MERCY ONIDAS
Human
Hacker
Knight Haven
coming soon
Age: 19
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
King Skylar Callum Tempest
KING SKYLAR CALLUM TEMPEST
Elf
King of Amderarm
Amderarm
Age: 314
coming soon
Sinai / Everest / Nevada Olanga Negrev
SINAI / EVEREST / NEVADA OLANGA NEGREV
Sinai
- true self -
Everest
- true instinct -
Nevada
- true reason -
Earth Cerberus
Diplomat and Guard to the King
Ko-goro
age 27
Sinai- true self
Quieter and softer, her personality is less big and bold, more filled with lots of little quirks. She's less dramatic that Everest, but with a wider range of emotions than either of them.
Everest- instinct
Everest is beautiful, seductive, flirty and moody. She's easily irritated and easily pleased, but she's stubborn and passionate and will throw herself headlong into a cause or a person with regard for the world.
Nevada- reason
Cold, and impassive with logic on her side. Nevada always has as strategy, and she won't let moral qualms get in her way. People don't interest her, she only cares if they can fit into her plans and she's not afraid to be cruel.
Ain Edasichea
AIN EDASICHEA
ame: Ain Edasichea
Race: Elf
Age: 48
Gender: female
City: Amderarm
Rank/Role/Occupation: TBD
Description/Personality/Histo
Cordellia
CORDELLIA
no title
no rank
Servants
_
Mental Influence
the ability to alter the way someone feels emotionally and physically or the way one thinks
Cordellia is not quite sure when she appeared, nor how long it has been since that time. The passage of time means little to her. Events that do not directly affect her mean nothing. She does not care about wars and very rarely takes sides in them. Intangible things such as countries and their borders do not register in her mind as anything but a name connected with a place. There are very few things that hold great importance for Cordellia, one of which being contracts. Any sort of contract is to be upheld. A promise is eternal. She has no sympathy for those who break their vows. They will either die a painful death, or live a painful life, depending on the degree of their crime. Cordellia is not merciful, nor particularly vengeful. The reason she will not let a contract breaker go unpunished is not because of personal revenge, but simply because that person is a criminal that has committed the worst sort of crime. Killing, theft, and the like are minor crimes in comparison. The only times she will act when these occur are when her most faithful servants request her to. Even then, her aid comes with a price. Cordellia rarely does anyone a favor for free. She will protect a Weaver, even one she does not know, in danger, but that is solely for the sake of upholding the old contract that was made between their two races. Whether or not that Weaver serves her or someone else, the contract was made as a race, and she will respect it as such. Otherwise, Cordellia treats weavers as she would any other 'lesser' race—indifferently. She, unlike most Royals, does not consider the Elves, as a race, enemies. The word 'enemy' is used rather loosely as someone she dislikes. It is quite the feat to get Cordellia to feel any way towards a person, so it is very rare that a Royal, not to mention an Elf, can be elevated to the title of 'enemy'. Enemies are hunted down and killed on sight. Cordellia respects other Royals, but hardly interacts with them. She has no known family, and so does not feel the need to stay with any Royal for a prolonged period of time. Cordellia's only companions are a few servants. She is rarely in the company of over a handful of people, not because she is uncomfortable around them, but simply because she does not recruit servants or try to find many companions. Those who follow her do so because they choose to. Cordellia could care less if she had two followers or ten thousand. All the races other than her own are the same to her, and all of them are accepted equally. The only exception is the Jesters, whose existence is not acknowledged by Cordellia. She avoids conflict for two reasons, one is that it is simplest that way, and the other because blood disgusts her. There is no particular reason for this, but an excess of blood strikes her as vulgar and distasteful. Therefore, if anyone needs to be killed or tortured, she usually entrusts it to her servants. Very rarely will Cordellia call for assistance from anyone she is not contracted with. She does not like being indebted---debt being another thing she takes very seriously. Those indebted to her, though, have more leniencies. The debtor is expected to repay his debts at some point, but that is not specified unless she calls upon him to repay it with a task she chooses. It is quite often, though, that she does not call, and instead the debtors repay her with other, more material things. Those that refuse to pay their debts when called upon are given the same treatment as those who break vows. Cordellia never strays from her values. Her emotional climate almost never changes and she thinks things through rationally, intelligently, and patiently. Her patience was once described by a former servant as 'tranquil', though that is not so. Cordellia can wait for years, for decades, seeming to do nothing but wander the world. But there is a tension inside her. There is something off. Her mind is calm, but not peaceful. There is dissatisfaction that Cordellia barely recognizes and cannot explain. Something is missing. But she will wait, and she will find it without needing to look. Everything eventually passes her by. Cordellia wanders, travelling with no real destination in mind. Only some people notice her presence. She doesn't stand out as much as many of her kindred. With a passing glance, from a passing stranger, she could be mistaken for any one of the races. Cordellia lacks horns, strange ears, or anything that usually distinguished Royals from other humanoid races. She has a strange sort of beauty that vaguely resembles Elf. However, it doesn't take too much before her heritage makes itself apparent. Cordellia has fairly long ebony hair that has a soft, strangely feathery texture and a fair complexion that seems to glow in dusky lighting. Her eyes are an unnatural shade of watery aquamarine, but her gaze is sharp and clear like cutting diamonds. Cordellia's voice is soft, but has a clear, almost haunting quality. Her voice is so unique that she does not need to speak loudly—most people just stop to listen. Cordellia is tall, but not imposingly so. She stands like a noble, but delicately so. She moves liltingly, like a feather in the breeze. She has a cold, ethereal grace. Despite her outer delicacy, Cordellia can move startlingly quickly when she wants to. Cordellia's gift is nothing obvious, nothing imposing, but it is as powerful as any other Royals'. She can influence people's minds. She can dull hunger, sorrow, and pain for an indefinite amount of time. She can sense and amplify emotions, redirect them, and make them vanish altogether. Of course, emotions never really go away, but they can be well sealed, well hidden. Cordellia can even alter memory, changing how people felt at certain times in their life or how they saw things. She can make them forget. She does not read thoughts, but can look into people's minds and sense the emotions as well as see images connected to those emotions. It is rare that she hears words with the images. Cordellia can use her power on a single person or hundreds people at a time. If she ever were to raise an army, it would be fearless, painless, and nearly unstoppable.
Alice Kingsley
ALICE KINGSLEY
Strength: 76
Speed: 42
Agility: 88
Accuracy: 54
Flexibility: 64
Stamina: 34
Luck: 22
Intellect: 75
Charisma: 43
Durability: 55
Stealth: 34
Alice Kingsley (Rebecca) was born in the Knight's Haven. Her mother's name was Karen. She had no last name. Her name was given to her by Alice's father, Aaron Kingsley. Karen had lived in one of the Elves' factories when Aaron let himself be captured and put in as well. He wasn't a Hacker, but a subordinate of a Hacker. Aaron was sent to figure out the workings of that factory and escape to report back a few months later. The entire factory's electricity was supposed to have been shut down with that information. But Aaron met Alice's mother. He fell in love. When she got pregnant was going to be sent to Amderarm, he knew he had to get her out. Aaron aborted the plan, risking everything to free Karen. He succeeded in helping her escape, but was caught. Alice's mother followed his directions to the rendez vous. The Hacker got his information and sent her to Knight Haven. A couple days later, the plan succeeded (sort of). Many humans managed to escape, but Aaron was not one of them. When Alice was young, her mother told her this story often. As she was growing up, Alice and her mother were treated fairly normally, with the exception of the few people who considered her father a failure who nearly compromised a mission for the sake of one woman and died of his stupidity, and those who considered her father a hero who helped a Hacker free many humans from captivity. But Alice didn't like either of those types of people. After all, other than her blood, she had nothing to do with her father. Her Aaron Kingsley may not have even been her blood father. Why should she, Alice, her own person, have to deal with her father's reputation? She had never met him! Alice grew up to be a stubborn girl, who preferred tinkering with mechanical toys and metals to shopping and hanging out with friends. Of course, if her friends wanted to try out her new jewelry or toys or build with her, they were welcome. She had a thing for colors—all her jewelry was beautiful and her friends loved the vibrancy of the colors. They wondered how she did it. To be honest, Alice wasn't quite sure. She just tried things out and kept going until they turned out how she wanted them to. If she had to pick a color for that time of her life, it would be a bright, sunshine yellow. Alice was a very happy child. That is, until her mother died when she was twelve. It was some sort of illness, and it wasn't just her mother. A few others in the Haven died that season as well, of the same illness. One of them was the adult she was closest to—the man that had taught her the basics of making and altering. That was when her hobby of making jewelry and altering mechanical toys turned into something… a little more dangerous. She started messing with weapons and continumerous. A couple of her friends tried to get her to stop, but Alice wouldn't. Not a month after her mother's death, she was trying to make continumerous bullets with her friend Rebecca—something she hadn't heard of. It exploded. Her neighbors managed to drag her out of the flaming wreckage of her home, but she was badly injured. Rebecca burned. To this day, she has scars, all over her body. After that incident, Alice was sent to learn more about the art of creating and changing. They did not try to stop her—after all, she had potential to be a real asset—but she was warned that if it happened again, she would not get off as easily. If she had to pick a color for her mother's death, it would be a dusky blue, dark and almost drained of its color. But upon her apprenticeship to a mechanic, it turned to an orange the color of a burnt sunset, if sunsets could burn. Alice thought, why not? Now she could create as she pleased. Her sadness turned to anger. She could immerse herself in her work. She was so filled with anger and hatred, she would sometimes work for days without sleep. She lost touch with her friends. At times, Alice wondered what she hated so much, why she was so angry, but thinking about it too much just hurt. So she stopped thinking. Alice became irritable and short tempered. When she wasn't working, her hands moved impatiently. She could never stop moving. Her mentor tried to convince her to take therapy, but she didn't want to. She couldn't. Her weapons and computers were all that mattered. Her mentor kicked her out of his workshop, confiscating all her materials, everything she had worked on for the past two years. She snapped. The world was red. She set the workplace on fire. Alice left. She ran. She ran until her legs felt like led and her lungs shook and screamed with each breath. Then she ran some more. She travelled alone for months, not sure where she was going. She didn't care. Alice simply survived. Everything was white, blank. Her anger was drained by fatigue and cold sucked away the heat of her hatred. Then she stumbled upon the Sao Haven. Alice called herself Rebecca. She started a new life. Now, at 16 years old, she still struggles with her identity. Traces of her anger remain, but most of it was exhausted. She now makes jewelry for a living. She doesn't touch weapons, afraid her anger will return. The people at Sao Haven can tell something is off about her. The hard look in her eyes does not match her seemingly quiet nature. Alice hides her ability to do more than set stones and make bracelets. Gradually, her personality is returning. Her determination and stubbornness is showing itself. She is becoming more willing to talk. Her fire is starting to return. Robin's egg blue. She is becoming more comfortable. She is healing. But she still has her walls up. After all, it won't be long before someone she knew from Knight's Haven comes to Sao Haven and finds out about her. What will happen then? She was an arsonist. She was insane. Wasn't she? It wouldn't take much for them to figure out that "Alice Kingsley" was "Rebecca Frost". She wants to find herself again, but is afraid to turn into what she was before. What if it happened again? Alice is defensive and refuses any sort of help. Robin's egg blue, stained with streaks of dark crimson. Alice has sometimes wondered why she thought of colors like that. Maybe it was born into her with her heterochromatic eyes. After all, it wasn't common to have one eye the color of the summer sky and another a deep shade of forest green. Her hair was another vibrant color, like a river of gold that flowed down to her shoulder. It was pinned over half her forehead, covering the thin web of shrapnel scars. Her skin was fairly blemish free, if her scars aren't included. Alice had protected most of her face with her arms, but everywhere else on the front of her body was marred. Most people couldn't tell because she always wore long clothing and gloves. Alice is fairly short, an inch or two from 5 feet, made worse by her months not finding enough food and the years of overwork making her seem scrawny. Despite this, her years of work have also made her fairly strong, if not average. Alice does not have a dream. She is afraid of losing herself again, but he has come to the realization that you can't lose something you don't have. So she waits. She waits for herself to return.
Dajaex Archfelidae
24428 - 732 - 9101FCR : DAJAEX ARCHFELIDAE
Elellialbre
Carabore Factory
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coming soon
Zeo Seoul
ZEO SEOUL
"Haven"
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Zeo could never be a hacker and everyone knows it. He's a very, very troubled boy who does not have a grip on reality. He grew up in the Carabore Factory of Amderarm and suffered unspeakable things, though jsut about every human has an inkling of them.
Stigma Grander
STIGMA GRANDER
"Haven"
Hacker
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Rue Chrysanthemum
54222-332-9921ACR : RUE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Amderarm
The Shire Factory
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coming soon
Briareos Altra
BRIAREOS ALTRA
Knight Haven
Hacker
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Briareos Altra, more often called "Eos", is a very conflicted boy with a cold, hard past. Such is how those from the factories are. Seldom will you find any who have lived a happy, healthy life and yet are human. Briareos became a hacker shortly after he heard of Knight Haven. He would not allow the small band from said Haven to rescue him because he knew his brother was in the factory with him. Somewhere. So Briareos used the tech and tools the group left with him to sabotage and gain information from the factory. He destroyed supplies, killed guards, and just plain old messed them up in general. He was eventually discovered, but luck seemed to be on his side. He just managed to locate his brother in time, and the two escaped. The group from Knight Haven picked them up along with twenty or so other people and brought them back. Now Briareos works as a full time hacker. He is more artful in sabotage than the actual business of breaking codes and things. He can't get in, but he knows what best to do when he's in there.
Merihk / Evelyn / Trevrizent Faulkner
MERIKH / EVELYN / TREVRIZENT FAULKNER
Merikh
- true nature -
Evelyn
- true reason -
Trevrizent
- true instinct -
Mars Cerberus
Ko-goro
coming soon
Toa / Nihm / Jaehaerys Vasailles
TOA / NIHM / JAEHAERYS VASAILLES
Toa
- true nature -
Nihm
- true instinct -
Jaehaerys
- true reason -
Uranus Cerberus
Amderarm
Toa, Nihm, and Jaehaerys Vasailles are a Cerberus originally from Ko-goro, though they now live and work in Amderarm. The reason being that they apparently "owe the King a favor". What they favor is, they won't say.
One of the stranger things about them is their indifference to Elves. Though most of the Cerberus are inclined to despise them, this Cerberus doesn't seem to really care.
Araluen
ARALUEN
"The Creature"
Noble of Loss
Servants
-
Shape Shifting
can assume any form, both physical, ephemeral, and everything in between. can also adapt self to every situation.
coming soon
Samhain
SAMHAIN
"The Beetle King"
Wanderer
Servants
-
Creatura Command
can create and command animals, both mystical and physical, though the preference is insects
coming soon
Kyrie
KYRIE
"The Unreal"
King of Hazzari Fair
Servants
-
Alternate Realities
can create an alternate reality around a single subject wherein everything the subject perceives will become null and void at the end
One cannot speak of them. one cannot know them. They are so above and the rest are so beneath. It is as though a mortal determines to touch God while in physical form. Not that Royals are gods or claim to be such, but thus is the awe they bestow and the grandeur of their power and influence. They are minor gods in their own right, for what else could they honestly be?
Kyrie. Such a little god is Kyrie. King of Hazzari Fair. The Unreal. The white beast from some other world that one cannot hope to reach. He exists as if in a dream, as if he is a dream. He is never really here or there or anywhere. He exists but does not live. He loves but never loves anyone. He hates and hates all who would destroy what he has built. He is innocent in everything yet innocent of nothing. He gives life and takes it away again. Such is the nature of Kyrie.
Kyrie is very unlike the common Royal. Where most have a distinguishable human-like appearance, Kyrie is only, if just barely, humanoid of form.
Ethurian Batlair
Lord Ethurian Batlair
Amderarm Lord
Amderarm
Destruction: 64
Restoration: 83
Conjuration: 190
Divination: 43
Alteration: 79
coming soon
Arteaux Serenious
ARTEAUX SERENIOUS
Royal Bodyguard
Elellialbre
Destruction: 123
Restoration: 104
Conjuration: 54
Divination: 63
Alteration: 100
Arteaux. That’s his name. If he ever had a different one, he doesn’t know. He’s nothing. No one. Not really. He’s a royal bodyguard but that is all. Nothing more. Never anything more. He can’t become anyone or anything else as he isn’t allowed to. Suppressed and trained only for one specific purpose, he has no free will anymore. He was found, sick and dying outside their walls. When he was cured and awoke, he had absolutely no memory. He couldn’t even talk or move at first either. Those things came back to him over time, but nothing else. The military decided to use this to their advantage. They gave him a name and taught him all there was to be taught of the royal family and what it meant to be a royal bodyguard. They shaped and molded his mind to their ways. They taught him how to protect the monarchy. They taught him to serve and defend. He became a subservient creature pandering to the family's every whim and order. And he does it willingly. He knows nothing else but the simple order to obey. He came to them with no inhibitions, no memories, no ties to anyone or anything. Now he is tied and bound to the castle and its members. He is inferior in their eyes but loves it. He loves it for it is all he knows. Arteaux is often drawn to matters of simple logic. It might be a mere childish trait, his revulsion for complication and an affinity for black and white. But it’s simply the way he is. He seeks understanding, a limited amount of understanding to be sure. He wants to know things, but seems to hate the answers. He wants to know about himself, but is reluctant to make any discoveries. He doesn’t know what he will find if he tries to learn about himself, and he fears for the result. So he learns of other things instead. Anything, everything, something: so long as it isn’t about himself. He would rather stay the subservient creature, the nobody, the nothing, the bodyguard, than discover what he might have been. If Arteaux was an animal, he would undeniably be a cat. Ask anyone and they would readily agree. Every movement of his is feline. Every step, every turn, every move is made with unmatched grace. His mind and body are in perfect synch, his reflexes at an incredible, heightened peak. His reaction time is instantaneous. He can turn from sleepy and docile to alert and fierce within a matter of milliseconds. He can catch and throw back arrows. Once, a bullet even. He seems to be naught but a haunting, flitting shadow that glides over the ground and flickers against the walls. One minute there, one minute not. So quiet, his tread lighter than feathers. He can creep up on anyone, anything. Only certain Hunters are ever able to hear his approach. He is so still and silent, one can enter, move about, and leave a room that he occupies without ever knowing he was there. It gives him an almost ethereal quality, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye, always being where one least expects him and always vanishing when one looks his way. He’s flighty, feisty, and very independent. Yes, he lives and breathes every word that commands him, but on his own, he is extremely introverted and despairingly antisocial. He sticks to the shadows and the corners, only coming out when summoned. He does his work, serves his purpose, then disappears. Like a cat. The cat will come out to hunt the mice, eat its meal, and offer a moment of company with its owner before it runs off to new places. Arteaux might run off, but he’s always within the castle. He never goes outside unless accompanying the King or one of the royal family. Such are the rules. He has explored nearly every nook and cranny of the church, and he keeps exploring. There’s always something new to find in a building such as the nunnery palace. He also has this look about him. In his wide eyes and his usually expressionless gaze. This look that he knows something, that he’s far wiser and above everyone else than he appears to be. It’s a look that demands everyone bow down before him instead of the other way around that it truly is. It is unsettling, the way he seems to command everything with a glance. How his knowing, fathomless eyes pierce right through the soul and extract the essence of it. He is grace and lithe and liquid silver, a pirouetting ghost that haunts, a cat that creeps and crouches, waiting to pounce. There is that as well. He has all this potential, all these forgotten memories, but the feelings are still there. Sometimes he feels things and doesn’t know why. Sometimes he is angry and murderous, but he doesn’t understand. This is why some fear him, why some are loathe to keep him here, and why many are so keen to control him. He is a crouched cat. Every little emotion, every feeling, bottled up, suppressed, coiled about like a coiled spring. Coiled, crouched, waiting to strike. Claws slowly sliding out from velvety paws, serpentine oculars closed to slashed lines of silvery-gray, fangs bared, hackles raised, tail lashing, ears flattened against the skull. He is dangerous, unpredictable. A crouched cat, a ticking bomb, a sleeping dragon: just waiting, watching, for the moment when he will attack. It’s hard to think of him this way. He’s such a gentle, docile creature, but appearances can be deceiving. Arteaux is always thought of gentle. Gentle, meek, quiet, compassionate. He can be a little rough around the edges. He’s very hard to commune with as he’s a very closed, withdrawn person. Despite it, he is very pleasant and a bit more optimistic than many would expect. He has all the innocence of a young child, despite the amount of blood shed by his hands. Everything is new and beautiful and intriguing to him. His curiosity can sometimes make him a bit reckless or even clueless at times, but he isn’t stupid about it. He seems utterly naïve of certain things and quite unable to understand conversation or the ‘current lingo’ or ‘cultural references’. He’s more old fashioned, delving into ancient history and literature rather then looking to the modern things. He finds the past simple in its ways and understands that far more than the complicated drama and flair of the flamboyant present his is a part of. It often frustrated him, this modern world. He’s not frustrated easily and very slow to anger. Even in battle he doesn’t display much rage of any sort. A furrowing of the brow, a concentration, a seriousness of composure, but not anger. He isn’t very temperamental and can put up with nearly everyone and everything no matter how hard they may try to press his buttons and get on his bad side. He doesn’t lash out or lose control, and he would never dream of touching a girl. Never mind the chivalry of not hitting one, he wouldn’t even touch them unless it was his duty. He treats women as if they were divine goddesses, both delicate yet strong, fragile yet unbreakable. He never appears sad and has never been known to cry. He has been known to smile though. His trademark smile is small but very heartfelt, a little fragile thing that transforms his stony face entirely. Some may call it a loving smile, but it is hard to tell what he does or doesn’t love. He doesn’t seem to quite understand the concept. Because of this, there isn’t much worry that he will ever –how to put it- take the purity of any of the girls here. There was originally much discussion about whether it was wise to keep him within the building that the royal family lived and slept in, but after much proof that he simply had no idea about the ways of men and women, all their worries were laid to rest. There might still be a chance that a girl might be able to bed him, but as the majority of girls aren’t so keen, even that suspicion wasn’t given much thought. He seems numb to affection anyway. So he is allowed to live there, with and among the people he serves. It makes him more accessible. They don’t have to wait for him to arrive to get things done, as he is always there. They also have more control over him in that respect. Arteaux is rather harsh looking, a counter to his sweet disposition and downtrodden inferiority. He has pale skin, as though he didn’t spend much time outdoors. A little frosty of pallor, but not pale enough to be sickly or offsetting. He has a healthy enough glow to his color. His hair is pure white, the color of untainted, freshly fallen snow. It is soft to the touch, smooth and rather downy. It was once a honey brown, but turned white after he was poisoned. He has pointed ears, a common attribute of the elvish people. His eyebrows are slanted, giving him a fierce, angry look that offsets his wide, wondering eyes. The eyes themselves are a bright, silvery gray. And rather than black pupils, he doesn’t seem to have any really. They are more of a dull gray than black, occasionally blending in with the color of his irises. His nose is aquiline; sloping gently and a little sharp. He has rather sharp facial features all around. His slightly raised cheekbones and the line of his jaw give him a bit of a feline appearance. Sharp enough to be fierce but not pointed enough to look thin. More slender. Arteaux has his fair share of scars, but the most eye catching are the ones on his neck and chin. They are maddeningly unnatural, a specific design purposely placed there. Starting at the lower lip, the scar becomes two lines that meet at the base of the chin, extending further down, slightly widening, disappearing under the collar of his shirt or whatever he is wearing. It extends all the way down his chest and stomach, following the indented curvature of his muscles till it ends at his bellybutton. Three scar lines, shortening in length as they descend, cut in measured succession across his neck, in such a way that an exact half of each is on either side of the center line. Paler scars come down from the back of his neck and the start of his jaw to run down alongside the center line. These unnatural scars have raised some questions as is conceivable, but Arteaux cannot answer them, nor would he really care to if he even knew. Their origin is unknown, the meaning of them even further indiscernible. Arteaux is quite intelligent, consuming vast amounts of knowledge from reading. He likes to read. He also likes to fight, though he prefers mortal, human opponents to things like unicorns. At least with humans he has a chance of winning. Arteaux isn’t one for art or music, anything that is remotely involved with self-expression as he has next to none. He’s logical, precise, and simplistic. Things like emotion, things gained over years and years of development and self exploration have been utterly lost to him. He might be relearning, but he is still stuck in a single mindset. It is this mindset that truly holds him back from being whatever man he could possibly be. He doesn’t want to change it. He doesn’t want to find it. He doesn’t know what he will find when he does. Then he might not be Arteaux anymore. Then he might be someone else entirely with memories and feelings and goals and things. He doesn’t want that. Just thinking about it is too much to handle for his simple, steadfast mind. He’s happy being Arteaux. And it seems that’s who he will remain forever.
Prince Gael Baratheon
Prince Gael Baratheon
Prince of Elellialbre
Elellialbre
Destruction: 45
Restoration: 23
Conjuration: 40
Divination: 12
Alteration: 32
Rhaegar Baratheon (brother)
Many assume from his title and the title of Rhaegar Baratheon that Gael is Rhaegar's son. He is not. Prince Gael is the King's youngest brother, approximately eleven years younger.
King Rhaegar Baratheon
King Rhaegar Baratheon
King of Elellialbre
Elellialbre
Destruction: 232
Restoration: 122
Conjuration: 22
Divination: 58
Alteration: 24
Gael Baratheon (brother)
The King of Elellialbre, Rhaegar Baratheon is an elf not to be trifled with. Ever. His people never expected much out of him and for good reason: his own father and grandfather had pretty nearly destroyed the city with their wastefulness and neglect. But Rhaegar knew better than to continue the viscous cycle. When his father died, Rhaegar was only eighteen, still rather young to take the throne, but he took to it well and soon established himself as perfectly worthy of such a task put before him: which was restoring the city to its former glory. He implemented new systems of enterprise and re-established how the factories were to be run. This and more brought the city out of its debt and cause a new flow of benefit for the city. Now after ten years, close to facing his thirtieth birthday, Rhaegar is well armed, financed, and dangerous. He may not be the strongest of Kings, but he is by far one of the wisest.
Rhaegar is rather tall for his twenty-eight years. He has fair skin, light colored, smooth, and devoid of flaws save a deep red scar down his right eye. He is broad shouldered, lean, and well toned. He takes pride in his physical strength if anything. He has narrowed eyes, a golden-bronze color as are the trademark of the Baratheon family, along with the inky black hair. He keeps his rather long, and it appears rather spiky. He seems older than he really is, mostly for the gray that has come into his hair: a result of stress no doubt. Some think it's natural, but they're wrong. Contrary to popular belief, it does not have anything to do with age. Elves don't really age after all. It's simple chemical imbalances and nothing more.
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