Topic: The Darkest Roleplay: Character Sheet Applications

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This topic contains 97 replies, has 31 voices, and was last updated by Rumsztyk Rumsztyk 2 years, 11 months ago.

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    Tybalt Leviticus


    Age: 23

    Sex: Male

    Physical Description: Dirty blonde hair, clipped short in a military style hair cut. Has light brown eyes. Lanky, but well built, he has a small, faint scar running down his right cheek. Height of around 5’10” to 5’11”. A few scars line his chest. Youthful, Tybalt has begun to develop a light subtle.

    Attire: On top, a tabard with a darkish, navy blue, with a golden cross displayed on the front, with iron plate armor underneath it. Leather is at the joints, offering flexibility. The armor, though scratched in a few places, is kept in good condition. Light clothing underneath armor.


    Synopsis: Though overzealous and over righteous and somewhat prejudiced and a hardened man, Tybalt can be a kind, if not merciful man at times.

    Tybalt Leviticus has served the Light since he was a young child. Left on the steps of a local church, a kind Abbot took him under his wing. Under his new guardian, he learned about the Light and how to serve it. Though being raised by an Abbot, Tybalt developed some prejudice to Abominations. This zealotry, however, is sometimes used for good. Grateful for being raised by the Abbot, Tybalt decided to serve the Light by joining the crusades. Fighting the creatures called the Abominations and smiting various heretics, his deep seated hatred for Abominations developed. In the end however, Tybalt is somewhat merciful and kind-hearted, though it takes a lot for this trait to arise.

    Quirks: Deadly and God Fearing and Curious.

    -Skills & Equipment

    Weapons: An iron long sword that has seen much combat, though still sharp. Steel dagger for when the sword is out of reach.

    Armor: On top, a tabard with a darkish, navy blue, with a golden cross displayed on the front, with iron plate armor underneath it. Leather is at the joints, offering flexibility. The armor, though scratched in a few places, is kept in good condition. Several pouches; one on right hip, with dagger nearby, another on left hip, with long sword nearby, and one on the back of his belt.

    Strengths: Proficient at combat, faithful, decent speaker. Some what hardened but still retains youthful wonder.

    Weaknesses: Gets drunk rather easily, overzealous, prejudiced, blinded by faith easily, has a temper.

    Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence and three times is enemy action.


    Lekalis Claren Fanuschrat “Blood”
    Resolve level: 3

    Age: 32~34
    Sex: M
    Physical Description:


    Lekalis’ noble birth is all but written on his pockless face, and regal features, his pale gold hue only serves to reinforce this presumption of royalty.

    His cheekbones are high, but middling in size, yet perfectly located to accentuate his ever so slightly Oriental-set eyes.

    His cheeks themselves flow flawlessly to his fair and thin jaw, the bone neither obtusely broad nor womanly acute; middling somewhere inbetwixt with a princely charm, and a slightly pointed chin is set fairly from his lips.
    Of which, are a bit reddish, and rather finely formed; while no perfect cupid’s bow, they boast an innate grace in the way they pronounce each syllable with a flow of falling wine in a crystal.

    His nose is set rather plainly at the center of his face; and, for all his princely appearance, it looks altogether rather lackluster. No bulging bridge or pointed tip; the nose pokes out at a fair angle, ending with a slight bulb, a smidge larger than the bridge. The nostrils flare out a bit with an Eastern manner, but a predominantly European mundanity makes up the appearance therein.

    His brows are almost always slightly upraised in some level of mixed amusement; inky black, and finely trimmed, yet, despite it there is a slight raise to the corner of the right brow, giving him an almost resting inquisitive look.

    Inky pools, would describe his Far Eastern eyes; while not as dramatic as those that originate from the far off lands, there is an unmistakable slant to them. His bored gaze is somehow always entrancing in the way a red glimmer dances across its surface.

    His hair is doubly an inkish hue, like a starless night, yet it rolls with gentle waves to his shoulders. While usually fair-combed with fingers or tools, he occasionally gets tangles in the long locks. Henceforth, he typically ties up the rather luxorious locks of hair up into a bun with twine and pin.
    In aire of hair, about his lips is a speckling of hairs, light in density, they only serve to reinforce his roguish nature. A moustache and goatee are curiously elegant on his features that would otherwise demand a lack in hair thereof. The Moustache-Goatee combo is shaped in the stylings of a Spanish Conquistadore`, despite having no ties to the country.

    The rest of his body is curiously bereft of any hair, even in his matured age. Indeed, his person is largely unspeckled by time and corrosion. However, a few fresh scars still heal on his person:
    A hex of circular scars mark his back, along his shoulder blades, where musket lead struck him.

    Next, would be a rather notable scar on his right cheek, made from a chemical burn; it left a porous mark along the edge of his jaw, stopping just at the core of his cheek.

    Below that is a barely notable slice, scant the length of half a thumb, wherein a scalpel had violently attempted to kill him. Unsuccessfully.

    His rather lean chest and stomach are unmarked by any damage, besides, perhaps, some fading love-scratches.

    However, at his hips, to the leftern lower quadrant of his abdomen, is a two inch gash; wherein a dagger had slipped under his cuirass.

    More towards his core, rather uncomfortably near the groin, is a long burning-cut scar; starting from the locale proper, and rising up and to the right, ending at the bottom of his ribcage.

    Past that, his legs are rather lightly haired and toned to a lean and agile degree. Ending with feet that wriggle with toes that slant in a Greekish manner.


    Altogether, he is an undeniable Blue-Blood by appearance alone, with a cat-like guile about his self and face. Black rolling hair to his shoulders frame that regal face, with inkish eyes peering out from a half-lidded gaze that almost seems drunkenly bored of it all.
    Despite this lackadazy and cocksure stature, Lekalis is only 5’5 1/2″, or 166cm; though his ego and manner tend to impress a taller height.


    While not dealing with any immediate threat, Lekalis tends to prefer a flowsome garb with a level of practicality to keep him alive:

    A simple half-tunic with poof-some sleeves, with no dye, drapes over his torso. However, to imply some definition, for practicality, and for fashion, a quadlet of torcs adorn his two arms.

    Two torcs, or rather, glorified armbands, are on both arms. Part of a set, apparantly. The first pair is set at the center of his biceps, made of braided deep brown linen ; the edges capped in a lighter and more supple leather. The braid ties off with a about ten centimeters of spare linen.

    The last torcs are set at his wrist, and are made of braided leather and the edges are capped in two segments of iron that allow for the band to be taken on and off at will.

    A strap crosses his body in three ways, first over the left shoulder, then about the side and diagonally as well, to hold a loop for his spear at his back. A bit overly complex. The straps are held together by a buckle and buttons for easy removal.

    His lower body is guarded by leather chaps, the leather being rather finely crafted and made of several compressed layers of elk-hide. Beneath those are some simple linen trousers of grayish hue, the initial charcoal dye having worn out over the years. A belt keeps it all tight about his waist.

    His feet are comfortably hidden beneath elk-hide boots, that rise up to the bottom of his knee and flare out with a cuff. A simple button hides the more intense lace of leather to keep the boot flush to his calf. It boasts a small half inch heel and a pointed toe; good for riding a horse.

    Atop it all is a luxorious silken cloak. Though it has been tarnished by adventuring, its red hue still seems to shine in the light. It is triple layered about the shoulders, and boasts a high collar that acts as a kind of half-hood. There were once several disks of gold, but have long since been removed and used. Or hidden.
    The ends of the cloak flutter at his ankles in ghostly tatters. The apparel rolls with an almost hypnotic, oceanic manner. Fluxuating from the deepest, darkest shades of red, to a nigh glimmering white; it is almost disturbing how its shade so closely resembles blood.

    In combat, Lekalis wears a simple cuirass with three overlapping thigh-plates that protrude from the bottom. A gorget also is bolted about the neck. The cuirass has a back and front made of hard steel.

    He doubly boasts a satchel that rests easily at his hip

    Hidden, usually, beneath his tunic is a red ruby, the size of a man’s hand, hidden at his breast. A Blood-Ruby, as it was coined by some Nomad.

    Sanguine State-of-Mind : Eerily chipper. It’s hard to tell if he’s really having a good time, since it always seems like a good time to him.
    Graceful : While some may have agility, he has grace. His movements are almost hypnotic, in the way he seems to dance past dexterous or agility demanding feats.
    Agile : A trait many claim, but few can truly prove. If but by some instinctual foresight, he seems to have a mind for manoeuvring his way through this realm.
    Silver-Tongued : For all the physical demands of the world, a sharp wit can point the cruelest blades.
    Hedonistic : A pursuit and indulgence of lusts of all kinds makes for an eventful, if not short, life.
    Hemtomania : The sight of blood is unnaturally alluring to this man.
    Dacnomania : Some might find the prospect of biting unnerving and predatory, yet there’s a titillating sensation in the way one gives in to such carnal desires.
    Tasteful Ablutomania : For all one’s acts, it is always proper to make sure you keep it clean and right.

    Born to a family, too righteous to bear his existence under their banner, exile Lekalis to wander the world in hopes of finding a life more suiting to a kinslayer and rebel.
    That has brought him here, to the Darkest estate; where glory is to be had, and gold. And blood.

    What sent him to exile can be heard by those who have passed the now bloody halls of Lekalis’ own bastille. A dangerous piece of information, of a truly romantic endeavor that resulted in only bloodshed; a tale that dances on the ideas of true love. The word is spoken that he, Lekalis, had bedded a princess of another true house. The issue arises when said princess was promised to another.

    The inevitable comes, and war evolves; however, Lekalis is left abandoned by his own family, to fight against an entire house’s fury.

    It is without telling, that Lekalis was defeated; though his passion and aggression permeated throughout his way and tactics. He had slain many, in critical victories that surmounted to nothing thanks to a swarm of small but overwhelming defeats. The final conclusion, was a battle within his hall; where there was no soul left which lended itself to Lekalis. A mutiny erupted, his own family who had tried to dissuade him one last time, took action.

    But, he had survived; some queer luck falling on him, giving him the strength to dispatch the twenty men within the hall with not but a spear, buckler, and falchion.

    None the less; he was without any powerful allies, and his family would not take him; as they had removed any affiliations with his soul at that bloody point.

    His history earns his nickname, ‘Blood’. A simple title, that writhes within every inch of his being: from soul, to body, to history.

    Full: //TBR//
    Misc. Notes:
    Blood-ruby heirloom : Passed down the Fanuschrat line, a memoir of pride, glory… now, pain and sorrow.
    The gem is tear drop shaped and rimmed with gold and capped with a gold plated steel nipple. A silver chain is a perfect fit for Blood. The edges are dangerously sharp. The gem is a Schrodinger’s cat in the sense it is simultaneously wet, yet never wet…
    Img. References:



    -Skills & Equipment
    A single falchion. Made of steel, with a crossguard that flares out on the cutting edge of the blade. The handle boasts a simple leather wrapping, and the guard is made of steel, like the blade.
    Its sheathe rests on his right facing, linked to his belt.

    A buckler, made of charcoal’d steel, hangs over the opposing side, usually. The straps are usually loose. Lekalis’ fighting style preferring to keep the defensive device ready for a parry at any angle.

    Most prominently, is a winged spear. A sturdy wooden pole and a simple metal head. The weapon for any man, there’s a veterancy in the way he wields the weapon, and in the wear and tear of the weapon. It usually rests in a leather loop at his back.
    The aforementioned cuirass, boasting a gorget and three auxilliary plates along the lower edge.
    Other gear:
    A satchel made of soft leather.
    Excellent against human foes, or those that have semblence therein.
    Doubly, he’s curiously capable at being happy, relatively at least.
    He is also very quick to learn, having studied under countless tutors and masters; he’s touched in many subjects, though his memory is as fleeting as any bored student.
    He is also well trained in dodging, and manoveuring around and exploting his enemy: it’s what makes him so dangerous against his fellow man.

    While not weak, he is by no mean’s strong. His weapons and attacks rely more on striking weakpoints or striking many times.
    There’s a dangerous lust about him as well; in and out of combat. His Passion has killed people before, and it will always prove to be a dangerous aspect of his person.
    He’s also very inexperienced in handling creatures of supernatural origin. Preferring to run than fight such unnatural foes.
    His blueblooded nature also has made him a bit of a softie; his skin is still soft and uncallous.

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog


    Buck Upchurch Moore
    Resolve level:0

    Age: 48
    Sex: Male
    Physical Description: Buck is a average 5’11, with a faded scar crossing over the bridge of his nose. His eyes are grey in color but sharp and alert at most times. He is a thick man, but by no means fat. He is a light skinned man with messy dark brown hair and thick mutton chops. His face is square, with low cheekbones and a very defined and structured jawline. His face displays almost no wrinkles despite his age and shows no signs of bad health. His hands are callused and dark skinned and sports very badly bitten down nails. Even the skin around the nails seems to be gnawed upon. On his left wrist he wears a cheap silver band with the date 12-24- before the year is scratched out. On his right hand he is missing his little finger and the end of his pointer finger. (The last knuckle outwards)
    Attire: Buck wears a thickly threaded hemp shirt with rolled up sleeves to mid forearm. He also wears clean hemp pants of the same thread count. He wears a burlap glove with the fingers cut off on his left hand, covering the silver band. His shoes are tough leather boots with thin iron bands that hold it tight instead of laces.

    Quirks: Eagle Eyed-Watch every nut and bolt! We can’t have leaks!
    Faithless-I wont join your cult because priest’s are hypocritical and religious texts are pretentious.
    Synopsis: Worked the oil mules for most of his life, picked up shooting as a hobby, then shot assholes for a living. He retired, and travels alone for the sake of doing something and staying fresh.
    Full: Buck was born in the city of Budapest to a blonde haired blue eyed maiden and a hardworking father on the oil business. Travelling all over Austria-Hungary most of his life, Buck learned Hungarian alongside his English as he grew up. Since he was old enough to do so, Buck worked with his father as a oil worker. But after a while what little machines his father owned stopped pumping black gold, and Buck’s family fell apart. His mother left the country to live with her family in Sweden and Buck was left with a broke father and an idea. Buck began doing street acts to pay bills, which included magic tricks and puppet shows along with games of chance. At home Buck found himself to be a natural good shot with a rifle and soon found that he enjoyed the smell of gunpowder in the morning. At the age of 24, Buck’s father died of a strange disease only known as the “Lung Fungus”. This sent Buck into a tailspin into the criminal underground as Buck began taking money to kill anyone over the age of 18. At the age of 30, Buck payed his way out of peoples memories and drifted from place to place all over Europe, taking up jobs as meager as a cook and exotic as a brewery foreman. All the while Buck carried around his rifle and his dignity, until the age of 48 Buck drifted, and now a random stagecoach takes him to a strange place of danger and wonder. Perfect.
    Misc. Notes: None.

    -Skills & Equipment
    Weapons: A musket and a large pick hammer, along with the fact that Buck learned Southern-Style Boxing at a young age which has been refined to near perfection.
    Armor: None
    Other gear:A pouch of black powder and a Pouch of lead spheres. A whetstone and a coin purse with a decent amount of coin within.
    Strengths: Alert, amazing shot with a musket, great tactical analysis, amazing cook.
    Weaknesses: Loud, rude at times, rough, hard to speak to as a stranger. Has trouble with listening to others ideas.

    I’m out of my head
    Of my heart and my mind
    'Cause you can run but you can’t hide
    I’m gonna make you mine


    -Tam Lin


    Cool beans everyone! If your character has been approved, you can post them to the official site! And don’t worry if your characters haven’t been approved yet; some of these take a little more conversation (especially magical characters), even moreso as us silly modchecker people have to develop a process and routine for the first time.

    Happy typing, as always!

    My characters-
    "I'd sneak into your burrito." --Bloodtrailkiller
    "you'll never quote me" --Relentless Oblivion


    "All flesh fails, in the fullness of time."

    Tilly: Grave Robber
    HP: Healthy
    Stress: 30/100 [Neutral]
    Gold: 4585

    Florence Novel: Plague Doctor
    HP: Healthy
    Stress: 15/100 [Relaxed]
    Gold: 75



    Yea no that one was bad sorry

    I’m out of my head
    Of my heart and my mind
    'Cause you can run but you can’t hide
    I’m gonna make you mine

    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion

    Resolve level: 1

    Age: 26
    Sex: Male
    Height: 6,0
    Physical Description: Average, well built, toned muscles. Eye color is a elusive emerald green. Rough faced, however, is made somewhat elegant and perhaps perceived to some as a noble depending on their stereotypical views on nobles. Jet black hair, slicked back and a finely trimmed beard along jawline.
    Attire: Rich, thick woolen overcoat with a fine velvet crimson red layering, black silk pants, shit kicker shoes made out of a rich exotic leather.

    Unerring [After a couple years in a gritty and bloody job, he’s managed to refine his aiming skills; able to hit vital points easier where others could not.]
    Evasive [For his line of work before he came to the hamlet, it was usually best to duck under a swinging axe… or to get away from the guards. Either way, he’s still as agile as he’ll ever be.]
    Winded [Gambling and heavy drinking aren’t a good combo. Especially when one of the fellas on the other end of the table, are twice your size and double your mass.]
    Guilty conscience [Although the job provided plentiful gold which has been described as… innocent, little does the merchant know he is receiving blood money.]
    Synopsis: About two years ago, when Duval was about 24 year’s of age, he managed to obtain a job of vast potential… and being quite illegal in the process. Nevertheless, this job was bloody work. Quite literally. He dealt in blood for gold, heads will roll and coffers will spill. Eventually however, after a profitable two years passed by, the individual he worked for regarded him as unreliable and worn out from his uses, and as a result, he placed Duval in his black book. On the run, Duval had been beaten by his contractor’s bodyguards and assumed dead. However, he managed to arise, and stumbled down an old road. Little did he know however, that this road would lead to his undoing, both physically… and mentally.
    An erotic aroma of perfume surrounds the man, even in the most stench fouling places, a hint of his exotic scent seems to tickle the nose hairs of those around him. The smell is somewhat refreshing and pleasant too most.
    Duval walks in a cocksure manner, imitating that of a noble to perfection.
    Misc. Notes:
    Flintlock is of high sentimental value to Duval.
    Duval manages to store a large amount of liquor within his room.

    -Skills & Equipment
    Duval’s Flintlock.
    Black iron dagger.
    Armor: His attire.
    Other gear:
    Bandolier of gunpowder and lead ball pouches.
    Small pouch of stitching equipment on his belt.
    Precise stabs with dagger.
    Relies on stealth and patience.
    Has good aim when under control.
    Can lose effectiveness in his aim when under attack or under pressure.
    Easily incapacitated.

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."

    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion


    Age: 30
    Sex: Male
    Height: 6,1
    Physical Description: A stout man, large amount of scars and burns mottling his body, brown uncut long hair, scraggly brown beard, hazelnut eye color, thin face shape, convex nose, bushy eyebrows.
    Attire: Rarely takes his armour off, usually resorts to being almost naked, black linen trousers is all he carries for casual attire.

    Mankind Hater [Once a man of pride and care, he has devolved into a hate filled being for those he once called friend and ally.]
    Un-nerving presence [Has an unsettling aura that grips the nerves of those near him. A silent terror, choking the heart, making it screams.]
    Bloodthirsty [The flow of blood, the dripping of gore and the sprawling intestines soaking in the mud tend to leave him in awe… and sacrificial lust.]
    Sacrificial addictions [His desires revolve around appeasing his belief. A finger, jawbone or the heart will tend to be what he usually aims to collect.]

    Synopsis: Braund was once the average and typical adventurer, living a rather un-exciting life. He was a man of a low financial standing, a peasant as you call them. He wasn’t that bright, and had been turned down from all sorts of jobs, which led to him taking up mercenary work. That was until however he came to the hamlet. He had gone on a few expeditions, done a few deeds, and it was quite a pleasant job for him… despite the horrors constantly surrounding him. With this sense of comfort building around him like a castle, he felt as if he could take them all on. Feeling incredibly cocksure, Braund had decided to undertake a Ruins Expedition on his lonesome. This was the last anyone had heard of him however.


    Throughout Braunds lifetime, it had been rough. Very rough, yes, but nothing horrific like watching your family being hung or being kidnapped and raped. It had always been a rough life for him, through childhood and even through into his adulthood, he had struggled to get back up on his feet when he fell occasionally. As it were, the most severe setback he had encountered was the disownment from his rich merchant family, forcing him out of his parent’s humble abode and leaving him without a job. Homeless, jobless and alone, Braund resorted to the only thing he knew how: Fighting. In his early child hood, he got into fights all the time either with his family, mainly cousins and brothers, a balancing amount of inbred brothers and cousins were mottled across his family tree, along with the legitimate kind as well (Braund is not inbred.)Even outside of his family, he got into fights with his friends and the other kids he hated as well. Obviously the older he got, the more violent and dangerous his fights tended to be, both from his end and his opponents. He had even committed murder twice in his teen years, one was out of heated fury for someone he had loved intimately whilst the other was out of blind rage.

    Anyhow, recognising his long history of violence, he took advantage of this and explored the concept of mercenary work. He fought for gold, originally: Bodyguard work was usually what he went with, but he received the more illegal work, such as torture and kidnappings. Anything for a shiny piece of gold was worth it, in his mind anyway. Eventually however, he turned to faith, which was known as the Light. He volunteered amongst the church to take part in the crusades, and had done so for at least nine years of his life before he was sent back home after the crusades had ended, at least the ones he volunteered in that is. After this, he was clueless, left with his suit of steel armour and a steel long sword… he felt alone… and afraid.

    Desperate for purpose in life, Braund tried many ways to fill the hole in his soul (unintentional rhyme): Sex, fighting, romance, money making, drinking… none of it worked, and instead of healing him, he only felt the hole get bigger inside himself.

    One day however, he came across a flier, mottled with the moist rain that spat from above, he read the flier carefully.

    “Heroes, Mercenaries, Witches and nomads! Adventure and glory awaits those who are willing to take a risk into the unknown…

    Work for me, in my decrepit Hamlet, restore my land and you shall reap the rewards with me. Either with gold… or the morals of your heart.

    My sincerest regards.

    The Heir.”

    Since then, he had taken a stagecoach to the hamlet. He was afraid, but he was determined to find some distraction in life even if it meant his death. He had to find purpose. He just had to!

    A few months after, he had accomplished a few expeditions and had made quite a number of gold for himself… but the crawling fear, the mind-numbing knowledge that made his heart break and the little spring in his brain snap in two… it was quite overwhelming. Slowly, but surely, he had begun is descent into insanity. He heard voices at first, malicious giggles and whispers, poisoning his mind with ill thoughts and misleading guidance. Then it began to affect his emotionally, driving him further away from those he had called ally, friend and perhaps lover. Until one day, he had decided to undertake a truly mad plan: To go inside the ruins and complete an expedition, on his lonesome. Surely a sane man would avoid such thing? Ah, but he was no sane man. He was thoroughly and effectively broken, his mind diluted all sense of wellbeing and morality where he could not care for his safety.

    That was the last anyone had heard of him.

    Amidst the ruins from where he wandered, with sword withdrawn and visor down, he looked about quietly as he traversed through the dungeon. He seemed to have a crossbow bolt deposited inside his shoulder, and from the looks of it, a few sword slashes across his chest. He felt pain, yes… but he didn’t care. He was suicidal, in fact. Braund knew that he had to die, in order to alleviate this torment of mind and body. This was the only way he knew how.

    “…Nothing left for me here. In this life, I hold nothing of value. I am but a waste of flesh and bone, a disgrace to my family’s name… I should’ve been drowned at birth… Yeah, that would’ve made their lives so much easier if I were dead, fed to the crows..” Braund cried quietly under his helm, depression and self depreciation infected his mind like a cancer.

    Eventually, after he traversed deeper, he eventually succumbed to his wounds, ever-mounting the more he went into the Ruins. He felt nothing, a numbness overcoming his body as bloody seeped out of his mouth and grievous injuries he had inflicted. It was over… it had to be, right?

    A rustle of chain, a rasping of metal and the sizzling of a brand. Those were all he could remember from that night. He, had been changed. Amongst crimson lined scene, he saw nothing amongst the never-ending hills of blood. After a few seconds passed of pure silence, he heard… a heartbeat? Was he alive? Or was this but trickery?

    ‘Bu-bump!’ The heart beats again, and continues to beat, slowly and unnaturally. It made him… calm, resembling the sound of a slow beating drum, or the croaking of a frog. A sense of serenity washed over him. Perhaps this was his calling, perhaps this is what he needed afterall.

    Braund was awoken forcefully with the pressing of a brand across his cheek. He did not scream, but hiss loudly as the heat sizzled his flesh and marked him. He opened his right eye, and he noticed had been taken hostage by… Cultists? Why? Why had they kept him alive? He thought to himself the same thoughts, but before he could contemplate further, the mounting pain and anguish forced his mind to pass from the conscience world yet again.

    The heart beats.


    Misc. Notes:
    Multiple scars marred from the past and of recent time.
    Large brands depicting cultist symbols of eldritch belief, a large stress symbol similar to the one adorning his Barbuta branded on the front of his chest where the heart is (not on the right pec, it’s inbetween the pecs. Stereotypical misconception of where the heart is located is on the right pec.)
    An aged and corrupted scroll from the time he fought within the crusades, however before he was converted to the cultist religion, the scroll was pure and acted like the one in-game. Now, it doesn’t.

    -Skills & Equipment
    Darkened spring steel Executioner’s Sword


    Serrated edge,
    jagged design,
    thick metal,
    broad hand guard,
    wields in his right hand,
    Blunt end of the blade means that a stab isn’t quite effective at damaging the body, but can be used to bludgeon people with it.
    Traditionally, executioner swords are weighted and generally quite effective at severing the spinal cord. An accurate chop to the neck or anywhere near the spine could be devastating.
    Braund himself is fairly proficient with the blade, as in his early life, he usually had the pleasure of executing his captives when he was given the occasionally… very illegal job. Now, he has taken up a similar blade of the sort, and with his corrupt zealous fury and bloodlust, he is rather deadly with the weapon.
    Weight of blade: 2.2kg
    Length: Fairly large.
    Grip material: Solid Oak.
    Base Blade Material: Darkened spring steel.
    Handguard material: Darkened brass.
    Pommel Material: Brass.
    Strap material on Grip: Leather.
    Ornamental stress symbol material at the bottom of the base blade: A very finely smelted and grafted brass.


    Brass sacrificial dagger


    Designed with depictions of eldritch horrors.
    Uses in either hand.
    Curved edge and jagged touch make it good at slicing up those with bare skin, or light armour.
    Mainly used for sacrificial purposes but can be used in a pinch if need be.


    Corrupted zealous scroll


    This scroll has been afflicted by Eldritch magic, and the ‘Light’ magic has now been converted to eldritch. The scrawlings have been tainted and physically altered, foreshadowing that of a horrid creature, and a mind-numbing foreshadow… but only a vague one. Braund himself has read the scrolls time and time again, becoming numb to its effects. However, anyone else to look upon the scroll, even if they cannot read the text, feel a wash of fear and general sense of horror upon looking, even glancing upon it. Symptons and the sort can vary depending on how strong the victims mental defense is. For some, it could even be negated entirely… for others, they could be swept away into a lapse of fear and distress. Such symptons could range from: Sweating, nausua, increased heart rate and blurred vision (Like in the Amnesia dark descent game where upon looking upon the monster, the player’s field of view distorts, signifying fear and the brain unable to conceive such a being to exist) etc to the more extreme ones such as fainting, emotional instability and generally losing their shit. There is one symptom that will always remain prominent… Once the victim looks upon the Eldritch-malformed scroll, they will begin to hear their own heartbeat, as if it were next to their ear.

    If Braund wishes, he may devote more time into ritualistic prayer when using his scroll. This makes him weaker, physically and more susceptible to emotional outbursts of anger. However, as a result, a tentacle will emerge as a result of pure eldritch magic being utilised. The tentacle can only grab people, perhaps even choking them depending on the circumstance. It reaches up to waist height, and can be easily cut down. It doesn’t last for long however, but its duration can be reset if Braund wishes it but will result in the debuff building.


    The brass gladiator helmet the player sees in game, however, it is much thicker and menacing from appearance, and isn’t a full dome of brass either, it is in fact a ridged design of sturdy brass, scars mottling the appearance of the armour and general wear and tear making it appear aged and battle worn.
    He has no chest plate; his heart protects him the most.
    A brass, large pauldron on his right shoulder along with an arm guard stretching from his wrist to under his pauldron. He does not have a pauldron on the other shoulder but has the same battle-worn brass arm guard across his left arm as well.
    Wears brass gauntlets, the palms of his gauntlets are fashioned from a rich crimson silk.
    Scale Brass Greaves with ornate depictions of eldritch horrors.
    Thick fur boats with a braided crimson knot on each one, attached to the ankle of the boot.
    Other gear:
    A corrupted scroll used to perform rituals and eldritch magic.
    Good fighter
    Sacrificial addiction
    Easily dazed.


    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."


    Claude Norman Tyberius

    Age: 27
    Sex: Male
    Physical Description: A average man, Claude just surpasses 5’8. His eyes are a icy blue with a strange teardrop shape, which sit close to his thick eyebrows. His nose lends itself to a pointed end, giving his face a contrast between his eyes and nose. His mouth is small, rarely showing his impeccable white teeth. his cheekbones sit slightly far from his eyes, giving him a pensive look heavy on sadness. His body is thinner, but toned to a fine degree. His jawline is soft, but at the same time grows sharp at times. His hands are extremely soft, but contain the strange feeling of rubbing cotton when in contact with them.
    Attire: He wears a basic tunic with a dark overcoat with two sets of buttons and a folded front, cuffs and collar. His shoes are a tough leather shoe with thick laces. His pants are made of hemp with a high thread count. He also has a ash (the tree you crazy person) mask. (The mask is almost the exact same as the mask in We Happy Few that the beat cops wear except the smile is so large it approaches the corner of the eyes.)

    Quirks: Deadly-“This is my blade, there are many like it but this one is mine.
    Faithless-“I am useless without my blade, my blade is useless without me. She is all I need and I am all she needs.
    Synopsis: Claude grew up in a very religious family, after the hardcore brainwashing they attempted, Claude became so skilled with a blade he was teaching young soldiers at 21. The private mercenary group he worked for found him, too extreme in his ferocity they removed him from the organization. Shipping him off to The Estate.


    The clutches of whatever God my parents attempted to push me into never caught me. Neither did my past, and even when I taught the Termans’s warriors, they threw me aside because of my battle prowess. I thought that was what they wanted, or maybe I just taught them wrong.

    Claude grew up in a reverent family intent on Claude joining the crusades as well as becoming archdeacon. Claude however, refused and delved into a life of avoidance and purposeful petty crime that eventually led to his disowning and his affiliation with the mercenary group only know as the “Termans”. At the age of 19 Claude fought in a battle against the Ottomans as reinforcements for the attacking force Claude had repressed the name of long ago. He wielded his blade expertly and was known for his smiling mask as he dismembered faceless foreigners with fervor. (alliteration)

    Claude taught the Termans’s new recruits at age 21 after climbing the ranks of the hierarchy. They ultimately, drugged and shipped him off someplace called, “The Estate”, the one place he will never return from.


    -Skills & Equipment
    Weapons: Basket-hilted saber, a large dagger, kickboxing brownbelt.
    Armor:Overcoat is tough, leather boots.
    Other gear: Coin purse, small bag on his belt with a tinderbox and some jerky.
    Strengths: Deadly, alert, strong
    Weaknesses: Too calm, can’t take low level humor very well, speaks with flowery language sprinkled with thee and thou.

    I’m out of my head
    Of my heart and my mind
    'Cause you can run but you can’t hide
    I’m gonna make you mine


    (I hope it’s cool that he’s a mixed class. But the normal human Abom abilities just made like, no sense for this guy. If it’s not okay, then I can change it.)

    ‘Old St.’ John Outlawe.
    Resolve level:0
    Class: Abomination, in human form: plague doctor.
    Age: 53
    Sex: Male
    Physical Description: John is tall and lanky, with a face heavily careworn by age and stress. The rosy tint on his cheeks and nose attest to this man’s heavy drinking in a past life, and despite his haggard look he smiles more often than not. His fingers are long and bony, spotted with age and heavily calloused. He is missing one of his front two teeth, giving him a semi-lopsided grin, he is completely bald and has a long salt and pepper beard. There is a faint scar in the shape of a cross on his forehead.
    Attire: John wears a heavy dark brown cloth tunic tied at the waist with a leather belt. Over that he wears a moss green scapula, patched and dirtied from constant travel. Attached to the scapula with buttons is a heavy hood which is up more often than not. On his feet he wears a pair of thick-soled boots that just go to his ankle. Around his neck is a wooden rosary that appears to be hand carved.
    Quirks: Early Riser-What on this Earth can claim to be more beautiful than a sunrise?
    Irrepressible-There is no good in giving up, in darkness is when light may shine the brightest.
    Hatred of Unholy- There is no greater affront to mankind than the beasts that crawl and writhe in the gloom.
    Slow Reflexes- These old bones don’t work like they used to.
    Guilty Conscience- What I have done can never be undone.
    God Fearing- The Lord is kind, the Lord is good, the Lord is vengeful.
    Resolution- Drink’s sweet embrace is but a lie, too comforting by half.
    Synopsis: John was once quite a bit more prosperous, then he made a mistake, and paid for it more grievously than anyone could have imagined.
    Full: John was born and raised in a small town in the North of England, the son of a prosperous smith and a jeweller, he never wanted. When he was younger, he was quite handsome, and this had made him vain. As he grew older he fell more and more to vice, drinking, whoring, gambling. For years, right up until his 25th birthday, he prospered mightily. Women swooned at his touch, men envied his good looks and he never failed to take a mighty haul at the gambling table. It was at the table that his retribution came in full. He lost, his fortunes stolen away in one night. He grew wrathful, and in his rage struck a man down, beating him to death with a chair leg. The man was the son of a priest, and when the priest learned of John’s deed, he cursed him, calling upon the Lord to deliver unto John a fitting penance…Since that day, John has never known rest, traveling from place to place, avoiding humanity when he can, and always striving to make up for his greatest folly. When he heard of the Hamlet, he saw it as his one opportunity to find peace.
    Misc. Notes: His abomination form holds a closer resemblance to a boar than a wolf, with a clear snout, tusks and cleft hooves on its back feet, with its front feet bearing resmeblance to large bear paws. Its skin is thick and leathery with tufts of stiff hair running down its spine and tipping its short bony tail.
    -Skills & Equipment
    Weapons: a small, rather dull dirk he keeps hidden in the long sleeves of his robes. His walking stick could be considered a walking stick in some circumstances.
    Armor: None
    Other gear: A few bags of various healing herbs and other supplies for the creation of poultices and potions. A large sack where he keeps his camping gear such as tins cups, spoons, and pans along with a bundle of twigs, and a heavily dog-eared copy of the Bible.
    Strengths: Gracious, patient, friendly, optimistic.
    Weaknesses: Fearful of cramped spaces. Can be forgetful. Weak in terms of physical strength.

    Rough reference for John's face, but not his attire.

    "He that wounded me
    Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead..."
    -Titus Andronicus

    "I cannot prove a lover,
    To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
    I am determined to prove a villain
    And hate the idle pleasures of these days."
    -Richard III

    The spirit of adventure is forever, you dumbass!


    [Grace Nightingale]
    AGE: Grace is at the precipice that exists between young adulthood and regular adulthood. Otherwise known as 25.
    SEX: Despite some features that will be discussed later, Grace is decidedly female.
    PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Grace is a very sturdy woman, possessing a strong body cultivated by a life time of hard training and labor. Her face is quite round, a tad puffy in the cheeks, but with very serious gray eyes. Her hair is a vibrant red, kept in a short proto bob cut, slightly overgrown at this point, mostly for practicality. She has thin but long eyebrows which usually sit in a decidedly neutral, uncaring expression. Her skin is a surprising soft, unblemished pale peach, nearing white. Her shoulders are broad, Her chest rather prominent (roughly a C cup by the modern classification) and likely supported by powerful pectoral muscles. Her arms are equally well built, partly from dragging wounded this way and that, and partly from swinging various weapons about. Her hips complement her shoulders nicely, and lead to quite large thighs, calves, and average feet. The whole of her body is without scar, burn, or boil. Her hands are probably the roughest party of her anatomy, being a bit callosed and abrasive.
    ATTIRE: Grace either wears full plate armor, polished to a high shine, which covers her whole body, though she does not wear a helm. Crimson robes are interwoven with this armor to mark her as a member of the church. Also she has a large silver pendant in the shape of an equal armed cross. When not in armor, she wears the same red robes, which keep much of her body to the imagination. Sometimes she carries a shield, but she always carries a sword.

    QUIRKS: Grace, like most humans, has many quirks. Most prominent is her cold disregard for the feelings of others. She masks this behind generally polite and charitable behaviors, but lacks genuine compassion for people she doesn’t know. On the flip side of that coin, when she grows to like someone, she will defend and protect that person with a fanatical, frankly deranged devotion. She is also known to be very stubborn and prone to impulsive and rash behavior.

    BACKSTORY: Grace was born and raised in a small, fiercely religious community in northern England. She as groomed from birth to be a healer in accordance with local tradition. She was always more interested in imitating her older brother Aaron, who she regarded with a borderline incestuous level of affection. She never had the courage to do more than get secret lessons from her brother in swordsmanship. When she was 15 a crusade was declared and the two were sent off to fight for the holy land. Grace experienced much hardship in this time, but none effected her more than her brother dying in battle. She became largely despondent and developed her callous attitude toward human life here. She continued serving the church, which eventually led her to the hamlet.

    WEAPONS: Grace prefers her trusty bastard sword, but will use just about anything at hand. Including her own hands, feet, knees, elbows, forehead, etc.
    ARMOR: Full plate
    OTHER EQUIPMENT: Grace travels very light and has almost no personal effects. She has her cross, and a book of prayers.
    STRENGTHS: Grace is strong, resilient, and experienced in both combat and medicine. She also wields divine magic.
    WEAKNESSES: Grace is rash, stubborn, selfish, and generally unstable.

    My characters are terrible, stupid, useless people.



    (Sorry for the wait!)
    Lucius Thorne
    Level 0 Abomination
    Age: 30 (looks 25)
    Sex: Male
    Physical Description: Is tall, abnormally thin, with a lazy, serpentine manner. Is typically ghostly pale, or ashen grey, depending on the month (more on that in the quirks section). Underneath his coat, there is a series of 9 metal bands screwed into his body, wrapped tightly around his torso. When transformed, his arms curve in on themselves, forming fangs made of bone and toxic sinew. His jaw distends, leaving a bubbling mass of bile where his mouth should be. His body twists and contorts, only prevented from shifting entirely by the bands. His feet fuse together, forming a rattle out of their bones. At times, his eyes turn milky white, and he speaks in a way that is not his own.

    While transformed:
    Taste the Air: over the years, Lucius has identified the scent of many, both beasts and man alike. However, it is more challenging when the line between those two bleed, or if they have no scent at all.
    Soothed by the Shadows- Whether from his condition, or years of persecution, Lucius finds solace in darkness, and fears nothing within it. But should a sudden radiance pierce this cocoon… Fear of the Faith: Lucius has not forgotten, nor forgiven, his torment at the hands of the Faith, and will do anything to prevent it from happening again. (May panic when trapped in a dangerous situation with Vestals and Crusaders.)
    Bearer of Burdens: Despite all the harm the Faith has done to him, Lucius still finds himself respecting and admiring the leper. He views him as a comrade in afflictions, as their conditions take a toll on both body and mind.
    Shedding: Most of the time, Lucius has a modicum of control over his affliction. However, every cycle , he must shed his skin. During that period, he is temporarily blinded, and is dangerous to both friend and foe alike. Synopsis: Will add separately.
    Full: Will add Separately.
    Misc. Notes: (Special items, notable scars, scents, how they walk, or talk, etc.)
    Has a half-covered brand mark, proclaiming him A “Son of the Serpent.” There are two scars on the palms of his hands, resembling puncture wounds.
    -Skills & Equipment

    When not transformed, Lucius uses a spear, unadorned save for a carving of a serpent.
    Lucius wears a smooth coat made out of the skin of his transformations. Under that, he wears a set of leather armor, with thin chains binding it to his frame, in addition to his bands. When transformed, the bands stretch, extending a sheet of metal over his organs.
    Other gear:
    None, save for a small carving of a chess bishop.
    Is single-minded in all his pursuits, and few forces can dissuade him from it. Having known Julian and Oak all his life, Lucius would rather die than see them harmed.
    Does not trust the Faith, and shows reluctance to trust those of it until proven otherwise. Is suspicious of strangers, but will go to the wall for them once they prove their trust. Despises demagogues, and takes a certain pleasure in destroying cults. Shows no mercy to enemies, and expects none in returned. When shedding, is mindless and bestial, having no other motivations than to eat.


    [Sister Elizabeth Ashburg (Sister Ash)]
    Resolve level: 0[optional]

    Physical Description: Gonna keep that in my pocket for now if that’s alright. I’d like the mystery of what she looks like to last a while.
    Attire: She sports the Red Vestal Garment with a face plate under the hood. No skin of hers is exposed. She carries a prayer book of Psalms(New Testament) and a six foot staff with a burning torch atop it.

    Quirks: Photomania, Unholy Slayer, Anemic, God Fearing, Fragile
    Synopsis: Enigmatic and off putting Sister Ash heralds from Rampshire where she did many unsavory jobs for the Heir, Now seeking her penance she has come to the Hamlet to cleanse her soul before no doubt returning to less wholesome work.
    Full: The term Zealot does not quite give justice to the ardent faith held in the heart of Sister Elizabeth Ashburg. Her background was humble and simple until she the calling of the Church beckoned her to leave the quiet countryside for the big city herself, Rome. There she studied the ways of God until she was given post at a small Nunnery on the border of Italy and Switzerland. It was there that she first heard of a relic that was said to be so pure fire could not tarnish it. The still beating heart of Jeanne d’Arc. Curiosity turned to obsession and she got into no small amount of trouble with her superiors trying to uncover the hearts whereabouts. Eventually she tired of the stalling and waiting and defying her masters, but not her faith, she set off to find it. Some say that she succeeded, others that she still looks for it in the deep dark corners of the world. Perhaps that is why she is here.
    Misc. Notes: Sister Ash wears the Vestals garments with a few notable changes, her mace is replaced with a blazing torch on a six foot pole. This casts great light over the area surrounding her. She also wears a metal face plate, concealing her appearance. Not many have the courage to ask why.

    -Skills & Equipment
    Weapons: Her Blazing Pole arm is capable of burning people of course and as a long heavy stick it can really hurt. Her Book of Psalms always on hand should she need to give a quick reference, it is full of bookmarks of various colors.
    Armor: Relatively standard for a Vestal, she has some spiked plates over her shoulders and hips with a breastplate and mask.
    Other gear: She often carries a few vials of Holy water as well as a variety of crosses, medallions and other simple articles of faith are held within her robes. These she tends to give to others. She also carries all of her money on her at all times, is she distrustful of others or simply always ready to make a quick exit?
    Strengths: Unwavering conviction in herself. She brings warmth with her like an aura, it comes from her torch of course. She is literate and highly versed in the studies of faith and the occult. She also holds practically nobody in contempt, seeing the judgement of others to be God’s concern and is quick to shame and confront those she sees casting judgement on others. In combat she relies upon others and her Holy spells, held within her Book of Psalms. These include a burning aura she can cast upon herself to make her less of a target and the ability to render small metal objects red hot as well as a soothing flame which calms the mind and a simple blessing for water that gives it invigorating properties.
    Weaknesses: Despite her belief that all can be saved she has little tolerance for what might be referred to as conventional vices, drinking, whoring and gambling and pre-marital sex are among the biggest offenders to her sensibilities. Though she will never condemn anyone for “sinning” her view on such people is often considered condescending or lacking in understanding. Which is true, she does not understand it at all. The sheltered life of a Nunnery has given her many things but the working world often escapes her grasp. Her ability to fight hand to hand is almost negligible though she is not above defending herself physically if need be.

    My Dev-Art

    An ode to Cinneas:
    "You made us laugh,
    you made us cry.
    Oh why, oh why,
    did I let you die?"




    Class: Occultist

    Gender: Female

    Appearance: Wearing a long, torn up brown cloak, scratches and scars line her wrists, arms, legs, and neck, and her eyes convey a manic, crazed feel. Few know much about her, sometimes she appears with blood on her cloak, sometimes she appears with even more scars, but nobody ever knows where it all came from, perhaps she’s just a fighter? But she doesn’t look like much of one.

    relishness oblivion
    relishness oblivion

    [Hey Tiny!

    I do hope you’re feeling somewhat better, and I hope we can get along better.

    I just have to point out that you do have to follow the CS App guidelines! The template can be found… Here!

    Character Sheet Template

    It’s a nice and friendly sheet that you can use, and it has no numbers! EEE!

    But yes, I for one, am glad you decided to come back. I just hope that means that you are willing to work with us.]

    VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"

    Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."


    Temporary Acceptance:

    -Sister Ash.


    Temporary acceptance is just a means to greenlight characters from one mod; ala myself.

    This is not an official approval, and is subject to change. So be ready to pause your RP in lieu of potential conflicts other Mods see.

    These characters can act within the Hamlet normally, but may not go on expeditions.

    Be sure to have your character, at all times, ready to depart until officially accepted.



    I’d like a bit more description on the capacities of her magic. I know it’s shadowy, and based off the Occultist’s own magic appearance, but I’d like it to be emphasized in a sub-section of the sheet.

    What the magic looks like?
    -Tendrils, thorns, phallic imagery? Big and black? Edgy and red? Neon pink?

    How strong is it?
    -Does it lift? Does it whip? Does it manhandle?

    I’m a bit worried about the amount of character’s you’re making, was kind of the primary reason for pausing this character. I wouldn’t doubt the thought put behind them, but after awhile it can get a bit overwhelming; not just for you, but for other RP’ers. Personally, I’m a bit iffy on it, but once I talk with the other Mods, you’ll probably get greenlit.

    Other issue tho;

    Weaknesses aren’t entirely mental :b
    -I suppose this isn’t just for you, but you should consider endurance, agility, strength, etc.

    "Sometimes there are a lot of words..."
    "Half the people don't make it to gravy."
    "'Twas not by fire, but was forged in flame
    That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain" - The Devil and The Huntsman
    "I've got an intelligence of six, please, I got this." - Grog

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