Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Posted: **Tue Jun 17, 2025 11:58 am**

Ashari

"In her name, I rise..."

Race: Raionan
Age: 120
Date of Birth: 06th Cylus XXX

Posted: **Tue Jun 17, 2025 11:58 am**

Personality

"... and In her Honour, I Serve"

Devoted to the ideals of her creator, Daia, and the belief in hope for the Mortal kind, Ashari serves her purpose loyally as a protector for those who cannot protect themselves. Striving to bring about the security and change needed to create a world that no longer festers upon the cusp of war and the backs of those starved into submission.

Generosity, Understanding, and Sanctuary. These are the values that far outweigh those of a blade. These are the ideals Ashari followed in her day-to-day and her interactions with others, choosing violence as the last resort where possible, though not willing to put herself or others in harm’s way.

Capital cities have their armies, but it’s the townsfolk and smaller homesteads who feel the brunt of war. They are the first to feel its sting, and as such, I will be there to help soften the blow.

For a vast majority of the time, Ashari retains a calm, almost stoic demeanour. Reflecting onto others an approachable and welcoming grace, desire to listen and to assist where able, predoinantly with any physically demanding labour. Yet, amid combat, the embued ferocity of her very spirit errupts to the surface, often leading to moments of self sacrafice for the sake of others.

Appearance

"I'll allow the term 'Fluffy'"

Ashari stands at 6ft 3 Inches tall from the tip of her rough, feathery mane to that of her partially cracked paw pads. Her fur, a shimmering pale blue tinted with ashen grey and ivory, grows darker along the back of her throat, which blends outwards across her shoulders and down through the sides of her ribs, and upper thighs. Longer portions of her mane are woven into tight braids, bandaged, and placed upon the front of her chest, draping down her collarbones.

Chosen attire consists of loose shawls, cottons, and thin canvas shirts, buckled with a plethora of belts and scarves across her stomach, leading into loose, breathable pants often taking on a more traditional Medieval appearance. Her blade rests within one of the many belts adorned to her side, and her shield is strapped to her back snugly, ready to be drawn should the need arise.

Posted: **Wed Jun 18, 2025 12:04 am**

Pre Magic

"I will not turn my back on her..."

Ashari was born in a time far before the current governing powers, the threat of war and materialistic gain. Alongside that of her fellow Raionan, guided by the grace of their creator, the role of Guardian was bestowed upon her people. A destiny by which many, including herself, viewed in the utmost regard. The highest honour.

To stand alongside the mortals Daia loved with all her heart, who she treasured and adorned such as her own flesh and blood, it was a path Ashari took to with utmost loyalty, unquestioned. As a cub, she trained in the art of unarmed combat alongside that of her closest companions, growing ever stronger as the Arcs came to pass. Her most trusted and beloved brethren, Vaelgor, often shared the brunt of such training, with both of them travelling together and eventually settling within the cusp of a small farming village.

Soon, as always, the Arcs flew by, and with it came an era of development swayed by the grace of their creator, and all she stood to achieve. Teachings of animal husbandry, working in tandem with the land and one another to create a unified nation, by which trade and one's word was of utmost importance. Mortals crafting songs depicting the efforts and role of there guardians, and in turn, the Raionan’s standing ever strong by their side.

These golden years, however, did not last. Times were changing faster than any, perhaps even Daia could have predicted. Stone walls began to shelter off communities as pittance, coin, soon took charge as the dominant source of trade, and in tandem, power. Land was no longer shared, but taken. Governments were born, and from them, a new order. Those once revered within their fields, left to starve.

Many of her kin took to the challenge with honour, the grace and determination of there creator, to stand strong as they always had before. Others crumbled, unknowing how they could bring back what once was, and calm the storm that lingered in waiting as the threat of war grew ever closer. Vaelgore, her closest companion, had too begun to change. Tainted by the cycle of cruelty which grew ever stronger, and choosing to lash back with vicious intent. The desire to kill. To put an end to the madness before it had time to secure its roots within society. This clash of ideals tore their bond in half, forcing her to leave in search of anew. For those who still believed there was a chance.

The Arcs following were a blurred amalgamation of events, though eventually she came to settle within a remote farming village plagued by that of individuals seeking to use others for their own gain. It was here that Ashari flourished, acting as a protector to the residents and driving bandits, thieves, and other such filth from the town into the hands of local law. Things where starting to look up, and with it came a new chapter for the young Raionan. Love. A husband and a child, a home to call her own, and a town starting to break free from its corrosive roots in favour of balance with the land around it, and return importance to the hands of its labourers.

Yet, it was not enough.

A night like any other, her beloved daughter 'Kaeryn' neatly cradled within her arms, wrapped in several layers of handcrafted silk and cotton thread as Ashari's soft velvet paws caressed her oak brown hair. To the side, her partner 'Vandric', of whom had fallen to the allure of sleep but moments prior, an arm’s length from his wife. His protector. A simple gaze cast upon their figures was enough to embue Ashari’s very soul with a warmth none could attest. From her pale soft brown maw, whisperings of creatures and battles that never were, her daughter, of whom still just a babe, stood before armies as the grand hero, saving the day.

A goodnight story before it all fell to silence, and the ground beneath her feet shattered, casting her aside into the presence of Ralaith. Confused, scared, her livelihood came to a sudden close, and the only words by which to explain detailing war… of Daia’s demise.

Awakening once again from a seemingly both endless, and momentary slumber, Ashari returned to her homestead to find it naught more than ruin. The belief that they had made change, and paved the way for a better future for those living within its borders burried beneath dense thicket, and twisting vines. Her Husband, her child. Gone. Lost to time.

There was nothing left for her here, and as such, brokenhearted and locked within shock, the young Raionan found her place upon the open road. Traversing without a goal or any idea as to what had happened, if her awakening was some sort of test or twisted illusion. Yet, alas, it was not. Far from it, in fact. From within the depths of the night's shadows, far beyond her line of sight, came an ear-shattering scream, piercing through the silence, sending the remnants of her pitiful reflection into submission. Swift as her four paws would allow, thundering through the undergrowth, thick golden brown fur cascaded into the open as piercing yellow eyes widened upon the scene before her.

A man, adorned in shaded leathers standing before three bodies, a woman, a man... and a child. Within his hands, a pouch, hanging there like some contorted prize, something to be treasured. Well earned in favour for needless slaughter. Memories of the moments following are a blur, though the anger felt within that instance was like nothing she had experienced before. It was primal. Festering within her very bones as muscles acted on their own accord, blood splattering from sharpened claws which seemed to demand their own Justice. Yet as his arms raised, his screams begged forgiveness, a shimmer caught her eye. Within the reflection of his steel gauntlet, a face.

Her own reflection, but seemingly unrecognizable, broken. Snarling and lost to that of the fire which burned bright in her soul, demanding answers, demanding the man's life be snuffed out by her paws alone.... Then the crunch, her paw engulfing his head and slamming it into the floor as once desperate arms fell limp. Was he dead? No. For even now his chest ebbed and flowed with the intake of air, the allowance of life.

She was no monster. She was no animal.

Many cycles followed, trapped in isolation. Time spent within the confines of her own company, locked away from this new world and unwilling to face it alone. It had been too much, too fast, the weight by which she had lost not just her family, but her very being. Her purpose. The Mortals she had been created to protect, sworn into servitude alongside and guide towards a greater future, where no more. Gone from this world and replaced with creatures by which she had no understanding. Cities far beyond her comprehension, whispers of war, of fractures, and instances of such tainted greed that her mind fell to ruin. Shattered.

Desperate cries and countless nights begging, pleading to make sense of what had happened had done nothing to calm the inferno within her very soul. It was time for another approach, something that at first seemed impossible to achieve. Acceptance. Nights once spent curled up in senseless rage within the confines of her home, slowly but surely, coming to pass. With time, her primal anger began to calm, to settle, and her incessant need for answers, demands for what was lost, overshadowed by a simple truth.

Daia was alive. With her return, a call to arms. To stand united once again as the intended guardians of mortal kind and resume her post.

Yet, times had changed, and so too must those who had been trapped in slumber for countless Arcs. Whilst her devotion to Daia was not to be lost, nor her understanding and willingness to follow true to her intended purpose, this new world held a sense of foreboding dread by that couldn't be ignored. These were not the same people that once walked this land.

Emerging from isolation, Ashari's once golden brown fur had since paled, tainted by countless days spent wallowing in turmoil. Now, a soft ashen blue flecked with ivory, only remnants of her true colours remain akin to the ends of her maw, or woven within the rugged layers to her mane. Unseen unless disturbed within the suns presence.

After settling into the confines of a small village under the watchful eye of its residents, Ashari got to work, beginning to once more find use for herself and begin anew. Assisting farmers with heavy transports, training within the late hours of the evening, hiring herself out as a mercinary under the laws by which the local authorities saw fit. Anything possible to rebuild the presence of her people and the sense of sanctuary they embodied....

Posted: **Wed Jun 18, 2025 1:23 pm**

Belongings

"I cannot hope to achieve much, should I come Ill prepared"

Cloth, cotton, and warm-toned layered shawls (Travelling Attire) x1
An Average Quality Longsword x1
Good quality, Tier 6 Half Plate armour - Heirloom item (Brought with her after Raionan where put into stasis, and re-awakened) x1
Good quality Tier 4 Heater Shield x1
A travelling satchel x1
A bracelet from her daughter, woven by silk, string and leather x1

Housing

"Home is.... gone., but never forgotten"

After many cycles spent working alongside residents within a small townsted, Ashari was able to scrape up enough funds to secure herself a quaint little cottage, simplistic within it's design and interior yet, suitable for a woman who's profession relies on adverse travel.

Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Ashari

Ashari [Approved CS]

Personality

Backstory

Belongings and Housing