Page name: Pnelma Tirian's Gallery of Masks [Logged in view]
# of watchers: 2
presents for your viewing pleasure her illustrious and extensive
Gallery of Masks!
Over 30 rps.
TAK: Silvana Mortwest
Sacha E. Rhata
UWT: Characters: Celeste Darkchance
UWT: Characters: A'dachi Marks
Jesse "Brighteyes" Sleighter
Colt and Jenner Grim
Fantasma character: "Rikiki"
Fantasma Character: Fallasta Argal
Fantasma Character: Jahara
Fantasma character: dwassi twins
Orphaned characters(well, characters without their own wiki):
Username: [Pnelma Tirian
Character Name: Saltwan Denn
Gender; Age: female; 25 years old
Physical Description: She's a girl, people. She doesn't look like one, granted, and she sure doesn't act like one, but trust me, she's a girl. By this time, she's used to being gender-neutral. She's got black, somewhat scrawny wings, which have the span of an eagle's and the gliding abilities of a sparrow. She has bright purple hair, which sometimes fades and then she has brown hair with highlights, which is cropped as close to her skull as she dared without showing her scalp, except for her bangs, which are down to her elbows. She usually wears rag-tags or a bartender's clothes under a velvet black cloak which doesn't reach quite to her feet with a golden rose for a clasp.
Personal History: Saltwan was raised by a happy peasant family until she was fifteen, and then was promptly kicked out into the real world. She made her way by becoming a merchant, ‘buying cheap and selling dear,' as the phrase goes, and then found her way into the military arts, one way or another. She was finally sworn into the Ystar at 23.
Disposition: Very, VERY long fuse. Generally good-tempered, except when she's feeling bipolar, in which case she's rather entertaining to watch. Slightly anti-social, and is completely obsessed with the arcane arts.
Weapon(s) of Choice: A harpoon and a very large sword. We're talking jumbo-sized, here. Along with a chain and flail, throwing darts, and forks.
*Read the personal history. She's been in the Ystar for two years, so I felt a higher rank was appropriate.
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
Name: Morgan Gouster
Height: about 5'6"
Physical Description: Morgan's forever wearing some sort of white and forever getting it filthy. She doesn't seem to mind, though. She has green eyes and dyed blue hair with bright orange tips, which is always up in long spikes. She's somewhat of an anti-black punk. And she has a wallet that she tucks into her pocket with at least fifty keychains dangling from it. She wears a nail-constructed crucifix around her neck.
Personality Description: She's hyper and happy almost all of the time. And she's Christian, and she takes THAT seriously.
Weapon: Two long stakes she holds in both hands; a gun loaded with silver bullets; a lighter and a bottle of gas; keychains, at last resort.
Instrument/Alto, tenor, soprano, bass, baritone (if they sing): Cellist and acrobat
Describe your person: Dressed in a colorful patched top with purple sleeves and a simple brown trousers, the bottoms clinging to her ankles. She has coatless coattails attached to her by a belt on her waist and constantly has long brown bangs hanging in her face, emphacising how short the rest of her hair was.
With shoes held to her feet by string and gauntlets that almost never come off, she travels the lands with a cello strapped to her back and a naginata in her hand, although she uses it for entertainment uses only, the blade wrapped in a colorful scarf.
History: Allorian was raised in a friendly atmosphere with her parents at the edge of a forest in a small cottage. Unlike most, she had a very happy childhood and when a troupe called the Players of Lockham came to the village nearby, Allorian fell in love with the cello. The cellist stayed at their house until
his new one was made, and in the meantime taught her everything he knew. When the cello was ready, the Player gave his old cello to Allorian, who promptly named it Jonathan for her own reasons.
Whe she was sixteen she proposed to her parents to join the troupe. This had a little bit of trouble going through her father, but she was able to go with her parents blessings.
4 years later, the troupe of players fell apart and Allorian has been traveling ever since, making money off whatever she could.
RP: Children of the Dragon
Character: Allorian March
Race(dragon, human, demon, etc.):Human
Special Abilities/ Weapons: Is one hell of a cellist, along with the fact that she can weild a naginata(Japanese battle axe)like nobody's business.
Description: Short-ish, tanned with brown hair and eyes so dark brown the pupil is indeciferable from the iris. Is always wearing a type of brown and you can never find her wearing a dress.
History: Allorian grew up in Stradford-on-Avon, England, and joined the circus when she was 16. When she was 21, she broke off and made her way in the world as a traveling musician, using the case of her cello Jonathan to collect money. She soon booked a plane to Japan to play, and soon learned the language. She's been in Japan ever since.
RP: Orothaen Songs: An Age of Ruin and Rebirth
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character Name: Aranthee
Gender; Age: female; 350
Physical Description: She's short, but slender, yet well built. An amethyst gem in her forehead, her head is covered is soft, mottled brown fur. Her back scales are a gentle crimson red, and her stomach is a cooler color, more brown, with small black spots making a small line down her belly.
Personal History: She found herself at a very early age alone in the wilderness, but the earth nurtured her, and she soon became at ease in any situation. She wandered the earth, visiting glades and such, as if she was a unicorn. She liked to fantasize she was. She found her inner talent to be mingling with the woodwork, disappearing from sight and from mind effortlessly, and she used it often and well. She found her talent at magicking, and developed it slowly, but well.
Disposition: Quiet, very quiet. Prone to be forgotten and disappear quite abruptly, and when she speaks, it is generally either ignored or heard well. She's very slight of temper. (note: this may change in gameplay. Depends.)
Weapon(s) of Choice: her magicking, and herself.
Cat Name: Scatchaken(short for something entirely unpronounceable, but you can call her Scatch)
Description: She's a white-furred, black spotted margay cat who is exceedingly flexible, especially her ankles.
Station: Hunter(can I be a hunter instead of a warrior?)
Username:[Pnelma Tirian]/[Scarlet Lioness]
Cat Name: Streampaw
Clan: River Clan
Description: Streampaw's a young and ambitious white-and-brown streaked apprentice of the Guard. He's incredibly inquisitive and curious and if you don't answer his question he will keep on bugging you and bugging you until you answer him.
(ET)Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Name: Jennifer Morsk
code used:(old civil war code) The Vicksburg Code and Binary
Personal Description: Jennifer isn't fit. She's on the local hockey team, but she usually misses the games hacking into one sort of system or another. She's got five peircings on each ear, an eyebrow ring, and a tattoo on her stomach reading "Contrarywise!" 'Course, she never show it. Her ethnicity is hard to determine.
(Hair Color and style): Long brown hair with random blue stripes. She wears it in braids.
(Special Traits): Her tattoo.
Avatar Description: Everything Jennifer's not and more. She's a drider with only four legs instead of the usual eight, and she's got silver stripes all over, including countless tattoos. She's got an oddly bladed tail, she's muscular, fit, slender, and got a huge bust. The only thing keeping her decent is her exoscekeleton over her chest and some 'elvish chain mail'. And, of course, where would she be without an invisible bottomless inventory and a gun half her size on her arm?
(Hair Color and style): Silver, with golden bands.
(Eyes): Green and blue
(Special Traits): A scar over one eye.
Personality: Mild humor tints everything she does.
Other: She's very much addicted to cheese puffs.
User Name: [the mad geneticist (XP)]
Character Name: A'dachi Marks
Description: Somewhat tall, with chisled features and somewhat pointed ears. She wears all leather and LOTS of belts. She has at least fifteen knives, all blessed or enchanted in some way or another, and a spell book, which she uses sporadically. She has several tinker's tools, and odds and ends everywhere.
Class: Faerie Killer(Mercenary)
Abilities: Her expertise is the capture, death, and torture of faeries, considering she has been doing it since she was 6.
Personality: She's easy going, and doesn't particularly enjoy her work, but she doesn't hate it. She is brilliant at lying and is thus unworthy of trust to those who know her. The only way she will keep her word is if there's a moneybag involved. She is often kind to her prey except when it comes high time to do her work. She likes it best if they come to her willingly and she has a few favorite ploys for "picking up" fae.
Background: When she was 4, she started to dream about a grove and the history of it. It was a nice grove, but not a very big one, with a little pond in the middle where she would swim. In these dreams, she would wonder why there were no faeries under the mushrooms and in the mushroom rings. And then the thought occurred that maybe the gremlins had it, but there weren't any signs of those, either. So, when she was six, she saw the Gremlin King and the Faerie Queen having a debate in a mushroom circle and listened in. She was caught and the Gremlin King and the Faerie Queen looked at each other nastily, then the Faerie Queen asked her if she wanted to stand up for the Fae of the woods. The Gremlin King asked if she wanted anything for her birthday. She looked at the Gremlin King, confused, and said yes. The Faerie Queen cried and dissapeared and the Gremlin King taught her her trade, and she's been earning money for it ever since.
User Name: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character Name: Edmund
Description: His eyes are a soft orange color, and his pupils large and oval shaped, except when his gold is challenged; in which case, they nearly dissapear into narrow slits, and he turns to his true nature as a red dragon. He has a ridge of spikes running along his spine, and a crest of horns sweeping back and a pair forward on his head. He's rather plump, given the fact that he hasn't gotten much excercise in a few centuries. His wings are a bit weak, but they can still get him into the air, and the leather is a dark fuschia.
Class: Dragon. (of whom, naturally, get a class all of their own...)
Age: About five centuries older than the War.
Abilities: He can fly, when he's inspired, and he can swim, and make rosemary tea, and has teeth and claws and fire just like any other red dragon, but he's much more polite about it.
Personality: Edmund's very shy, incredibly polite, and forever speaking in an apologetic tone, even if he didn't do anything in the first place. He has a very gentle smile and puppy eyes, but watch out when he's around his horde. He's VERY possessive of it, and any polite tones that he may have shared before dissapear when it comes to his gold.
Background: Edmund was born when Monochrest blessed the Grove. He was old friends with the Unir, and was charged with the care and keeping of the Grove until the replacement came and took over his job. Until then, he's been working his magic on it so that neither Fae nor Gremlin may enter until an agreement has been reached and the war permanently ended.
Picture(optional, but encouraged): Soon to come, folks!
RP: Enter Purgatory
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Species: Black Cat(very, VERY LARGE LION. as in bigger than a pack horse. Aslan sized.)
Hair: Golden, long, and soft, curling in gentle waviness.
Eye Colour: a soft gold.
Description: Zion is very tall. and very wide. and tends to project golden light around him---he doesn't glow, the light illuminates around him.
Personality: Very, very gentle with humans. He's really, really brutal with demons, vampires, and any others that mean to cause them harm. However, he protects the individual---not the politic.
Other: He's friends with Alex, and will partner and/or come to her aid when needed.
RP: Enter Purgatory
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Species: Beastlike demon
Hair: black as pitch, and distributed jaggedly about his form.
Eye Colour: a freakish, sickly, but VERY BRIGHT pink.
Description: BEAST looks like a combination between a panther, a komodo dragon, a falcon, a demon, and a wolf. With their skins ripped off. It is not a nice thing to look at. It is pitch black, greying in some places, and always has festering wounds open and oozing pus or blood. It has no eyelids, and the cheeks of its face are nonexistant, so its mouth grins from one side of its face to the other. The bottom of it's jaw is all but gone. It has four feeble, tiny, and disease ridden wings, that serve no purpose but to look gross, it seems. However, the BEAST's looks are deceiving. It is completely capable and very, very strong.
Personality: the equivalent of a shark's--there isn't one. It has been programmed by its master for one task and one alone---to seek out and kill any non-demonics. Its mind is incredibly feeble, but the BEAST makes up for that in brute force and cunning hunting abilities.
RP: Enter Purgatory
Species: Darkened Angel/cyborg
Hair: purple, shortly cut and spiked; her bangs are her natural golden-brown, and usually tucked behind her ears.
Eye Colour: they change colors very quickly on their own, making a sort of blurred, dizzying look. However, they also alter color according to her mood; she can't control it manually.
Description: Alex is a very weathered, worn, and ready angel. Years ago--decades--centuries, even, it's been so long---she was on a mission to intercept a council of higher demons. At the time, she worked solo.
She was torn apart.
Her legs were completely obliterated; not even stumps were left. Horrible scars were marked across her body, her wings were blackened and clipped, and they cursed the halo of light around her head to suck in light instead of project it. She was told by a Higher, before she lost contact, that she would only get one mortal body--however, she would be provided with a very intelligent inventor by the name of James Mallor. He constructed her cybernetic legs and her tail for her. She wears a black leotard over her torso, and a smirk about her face.
Personality: Alex has gotten addicted to comics. So, she'll often monologue or insert a witticism as if she was the star of one. She keeps a good attitude by seeing the ironic or comedic side of the situation--the silver lining to her dark clouds is plaid.
Weapons: Oh, come on! She's got cybernetic legs! with claws! she doesn't NEED anything else! But she can on occasion use weapons if needed, and has two custom swords; they're like tonfas, only blades. (illustrations are awesome. ^_^) She usually leaves those at home, though.
Other: She's got claws! and illustrations! and more illustrations! because I like drawin' her! WEE!
RP: Horror High
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Name: Sacha Rhata
Description: Sacha is extremely tall and willowy, shaped like a stick but with a little bit of pudgy fat sticking out in places. She wears heaps of black makeup and you can hardly see her eyes through all the eyeshadow. She peers out through a shock of badly dyed black hair, her orange roots showing from between the massive curls. She wears long striped stockings and platform boots, as if she needed tower any more above everyone's heads, bringing her up to 6'7". She often wears shortish pleated black skirts and corsets to try to hide her less appealing spots, and spikes and chains stick out everywhere on her outfit. She keeps a pocket knife in her boot and big, scarlet red headphones around her neck. She also tends to wear a massive black trenchcoat that reaches down almost to her feet. Whenever she wears it, it's always closed, and there are rumors that she keeps machetes and shotguns in there. Hanging around her may result in an early onset of lung cancer since she smokes like a chimney.
History: Sacha comes from a well-to-do family with nothing better to do than to spoil her rotten with technology and to send her to fancy schools like this one.
Mental or Physical conditions: She's insecure.
Personality: Sacha is insecure and abrasive, and occasionally flighty, but handy in a crowd. She's practically attached to Max and hangs onto her every word--it was her that got her into the whole goth scene in the first place.
Specialty: Sacha takes Archery and has won medals for her marksmanship as well as with rifles and handguns. She also plays with fire sometimes and draws violent pictures in Physics class that earn her trips to the school psychiatrist, who has become a friend.
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character Name: Xiloxochitl Age: 225
Sex: Female Clan: Wood
Description: Xiloxochitl is long and snakelike in build, about twenty-five feet in length and five-foot at the shoulder, with an appetite that could devour an elephant in one sitting, if given the chance. Her skin is smooth and slick and brightly colored reddish orange with a yellow sheen, except for the rough, black pads on her feet. Her feet are sharply reptilian, with long, curved claws, Her torso stretches about ten feet between powerful forelegs and hind legs, both lined with feathers along the back and elbow, and a pair of smaller, armlike wings tipped with padded claws, brightly colored blue and green and red, sit close to her hind legs. Her large, vibrant feathered wings are tucked between her forelegs and make plumage for her chest. Her six-foot, thick neck tapers neatly into the base of her snakelike head. Her lidless eyes are always open, reddish yellow fading into bright red around the slitted pupil. A hard casing covers her eyes, dry and cool above the snake's grin that cuts her face in two. Small folds of skin form ruffles around the edges of her jaw, which disarticulates when she eats. Her mouth is lined with hundreds of small, curved teeth which are sometimes hidden in the pinkness of her gums. Her tongue is long, forked, and tipped in black, with a Jacobson's organ in the roof of her mouth. Her tail is about nine feet long, lined with feathers that explode in gorgeous plumage at the tip and extend her length another three feet.
Personality: Xiloxochitl is sly and cunning, with a sharp sense of humor and a biting tongue. She cares very little about what few friends she has and would love to subvert her elders and rule her own little piece of the world the way she likes. She keeps a cool demeanor, but has a short temper that flares easily and precious little patience.
Main Weapons: Xiloxochitl relies chiefly on her agility as opposed to strength, attacking in quick, snakelike movements. Her rows of curved teeth and her claws serve as her only real offense.
Weakness: Xiloxochitl's flexibility is both a blessing and a curse; although she can slip into and out of nearly anything with ease, her joints are loosely fitted, and easily pulled out of position. Her bones are also flexible, but pushed to a point will snap easily. She has difficulties coping with dry weather and intense heat, as it tends to evaporate the natural moisture on her skin. Her wings are very delicate and her feathers are integral to flight; it doesn't take much to damage them.
Strengths: Over time, Xiloxochitl can regrow limbs lost, and her hide is so rubbery and slick that it is nearly impossible to find purchase on her skin; Xiloxochitl defines slippery. She can also breathe through her skin if her nose and mouth are compromised. She is incredibly flexible and her feathers are waterproof. Her curved teeth are aligned in such a way that they're more like rows of barbs, so it's very difficult to escape her jaws.
Special Fact: Xiloxochitl's skin is vaguely chameleon in that it imitates the light that hits it; if she is sitting under a tree, the shadow of the leaves against her skin will stain her skin briefly when she moves.
RP: The Land of Skandhra
Name: Turq Mihena
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
Description: Turq is a large person, with a barrel chest and wide shoulders over a powerful core and long legs. However, he dresses like a businessman in sharp, dark clothes, and the calluses on his large hands are strangely juxtaposed next to carefully manicured fingernails. His face is sharp and angular with a seemingly built in confident expression. Cool blue-green eyes rest under straight, black eyebrows, stark against his fading tan. His black hair is slicked back neatly and kept in a small ponytail at the base of his neck. In his belt he keeps a kopis, a curved blade three feet in length, but only as a cautionary measure. On his hip is his kukri, a much smaller, curved knife similar to a machete, for practicality.
Personality: Turq is every inch a businessman. He is charismatic and quick thinking, disinclined towards fighting, and speaks smoothly and eloquently. He is obsessed with progress, pursuing new technologies with which the Eirin civilization can grow and flourish. If he can make a pretty fortune in the process, then all the better.
Race: An abomination
Siding: Dark Army
Rank: special mobile infantry
Abilities: Fara is able to travel any physical plane and can jump large distances. Her venom is a strong hallucinogen; in high concentrations, it can send the victim into a feverous delirium, leaving them bed-ridden. However, in small doses it can fill the victim with anything from bloodlust and rage to incredible clarity, depending on the person poisoned. She can also spin thin, resilient thread from her thorax, made sticky by her viscous saliva. She requires living flesh or blood for sustenance, and is immune to her own poison in any amount.
Appearance: Fara was designed to be an assassin and a master warrior, built light and fast with agility and strength. However, transmutation is a fickle magick, and the reality of Fara is some distance from her master's vision. Fara is built like a spider centaur, with a hard, thorned exoskeleton. Her bottom half is fundamentally spider--eight long, spindly legs connected to a bulbous body. Her upper half is humanoid, but falls greivously short of representing what she looked like before the transformation. Her face is dominated by eyes; two disproportionately large in the middle of her face, two tiny beads underneath, and one on each temple. Her jaw is mostly cartilage; her cheeks bulge with the form of huge mandibles that curve around her face. It is very difficult for her to close her lips or form certain sounds, so her speech is impaired and strange. Her ears were large, but torn almost completely off, and so healed as ragged stumps close to her skull. Her skin is a mottled grey, like that of a corpse, and her eyes are black and shiny, the main pair with reflective pupils. Her skull is clean shaven, save for small, circular patches of platinum blonde hair carefully bundled down a mohawk line to the base of her skull, where it grows long and straggly down her back. Her hands are replaced with long keratin blades similar in shape to her spider feet, but her pinkies and part of her right thumb still remain. On the battlefield she wears customized black armor head to toe, only broken by joints covered in chainmaille, and a dramatically feathered helmet. Off the battlefield, she may wear her chest armor and bracers on her limbs, if that; when alone, wears only a simple dull white cloth tied around her chest.
Personality: Fara is extremely displeased with her assimilation into Ullari's army, and very quiet and shy off the battlefield. On it, she is a creature powered by fear, lashing out at everything that frightens her in an attempt to destroy the source of her terror. She is bitter and intensely ashamed of herself for allowing such an atrocity to be committed to her body, and doesn't think she should be responsible for her own fate. She cows easily to figures of power and follows orders wordlessly.
History: Fara was born to elven parents who worked the land with strong, ancient hands and built magnificent gardens for the High Elven Counsel. When Lomien struck down the Counsel, they joined the revolt against him. Fara was a young adult at the time, and a victim of propaganda and her parents' ideals; to her, striking down the Elven Counsel was destroying the foundations on which their peaceful and prosperous society was built. She vowed to stand against any form of leadership that fell short of the High Elven Counsel's ideals. Ironically, it was this vow that lead her to join Ullari's army, and it was for the defense of these ideals that she agreed to be transformed into a soldier of death. Both of her parents were killed in battle, and her homeland razed and rendered infertile. Stuck as a monstrous servant to a cruel dictator, she fell into despair and self-loathing. Her trust in her own judgement was shattered. She now lives only to follow orders; she still futilely believes that Ullari will leave the land malleable and better equipped for the next generation's government; until then, she'll search for justice and righteousness in Ullari's regime, or cracks and flaws in Lomien's rebellion to justify her own mistakes.
RP: World War Fantasy
Name: Elizabeth Twelve
Job: Raptor General
Persanality: Elizabeth is cold, but will laugh upon occasion. She loves alchohol fiercely, and is very devoted to anything she does. She's an excellent strategist and Rider, and she can get out of anything with her group alive and intact, albeit a little shaken. She loves a good challenge, and she's VERY agile on her Raptor, Gilios.
History: An orphan, Elizabeth was adopted by a man in a traveling group of soldiers, and she grew up fighting. She enrolled into the army herself when she was fifteen and took to riding raptors like a fish to water. she bought herself Gilios when she was eighteen and they both grew to love the battlefeild together. She was elevated to General when she was 22.
Looks: She's somewhat short, but amazingly fast, and she wears a simple black cloak with a golden rose as a broach and standard military uniform. Her dusty blonde hair is cropped to the military's length and is constantly getting in her peircing ice blue eyes.
Weapon: A long hooked spear, two sabers across her back, a crossbow, and a recurve bow.
Mounts name: Gilios
Mounts look: deep red, with silver splotches. He has a scar running down his flank, and sharp orange eyes. His toeclaws reaches seven inches.
Mount Personality: hostile to people he doesn't know, but playful in a way like a very, very large housecat to a mouse. He means well.
RP: End of the World
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
Name: Cary Almond
Physical Description: Well, from the looks of her, you'd say she was from Vault 13.(she's even made the suit and everything for herself. Seriously.) Her hair's black, cut to her jaw, and mussed, and she's usually got a shotgun or some such weapon on her. She was a huge Fallout fan and played it almost constantly before the world ended, so don't be surprised if she asks you for a water chip. And she glows.
Personality: A little on the nutso side, but still relatively sane, she's usually friendly enough.
Means of Survival:Her father, who was a sewage worker, had taken her with him for a tour of the tunnels, because, oddly enough, she wanted to come. And then the world ended, and her dad died, and there she was, stuck in the sewers with the not-so-mythical alligators at her tail. After a while she learned to adapt, and later found an odd pod of slightly mutated aligators, and the one to kill her elevated his status within the male ranks.
RP: The night the moon cried
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character: Aeriel Waent
Side, Wolves\Humans: Undecided
Race: Dark Angel
Looks: Tall, slender, long black eyelashes hovering over silver eyes. Her glossy black wings are more like a sparrows, not meant for soaring, but for short spurts.
Acts: Very quiet, more than at home in the darkness. Although this may make her look as if she has ill-intentions, her best wish is to be left alone.
Weapons: A scythe she keeps over her back, some spells, and herself, although she would sooner run from a fight.
RP: Orothaen Songs: The New Connection
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character Name: Morgan Gouster
Gender; Age: female;stuck at 27, but aging slowly.
Physical Description: She's all dressed up in her Civil War soldier outfit, with the blue suit and the yellow buttons and everything, plus a sole medal for courage. Her chest is wrapped so it appears flat, and she has short hair(cut so that she could get into the army), which has grown a bit. She's got violet eyes, but so dark you can't distinguish it from the pupil. At her side is a silver-basket-hilted rapier, and on both sides of her hips she has two white-butted pistols. She has a rifle and a bayonet, but as a general rule keeps the bayonet in its sheath and off the gun and the rifle slung across her back. She keeps her head covered with her hat. She also has a bandage over her right shoulder from a bullet she took in battle; the wound's been long healed, but she doesn't know it, so she keeps it on.
Personal History: Morgan was raised on a farm. At 16, when she heard that her father, an elderly farmer, but an ace with a rifle, was going to war, she protested loudly and forcefully kept him home most of the day, carrying out the duties of the farm, determined that her father's foolishness was from sickness. But he somehow got past her and in the night, took a horse and rode off to the nearest recruitment station, where he had been called. Morgan managed to get there in time when he passed out(he had been drinking only a couple of hours before), catching him as he fell. She took him home and, determined to keep him out of the army, bound up her chest and cut her hair, looking almost exactly like a boy. When she went to the recruiting station and told them that she was her father, she was expecting suspicion, but she got none. She received a weapon, training(beyond what she already knew), and, after a very long time, friendship with quite a few of the other soldiers. She never heard what her father thought of her running off to join the army. Her hero all along was Belle Boyd, who was a spy for the Confederates, of whom an officer once told her, “You will do more harm to our cause than half the men could do.”
At age 27, she was well into the war and had several close friends who served as family better than hers ever had. In one battle, while she was in the trenches sniping one of the officers, the bullet she shot took down a Chormalene, hitting it in the eye. Surprised, Morgan stood for a moment before running over to it and checking it. Sure as income taxes, it was dead. She slung her rifle over one shoulder and proceeded to drag it to the side of a stream when she was confronted with the rest of the tribe. She escaped only with slight communication, and the skin of her teeth. She had to give up the canister slung by a chain around her neck to survive. The canister was originally meant to hold poison inside, so that if anyone found out the wearer was a spy, they could commit suicide before the others had a chance to find out anything. The canister was empty, as it always had been. She's been wandering around Orothu for the longest time, trying to find her fellow soldiers and best of friends.
Disposition: She's friendly, merry, and jokes almost half the time. But when it comes to it, she can get serious, and if you harm her or her friends, she's deadly cold.
Weapon(s) of Choice: Morgan cheifly uses either her rapier or snipes with her rifle. At extreme cases where she can't use these, she'll use her bayonet and white-butted pistols. But she usually doesn't fight anyway.
Other: Piccie! ^_^
RP: the matrix rpg
Name: [Pnelma Tirian]
Matrix or Zion:Zion
History:Raised in the slums. went insane at 15, been living off other people's money, getting it off them honestly or no. Adopted by Morpheus.
Abilities:her lack of sanity makes her a perfect berzerker type, and also lets her defy any human law of nature known.An excellent knife-thrower and fencer, but has a so-so aim when it comes to guns. VERY fast.
Weapons:no less than 15 kinives on her at any time;a sword;pistol
Inventory:knife belt;saber;50$;golden pendant;pistol
RP: A Myth of Gods
Goddess Name: Salek, which is her real name, but if you ever call her that, you better be prepared to answer to the gods of the underworld. So call her Solace.
Age: just as old as her trade.
Eliment: Shadow, death, blood, dark
Origonal/ Usual Race: Harpie
Titles: Goddess of Death, Grim Reaper, Oricle of Afterlives
Reason: To bring the souls of the dead to the Angel of Darkness.
Discripion: A dark and beautiful figure, this Goddess has deep, deep red eyes and the palest of skin. Dressed in deep ornate crimson robes and hooded, this figure is nothing to laugh at. in one hand, she holds a crystal orb, meant for containing souls until she lets them loose into the afterlife. In the other she holds a rune-covered kama, meant for cutting the soul from it's body.
Attacks: Death, mostly.
Lovers: none. except for a couple annoying suicidal goths.
Other: This goddess has decided to give up her title, returning to her formal status as an Angel of Death.
RP: Fern-Gen Recall
Hair: Shoulderlength dirty blonde, which she prefers to wear spiked, curling at the ends
Eyes: dark navy blue, so dark you can't distinguish it from her pupils
Disposition: to say it in a word..a bitch. Won't make friends easily.
Personality: look above...
Abilities: she can alter her state to the elements around her, generate light, and shift her body parts into something different.
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character name: Scatchaken(Scatch for short)
Home: natural-born wanderer(last seen near Mossflower)
Physical description: She is a Margay, a spotted wildcat that is flexible enough to hang from a branch upsidedown and backwards with its feet regularly placed on the top. Orange-ish fur with blotches of plack spattered everywhere. Her tail is long and darker than the rest with black rings around it at the ends. Wears dark brown trousers and a lighter top, hooded by a brown cloak. Knives absolutely everywhere there is belts.
Personality: If you are not an enemy but not a friend, quite sarcastic and rude. If you are a friend, unnaturally friendly. If you are an enemy, you are dead. Worked as a while as a mercenary and assassn, so has several prices on her head.
Other: Is a professional archer, but is deadly with her blades at any range. has two sabres she can fight well with, but not fantastically. Lives cheifly in trees. Builds a fort of stones around each one as a sign that tells her that this forest is a safe spot to run to.
User - [Pnelma Tirian]
Name - Allorian
Age - 21
Sex - Female
Psy - Schizokinesis; Zephyrkinesis
Description - Tall. Very tall and thin and pale. An elf with blank eyes and iris and pupils the same color as the eye's white. Usually wears very black clothes, although she isn't gothic.
Personality - Quiet at times, but loud when she wants to be. Friendly towards those who don't piss her off. She often passes into a sort of state that makes hours pass like minutes to her. Something like if you were a tree, you would live in this state.
Weapons - small rapier and two ebony-butted pistols. Also has a cello strapped to her back and a bow that seems harmless, but looks can be decieving....(:
RP: north and south will find thee
Name: Morgan Goust
Weight: 150 lbs
Desripction: She's all dressed up in her Civil War soldier outfit, with the blue suit and the yellow buttons and everything, plus a sole medal for courage. Her chest is wrapped so it appears flat, and she has short hair(cut so that she could get into the army), which has grown a bit. She's got violet eyes, but so dark you can't distinguish it from the pupil. At her side is a silver-basket-hilted rapier, and on both sides of her hips she has two white-butted pistols. She has a rifle and a bayonet, but as a general rule keeps the bayonet in its sheath and off the gun and the rifle slung across her back. She keeps her head covered with her hat. She also has a bandage over her right shoulder from a bullet she took in battle; the wound's been long healed, but she doesn't know it, so she keeps it on. Her uniform's usually kept neat, but with a fine layer of dust on it from the road.
Weapon: a sweet rifle she would give her life to protect, two white-butted pistols, and a saber that she rarely uses.
Residence: Hastings-on-Hudson, New York (if it's there 'now'...)
Regiment: Maryland 9th Infantry
History: Morgan was raised on a farm. At 16, when she heard that her father, an elderly farmer, but an ace with a rifle, was going to war, she protested loudly and forcefully kept him home most of the day, carrying out the duties of the farm, determined that her father's foolishness was from sickness. But he somehow got past her and in the night, took a horse and rode off to the nearest recruitment station, where he had been called. Morgan managed to get there in time when he passed out(he had been drinking only a couple of hours before), catching him as he fell. She took him home and, determined to keep him out of the army, bound up her chest and cut her hair, looking almost exactly like a boy. When she went to the recruiting station and told them that she was her father, she was expecting suspicion, but she got none. She received a weapon, training(beyond what she already knew), and, after a very long time, friendship with quite a few of the other soldiers. She never heard what her father thought of her running off to join the army. Her hero all along was Belle Boyd, who was a spy for the Confederates, of whom an officer once told her, “You will do more harm to our cause than half the men could do.”
At age 27, she was well into the war and had several close friends who served as family better than hers ever had. She was surprisingly good at marksmanship and could take down a sparrow at 500 yards.
Family backround: middle class
My name is Monsk, and I am not human, vampire, or anything of this mortal coil. I was once a soldier in the army of God, but tried to overthrow him and was cast down into Hell as a dark and torn demon of the night. Wretched is the Dark Venom, or so they call me. I have found human and angelic blood to affect me much as a drug would, becoming addicted to its taste. When I come up to feed I take the form of a somewhat overgrown voodoo doll, created by myself. I carry no weapons besides myself, and in my true form there is hardly any flesh at all upon my broken bones, for I am truely damned.
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
char. name: Cheryl Requiste (Cher)
description: Cher is a Communist from Russia, while it was still part of the Soviet Union. She is of medium hight, blonde, blue eyed, and spectacled.
weapons: Surgical tools. >)
history: Cher was a military surgeon during World War I for the Allies; once it ended, she moved back to her homeland of Russia for five years, working at a public hospital. She made a trip to Germany during the beginning of World War II to pick up a few friends of hers that wanted out.
other: Sadomasochist by more than a margin.
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
Char. name: Dr. Katrice B. Cambelle
job: American military surgeon and doctor
description: The doctor is tall, wiry, and boyish in figure. Brunette. And she's missing completely her right eye and eyebrow; the skin around it is scarred from burns.
history: Dr. Cambelle was a feild surgeon for the US during the first world war; after it ended, she retired and came to Berlin to cast her lot in the medical businesses.
other: She works wonderfully without the eye; in fact, some would say she's better than an unhindered doctor.
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character name: Fara Shiva beckons him not with a name, but with a series of clicks; if anyone refers to him other than 'slave' or 'Fara's servant,' he is Kikkiksskitch'ke, named by his mistress.
Race: Dark Elf
Siding: Dark Army
Abilities: Fara's servant is intermediate in fire and intuitively basic in water and earth. He highly skilled in the art of war, having mastered the light, curved silver sabres of his race. He is also an experienced healer, and can have Fara Shiva in and out of full battle regalia in a matter of minutes. He can also mend chainmaille and cloth, and cook adequately enough for his own tastes.
Weapons: Fara's servant is not meant to fight in battle, and carries no weapons on his person.
Appearance: Kikkiksskitch'ke is of good stature and well-built, at 6'2" with wide, powerful shoulders and good legs. His teeth are white and his footing is steady. His hair is white and filthy, kept in dreadlocks and without ornamentation, although he is allowed to grow as long as he likes, provided it does not interfere with his duties. He is dressed in simple, darkly colored, tattered clothes. The large brand labeling him as Fara Shiva's servant stretches from the middle-right side of his chest to halfway up his muscled neck, and the deep-cutting scars from the lash of the whip on his back remove any question of his status. Higher up, just under each gland under his jaw, are two puncture scars, like heroin tracks. His face, once handsome, is now long and gaunt, his flesh a dull grey and his red eyes glazed over and pink at the edges.
Personality: Fara's servant has the same personable demeanor as a junkie strung out on opiates. Whatever individual personality he may have had has been squandered by Fara Shiva's venom, which has a calming effect on him. He rarely speaks, but when he does, it is a sad attempt to mimic his mistress's native, clicking tongue. Fara Shiva's chemicals make him think that she is someone precious to behold; perhaps yesterday she was his goddess, today his paramour, tomorrow his Empress. In any event, as long as he is sedated, he holds these views, and he has yet to come off the drug long enough to see things otherwise.
History: The world cares not for the life story of a slave. Before he came under Fara Shiva's domain, he may have been the King of all Arda for all it matters. He was the last of a series of servants under Shiva, and the longest-lasting, having a temperament that aligns neatly to her hallucinogen.
RP: Flight of the silver eagle
Name: Cyrus the Magi
User: [Pnelma Tirian]
Sex: Female, supposedly
Rank and Speciality: Blue; magic and Fallen tracking
Description: A very, very small individual; it was difficult to tell what sex it ascribed itself to, so maciated and slight was its figure, even as sparcely clothed as it was. Around its dark, naked pelvis wrapped a simple cotton loincloth, serving only to sheild its genitals from the elements. Its bare aurburn thighs seemed to flow down into eretheral blue cloth that climbed up each leg at a continual slant, so similar was the fading brown hue of the cloth to the skin underneath. Its muscles are like cords of string under dark skin, wrapping the thin bones from head to toe and forming the heavy slopes of her shoulders. Two pert, light brown nipples nuzzled the long cloth loosely draped across her chest, her breasts barely raised above her merciless ribs. Her collarbone jutted forward violently, permanently decorated by a peculiar and distinctly foreign modification; at the base of her delicate neck, bumps on her skin trapped a large, angry ruby on her sternum, so surrounded by delicate gold filigree that it was difficult at a glance to see how integrally bonded she was to the smooth gem. Along her collarbone stem rods of ashwood and silver, embedded in her flesh and stretching across her chest like longhorns, curving to a point well beyond her narrow shoulders; across these smooth poles the loose cloth that brushes her breasts is draped, knotted loosely to keep its shape around her shoulders, and stretching down beside her like window curtains.
Her smoothfaced mask was carved from wood, a smooth cylinder that betrayed no human contours beyond two small fox-slits for eyes, the right eye a crossed slit. It cut off her face, revealing only her sharp, dark-skinned jaw and voluminous lips. Across the mask's forehead a crown of thorns jutted out like a king's burden; above those, the wood of the masked stretched itself up and forward into wooden antlers, each prong hanging baubles of every kind to catch the light and sing in the wind. It obscured everything but the back of her dark, shaved skull, a leather strap fastened to hold it in place.
Personality: Cyrus is not a social person, and she can seem simple or insane from how she speaks and how her mind works. She isn't inclined to be violent in any situation beyond the need of the hunt and of self-defense. When she decides on something, she focuses on it with all of her being and it is impossible to tell her otherwise.
Weapons: Cyrus uses only her magic, using the living blood of her enemies and even her own veins to spark and control her magic. She is otherwise entirely unarmed.
Gryphon's Name: Scarza
Description: Scarza is a sleepy old gryphon, her huge, owlish eyes often heavily lidded. She is reasonably sized, at 16 hands at the shoulder, but very long and lean. Small, vestigial wings poke out of her back, more salt than pepper in color. Her speckled white feathers coat her in downy snow; her hindquarters are those of a desert lion, and toughened with a hundred age-old battlescars. She is nothing but muscle and bone, her tail extending a rediculous six feet. Her narrow countenance is justified by her six-inch, curved black talons and her sudden agility.
RP: Endlessly possible rp
username: [Pnelma Tirian]
name: The Pnelma Tirian
found at: Pnelma
Username: [Pnelma Tirian]
Character name: Jeshaak Moretalon
Age: 45 (about 20.)
Physical description: Jeshaak, or Jesh, as she's called by her friends, is a VERY small gryphon, only about as tall as a large tiger. She's a peregrin-margay mix, with a black top and wings, a pale underside, orange and black spotted hindquarters, a ringed tail, and a wicked sharp beak. She's got fast amber eyes that don't seem to stop wandering, and a tongue which follows suit. She's sleek, fast, and exceedingly flexible.
Personality: A lot like an otter. She seems a little odd when you meet her, and her oddness only grows when you get to know her, but she'll share a drink with you anyday and get into a bar fight even sooner. She loves a good fight, anytime, anywhere. She's relatively good tempered about her size, but any joke that goes longer than five minutes and she gets annoyed.
Preferred weapons: Talons, beak, claws, and anything around her that can be used in a fight. (chairs, lamp-posts, tree limbs, etc. She doesn't need to pull them out of the ground to use them.)
Powers: Stun, enchantment, fire--mostly just the small stuff to distract her opponent until she gets behind them and beheads them. She can do the larger spells, sure, but she usually doesn't, because they take up time.
RP: bitter thoughts
Name: Morgan, can't remember her last name
General Description: Morgan is dressed in enchantress' attire, with her staff in one hand and her sling in the other, a pouch of perfectly rounded pebbles at her side. She's quiet, with her brown bangs hanging in front of multicolored eyes, and the rest of her darker hair bound into a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, with several tendrils hanging from it. She's a skilled huntress, enchantress, and conjuror.
General History: She has no idea.
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