Kherron

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Kherron
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Posts: 78
Joined: Fri Oct 07, 2016 1:49 am
Race: Mortal Born
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Kherron

Fri Oct 14, 2016 5:16 am

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“You must burn. Burn higher.
Burn for everything you have ever wanted.
For everything you have ever lost, for every crack in your heart and every fraction of every irreplaceable moment.
Burn high for love.
For fear. For life.
Burn as fast and as long as you can.
You must burn, burn higher.
Because nothing in this world will kill you faster than a dying fire.”
― Mia Hollow
[columns=2]True name: Aedan Modred
Alias: Kherron
Race: Mortalborn (Half Biqaj/Aukari x Faldrun) (HD)
Domains: Volcanism, Vengeance, Twilight
Gender: Male
Age: 132
Height: 6ft
Weight: 182lbs

Birthday: Zi'ida 3rd, 584
Birthplace: Ne'Haer

Primary Occupation: Bar Keep (Former assassin.)[/columns]
ImageLooking at Kherron, a person would be hard pressed to presume he was anything but human. He inherited his father's height, standing at an even six foot with a lean build that he has carefully toned over the years along with a sweltering body heat that comes from his domain of fire. From his mother comes his graceful features; his sharp eyebrows that all of her lineage seemed to be born with and a faint shimmer attributed to his unique silver blood. His hair is dark, nearly black chocolate, cropped short and slicked back.

Kherron has oft been described as a living statue to some. His features are sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and pointed lips. His eyes are naturally a solid ebony and perpetually intense and he alternates between a clean face and unshaven, depending on the situation. He prefers to dress practically but with a streak of elegance.

He is missing the tip of his right little finger when he forged a totem of himself.
ImageKherron describes himself as a man forged in fire and ice. While he had learned to be distant and abrasive in his younger years, time has tempered his demeanor. Enigmatic to a fault, he presents himself as charismatic and approachable, though beneath the veneer of a presentable boss, Kherron suffers from his own demons that often manifest as a dark and foreboding brooding.

A deep, burning turmoil burns at the pit of his being; a hatred for what he is, and nonchalance towards fate and its design. He has learned that the the world is full of betrayers, and as a result, has largely holed himself away from the limelight.
Fluent: Common | Basic: Vauni
Last edited by Kherron on Sun Mar 11, 2018 9:26 pm, edited 32 times in total.
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Kherron
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Race: Mortal Born
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Kherron

Fri Oct 14, 2016 5:38 am

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There is little that Kherron remembers of his life before the Skarr Kol. He never had the pleasure of knowing his parents, save for the whispers that passed the lips of his mentors, and the ominous origins of his father. As a boy, he was placed in the care of a merchant's family, raised to read, write and study the intricacies of politics. He lived a relatively normal life in this time, until he turned the age of eight years old, and a hooded man arrived at his adoptive father's doorstep, asking for his name.

The burning sands of Nashaki soon became both his home and his training ground, and the man spirited him all that he had known with his merchant father, his teacher. Makaj the Many Faced taught him of the Skarr Kol and the pervasive mentality that all must be able to shed their truths. He was nothing, and no one, but the Skarr Kol would give him a purpose that he would soon come to value above all other things. Aedan was no longer a name, but a memory that was easily discarded. And so the boy trained; in stealth and combat, and a dabbling of poisons. It was not until he ascended the trials set forth by his teacher at the age of sixteen did he gain the initiation into Becoming.

Becoming became the symbol of true freedom and as the boy grew into a young man, he spent his waking hours training in it until he was adequately satisfied with the results. But the young mortalborn was not satisfied with the order, and chose, instead, to depart it soon after his 30th name day, refusing to end the life of a child marked for death. Through the efforts of Zerril, a friend of his mother's, he manage to fake his death and lived for decades alone, offering his services to the highest bidder, searching for answers to questions he didn't know. Along the way, he made meager friends, acquaintances and women and men with whom he shared beds. But it was only when he turned 120 that the mortalborn found himself smitten with a woman he'd come across on his travels.

With Arissa, he learned of love, and for a time, his burning restlessness was sated. But five years later, when Kherron took on a mission given to him by an anonymous client, he ended the life of an ambassador of Ne'haer, and later realized that Arissa had been slain by his own hand.

Kherron withdrew from the world, settling into a deep depression. He discontinued his services as a hitman and instead, frequented bars and taverns, wallowing in a pit of self-destruction. At the end of his rope, a friend found him, a madam named Hayle, who took it upon herself to take him in, and through careful encouragement, taught him the ways of her profession; of bar management and seduction. Eventually, Kherron took over her bar, Delirium, and continues to operate it to this day.
Last edited by Kherron on Sun Mar 04, 2018 5:10 am, edited 17 times in total.
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Kherron
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Posts: 78
Joined: Fri Oct 07, 2016 1:49 am
Race: Mortal Born
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Kherron

Fri Oct 14, 2016 5:49 am

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Name: Amaryllis Modred
Date of Birth: Zi'da 32, Arc 554
Date of Death: Unknown, it is likely she may still live
Skills: Becoming 30, Defiance 30, Acting 20, Intelligence 20
Face Claim: Berenice Marlohe

History: Amaryllis is a woman of guiles and wit, but not wholly set in any range of the moral scale. Born a slave in Athart, after a series of events to escape her status as a slave, she was found by the Skarr Kol who subsequently trained her in the arts of Becoming. And though she grew to be a proficient agent for the faction, she was filled with raw ambition. This ambition led her to the footsteps of other magical disciplines, seeking the true path of apotheosis. Her unfortunate meeting with the Immortal Faldrun, however, caused an irreparable rift in her psyche. After the harrowing encounter, Amaryllis was found she was pregnant with child, and despite the trauma, her reliance on logic and ambition led her to keep the pregnancy. After nine months, a son was born, and Amaryllis, after traveling back to the burning sands of Nashaki, gave up the infant boy to the Skarr Kol order, and subsequently vanished.

Appearance: Amaryllis was exceptionally tall, standing at an even 5'10". Due to decades of extensive training under the Skarr Kol, her body was toned and shaped in subtle musculature, yet her "womanly" curves were anything but lacking. Amaryllis' hair was always kept relatively long when she returned to her natural shape; her hair thick and cascading down her back in ebony waves. While some men would have found her beautiful, there was a predatory look to her sharp and angular features that begged an air of mystery and inexplicable danger.

Personality: Amaryllis was an enigmatic woman. She was wholly dedicated to her work and the Skarr Kol, but at the same time was capable of remorseless killing should the situation require it. While she tolerated many vices and even engaged in several, herself, she despised slavery and the systems in place that allowed it to happen. Her life was led in the pursuit of knowledge, power and the mysteries of the arcane.

THE STORY:
A Predatory Appeal
The clouds remained overcast that night. In hindsight, Amaryllis should have seen it as an omen, but as a woman raised under the shadow’s dim, she’d grown accustomed to the embrace of darkness, and the protection it offered. The emerald sea, glistening under the scattered light of the twin moons lapped against the hull of the ship. Five other men were on board, aside for herself and the captain, Rojan, whom she’d known for nearly a decade; a man she’d dared call a friend.

For seasons she’d traveled beyond the burning lands of Nashaki, in search of what she couldn’t rightly guess. Ambition, power, knowledge, secrets, things that she could harness for a means to an end. An end of war, slavery, ineptitude. Perhaps her lives led in the faces and bodies of others had affected her judgment; but in the end, the sorcerer could hardly distinguish herself from the people she often embodied. And so she wandered, until she came upon Rojan, who asked of her a favor she had no real reason to refuse. A smuggling mission from Scalvoris to the gates of Ne’Haer, or so she was told. What was most important in the moment, of course, as the ship rocked lazily on the waves, was the heavy tankard of ale in her hands.

“Careful with that, Lily, wouldn’t want you so drunk you’re falling over the railing.” Rojan’s smirk was carried on the wind as he settled himself beside her. Though her lungs were saturated with the salty scent of the sea, she knew he was likely smothered in his favorite brand of cologne. Woodsy. But though she felt at ease in the presence of Rojan, there was still an unnerving feeling in the back of her mind.

For now, she set those thoughts aside. Amaryllis chuckled at his words and raised the tankard to her lips, taking another sip. “I thought we were headed to Ne’haer. Is there a reason for the detour?”

“Supplies,” the captain rolled his shoulder. “The journey’ll be rough, it’s best to plan ahead in case the proverbial ‘shit’ hits the fan, eh?”

“Mm, right,” she stared down at the rolling waves, inhaling deeply. “Listen, Rojan, I--”

Shouts and yells tore through the ship, and whatever words she’d meant to speak died on her tongue. A young woman, half starved and sparsely dressed, scrambled onto the decks, followed by two of the deckhands who hauled her from the wooden floor she’d fallen on. Her protests were met with the men’s fists, until Rojan raised a hand, his face steeled in response to Amaryllis’ more than shocked look of disdain.

“Get her below decks. Now,” He barked at the men.

“Is she a slave?” She demanded, her words cutting through the roar of the ocean like a knife. “What in the god’s hell is happening here, Rojan?”

“I’ll explain later, Amaryllis--”

“You told me we were smuggling narcotics,” the sorcerer interjected with a scathing look of her own. The Becomer scoffed incredulously and shoved the men holding the whimpering woman aside, taking her by the arm in a grip that would have left a bruise. “Are you a slave?” She demanded.


The woman nodded meekly. Amaryllis felt something in her gut that she had not felt in a long time; a fury that boiled in her blood like the white hot magma of a forge. This was something that cut deep. As a former slave who rose from the ashes of cruel masters, aiding in such a fashion was like a puncture wound to her hollow heart.

“Are there more of you?” Another nod and a morbid smile danced on her lips. “Show me.”

“Amaryllis, wait--” Rojan called.

They stepped below decks, where a commotion had caused a mess in the brig, but the woman maneuvered her way hastily, and the sorcerer followed. Through a stack of empty barrels was a doorway, leading into a smaller brig whose door was left ajar, and inside was a crowd of bodies linked together with chains and ropes.

Slaves. Amaryllis stood at the door, gazing at the gaunt faces who looked back at her with eyes as lifeless and sombre as a doll’s. Though her body felt the tremble of emotion, her outward expression remained placid, save for her hands squeezed tightly into fists. Behind her, heavy footsteps of multiple men approached.

“Why are these slaves here, Rojan?” She turned to look at him. Her voice was low, almost predatory.

“I think you know by now why they’re here,” the captain answered with a heavy sigh. “I had hoped to have made this a quick and easy arrangement. A ‘need to know’ basis, if you will.”

“I don’t deal with slavers, you know that.”

“And you won’t. It’ll be between me and them, you’re just here for--”

“You made me a part of your fucking games, Rojan. You’re better than this. You never dipped into this… this depravity before now.” The heavy emotion was laid behind sharp words as man and woman stared each other down.

“Sometimes, we have to broker deals to keep us afloat, Amaryllis,” he said slowly. The sorcerer stared at him until a streak of morbid laughter left her lips.

“You can’t be serious. You’re no slaver. Take the ship to shore, I’m setting these wretches free.”

“I can’t let you do that, Lily.”

The captain’s tone forced a look from the sorceror. Her jaw was clenched tight.

“Turn the ship around, Rojan,” she said again.

He shook his head, his hand fingering the blade at his hilt, the two deckhands beside him already armed. “I’m not going to let your silly dramatism ruin my future. The slaves stay, and you--”

The dagger flew across the space between them in the span of seconds, and sunk into the captain’s throat. It had felt like a call to arms; an instinctual urge that arose in her limbs and culminated into an abrupt and explosive reaction that left her watching her long-time friend and one time lover… dying as he choked on his own blood.

And in that moment, she hadn’t regretted it.

The deckhands spurred into action at the site of their captain’s fall, weapons brandished with loud yells that sent the slaves in a panic, though chained as they were, they had no where to go. Amaryllis withdrew her sword from its scabbard and engaged the men with a combination of physical and magical prowess. And though they ultimately fell to her blades and magic, they left deep gashes that left her breathless. And yet more men came, and they too, she fought off, until the heavy exhaustion began to weigh her steps down until she fell to one knee, clutching the gaping wound at her side.

But before one of the crew’s men could bury the axe into her shoulder, his body seized and ignited from within like the spark of an ember. With a blood curdling scream his flesh was turned to ash, leaving a pile of disintegrated bone in his wake. A man stepped beyond the cindered ashes, muscular and tall, and sporting nothing but loose fitting pants and a handful of jewelry. But what caught Amaryllis’ eye was the stranger’s startling red hair and the radiating heat that seemed to distort the air around him.

There was no way he had been on the ship… A stowaway? And yet there was something about him that whispered of a dread she’d never felt before.

“Who are you?” She whispered almost inaudibly.

“I think you know who I am, Amaryllis.” His smile was predatory, his approach, slow and methodical.

Perhaps she’d known all along. There was a current of recognition as she gazed upon him, like a switch that painted his presence in a bigger light. There was a sharp intake of air as Amaryllis stumbled to her feet as a chorus of screams echoed in the slaves’ brig. No.

“They were helpless,” her voiced tightened as she watched the last, charred hand fall to the floor.

“They are weak; fodder,” the man returned, circling the lone sorcerer like a tiger would its prey. “Do you feel it, Amaryllis? That darkness that stirs?”

“Stop this,” She snapped, raising her sword aloft. “What do you want?”
In the span of a breath, he moved from one step to the next, his body so close she could feel the saturated heat radiate from his body. There was a dark smile on his lips that mirrored the glint in his eyes. “Did you enjoy killing him?” His question hung on his tongue. “I felt the thrill in your blood. Death sustains you like the food your wretched kind are forced to consume. Your dark passenger speaks and you refuse to listen.”

“I won’t--” her voice was tight, and she tried to step away, only to have her face grasped by the man’s broad hands.

“You think you’re a good person; feeling righteous for these pathetic creatures, seeking answers to age old questions. You were born with a darkness, Amaryllis, a darkness you cannot avoid.” His hands wandered, from her face down to her neck, and further. “You felt it as a child, and you felt it here,” he pressed a hand to her chest, “With the death of the wretch you’d called a friend. You cannot escape your destiny, mortal. Only embrace it. Your potential can be used for… far better causes…”

“I am no pawn.” She wanted to say more, to say anything more, but all she could muster were sharp inhales and a heavy scream as the man laid a hand over her wound and cauterized it shut with a power she had no hope of understanding.

“No,” he agreed. “But you will carry one.”

The last thing she would remember of that night was the agonizing torment of her shattered dignity, and the lingering smell of searing flesh.
Last edited by Kherron on Wed Mar 07, 2018 5:20 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Kherron
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Kherron

Sun Mar 04, 2018 5:46 am

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Volcanism: Upheaval

With activation, Kherron is capable of summoning forth magma from the depths of the earth and phase-change lava from existing earth by increasing the temperature of earth exponentially. The ability requires ample ramp up time and a measure of meditation to execute efficiently.

Drawbacks: Kherron can manipulate the general flow and direction of the lava but cannot do much more than that. While he is largely resistant to fire and burning, he can still cause irreparable damage to himself he comes in contact with lava for more than a few seconds. Controlling the lava causes immense mental and physical fatigue and is almost impossible in snowy or wet terrain.

Vengeance: Nemesis
When Kherron is near those that have crossed him, he can activate Nemesis, which allows him a glimpse into the target's worst crimes and sins. If he can get the target by himself, he can enter into a meditative state with the target and enact those same crimes and sins onto the recipient through a dream state.

Drawbacks: Kherron, himself, must enter the Emea in order to submit the target to a waking nightmare. The target must be in an otherwise incapacitated state (whether through drugs, hypnosis or simply dreaming) and can resist intrusion if they have a strong enough mental will. If Kherron remains in the Emea for too long, he risks losing himself in the nightmare of his own creation or his body being slain. Many sins and crimes that Kherron gets exposed to has a risk of affecting his psyche in irreparable ways.

Twilight: TBA
Has not been discovered yet.
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Kherron
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Posts: 78
Joined: Fri Oct 07, 2016 1:49 am
Race: Mortal Born
Renown: 0
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Kherron

Sun Mar 04, 2018 5:47 am

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Skill Starting XP Acquired Total Skill Level
Blades: Short Swords (SP)(FT) 10/100 (0/100)Novice
Becoming (SP) 5/100 (0/250)Novice
Business Management (SP) 10/100 (0/250)Novice
Abrogation(SP) 25/100 (0/250)Novice

Basic Knowledge

Factions: Skarr Kol
Blades: Offensive Stance
Blades: Parrying
Becoming: Blending
Business Management: Delegating tasks
Blades: Defensive Stance
Abrogation: Basics of Muting
Immortal: Faldrun
Business Management: Customer Satisfaction
Abrogation: Basics of Barrier
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Image Image Image
[columns=2]Standard Cloak | 1
Standard Shirt | 1
Standard Pants | 1
Undergarments | 1
Leather Boots | 1
Set of Toiletries | 1
Waterskin | 1
Utensils | 1
Tinderbox | 1
Horse | 1
Leather Gauntlets | 1
Leather Graves | 1
Short Sword | 1
Vest | 1
Gloves | 1[/columns]
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ItemDebitCredit
Starting Pack 100gn 100gn
Cashed In Housing 250gn 350gn
Horse 50gn 300gn
Kidnapper's Joy 50gn 250gn
Scarf Rot 10gn 240gn
Leather Gauntlets 5gn 235gn
Leather Greaves 5gn 230gn
Shortsword 13gn? 217gn
Vest 1gn 216gn
Gloves 2gn 214gn
... ... ...


Total Currency: 0 ON, 215GN, 0 SN, 0 CN
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