's also quite the optimistic dreamer. In conversation, he tends to be slightly redundant, and a little verbose. At heart, though, he's a good person, and he tries his best to make the best of things. In a fight, he tends to fight with a flair, if possible, and if not, Eikre is a cunning and vicious fighter.

Other: Eikre's weapon of choice is a stringed instrument.
Manifestation of Power: Eikre is what is known as a "Bard", that is: He is a jack-of-all-trades, and casts magic through song.
Power Source: Positive
 
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Mistearea

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Name: Bloedig Sneeuwen

Age: 20

Appearence: This is him. Not much to say, this pic is perfect.

Homeworld: Bevroren Zeer

A frozen lump of a world with temperatures that can put the polar ice caps of Earth to shame. This does not impede the life on it though for the fact that they have all evolved to the point that ice is able to actually do good instead of harm. The inhabitants have grown to the point that they could withstand almost any negative temperature. But for those few that are unable to wistand the harsh environment that covers most of the planet, there is refuge at the warm equator.

Past: Bloedig was born into the family of Nobles that shared the same traits of having burgundy colored hair and eyes. The family itself was known to be of a kind sort that would often offer refuge to those in need despite the effect that it had on their finances. But this changed when the Lady of the estate gave birth to their first and only son. With that single change of events the lives of the boy's parents were thrown for a loop. The child had been born with an unknown illness that seemed unrelated to any other in the world. While most illnesses were known to eat away at the body, this one seemed to eat away at the life itself of the newborn. This worried the Lady of the manor because she knew that she would lose her only son after a short while and the Lord of the estate was worried as well for he knew that his wife could not have any other children, leaving him without an heir.

Despite this illness, the child showed no signs of physically being ill. This gave his parents comfort for it led them to believe that it was only a slight mistake made by doctors that helped in the examination of the newborn. He showed the same amount of energy and life as any other newborn who seemed aware of his position of being a noble. As a baby he rarely cried other than when he was in pain of any sort. That being said his days as an infant were relatively calm for he slept peacefully at night and learned at a rapid pace. By the time that he was only one year of age he had learned how to speak in complete and clear sentences, with only a few mistakes that every child makes, and even to walk on his own two legs. When he did walk, which seemed to be rare considering that his mother would often carry him around most of the time, he showed the grace and elegance that any noble should have. This turn of events led to his parents initiating his teaching earlier than normal. By the time that he was three years of age, he had already started the lessons that those of five years of age would begin.

By the time that he was fifteen he had completed the learning that children were to be put through and only one thing was left to be taught. His father, now completely forgetting about the illness, had decided to teach his son how to wield a Rapier for the time that his son would be placed into the military as was customary for his family. His son showed excelent skills with the sword from the first lesson which astonished the Lord. This being the case, Bloedig quickly mastered the art of the sword with the grace and elegence that was turly needed to show the beatuy of how to fight. It was when the child had hit the age of seventeen when the illness made itself clear to the family once more. This time it sapped the child of all energy and forced him to remain in his bed. The Lady and the Lord instantly regretted losing the memory of the illness and felt that it was their fault for having it resurface. To ease their souls they instantly put the child to bed and kept him there while they could find a cure utilizing the most advanced and decorated doctors that the country had to offer.

Bloedig knew that his time was limited and that there was no way that he could be cured by the time that was to die so when he could he'd get out of the bed and do the things that he found the most joy out of. With this he continued to practice his art with the sword and even ventured out of the estate to meet with the one that he had been promised when he came of age. The woman was the next in line for the throne of the country and knew of the young man's illness. She had prompted him to stay in bed and that she would visit him but he would only say that a life in a mansion was the same as being dead. This had always won her over so the two would meet in the heart of the city that they two occupied and would do nothing but talk. It was during one of these visits right after he had come of age that he had the worse attack imaginable from the illness. He had collapsed into the snow that covered most of the world and started to cough uncontralably. This sent the woman into a panic for she feared to lose the one that she loved and ran to get help. But by the time that the help had arrived, Bloedig was already gone. In place of the marriage ceremony which was to be held the next day, a funeral ceremony was held.

Present: A calm man by nature, Blodig had gained the ability to stare down any danger and shrug it off as if it were nothing. This coupled with his care for others gave him the mind set to put the safety of others before his own. People would say that this was a means of being immature do to his young age, but he saw it as being true to himself and his family name. Despite this, he does not talk much but will voice his opinion if compelled to do so by either ignorance or invitation.

Other:

Weapon of Choice: Here

Manifestation of Power:

Ice- By recalling the harsh cold of the world that he is from, Bloedig is able to not only lower the tempearture of his surrounding the match that of his home, but he is also able to manifest ice and coat his blade with it. Along with that, he is also able to freeze the moisture within his surroundings, be it in the air, ground or person, and bend it to his will.

Power Source: Posititve
 
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Professor Ven

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Name: Giras Ralon'quel
Age: According to him, at least a millenia or two, by his Homeworld's counting.

Appearence: Tall, around six feet, with tanned skin. His green eyes could be compared to emeralds, and his sin-black hair to pitch-dark night. He wears black robes of the softest velvet, with silver runes etched around the the edges of the clothing, with a full moon over the center of his hood. Giras wears a silver ring on his right index finger, made of two teardrop-shaped stones forming together to make a circle - onyx and pearl. In his gripped hand he carries a dark wooden staff, the head of it a great emerald sphere, clutched in a runed-silver dragon's claw. He needs no sword or weaponry.

Homeworld: Ralon'quel spoke of traveling "across space and time, through reality and unreality, from the World I lived upon, to this White Room". Erde was a world that had been crafted by an entity called "the Maker, in celestial choir with his Lords of Light, after binding the Lord of Eternal Night in his holy shackles within Oblivion." Once the world had been created, the Maker brought life upon it, and separated the beings accordingly to be taught by the Lords of Light.

Giras was among the first crafted by the Maker, and was taken by Rowan Kelagaarde, the Arcanist of the Lords of Light, and taught the paths of magic. Centuries later, a human woman known as Selene Katira came to the Tower of Light, Kelagaarde's seat of power and magical teaching. She seduced and turned the hearts and minds of eight students in the Tower, and they left it in murder.

Years passed, and war between the Lords of Light and the Lords of Oblivion ensued. Ralon'quel rose to leadership alongside other magi, and led his following, named by many as 'The Guardians Against the Night', or the Night-Guard. Eventually Giras and others managed to seal the Lords of Oblivion inside Oblivion, and he took the Night-Guard south after Rowan Kelagaarde's disappearance, and built the Tower of the Moon. There he trained those wishing to become mages, until the eternal war between Saint and Demons erupted on his Homeworld. Erde became a razed battlefield of destruction, and Ralon'quel was taken "by a great, unimaginable force, that plucked me from my very seat of power, and brought me here."



Past: The most powerful sarlen'gal, or "black-robed, dark wizard" that stood for the Light in Erde. Giras built the Tower of the Moon and the Grove of Night that surrounded it. In his seclusion, he honed his magical and mindbending abilities, and was seen as a legendary figure, of which many tales were told. His titles were 'The Silver Hand of the Light, and the Iron Hand against the Night', and 'The Eternal Sage, the Keeper of Knowledge and its Key." He was among the many leaders of a peaceful somewhat global society of the Light, until the Twilight Wars betwixt Light and Oblivion tore it apart. Then he led his Night-Guard and built his seat of power, the Tower of the Moon, where he dedicated himself to researching and cataloging spells, teaching of magic, until the 'Saints-Demons War' came to his Homeworld.

Present: Since being taken to the White Room, Giras is currently attempting to configure his role in things. His personal philosophy is that "there are those who can cloak themselves in darkness and still stand for the Light."

Other: He hates anything and anyone that attempts to kill him, and despises those that try to beat him at his own game. Giras prefers being alone at times, and is often peering into his spellbook. He enjoys playing any sort of strategic game, and is a brilliant strategist and planner. If Ralon'quel lays one trap, there will likely be several others hidden within it. Ralon'quel also enjoys building things, commanding armies if needed, and speaking to anyone with near enough his high intellect.

Manifestation of Power: [/B]Mindbending, Spellcasting, and Use of Magic and Magical Items; He is the highest in his skill of magic-user, and can create magical objects and items, though it takes periods of time. His usage of Mind-Bending allows him to control the lesser minds of others at will. He can persuade and gain a following of peoples, if needed, and can infiltrate the minds of his enemies.

Power Source: Mental
 
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Thor.

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Hate to intrude on your great temp there Ordeith but the idea is that we come at a time where there is already turmoil and try to make it tip in one way or another. If you can rewrite to make it fit I would greatly appreciate it, I understand the confusion, sorry.

You can have them have been to blame still but it has to arise from within the world.
 

Ordeith

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You can have them have been to blame still but it has to arise from within the world.
Very well; I've got a few things to take care of as of right now, so I'll be back later tonight to amend what's necessary.
 

Urbane

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Name: Rynam Qaet

Age: 16

Appearence: He stands at 5'7", and is about average weight for a sixteen year old human. He has black hair which is straight and short, but rarely combed. He wears a red shirt under a black vest, has black pants and brown shoes. He has two silver earrings which are obviously located in his ears which are slightly pointed, a trait he shares with everyone from Sylmaxias.

Homeworld: Rynam hails from the forested world of Sylmaxias, in it there was always relative peace, with it's inhabitants doing as little as they could to harm the wildlife, the plants and eachother. The planet is covered in huge forests and vast expanses of water, most of the cities are among the forests, taking refuge from anything outside their slice of the planet. Although there are some areas other than forests and seas the forset-dwellers want no part in their lives, and there are only a few cities outside the forests anyways.

Past: Rynam was a simple boy for his life on Sylmaxias, living his life as normally as anyone. He had a family, friends, but not much else. He was just sort of...average. Very average. One day, he began to feel strange though. Very strange. No doctor could diagnose him with any known disease, he bagan to panic at this point. He decided to ignore it though, but he always had this constant fear that he was going to die. Eventually, he succumbed to his disease and all things just seemed to stop.

Present: Rynam is a caring boy sometimes, but is relatively easy to anger. He has a sense of righteousness that surpasses most around him, having a clear view of right and wrong. He may joke around and seem somewhat happy sometimes but he is always sort of empty inside, remembering what he once had, which, although little, was still his life.

Other: Rynam is sort of a risk taker.

Manifestation of Power: Rynam can burn things and control fire, which he hates due to his love of plantlife. He despises the thought of using this ability but will if it means helping a friend.

Power Source: Positive.
 
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Ordeith

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Alright, Thor, I've edited my template; just notify me if there's anything else that needs editing.
 

Thor.

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That's good Ordeith, sorry if you feel your character has lost something.

EDIT: Working on my temp, but I am very wary of making a crappy one so it may take some time.
 

Mr. Crowley

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Name: Skyler Worthington
Age: 17

Appearence: Skyler has blue eyes and short black hair. He usually wears a red t-shirt and a pair of light brown cargo shorts. He also wears black tenneshoes or simply goes around barefoot. He is muscular but not too muscular

Homeworld: Earth
More specifically, he is from a town in Louisiana called West Monroe

Past: Skyler grew up in West Monroe, doing all of the things that any boy would want to do. Fishing, sports, camping, etc. His life seemed to be perfect. He had excellent grades and his parents loved him. Then one day he became incredibly ill. None of the hospitals he went to were able to treat his mysterious disease. He laid in bed until one day he just died. However, he awoke in the white room, completely cured from the disease.

Present: Skyler is a good kid. He never does anything that could come close to being considered evil. He is also a very cheerful and friendly person.

Other: Skyler loves rock music, particularly the band Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Manifestation of Power: Skyler is both Telepathic and Telekinetic.
He will start out only with the ability to read minds and his powers will further manifest throuhout the rp.

Power Source: Mental
 
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Ordeith

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That's good Ordeith, sorry if you feel your character has lost something.
Not at all; in fact, I feel that this updated version of my character is better than the original.
 

Professor Ven

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I personally like your character, Ordeith.

He seems like a mixture of Lews Therin and Padan Fain, but without switching his accent every five words.

Maybe a little Ishamael, but then again, everyone's a bit crazy sometimes..
 

Ordeith

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I personally like your character, Ordeith.

He seems like a mixture of Lews Therin and Padan Fain, but without switching his accent every five words.

Maybe a little Ishamael, but then again, everyone's a bit crazy sometimes..
Why thank you; I was intending for him to be a combination of the two characters listed, mostly the former. Ishamael, quite honestly, never came into my mind during Tsaraem's creation, though perhaps he will prove to be a tad more sadistic like Ishamael during his rages. Your own character is fairly interesting as well; his garments remind me vaguely of Raistlin Majere's from the Dragonlance series, more specifically the Dragonlance Legends trilogy, if you've ever picked them up.
 
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