This is the roleplay discussion thread, where we talk about previous, current, and future forum-roleplaying gaming. All out-of-character chatter for all future roleplays must occur here so that we don't clutter up the Treasure Vault or the roleplaying games with chatter. This is also the thread where future roleplays will be brewed, created, and voted upon.

For those not familiar with roleplaying games, these are the default rules:
*No power-playing. You are not allowed to play as someone else's character. Do not write what someone else's character did, how that character reacted, etc. Use only your own character, and no one else's.
*No god-moding. You are not allowed to make a character invincible, omniscient, omnipotent, or otherwise do what is considered impossible within the bounds of the roleplay. Even minor things, like always dodging another character's attacks or being completely unmoved during an emotionally traumatizing moment, is considered god-moding.
*Stay in character. If your character is a poor swordsman, you're not going to be defeating an expert swordsman unless you have a serious advantage. If your character is highly rational, try to avoid having the character act emotionally. Make your character do what they would realistically have done in that situation, not just whatever suits your fancy.
*Avoid making Mary Sue characters. These characters are your average run-of-the-mill heroes or villains, fitting all the tropes in their category, being natural god-moders, or otherwise being unrealistic. Make your characters unique and realistic to the best of your ability.
*No meta-gaming. Your character should only perceive what is realistically perceptible to that character, and should not know of things that only you, the player, know about.
*Out-of-character chat should be explicitly separated the story. The most common way to do so is to preface it with "OOC," but I've seen players use double-parentheses ((like this)) or curly braces {like this} instead.

Standard rules of English grammar should also be enforced at all times. Maintain proper spelling, punctuation, and sentence structure (intentional misspelling excepted, like when simulating an accent). Your paragraphs should have two or more sentences each, and should be no more or less than 2-7 lines long.

Some of the playable race choices:
Isoran Knight
Valkyrie Knight
Mecha Knight
Gremlin
Spookat
Kat
Owlite
Chromalisk
Zombie Knight
Dreadnaught
Wolver
Alpha Wolver
Stranger
__________

APPS LIST

Creeperlucario

Name: Gardevoir
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Race: Almirian Crusader
Personality: Kind, patient and hates people that are impatient.
Loadout: Almirian Helm, Almirian Armor, Crest of Almire, 5* spear they use
Appearance without armor.

Biography: Gardevoir is an experienced Crusader who mastered using swords and spears but can't use guns or bombs. She grew up in Almire and was the first female Crusader since the other classes (Guard, crusader) where usually male only but when the elite guards noticed how well she handled spears and swords. As she was preparing to leave Almire, Lord Vanaduke started to take over. Gardevoir started to run throughout Almire avoiding the battles and Vanaduke's guards. She had to avoid 2 guards but since they were slow, Gardevoir didn't have much problem getting by them and got out of Almire. Gardevoir started to explore with the goal of finding Vanaduke and his guard's weaknesses and take back Almire.

Edolas

Name: Sir Gallon of Almire
Age: 30-35 when he was 1st in service to Vanaduke. Since he was Captured, Preserved, and since escaped while Almire was retaken by the Fiery Lord, his Physical age is still around 35, but actual age is closer to 60.
Race: Almirian Crusader.
Height: 6ft 1.

Appearance: His face is rarely shown, only revealing the Cyan pyres that are his eyes. His helmet is that of the Almirian Crusader Set, with a crack appearing through one of the eyes, and bearing a Tarnished Bronze colouration in place of the usual Ivory. The metal banding on the back of the helm remain the same iron colour. His armour bears its ivory shoulder pad and wrist-guards, as Tarnished Bronze also. Around the arms, body, and down to his shins is a dark grey Trench coat. It bears the faded symbol of Almire on its back, with a dullen Golden Wreath design cicrled around it. The trench coat is quite aged and shows signs of weathering.

References:
Almirian Crusader Armor (ivory as bronze)
Almirian Crusader Helm (ivory as bronze)
Almirian Crest (trench coat crest).
Face (his face revealed in RP thread, page 3).

Equipment:
Almirian Crusader Helm (Weakness to Ice instead of Fire. Resistance to Fire same value as Curse).
Almirian Crusader Armour (Weakness to Ice instead of Fire. Resistance to Fire same value as Curse).
Weather Trench Coat (Doesnt do much but waves around during fights, bears resemblance of his past, and makes him look cool).
Crest of Almire (The Sash has 8 Bronze pins on the shield's face, in memorial to his fallen brothers. They were added after his arrival at haven).
Furious Spear (The one that the Almirian Crusader Monsters use. Acts like a re-skinned Furious Flamberge, Pierce damage).
Satchel (Full of items and memories relating to his back story. Will kill anyone who attempts to open it).

Bio: Sir Gallon was once part of the Bronze Lancers. A sect of Knights from Almire, that were seen as an order deployed into various missions that other knights would not be able to handle. (Like the Spiral Order's Recon Rangers in a way). They were also seen as the most devoted in service to their ruler, Lord Vanaduke. From Rescue missions to Guerilla strikes, The Bronze Lancers were the top in their class in terms of any rank of Knights. This was due to more than training, but with bonds, as they treated each as their own brother. For their honourable duties to the Realm of Almire, they were treated with the wealth and and respect that they were deserved. Sir Gallon was treated to such pleasantries. Owning a Luscious abode close by to the Fortress itself, he dined, wined and enjoyed himself almost as much as a King. However this lifestyle of perks was sure to fall, and fall it did during one fiery knight.

The Fortress was in a blaze one night. No other had seen the cause of the fire, nor any who may have been behind it as an assasination attempt on the Lord. The Bronze Lancers were sent in to try and rescue their Lord, holding dedication & Loyalty far higher than safety. Manouvering past burning supports, and smouldering furniture, some of the Lancers became pinned down in the wreckage. 1, 2...3 more hallways passed, and in the smoke and flames of the confined halls, there was no way of telling if they were getting closer to their target. Gallon was adamant in his heart that he return for his Kinsmen who may still be trapped beneath burning lumber, but his sense of loyalty to his lord outshone these thoughts. Pressing on, with only him and 5 others of his team remaining, they came to a chamber that split off in 3 directions. Sir Gallon and his Brother-in-arms, Sir Tarrow, would take the centre, while 2 others would take the hall turning left and their Captain, Zydon, to venture the right. Nodding to eachother, knowing that the danger of the situation may leave them never seeing some of their companion's faces again, they set off to find their Lord, and hoped he had not perished.

Gallon & Tallow could tell they were nearing the Throne room, as the decorations and furniture were becoming gilded in design. Nearing the throne room, they caught a glimpse of the Captain's armour, as his body lay dying and bloodied on the floor. Rushing over to him, they saw that he had been fighting with another, and had lost. Knowing their leader's capabilities, they saw his assailant to be a true beast of battle. As they were mourning for their captain, the roof began to fall in on them. Both thinking fast, they jumped to each side, being seperated in the process. Tallow was on the side entering the Throne room, so emotinally saluted his brother, and set off to try and rescue their lord. Gallon, however stood there. He was failing his duty to his Lord, he could not pursue his fellow-Lancer, nor could even protect his own captain. Yelling to the winds, he set off to find another way around, when he heard the muffled wails of Tallow, echoing out of the Throne room. Standing in shock, the walls were slowly burning around him. Slowly cursing his very existance.

Burdened with a growing amount of shame and sense of failure, he collapsed, holding his hands around his head tightly, wanting to awaken from such a Nightmarish scenario. His entire squad had fallen, all like Brothers to him, and they were all dead within a single night, from a Mysterious blaze that had probably taken the life of his Lord also. He began to run. He ran through the city, and further into the outer districts. Only when he was on the edge of the city's limits, did he turn back, dying from exhaustion and a loss of honour. His body fell down on that spot, where it did not arise for some time.

When Gallon awoke, his surrounding were unfamiliar to him. There were mechanical men pacing around the halls, and furry bipedal creatures alongside them, carrying away his equipment. He looked down to see himself in a grimey gown, with tubes inside of his arm. Reaching over, he pulled out the chemicals flowing into his system, and got up. What had happened during the time he was out? Had scavengers taken his body like a heap of trash and lumbered their way back to their own base? With all these thoughts buzzing in his head, and the need to find answers, the sound of the door opening sent him laying down into a dormant position again. The Mender in a white uniform and mask began to look over the Lancer, and noticed the tubings were out, grumbling to himself, he took the tubes and made the motion to place them back in. The Lancer's hands too the Gremlin's arm and mouth in a swift motion to make sure he couldnt act or scream for aid.

"Answers, beast". Gallon hushed in a harsh tone. The terrified gremlin pointed his head toward a monitor screen. Gallon, not being in a merciful mood, twisted the head of the gremlin in a quick motion, snapping its neck. The Gremlin slumped to the floor, as the Lost Knight looked over the records. 25 Years. He had been out for 25 years, kept in working order from the preserving chemicals and treatments the Gremlins had used on him. Taking in all this made him look around the room for something to support his weight. Suddenly grasping the edge of a table, he started to ease his breathing, as his past training had told him to in panicked situations. Taking deep breaths, he began to think, and deduced that he would need his equipment back in his possession.

Gallon looked both ways from the Lab's doorway, and turned left, seeing that this was the direction the other Machines and Gremlins had taken his items. He made his way through the ways very quickly, in desperation to get out of the facility as soon as possible. He came to a large double door, with a sign reading 'Utility Storage'. Peering inside, he spotted his gear being looked over by another Mender in white. Opening the door as quietly as he was able, he crept inside. The White clothed Gremlin was stunned in place as the hands of the Lancer found themselves around the Gremlin's head. Another quick snapping motion, and another life had been taken by the Lancer. Although taking down foes with hardly any field experience wasn't much of a challenge thinking about it. Gallon took his items, and donned them there and then. Looking around for something that could aid his escape, he noticed a large box on the wall that read 'Power Breaker'. Not quite sure of what it did, he hoped it created a diversion of some sorts, he struck the box with the handle of his spear. Sparks began to fly, as the lights flickered off. Gallon took the chance the moment darkness, fell and rushed out the hall. He was bumping into Gremlins in a panic to get the Lights back on. No-one knew what they were bumping into, luckily for the Cursed Knight. A few minutes later, and he had reached the doors of the compound, where artificial skylines greeted him once more. Hurrying himself over the hills, he vowed to get some answers about what had happened to his Home since his capture, and on that fateful night.

A few days of wandering through unknown levels, ascending and descending through inummerable elevations, and the lone Lancer came across a place that seemed very different from all other places he had visited on his journey. It was a bright town, with white walls and buildings. Small birds flew around with tall mysterious beings over-shadowing him, making even a Cursed Almirian Knight feel uneasy. He roamed the streets, until he found a canvas to rest under, not aslpee, but losing himself in Painful thoughts of his Friends, Companions, Home, and a Vengeance against the soul who took all of this away from him, in a single night of ash. To this day, he roams the streets past sunset, remaining silent to all who he passes. The snipes and strangers dont take any heed of him, and he has grew accustomed to this. A town passing him by, like a statue in time.

Notes: Is very resistant to fire, with a good chance of inflicting fire on all weapons.

(Kept with Shamed Almirian Elite, just tweaked to make him not-undead).
(He was around during the 1st reign of Vanaduke. He's some sort of Elite).
(He is however an Outcast from his once proud title and home of a lost sect. He has no perks other than his training and fancy looking gear).

Darkwatck

Name: Mortis O. Stabitha
Age: Undead, age no longer applies.
Gender: Male
Class: Almirian Shadow Guard (dreadnaught)

Appearance: A Slag Walker bound in Almirian Armor.
Eyes: Burning yellow as if on fire.
Hight: 6' 11"
Weight: 248 lbs
Hair: none, burned away.

Race: Almirian (undead)

Equipment:
Almirian Crusader Helm.
Almirian Crusader Armor.
Blackend Crest. (Crest has been Burned out)
Deadnaught Lance.

Status:
Slag: is always on fire.
Shadow/Curse: You have been given a second chance.
Undead: What a Horrible Night to have a Curse. (That will never get old)

Personality: Tends to be slow, attacks with his Lance and Shield. Is a Slag Walker in Almirian Crusader armor and helm. Is able to speak, but not very well. Has a passive ability with fire, not able to use it very well actively. Does not talk very much but can think for himself. Is always breathing heavily, tends to walk rather than run.

Bio: A loyal man to the very end, but in death this man turned on his former master. Starting out as nothing more than a crusader with dreams of glory, Mortis found that in his time, killing people for land, money, and fame only seemed make him more angry and less happy. Having walked in the hollow halls of the Almirian Citadel where he once claimed glory, he now avoids getting further to the top and hangs around giving advice to those willing to listen.

In the time before his fall, the man was a known champion and fighter for the Almirian military. He kept back the undead many times but always found himself mourning for those he killed. The only thing he ever regretted was the time he let his best friend be turned into an undead, and having to be the one to put down the man he once called his Best Friend. Though he died died fighting for his land he never truly once felt as if it was right, always thinking something else was better.

When the fatal day came, Mortis found himself far beyond the help of those he once called his friends. He was stabbed in the back and left for dead while the others turned on their once-beloved home. As the fires took him, he did not die. Rather, he fought his way back out to have a second chance at life, but at a price not even he could have foreseen. For as he walked through the fire and brimstone, he felt a presence of darkness cascading upon him as he left behind the shadows of the grave and the works of fire. Taking the weapons he used during his life, the man walked the plains to find the men and woman who betrayed him, not for revenge, but rather for closure, and instead of killing them, he rather let them live and suffer so he could die and be at peace.

The more he moves, the more he seems to forget things, but keeping his armor and weapon helps him anchor his mind back down and keeps him from becoming just another mindless monster. The only weapon he does not like is his body, as it is always on fire and burns anything he tries to touch because of the curse laid upon him when he died. With his goal now set, this once-hailed hero now turns his blade to the other side, but never would he harm one he would call a friend if he could remember who they were.

Now as a warrior with no fear, Mortis marches forth into this unknown world outside of his normal plane. He does not know what he will find, but the chance to be known once more shines bright in his mind.

Sandwich-Potato

Name: Fennel.
Age: 84. However, Strangers can live for hundreds of years, so he is still in the prime of life. Like an elf, or a dwarf.
Race: Stranger.
Physical aspects:
-6'8" (being much taller than a normal height knight. Woah, I just made a rhyme there.)
-Light blue, almost ethereal eyes.
-Brown hair.
-180 lbs.

Arsenal:
-Twin sunsteel daggers, with a symbol looking like the bottom right one Divine one. In each hilt, a weathered green stone is seen, resembling an emerald. The blades are a tarnished bronze shade, each about a foot and a quarter long. Sheathes are lined with Tortodrone leather to prevent any noise at night while running. Hilts are six inches long, covered with an absorbent, rough fabric to make gripping easier and to suck in all sweat while fighting. They leave quite the scar on the survivors, of which there are few.
-A cloak of near complete darkness, made from a Phantom. It's impossible to see at "night". It provides only moderate shadow defense and a little curse resistance.
-Leather armor and cap containing royal jelly goo for comfort. It resists piercing highly and provides moderate normal defense. Nothing that a Trojan couldn't easily break through.
-A whistle that's too high for most creatures to hear. It alerts his Sprite to assist his master when not present. Only used in serious fights.
-A necklace with a rare mixture of mercury and melted sapphire. We'll get to that in a sec. Provides no defense whatsoever, but he treasures it highly.
-An Argent Peacemaker and a Sentenza. Both come with a retractable scope and optional silencer, which slows the shots but muffles the noise.

Personality: Speaks quietly and moderately, observant, not afraid to stand up for himself or his companions. Has a sense of moral and honor, and is willing to defend an injured creature, friend or foe, until xe recovers. Quick-minded, spends most of the time alone brooding about one thing or another. A dirty fighter; will use any tactic to defeat his foe. Good at bluffing, probably because his face is obscured and his voice isn't harsh or demanding. Hardened by decades of patrol duty. Wary of non-Strangers (only outside of Haven, that is).

Biography: Not raised in Haven like most Stranger children, Fennel's parents were Haven's "scouters" (Official name being Haven's Watchers and Protectors), a group of stealthy multi-purpose elite military group who kept watch in case Haven was attacked. (When the Spiral Knights arrived, the group was disbanded and the members happily reunited with their nears and dears.). His parents were often on the move, be it a swarm of Dust Bunnies approaching or simply escorting an official during diplomacy. However, his sire was reclusive, as was his spouse. They hardly knew anyone in Haven besides the Vendors, and they couldn't just leave Fennel on his own, visiting only briefly once in a while. Additionally, the Strangers approved of a child taking the path of xyr ancestors. His parents were loathe to break such tradition, and the only way to maintain it was to keep Fennel with them at all times, risky though it was.

Thus, they took their child with him, raising him to not make a noise (rewarded with food and a game when safe), and to possess a sharp mind, able to make split-second decisions. Teaching him only the practical matters, such as fighting, sleeping light, and quick observation, Fennel grew up unable to read, write, and retained only a rudimentary knowledge of Cradle's lore. The life of a scouter favored combat over calculus. Even so, some parts were shared, in a bizarre fashion. They replaced counting apples on a tree to counting how many miles they were from a safe spot. Replaced science with the weak spots on each creature. In essence, Fennel grew up with a much different lifestyle than a typical Stranger in Haven.

On one of the infrequent times when Fennel and his parents were in Haven, he met two fellow scouters, Basil (how else do you think he survives all those monsters in the Clockworks?) and Cauli, a female (before anyone asks: just friends. No attraction besides friendship.). Over the years, all three developed a sense of sibling-like family, much like the Almirian Knights. By the time his parents retired from their career, the trio was as close as you could get, often scouting together. Cauli always toted around a necklace of silver-and-blue, saying that she had got it from a friend who had died in a Zombie attack (which also led to the forming of the scouters).

Of course, most good things come to an end, and this wasn't an exception. On a "night" time scouting mission in an abandoned Gremlin Compound, the factory deployed automatic defense mechanisms, filling the place with toxic gas. The only way to nullify it was with a Remedy Capsule or by using a specially designed mask that only fit Gremlins. Cauli ran out of capsules first, and was hauled out of the facility. Her condition worsened, and by "dawn" had passed away. It was like losing a dear sibling. Basil resigned from the scouters, crushed with grief. Eventually, he took to selling the weapons blueprints that he had in order to support himself, often camping out in dangerous locations (as any people there would definitely be experienced enough to use the armaments). Fennel, though, dove into his work to deal with the grief, retaining Cauli's necklace to remember her.

Decades later, Fennel had mostly recovered from the emotional pain, only thinking of her sometimes on her birthday. Currently, he's in Haven, taking a well-earned rest after sniping an enormous Tortodrone.

Vinnydime

First character
Name: Ophelia
Age: Estimated to be ~50
Gender: Androgynous, can be assumed as Female.
Class: Waywanderer (Strangers unaffiliated with Haven)
Race: Stranger

Appearance: Out of armor, Ophelia is a tall, lanky humanoid. Pallid skin the color of bones uneasily clings onto the taut muscles of this Stranger, and it's legs (for the lack of an obvious gender) and arms are slightly deformed at the joints so that they point outwards. Ophelia appears to have a slackjaw of some sort, as it only closes its mouth when eating or speaking. Silk-smooth hair runs down the pale head, which drops just below the chin. The Stranger appears to have no eyes, as only a pair of pitch-black sockets is there for it to be seen, and yet it can see clearly as though a Kat might. Ophelia stands at a monolithic 6'8 when hunched over, and can surpass to seven feet in height when its back is straightened.

The Stranger is clothed in the Obsidian Robes of Sight, though it still prefers its Sniped Hat to cover its head. Underneath the armor, it wears a heavily-refurbished tank-top of many pale colors, and a long pair of sweatpants.

Equipment:
Sniped Hat (Stranger equivalent of Azure Guardian)
Obsidian Robes of Sight (Stranger equivalent of Shadowsun Slicker)
Gran Faust
Obsidian Bomb

Status:
Curse with Gran Faust
Poison with Obsidian Bomb.

Personality:
A slow, thoughtful Stranger with a rather pessimistic look on life. It doesn't seem to be quick to any stimuli but danger. Intelligent by nature, and cruel by its personal life, Ophelia is a very strange Stranger indeed.
Bio: Revealed as time passes by and prolonged interaction continues.

Second character
Name: Naomi
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Class: Skirmisher (Close Combat)
Race: Isoran
Status: Stun via Swiftstrike Buckler

Appearance: Out of armor, Naomi is a very small girl, who is of very petite proportions. Standing at a miniature 4'10 and weighing a mere 78 lb., Naomi makes for a lean, lightweight girl with a surprising amount of strength in her tiny parameters. She usually wears her raven-black hair in a pair of ponytails, and covers up her fair (not so much as pale) skin with her suit (a specially built unitard to activate layers of armor on top, which is standard for all Knights). Some of the male Knights tend to extend their gaze on her for longer than usual, but then again, the only people she's appealing to are some boys in their prime 20s or old geezers way beyond their supposed life expectancy.

Her personal color, like her eyes, is jade-green.

Equipment:
Tailed Helm
Spiral Culet
Cutter
Blaster
Swiftstrike Buckler

Personality: By normalcy, she is somewhat of an introvert. Though she doesn't speak much, she does tend act out to her morals...whatever they are. In other words, your Average person. Some sense of patriotism, some sense of chivalry, etc., though she's easy to sway in terms of political, religious, and other views.

Bio: Born on the Skylark post-Morai Wars, Naomi has called the giant ship her home for her whole life. She was trained extensively on the arts of combat by Konway, and sparred with many a Knight, including Barrus, Feron, and Vaelyn. Though she was originally a guard on the Skylark, aiding in efforts to subjugate dissidents who tried to mutiny or sabotage the Skylark, the crash has rendered her jobless, and she wakes to explore the new world that is Cradle...

That is, if a certain Ophelia wasn't going to stop her.

Topoyozariane

Name: Herston Ashuran
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Faction: Spiral Order
Race: Isoran
Equipment: Master Blaster, and his trusty Master Blast Bomb.

Appearance: Out of armour, Herston is a short, scrawny little dude. With his armour on, you wouldn't see the diffrence between him and another knight.
He wears the Standard Cobalt Armour, though I would prefer it if he obtains Wyvern Scale Mail later in the game. xD
Wears a blue T-Shirt that says, 'Cobalt Wearers FTW.'

Personaility: A fun loving guy, he thinks of himself as trigger-happy. He jokes a lot, but is very sensitive about being short. He is always ashamed about himself being short.

Biography: To be revealed. Right now he is trapped underneath the a part of the Skylark. After exiting his Pod, a piece of rubble hit him, and right now his legs are stuck underneath it.

Hexlash

Name: Veru (From Latin 'truth'.)
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Arsenal: Solid Cobalt Armor, and Cobalt Helm as his armor set, with a Mighty Honour Guard as his shield. He uses two 'Swift Flourishes' as his primary weapon.

Personality: Bold and caring, Veru was a great up and coming Knight. During training, he would often be guilty of showing off a bit, as he was quite a fanciful fencer, leading him to be a bit arrogant, but not so much to a degree that it would become a fault. His affinity for fencing also taught him great honour and strength. He had a natural charisma that gave him an optimistic demeanor, but at the same time he acted awkward and out of character around others. Due to his inability to commune well with others, and despite having 'friends', he was always lonely, resulting in him to space out when alone, plaguing him often. He loves technology, and was planning on receiving technician training after his soldier training was complete. That actually complemented another one of his strengths, which was being a great learner, and quick thinker. He was strangely forgetful as well, contributing to his unique personality.

Bio: Ever since he was little, Veru looked up to his parents, his mother being a head technician and his father just reaching the rank of Vanguard shortly after his birth. As stated in the personality section, it was soon discovered that Veru was a fairly decent fencer, and his father encouraged it, being his mentor. However, Veru mainly concentrated on his swordsmanship, infrequently attempting any other battle styles, thinking that he was fine just learning the ways of the sword. Veru entered a competition when he was around 16 for a Mighty Honour Guard, used by one of the best training officers, his father. This competition was the highlight of his life, and he loved the rush that he got when he was facing off against his opponents, but never once did he injure them, he would always cleverly disarm them, locking them into a position of defeat. However, in the last round, he faced one of his 'best friends' probably the person that Veru had connected with the most, which wasn't much to say, but they still held on friendly terms. Amongst the midst of battle, Veru had abruptly made a fatal error, tensing up and losing all focus. His 'friend' easily noticed that something was wrong, and hesitated, but Veru had already dropped his Flourish. Though his 'friend' won, he gave the shield to Veru, claiming that it belonged to him anyways, adding that Veru would probably have more use for it then himself. Veru never did figure out what happened that day, and it always stuck in his mind.

Remiliaoftheearth

First character
Name: S.O. Vesta, prefers to be called Vesta. (Having never told anyone her first name, it remains as initials)
Gender: Female.
Rank: Recruit.
Appearance

Vesta is a bold, courageous knight. With more of the personality of a Striker than anything else, that is what she aims to become. One hitch, though; about the only sword she can wield is her Parrying Blade, and thus it is her most prized possession. Shorter and slighter in build that anyone she knows, she can barely hold most swords with both hands, let alone use them.

On the other hand, she is a talented swordsman, and while she might survive as either a gunslinger or a bomber, she doesn't understand such weapons as well as swords. Her current goal is to obtain a Flourish, as she has seen it on other knights, and its size gives her hope that maybe... someday... she will advance beyond the rank of recruit, which she has been stuck in for years.

Her first name is a source of intense embarrassment, and she insists on going by her surname. That is, to those who keep her acquaintance long enough to ask it of her. She wears her shield on her back, and while it protects that area, in such a position it cannot generate the normal bubble of defense.

When she is in her comfort zone, she can be calm, collected and confident. When in an unfamiliar situation, however, she becomes flustered and tends to panic. She dislikes taking orders from others, as she is a good strategist, and though she is probably not a "born leader", she - well, she has yet to obtain a chance to prove her abilities, since after all, she is just a recruit.

Second character
Name: Feravis
Age: Roughly 1 1/2.
Gender: Female.
Species: Wolver (specifically, a Tier 1 normal Ash Tail at the moment)
Appearance (I added her to Vesta's link)

Feravis was born in a small, comfortable pack in a small, comfortable Wolver Den around Depth 1. She lived the first year of her life training with her elders and playing with those her age, eating mostly shrubbery - a must for a den that size, vacated by all potential meat. The place was generally warm, but oddly enough, even in winter, Feravis felt very little of the cold that left the rest of the pack shivering and huddling together, never leaving shelter. She herself had been out exploring.

Soon after her first birthday, one morning she woke to find an uncomfortable itch in her shoulders. She couldn't shake it away, so went in search of another, who with one glance at her fled whimpering to fetch the rest of the pack. She seemed to have grown feathery wings, not even decent fiery ones; no indeed, to add to her embarrassment, these were a brilliant white!

Embarrassment turned to terror, as she was turned from the pack, an outsider. With painful wounds both on her body and in her soul, she began to traverse the more shallow Clockworks depths, searching for a place to call her home once more. After almost a month, she made her way to the surface and searched there.

No wolvers of any type she came across would greet her in anything bordering on a friendly manner, often attacking her without a word. Hiding where she can, she has lived nothing near the life she would have wished for.

She would do much to find a friend.

Granseal

Name: Bowie
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Rank: Valkyrian Hero (Akin to the Spiral Order's Vanguard.)
Status: Resistant to Shock, Fire, Shadow. Deals: Shock, Holy

Appearance: Bowie stands about 6' tall and weighs around 190lbs. He has a slender build and excellent flexibility from training in acrobatics and sword training. Wearing a scarlet cape with a golden underside, he is a handsome young knight. His turquoise eyes speak volumes about what he has witnessed in his life, both on the battlefield and off. Framing his face, his blond hair is kept in check with a headband dyed baby blue. Out of his armor, he still wears the cape and forest green tunic with leather boots.

Equipment: He wears the standard equipment of a Valkyrie but carries a Grey Owlite Shield. His sword, which he affectionately calls The Force Sword, is an ancient relic blade. A modified Divine Avenger, the edges glow a holy green. Holding the blade aloft to the heavens and speaking the magic words, lightning erupts from the blade.

Magic: His bloodline can be traced back for over a thousand years to Max, another hero of Valkyrie legend. He has command of the ability to shock foes with a burst of lightning bolts and to teleport to a safe location when things go badly. In battle he can use the magic of lightning only three or four times, as it is mentally exhausting.

Personality and history: Brave, with a heart of gold. Also an intelligent and observant fighter, solving the mystery of the ruins of Ribble by placing a wooden board in the knothole of a tree. A far cry from several years ago when he was a mischievous young swordsman under the tutelage of Sir Astral, a great wizard. Back in those days, he'd oversleep and miss school or go along with his friends on mischievous adventures like sneaking into the castle under the pretense of delivering a package to Sir Astral to see the Princess, even looking in her wardrobe! The transformation into the born leader and master swordsman took place during the war to seal Zeon, a powerful, almost demonic fallen Valkyrie. Still a humble swordsman, he gathered up a few friends and his Drakon, Kiwi to help his king. This long campaign took several years and over the course of the campaign, several allies fell in combat or made the penultimate sacrifice for him. The most memorable was at the end of it all, when Sir Lemon restrained Zeon and walked into the sealing circle. On that day, he wept for them all, even though his ragtag band of friends and mates had won the day. Peace would return and he and his allies were called, "The Shining Force" for their deeds.

After some rest, he headed off to Haven for the next big adventure. One with the bloodline of a hero never rests for too long in one place. There would always be someone who needs help, and that is what his purpose in life was, to fight the good fight and make new allies in the process. Plus the spoils of victory are always nice to have. Give him a chance and he'll talk your ear off about his exploits and how Jaha pulled a piece of ship planking so hard he flew into the sea!

Deadly-Sin-Revenge

Name: Eevee
Gender: Female
Age: 32
Race: Valkyrie
Personality: Helpful, caring, very shy around men, hates conflict, has lots of energy and can be blunt

Loadout: Light Seraphynx, Dark Maskeraith, Spatial Sensing (Allows Eevee to check out the level and sense hidden enemies), psi-blade (Deals shadow damage), thunderbolt (Deals elemental damage) and needle-launching (Deals piercing damage). Doesn't use shield (Except for Seraphynx's Aura) and doesn't use any weapons, just magic.
Appearance

Biography: Eevee grew up with the Valkyrie's but was the odd one out because she was able to learn advanced magic skills when she was 10 but this affected growth because of the tradition. She did not improve much on guarding or using main weapons by the time she left Valhalla at 20. She then realized the freedom she got and started to explore Cradle, encountering new enemies, the vast clockworks and even the core which was locked up at the time. She became renowned among Cradle's inhabitants for her unusual concern to help living life forms, and how much of the time she went out of her way to heal even the least of the creatures.

When the clockworks creatures started to get more hostile, they started to take their toll on Eevee. She started to become reserved such as rarely speaking unless necessary and avoiding the more intelligent species when possible. A close call in Firestorm Citadel's firey enemies left her wings clipped which prevented her from flying anymore and the subsequent war with the undead nearly destroyed her fragile mind.

Since then, her magic skills have gotten stronger but she never fully recovered from the rough battle.