Fantasy RP Character Template And Roster.

[Thecomicbookbroad]

Template:​

Name:

Class: (species/ race)

Gender:

Skills: (profession or talents/specialties)

Equipment: (weaponry etc.)

Bio: (history/ glimpse into the character’s personality up until the role play’s plot)




NOTE: If you feel more comfortable writing in "free form" You are welcome to but I personally find them very uninformative.

Let's have fun with this and get the ball rolling!

 

[T.J]

Credit goes to T-Cake for this picture. Its hers!!​

Name: Tyler Mackay

Class: Human! Comes from a far off land.

Gender: Male

Skills: Professional Hunter, traveled the world and killed almost evey beast imaginable. His skill with a blade is quite high, and he knows detailed information on most every species out there. Very calculating and tacticious, Tyler has no problem assessing the situation and acting accordingly before others even begin to think about it.

Equipment:

-A simple Broad sword, the flat of this blade is tarnished and rust colored, quite obviously having been in many a creature's blood. The blade itself is warped and jagged due to near constant sharpening, giving it a silver sheen and a deadly edge.

-Pieces of his families ancesteral armor, the main peices were lost to him when he lost a bet with a Satyr, but he still has the entire left arm, legs, helmet, and waist still. They were lost early in his hunting carrier, and to this day he swears he'll get them back. For the majority of his time in his chosen profession he has gone without the protective shell full armor provides.

-Tyler also carries a smaller hand axe resembling a francisca, uses it as an off and at times and as a medium range weapon via throwing it.

-Although not a weapon, Tyler carries with him a staff which has a water dragons skull atop it. Down the shaft of the staff multitudes of hooks carry the many tophies he has taken from the beasts he has slay'n.

-A simple leather pack which holds trophies he couldnt fit on the staff, as well as survival gear and provisions.

((All are displayed in the picture.))

Bio: Tyler originates from a far off land, where hunting fantastic beasts was considered a way to make a living. His family was of such a group of individuals, and all his life he strived to keep his families legacy going.

He found himself excelling at it, accomplishing things others would consider fools errands and suicide. Due to his youth and the tasks he claimed he had completed, many did not believe him. This drove Tyler to start taking physical evidence of his deeds so no one would be able to dispute his claims, and spurred him to yearn for more.

Spending most of his adolescent and young adult life on the road seeking creatures to kill, Tyler met many people, and saved even more still from harm. If asked about his past adventures, he would be able to spend days on end regailing tales and stories. Still in his youth, many still shun him and flat out acuse him of lying about such deeds, even with physical evidence to prove otherwise.

During one of his travels, Tyler caught wind of a peculiar creature near his location. It immediatly peaked his interests, considering killing said creature meant he woul be a man in the eyes of his family and village. It was something he could not possibly pass up, and he immediatly set out.

What information he could find about the Crowned Goblin told him why none had seen one in several lifespans, their race had declined drastically from some unknown reason. It was one of the main reasons he decided to travel to a new land in search of such prey.

What gave him an edge was his ability to study a creature, to watch it behave as it normally would so that he could fins its weakest point, and strike it down. Hearing tales of exotic prey that live in, " Insert name of land here. " He set out immediately to try his hand.

EDIT: He has a slight scottish accent, so add that in whenever he speaks.

 

[Thecomicbookbroad]

(WIP drawing of mine of the character)

Name: “Leer”

Class: Crowned Goblin ( Other wise known as a Feral Nymph)

Gender: Female

Skills: Weapon smith/ blunt weapon user. Is more at home in a Forge then on the battle field

Equipment: She carries with her a two spiked ball flail mace secured at the back of her belt as well as another ball mace (on a hilt, not chain) across her back.



Bio

Species and culture:

Long forgotten even from lore, Crowned Goblins were given their name for possessing horns akin to that of common depictions of a demon- the females bearing horns similar to a ram and the males sporting upturned pairs like that of a bull (sometimes even a second smaller pair near their forehead.) underground dwelling people, the Goblins lived in close proximity to dwarves, rarely interacting and avoiding confrontation unlike their mutual neighbors the trolls.

The Female right of passage, in which a young Goblin would venture to the surface in order to slay a human male for the sake of becoming a woman was based upon their beliefs in an ancient goddess who was said to have committed the ultimate transgression by having laid with one- thus earning the goblins their horns and condemning the females to be born impure. It was thought that by killing a human man, the wrong was wrought and the women could be purged of their inherent impiety.

Weaponry:

Crowned Goblins were renowned for their weapons, influencing the claim that some creatures could "Only be killed by" one of their own. In truth what made the Weapons special was not their welder but the special ore they used to make it.



Decline :
The Crowned Goblin’s declined drastically as the human population grew, forgotten by most they are rarely recognized and often confused for other species- it is thought that less then 50 exist today. The ruins of their city are far below ground. A massive cave in was responsible for their near extinction and isolation of their culture.


“Leer.”

Lacking most any knowledge of her Species Leer was sent to the surface as an infant, she traveled with her mother, a cartographer tasked with mapping the “surface world” only to find humans had already marked the land and discovered every mystery it held. She grew up in a forge where her mother had been forced to make a lively hood as the infamous cave collapse that isolated her people banished her to live amongst humans. Living her life detached from her culture she never saw her home land and grew to young adult hood with out feeling driven to. With her mother's death came her journey- setting out on her own she sought out a life for herself. Old age and the disease of humanity had taken her mother peacefully and so she held little grief and much acceptance...with no ties to bind her she began her search for a new life.

However…fate intervened.


Slayer Of All Beast.

“Stay back!” He warned, blade drawn, still she approached.

“Now you listen to me, Dragon slayer!”

“Stay!” He repeated.

Still she stepped forward, livid.

“I am no beast to be-”


“I will cut you through I swear it!” He cried.

Blood dripped from her wound like mercury and she clenched her stomach with her hand, his blade buried just below her breast but above her naval.

“I believe…” she says, stunned by the piercing.

“You already have…”

-The meeting stemming the bond of Tyler and Leer.



As Leer’s Travel began she crossed paths with a young slayer of beast- keeping her distance and wits about her to bypass him and his near by camp in the woods she continued on her path only to meet with him again, sword drawn.

Seeking her out like rare game he challenged her. Tyler Mackay, a young man with tall tales of his hunting monsters from all corners of the land and sea sought her blood to become a man.

As a Leer girl must slay a human male to become a woman, In Tyler’s land a human boy was required to slay a Leer female to become a man.

She met him in argument rather then battle and was quickly subdued by an accidental wound...her stomach pierced by his blade.

She awoke to find herself at his mercy but surprisingly....alive and injury cared for. The two struck a deal, Leer's life was spared in exchange for her vow to provide the hunter a weapon crafted from the legendary ore and process used by her people.

 

[Checkerboard]

Name: Lazarus

Class: Alchemist possessed by an efreet. Humanish.

Gender: Anything that would determine this has long since withered and fallen off.

Appearance:
He looks like a zombie that is burning from the inside out. Shabby clothes, flames licking just inside his eye sockets and a thin and thoroughly dehydrated body with gaping holes in his flesh where said flesh has managed to wither and fall away. Despite, he’s is in considerably better shape than most zombies over a hundred years old. Flames flicker just under the surface of his flesh and his skin can scald at the touch. However, although he is essentially a dried out leathery husk he does not seem overtly burned or smoldering.
He can construct an illusion of light that makes him appear normal, though the fact that anything that touches him burns up gives the power limited effect.

Skills:
Can transmute anything inflammable into anything else as long as he can fit it in his hands when cupped.
Can, with permission, suck the soul out of any living thing.
Wields an arsenal of low to mid-level fire, light and divine-based spells.
Capable knife fighter, if only due to the fact that his weapons are literal extensions of himself.

Gear:
Dual cutlasses that can convey his essence nearly perfectly. When they are wielded they almost instantly catch flame and do terrible damage without melting or becoming weaker.
Some tattered but fireproof clothes. They do little but cover him, as any armor he could ever wield would inevitably get hot enough to melt around him.

Bio:
Leslie was a common alchemist. That is to say, not a very good one. Incapable of most of the apothecary work most alchemists utilize to fund their dieing science he resorted to sorcery. After all, he had heard that several of his peers had managed to enslave minor fire elementals and use their primordial magics to perform great alchemical feats. Leslie, however, managed to snag a much bigger fish. Yanked from his fiery spiritual plain Lazarus the efreet found himself in a world of cold and pain. Latching on to the nearest vessel he could in the interest of self-preservation Leslie found himself possessed and, shortly afterward, immolated.

Lazarus originally wanted to return to his own plane but, before too long, decided instead to experience the world he had found himself in for a time and, as a primarily spiritual being, feed off its residents. Capable of much greater acts of alchemical power than any mortal practitioner, he took to presenting himself as a devil and getting mortals to sell their souls to him for material wealth and minor miracles. His very real status as a being of divine origins has also given him an immunity to the powers of any holy men and paladins that would stand against him, further supporting his claims.

After a time, however, he tired of his role as a devil, being feared and admired in equal amounts. And so he decided to abandon the small rash of cults and counter-cults surrounding him, wrap himself in the illusion of a common man and set off for greener pastures. His mostly aimless wanderings have finally led him to (insert name of land here), where he hopes to find a way to stabilize his existence and experience more of the world, having long since decided it far preferable to his own.

 

[Sreeya]

No guns please. We're trying to keep this medieval style. Think DnD, LoTR, Dragon Age, etc.

 

[Checkerboard]

I was thinking Warcraft. Dwarves with muskets. Plus it's single shot only, so I thought it was nerfed enough.

But I'll acquiesce. It's your RP.

 

[Niner]

Name: Atar Echuir

Class: Elf/Human hybrid

Gender: Male

Skills: Paladin spells and prayers (He doesn’t use them), lock picking, stealth, persuasion, very skilled with a longs word and short sword combination, Elven knowledge of herbs and natural remedies.

Equipment:
Jagged silver long sword (in main image): This weapon was originally his weapons as a Paladin of Shaal, when he left the order however the order was given to have it notched and given a jagged edge, so that all could see the harshness of his soul.
Curved short sword: Wielded in his off hand this short sword is of Elvish make, making it incredibly light and strong.
Protective spells: The runes tattooed along Atar’s arms and shoulders are actually spells that are designed to function as a magical armor to protect against attacks. While certainly not invincible Atar’s protection is akin to that of a medium chain mail, but now he can move much quicker and still have that protection.

Bio: Atar was born of an Elvish woman who had been raped by a human soldier. His mother, who couldn’t bear the shame, killed herself soon after Atar was born. His name was given to him by the Church of Shaal who took the baby in. In Elvish his name means Divine Awakening, and they raised him to be a Paladin of Shaal.

Atar enjoyed his life as a Paladin, thinking he was doing the right thing. As he progressively got older however his views started to change. It was when he reached the tender age of 58 (Elves age much slower then humans), that he left the order of Shaal and set about his own way, determined that he would not let his life be controlled by a goddess who cared nothing for her people.

[FONT=&quot]Atar spent thirty years wandering the world, living with the dregs of society, learning the skills of a thief and assassin. Atar is now a changed man, where once there was an honorable knight of the goddess Shaal, now there is a ruthless and dispassionate being. That’s not to say his true personality doesn’t simply lay in wait….biding it’s time……

[/FONT]

 

[Lt. Beardsly]

"Kiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllrrrrrrrrroooooooooyyyyyyy! Ssssssstoooooooooooooonnnnnekiiiiiinnnnnnnn!"

"Kilroy, you idiot, get back here!"

"Shut up, magget!"

Name: Kilroy Stonekin

Class: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Skills: A great brawler, a somewhat decent fighter, and a grade A drinker.

Equipment: He wears the armor of the Shiverpeak Dwarf warrior and occasionally wields a sword and shield scaled to his size. At all times, however, he keeps a pair of brass knuckles on with a sharpened exterior so they can break the skin and potentially kill.

Bio: When foreigners think of Dwarves, most picture a stereotypical image of a drunken brawler, rushing headlong into battle, screaming a strange battle cry and fighting to the death over age-old grudges, uncollected debts, or ancestral vendettas. Kilroy Stonekin is that Dwarf. A veteran of glorious battles against the Stone Summit, Kilroy was often found leading charges towards the enemy, whether anyone followed or not. Some say it's a miracle that he wasn't killed during these charges, others say it's just blind luck. Kilroy? He just says it was the price of a good cold drink when the battle was over. Since the latest conflict between the Shiverpeak and Stone Summit, Kilroy has moved North in search of a new adventures and battles.

 

[Horizon]

...Sorcerer Lanthe...

...Journal Entry one...​

To understand the art of sorcery one must delve deep inside the forbidden arts. Of course your typical mage would say other wise. But that is their ignorance showing in such disgusting form. They know nothing of sorcery! Cast out by my will to learn all there is to know the mages scorn me. I have left my village and sought refuge in a cave deep within a lush forest. I spend sleepless nights conjuring the most wicked spells in my humble cave that is only lit with the light of torches. The children of the village play within the forest and their laughter is like screams within the confines of my mind. One day I will silence them...One day...

...Journal Entry two...​

Finally! I have studied long and hard and cracked the myths to life. I finally control life itself! I have killed a small bird and brought it back to my cave and have performed a couple of spells and experiments. Many of the experiments failed but I have finally made the break! The bird now chirps and flaps his wings about the cave. My success will change the lives of many! Death holds no grasp over humanity now! But I will keep the bird within a cage and watch it closely over the course of the next couple days...

...Journal Entry three...
​

My success quickly turned into horrific failure! The bird lives but his flesh is eaten away by maggots! Perhaps the scrolls were wrong. Maybe I need another spell. No...It must be the specimen. I need something more. Perhaps something with a soul. Yes, yes...The children in the forest. Perfection. I will have control over life itself. I will have my success!

...Journal Entry three...​

It will take me weeks to get all of this blood out of my robes from those children. Their parents should of kept a better watch over them. Because now both parties have lost something. The parents lost their children while I lost my soul! The spell backfired after I had cast it upon their bodies. My skin rots like that of a corpse. Crows follow me wherever I go. Maggots dig through my flesh. I have failed but now I have unimaginable power. Death does not control me. I control it! Now I ride through out these lands looking for any type of spell or tome that would restore by body to its former glory...

 

[Checkerboard]

Does he not have a name?

 

[Horizon]

Does he not have a name?

Holy shnap! Your right.

-Fixed-

 

[Santoro]

Name: Cimmaron

Class: Human

Gender: Male

Skills:
Archery, Swordsmanship, Concealment, Stealth, Foraging, Hunting, Woodsmithing, First Aid, Squadron Command

Equipment: Leather armor (dyed black with green tinges), Longbow, Crystal-tipped arrows, crystalline sword, utility knife, survival gear, tracking gear, medicinal herbs, rations, and a horse.

Bio:
Childhood- Born as a member of a small farming community, Picco Albero was slated to follow in the footsteps of his father and his father’s father- a rather repetitive life of farming and herding. He had many older brothers and sisters, most of which had been married off and moved out by the time he was born.

‘Adoption’- When Picco turned eight years old, the ever elusive threat that had hung over the village came to fruition. In the middle of the night, they were raided by one of the ravenous tribes of orcs and half-humans, leaving the wounded and broken family alive but homeless. The next day, a squadron of elves rode to town, offering refuge and safety in their society. The Alberos were quick to accept.

Training- Due to his young age, Picco (now under the name of Cimmaron) was accepted into the elven training program, choosing to become one of the elite Rangers. For almost a decade, Cimmaron was trained in archery, hunting, and exceptional use of the forest for combat. He quickly became a master of concealment, learning how to use the home-grown crystalline swords of the elves and able to pin a target from a hundred paces. He ‘graduated’, and served as one of the elves’ finest soldiers for many years.

Adulthood- Despite his impressive ability, Cimmaron was never fully accepted into elven culture due to his human blood (and therefore lack of the power to bend the wilderness). This only drove him to work harder, until he earned himself instructor to the upper-class Ranger trainees. For another decade he produced some of the finest Rangers to date, along with an impressively large family- his position as one of the prominent members of society was secured, and it was still not enough. Taking a temporary leave, Cimmaron left the elven society, heading out into the world for reasons unknown, even to himself.

 

[Sreeya]

Name: Alais

Class: Elf

Gender:Female

Skills: Swordsman/archer/musician

Equipment: Swords are her weapon of choice. However, because she is blessed with enhanced vision, she has also picked up archery as is custom for her race. She also carries a flute with her, among other instruments during times of peace.

Bio: Alais is a very thoughtful, calm elf. She was not thrown into the battlefield by choice. She was born into a clan of elves warring against their darker kin. The wars had taken a toll on her family, killing off many of her cousins, along with a brother. Music was her first love, a slight deviation from others of her kind. They chose to remain reclusive with their music, keeping it heavily guarded within the forest. Alais always introduced her music wherever she went, sharing the natural creativity of her people.

Her training as a warrior began at a very young age, when she was an elf child. The training was mandatory for those that resided within her clan. The war had broken the elves apart into small nomadic tribes. Hers resided deep within a forest that bordered a human settlement. This alone lead to countless atrocities between the two races. However, it was difficult to simply pick up and move for fear of betraying their location.

After her training, Alais had set out to travel the lands surrounding her very sheltered home. Initially she had been a part of scouting parties that constantly searched out for future potential homes or any immediate dangers in the area. The threat of human expansion always loomed over their heads, having wiped off entire clans of elves.

Most recently, Alais had been caught alone by a group of humans. Her weapons and armor were taken away and she was thrown in a cell. That is where her story ends for now, till she can somehow escape the human village. On top of the dark skinned elves, the humans were another large enemy to the surface elves. Alais considered herself unlucky to have been kept alive. Every day consisted of torture and constant prying for information on the location of her family. So far it had done them no good, but she was beginning to feel her resolve weakening. Hopefully an intervention would save her from her fate...

 

[Viggy]

​

Name: Qu'van

Class: Shapeshifter/Spellsword

Gender: Androgynous

Physical Info (for his 'base form'): He stands five feet tall, exactly - but he is almost weightless. His large red eyes and the tattoos on his flesh glow slightly when he is casting magic. His tail is constantly moving, like a wriggling worm.

Skills: -Swordsmanship; Qu'van's style of swordplay is fast and aggressive, battering opponent's defenses with blow after blow, relying on his own speed and stamina to keep pushing the offensive until he can make a killing move. He can use many maneuvers that catch enemies by surprise: using his powerful legs and feet to jump like a frog, run along walls or simply kick; using his tail to trip or distract enemies; and lashing out with spells or mind speech during combat.

-Dark Magic; specializing in the capturing of souls, Qu'van uses the life energy of fallen foes to give himself the power for strong curses and destructive spells.

-Shapeshifting; this is a racial ability. Qu'van has inherited the power to change his form. So far he has three forms: his 'base form' (see picture), his 'travel form' which is a crow, and his 'disguise form' which is a typical-looking human male.

-Mind Speech; in his base form, Qu'van lacks a mouth. However, he can speak telepathically to others. This is quite useful when he needs to say something to someone in absolute privacy. He cannot, however, read minds or have any other influence over others in this way. The most he can do would be to 'scream' inside someone else's head, as a form of distraction.

Equipment: Qu'van's equipment changes with his form, as do his abilities.

In his base form, the shapeshifter carries a powerful blade called 'Dji'atahnol'. Translated roughly into the common tongue, this means 'Soul-Drinker'. It has a conscious mind, and a spiritual connection to Qu'van's own soul. The sword's personality is one of absolute bloodlust and hatred, suggesting it may be demonic in origin. Without this sword, the shapeshifter cannot cast dark magic or even change forms. With a remarkably light but durable and razor-sharp blade, Dji'atahnol is a truly extraordinary weapon. Qu'van also wears some light armour and exotic clothing in base form, and keeps mysterious little golden globes on his belt (see picture).

In travel form, Qu'van is simply a crow. He has no equipment.

In disguise form, Qu'van is dressed in a thick brown cloak by default. However, since he usually uses this form for infiltration, he will often find other things to wear in his disguise form - a guard's uniform, or noble clothing, for example.

Bio: He was raised in a highly insular community of shapeshifters like himself, living as nomads in a vast desert far to the south. Living off the souls of humans for sustenance, his people would raid the human tribes and use dark magic to steal their life energy. The humans were regarded as wild animals, not even worth domesticating - a creature to be hunted, and nothing more.

Qu'van himself was a typical young shapeshifter - he learned the ways of shapeshifting, swordplay and dark magic from his elders, and waited until the day he would be old enough to participate in a hunt.

Qu'van in his youth.

At last, on his ninety-ninth birthday (for the shapeshifters are an incredibly long-lived people), Qu'van was ready for his coming-of-age hunt. Giddy with excitement, he joined the hunters as they entered their disguise forms and prepared to enter a human village.

When they had gotten past the gates and were among the humans, the young shapeshifter was shocked. He had never really been told anything about humans, except that they were food. Now that he saw them, all he could see was similarity. Elders were teaching children, mothers were nursing babes, hunters and gatherers were bringing back meat and fruit and water. He had been drinking greedily of human souls, and never realized how very similar they were to his own people's souls.

Becoming emotional and upset, Qu'van changed into his base form to mentally scream at the hunters, because mind speech was impossible in his disguise form and he hadn't yet learned how to speak physically. Immediately seeing them for what they were, the human villagers rallied to arms, attacking the group of shapeshifters, and each other in confusion, suspicion and general panic. When the night was over, Qu'van was the only one left alive. He killed human and shapeshifter alike, and drank their souls alike. The young one had seen that birthright and species meant absolutely nothing - each creature had a soul, and these souls were all equally benevolent and equally malicious; and equally sustaining to him. The only thing that really mattered, was who drank who.

Fleeing north, he found his way into milder climates and lands. He has been wandering aimlessly across the continent for centuries now, searching for someone strong enough to take his soul from him - or at the very least, just one soul that tastes more strongly then all the others.
​

 

[Lavi]

​

Would you have believed me if I told you I am not an angel? Yes, the wings on my back are no illusion, but the illusion that you humans placed in the minds of your young is another story. We are the servants of the heavens, but not the heavens that you travel to in the afterlife. The heavens I speak of is the heavens that the spirits call their homeland. Spirits of all backgrounds and influences, we can see, touch, interact with, on the level that your so-called mages cannot even dream of with their arcane techniques. They embody everything, so there're no shortage of them at all.

You might call our skills "arcane" magic, and I can see why: our powers are not fueled by a deity, to give it a divine influence. But our "arcane magic" and yours are not quite the same. We draw our power from the spirits lending their own power to us in the form of a contract. We are the medium that allows a spirit to interact in the material dimension. While your mages may have to rest and prepare their spells, we do not: I am incapable of what your kind calls "sleep." The stillness of the body just is too great a stress to handle! But our contract does force us to pay back for its use, the renumeration dependant on the spirit's desire. How, you may ask? We perform a certain activity to entertain the spirit, mostly. Other times, we produce an offering to please said spirit. It all depends.

I am Siofra, an Aquilan. We are in good standings with the elves, and as such, we do hold a grudge against you humans. I'm one of the more understanding Aquilans, so don't worry. What I carry on me right now is what I carry wherever the sky touches: nothing but the clothes over my body and the wings on my back. My contract with several spirits is enough to help me when needed. You might notice that I weigh significantly less than other peoples, but that is only because my skeletal structure is less dense to make it easier to fly. We might not be physically strong in build, but our finesse and dexterity is on another level.

Most of my kind only makes one or two contracts total, mainly to supplement their lifestyles. I, on the other hand, belong to a sect of Aquilans whose purpose is to seek understanding of the tens of thousands of spirits that are present throughout the dimensions. A daunting task, but we have been at it for thousands of years. This sect is called the Order of the Lyre. I was brought into the Order at a young age because my parents were also members. They wanted to raise me in the way that they were raised, as well as their parents, and their parents. Apparently, one of my ancestors was a founding member of the Order, and my family has been a part of it ever since. It has become a tradition to my family. I grew up to become a sage of the Order, holding my own share of contracts and balancing them well. Spirits don't like to have dusty contracts, after all. In any case, us Aquilans noticed an unrest in the spirits as of late. The elders assumed that it was simply part of the natural cycle of things: discord and unrest were as common in the spiritual realms as it was in the material ones. But I thought it was something else. Sifting through the confusion of conflicting spirits' stories, I came to the conclusion that something was amiss. Here, my true story begins...

 

[Will]

Name: Bankii-To

Class: Blademaster

Gender: Male

Skills: Swordfighting in all aspects, intimidation.

Equipment: His legendary katana.

Bio: Bankii-To, the bandit king is a name cursed by many across the land. He hails from the plains over the high mountains, growing up with is herder family in one of the many tribes that inhabited the huge grasslands. Whilst most would use the compact recurved bow as their weapon of war, Bankii-To would charge his enemy, howling, blade held above his head. This tactic caused the deaths of many as they found the howl chilled their souls to the core, causing them to pause.

When he was a man of sixteen summers, Bankii-To's tribe were set upon by raiders. However, Bankii-To quickly organised a defence, setting upon his foes with his curved blade, his wailing laughter carrying through the night. The raiders were repulsed, fleeing from the 'banshee'.

Eventually, Bankii-To's exploits drew men from surrounding tribes, willing to ride with the man who was able to spurn a whole raiding party. Bankii-To used them to find and obliterate the tribe from which the raiding party originated, to the last man, woman and child. As they rode, they wore the new masks Bankii-To had ordered them to construct, with small holes to cause a howl as the wind passed through them. The element of fear was given to the surprise attack as the supersiticious tribes people thought the dead themselves were attacking.

Bankii-To then turned his eyes west, to the huge mountains blocking the plains from the lands beyond. Bankii-To then felt the combination of wanderlust and a hunger for power that characterised his people. With his riders, the 'Howling Blades', he set over the mountains.

Now, he is the bandit king, challenging worthy enemies himself, and pillaging villages and town with a sharp military mind. He is a feared man indeed.

 

[T.J]

Little over powered there....

 

[Santoro]

Little over powered there....

The swordmaster? Nah, if you consider the scope of the character that's the only skill that's listed- fighting. When it comes to negotiation, navigation, anything not involving kicking ass, he could be mediocre at best. My bio lists a lot of skills, because he's familiar with a lot of aspects of the wilderness, that's more overpowered than Nova's.

 

[T.J]

True, but he also stated that hes never lost a fight. To me that seems a little much.

 

[Santoro]

True, but he also stated that hes never lost a fight. To me that seems a little much.

I see what you're saying. I guess it's not impossible, though if it's a life-or-death conflict then technically not many of our characters would have lost.

Also, there's an old play that has a character like that- a great warrior who has never lost a fight. The drawback was whenever he drew the sword, it put him in such a fury that he had to kill someone. There could always be that.