I was born in the woods and lost my parents there while defending the humans caravan. The humans found me and helped me to grown up.
Today i am a strong elve and i want to go back into the woods to live there with other elves. The humans told me a lot of fantastic stories about them. I will live there like my parents and if the time has come i will fight against my parents murderers!!!
Name: Gral the Unmaker Race: Ren'Kai Gender: Male Archetype: Fighter (primary); tank (secondary)
I was once an honourable Ren'Kai warrior fighting for my clan to pursue dominance against the other groups. Endlessly these battles would continue testing my endurance at every turn; eventually after decades of blood and pain, me and my clan had seized our land away from the unworthy. We all celebrated our sweet victory, leading to many weeks of drinking and bedding; but this was temporary. Soon I realised that without the battle I was no longer useful. I spent many months on end hunting but the game was weak. No blood curdling screams, just a whimper. I faced the thought that had been burning my mind, the only worthy fight is that of my own clan...
The next day I strode into my chief's hut and challenged him to combat by fist and tooth. He was easy. This would have made me chief, but I did not want a title that rid me of the fight. Next I killed the chief's brother, and then all of my clan. There were no more opponents, there was no more fight.
I soon left and visited towns and cities fighting the most "honourable" warriors there destroying them with ease. No more satisfaction. Standing in the middle of a bustling city, victorious yet defeated by the world, I watched for a new challenge. Serendipity struck, news had come that the portals were to be opened back to the origin land of Verra. I had no interest in history, but I had an interest in who were going there. Brave explorers, benders of magic, warriors of holy light.
Good game... Good fight...
Probs really cringey. But hey... That's just a theory
Name: Gral the Unmaker Gender: Male Race: Ren'Kai Orc Archetype: Fighter(primary), tank
I was once an honourable Ren'kai warrior fighting for claim of the lands around against other factions. Endlessly battles were fought with blood, exhausting the mind and body. That was where I belonged, in the fight. Years passed, and win after win, loss after loss we pushed and eventually controlled all of the lands around us on our isle of the world, destroying every remnant of the unworthy. Celebrations were made, drinks were had, for a moment all was well and good in my world; but it was temporary.
I had grown sick of the mundane, sick of the everyday peace. For many months I tried to quell my hunger for killing by hunting the boars and wolves around the stronghold of my clan. Weak game. No blood curdling screams, only a whimper. I faced a thought that had crossed my mind many times, the only good fight left was that of my own clan... With vigor, I walked into the hut of the chief of my clan and challenged him to a battle of fist and tooth. Easy game. I would have been appointed chief, but I did not seek a title, I wanted blood. I killed the chief's brother and then all of my clan burning the place to the ground, there was no more fight only hunger for it.
I sailed ship to new shores, met people completely unlike me and my old brethren. I went to cities and challenged the "greatest" of fighters in them. Pitiful game. I stood at the shore of a coastal city, victorious yet defeated by the world. Serendipity struck, I heard a child yelling the news from across the street. "The portals to Verra have been opened! All who seek adventure, there is your goal!" The origin land of my ancestors could now be reached; but I had no interest in history. I only had interest in who would go there; brave adventurers, benders of magic, warriors of holy light.
Good game... Good fight...
Probs really cringey. But hey... That's just a theory
Name: Zandeln d' Venoch (Elven for Handsome Murder) Gender: Male Race: Py'rai (Tribal) Archtype: Nightingale? (Ranger/Bard)
Legends and myth's of the old world were not so uncommon for the tribe of Py'Rai which Zandeln was descended from. Millennia have passed since all were exiled to the new world his tribe tended to called Nilah. It is an Py'Rai word that translates into human as 'Misery'.
Elves were a magical race and having to escape their home world to this one so long ago, not only was tantamount to a permanent exile, but without magic to build like before, it led to significant challenges for all elves.
His tribe which was matriarchal in structure, was always a bit isolated from most of the other elves. They had remained fairly isolated in what would become their tribal lands in Nilah. They had concentrated on building a new place the mundane way, and keeping what history they could of the old world intact. Which wasn't much.
Zandeln grew up within that tribe becoming a steward and sometime defender of the wild places, and at times, a bit of a musician as well.
When the rumors of the portals to the old world reopening began to spread through Nilah, Zandeln delved into some of their fusty old tome's for days. Eventually he located where the portal his tribe came through was supposed to be.
Packing up some gear, his bow, a Py'Raian flute and rations, he left a note for his mother, and then headed for the mythical portal. Finding it, and finding it active as well.
He back tracked to leave trail sign for those of his kinfolk which might follow, and then stepped though the portal into the world of Verra, and leaving Nilah, Misery, far behind.
Comments
Archetype:Archer
Race:Empyrean
I was born in the woods and lost my parents there while defending the humans caravan. The humans found me and helped me to grown up.
Today i am a strong elve and i want to go back into the woods to live there with other elves. The humans told me a lot of fantastic stories about them. I will live there like my parents and if the time has come i will fight against my parents murderers!!!
For Honor and Victory!
Race: Ren'Kai
Gender: Male
Archetype: Fighter (primary); tank (secondary)
I was once an honourable Ren'Kai warrior fighting for my clan to pursue dominance against the other groups. Endlessly these battles would continue testing my endurance at every turn; eventually after decades of blood and pain, me and my clan had seized our land away from the unworthy. We all celebrated our sweet victory, leading to many weeks of drinking and bedding; but this was temporary. Soon I realised that without the battle I was no longer useful. I spent many months on end hunting but the game was weak. No blood curdling screams, just a whimper. I faced the thought that had been burning my mind, the only worthy fight is that of my own clan...
The next day I strode into my chief's hut and challenged him to combat by fist and tooth. He was easy. This would have made me chief, but I did not want a title that rid me of the fight. Next I killed the chief's brother, and then all of my clan. There were no more opponents, there was no more fight.
I soon left and visited towns and cities fighting the most "honourable" warriors there destroying them with ease. No more satisfaction. Standing in the middle of a bustling city, victorious yet defeated by the world, I watched for a new challenge. Serendipity struck, news had come that the portals were to be opened back to the origin land of Verra. I had no interest in history, but I had an interest in who were going there. Brave explorers, benders of magic, warriors of holy light.
Good game... Good fight...
Probs really cringey. But hey... That's just a theory
Gender: Male
Race: Ren'Kai Orc
Archetype: Fighter(primary), tank
I was once an honourable Ren'kai warrior fighting for claim of the lands around against other factions. Endlessly battles were fought with blood, exhausting the mind and body. That was where I belonged, in the fight. Years passed, and win after win, loss after loss we pushed and eventually controlled all of the lands around us on our isle of the world, destroying every remnant of the unworthy. Celebrations were made, drinks were had, for a moment all was well and good in my world; but it was temporary.
I had grown sick of the mundane, sick of the everyday peace. For many months I tried to quell my hunger for killing by hunting the boars and wolves around the stronghold of my clan. Weak game. No blood curdling screams, only a whimper. I faced a thought that had crossed my mind many times, the only good fight left was that of my own clan... With vigor, I walked into the hut of the chief of my clan and challenged him to a battle of fist and tooth. Easy game. I would have been appointed chief, but I did not seek a title, I wanted blood. I killed the chief's brother and then all of my clan burning the place to the ground, there was no more fight only hunger for it.
I sailed ship to new shores, met people completely unlike me and my old brethren. I went to cities and challenged the "greatest" of fighters in them. Pitiful game. I stood at the shore of a coastal city, victorious yet defeated by the world. Serendipity struck, I heard a child yelling the news from across the street.
"The portals to Verra have been opened! All who seek adventure, there is your goal!"
The origin land of my ancestors could now be reached; but I had no interest in history. I only had interest in who would go there; brave adventurers, benders of magic, warriors of holy light.
Good game... Good fight...
Probs really cringey. But hey... That's just a theory
Gender: Male
Race: Py'rai (Tribal)
Archtype: Nightingale? (Ranger/Bard)
Legends and myth's of the old world were not so uncommon for the tribe of Py'Rai which Zandeln was descended from. Millennia have passed since all were exiled to the new world his tribe tended to called Nilah. It is an Py'Rai word that translates into human as 'Misery'.
Elves were a magical race and having to escape their home world to this one so long ago, not only was tantamount to a permanent exile, but without magic to build like before, it led to significant challenges for all elves.
His tribe which was matriarchal in structure, was always a bit isolated from most of the other elves. They had remained fairly isolated in what would become their tribal lands in Nilah. They had concentrated on building a new place the mundane way, and keeping what history they could of the old world intact. Which wasn't much.
Zandeln grew up within that tribe becoming a steward and sometime defender of the wild places, and at times, a bit of a musician as well.
When the rumors of the portals to the old world reopening began to spread through Nilah, Zandeln delved into some of their fusty old tome's for days. Eventually he located where the portal his tribe came through was supposed to be.
Packing up some gear, his bow, a Py'Raian flute and rations, he left a note for his mother, and then headed for the mythical portal. Finding it, and finding it active as well.
He back tracked to leave trail sign for those of his kinfolk which might follow, and then stepped though the portal into the world of Verra, and leaving Nilah, Misery, far behind.