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The World


The Nine Regions have existed as long as the world itself. They have prospered, waned, died, and sprung to life through endless days and nights, as is the nature of life. The center of the land is marked by the great tree of light, Yggdrasil. A beast of a tree, it is, and revered as a God- with mighty roots thicker and longer than the largest sea serpent to ever live that are woven through the entire crust of the planet. These roots connect all Nine Regions and nourish them with energy so that life can cycle in its natural ways. The tree is the largest in the galaxy, easily seen from the heavens as a silvery beacon of life and hope. Its trunk is so large that measuring its girth was deemed a task too impossible to complete, with bark silvery and pure like the silk of a unicorn foal's nose velvet. Its massive branches extend wide and far across the Great Forest from which it had birthed, and its leaves shimmer and flutter akin to a fairy's wings. These leaves have never touched the earth, as none have ever fallen. Autumn, Winter, Summer, and Spring never reach Yggdrasil, for the powerful energy that resides within its chambers has kept such seasons at bay since it first stood erect. It is said that tea steamed from one of its leaves can cure any ailment, and a tiny strip of its bark is enough to heal any injury. Here, Yggdrasil is the only God, for it is Yggdrasil that is the sole being responsible for creating and sustaining life in the world. It is the very source of life and purity.


When the world came into being, the Nine Regions were created shortly after Yggdrasil's first and only blossom. As Yggdrasil's roots buried into the ground and spread across the surface of the planet, it left behind mountains and valleys and deserts and so forth. Creatures of endless diversity developed in these regions and survived through the seasons that resulted from Yggdrasil's power.

The most prosperous lands were then known as the Nine Regions, and are as follows:

[Click here for a visual aid. The red dots signify each different region]


The Great Forest [Center Region of the middle continent. Blue area denotes where Yggdrasil lives.]


Yggdrasil is surrounded by a dense collection of trees known as the Great Forest. They are so dense, in fact, that the ground floor is barren from the absence of light, and because their roots intertwine so tightly that it leaves little room for anything else to grow. The trunks of the trees grow so close together, only one man can fit comfortably between them. These trees pale in comparison to Yggdrasil, whom they surround, but are formidable in size on their own. Around where Yggdrasil stands there is a clearing where the trees dare not plant, and therefore offers a lush meadow at Yggdrasil's base where the purest of animals are preserved. This space, referred to as the Holy Garden, is a sacred place that is heavily protected by Yggdrasil's most beloved guardians. Even if someone were to make it out of the Great Forest alive, they must face judgement by these Guardians before they are ever allowed to set foot into the Holy Garden.

The Great Forest itself is quite the monster. Besides the great difficulty presented from traversing the mounds of roots and not twisting an ankle or getting wedged between a particularly close set of trees, there are countless horrors that linger in the shadows. Darkness is the only environment here, since moonlight and sunlight mostly fail at penetrating the thick canopy. What light does reach through the trees is meek and faint, and often not enough to help visually-impaired creatures such as humans get by. Beasts of many backgrounds lurk here as a protective space, and as Yggdrasil's first line of defense against evildoers. They are ruthless and savage, and without individual awareness; they kill to survive (often consuming their unfortunate victims) and because it is their nature to hunt anything not part of its pack. The Guardians are the highest rank of these creatures and are noble and wise, but they act purely in the best interest of Yggdrasil and have no compassion or empathy. To cross a Guardian is to cross Death itself.


The City of Trees [Dark Green area surrounding the Great Forest]


Around the Great Forest is another forest that is much more forgiving and manageable. In fact, it is a rather pleasant place and often a sanctuary for weary travelers. Its ring-shape around the Great Forest allows for many different communities to thrive without worry of invasion or attack by neighbors. (Not that there would be, as most people here are peaceful) The beasts inside of the Great Forest never step out from their home, but the areas around where the trees of the Great Forest begin are still considered dangerous. The trees of the City are different than those of the Great Forest; while the latter are large and suffocating, the City of Trees boasts a beautiful arrangement of trees of different sizes. The forest is spacious and aglow with light at all times, and the terrains is mostly level for easy travel. As a stark contrast to its darker brother, the City of Trees house creatures of tranquil and gentle nature, although this does not go to say that predators do not live here. Many different animals thrive here because of the close proximity to Yggdrasil's energy, and as the closest region to the almighty being, the City of Trees is often looked upon as a city of angelic and holy reverence. Praying to Yggdrasil is the most common practice known to inhabitants of the Forest and is seen as the most important custom.

[special Note: The cities here range from village-esque huts and cabins to highly modernized homes crafted directly from the tree trunks. Depending on the village, technological advancements may or may not be equated to that of modern day.]


The Silver Prairies [Green-blue region south of the City of Trees]


This is the world's largest expanse of grassland. The terrain ranges from completely flat to rocky hills, but very rarely will anyone see trees or cliffs. Grass grows here with vigor and can easily tower over the head of a full grown Centaur if left to its own devices. However, there are also stretches of land with very short grass that is used to grass livestock such as cattle and sheep. The wind is the worse assailant here, but the many villages that have sprung through the Prairies have learned to combat it by constructing their homes and buildings from stone, or by fashioning their towns in the tall, thick grass. These villages are made of mostly solitary people that enjoy to keep to themselves as a community, though strangers are rarely turned away. They are skilled people but live from the land instead of by inventions and handy gizmos. While not very technical or scientific folk, they are respected as a people that survive by old tradition and lifestyles.

[special note: Villages in the Prairies are reflections of Medieval towns and lifestyles. Guns, technology, or any such modern materials are virtually non-existent here]


The Whitesand Desert [southern most region from the City of Trees, colored in gold-brown]


The Whitesand Desert is a big area of hot desert and a bit of a misnomer. The sand, in fact, as the typical golden yellow, and rather coarse and grainy. Where the desert stems from the Prairies the land is flat and wide open, but deeper into the desert it is filled with mountainous dunes and rocks. A sprawling canyon lies to the very south and offers some shelter from the dust storms and heat. Toward the ocean are where the oases are found, and so most towns are built around them for the resources. The people here are low-to-mid advanced with technology, although they still preserve their heritage with tribal rituals and celebrations. Although they are further from Yggdrasil, they are virtually surrounded by the Topaz Ocean and are considered expert fishermen and traders. They export the best seafood to the rest of their world by their beautiful ships.

There are some nomads that live in the center of the desert and live in harmony with the hardier species that manage to survive in the harsh desert climate. While they frequent the tropical shores, they are mysterious and very elusive if need be. These nomads are typically friends of the dragons that live in the canyons and desert sands because of their seemingly endless resourcefulness.

The chain of islands that connects the Eastern side of the desert to the Silver Prairies are beautiful but small, so not many communities live there. They are referred to in number, starting with the First Island as the one located the closest to the Silver Prairies.

[special note: the tropical people are similar to those of Hawaiian decent with similar customs and traditions, although the land here is not as vibrant nor plentiful in vegetation. While knowledgeable about modern tech, they are equally skilled with manual labor and seem to prefer it.]


The Topaz Ocean [Dark blue ocean in the Southern hemisphere]


This ocean is so named because of the beautiful water that it sports. It houses many different creatures and is the warmer of the two oceans, and often thought of as the "kinder" body of water. Many tropical species live in these waters for the warmth and safety it offers, and so is very bountiful when it comes to fishing. Not many storms occur here, save for the occasional tropical thunderstorm that passes through the shores of The Whitesand Desert and The Blacksand Jungle.


The Blacksand Jungle [Large island to the west of The Whitesand Desert]


This is one of the most remote regions in the entire world. As the most tropical land, it boasts the most colorful and vibrant array of flora and fauna. Interesting breeds dwell on these lands, but only those with enough determination and self awareness ever emerge from the protective Jungle to leave the island. The natives here speak an entirely different language than the rest of the world, but most of the more intelligent people have learned to communicate with the outside world. They have their own dialect of the widely known language, but it is still understandable.

The inhabitants here are seen as the most primitive species besides those in the Great Forest. Because of this, they are normally feared by those who have had no prior interaction. The Whitesand Desert inhabitants have learned how to work with the natives and some have even learned part of the aboriginal language itself, but anyone outside of the Whitesand Desert is mostly ignorant about The Blacksand Jungle.

The land here is centered on the dormant volcano that once created the island. Yggdrasil's roots reach even here, and as a result of the energy from the tree God and the fertile soil, the overabundance of vegetation and animals can be shocking and nearly alien. The sand at the shores of the island are a striking black color, and is smooth and velvety compared to the sand from the Desert. However, treacherous rocks jut up from the sea around the island, so navigating in a boat to the island can be dangerous to one not accustomed to the journey.

The natives that live here have created their own communities and occasionally battle each other to establish territories, but for the most part do not regard others with hostility and will even go so far as to nurture a stranger back to health if they feel they are not threatened by them. Because of this, some natives cross-marry into the other tribes to start families, even if they cannot breed.

One of the mysteries that surrounds the Jungle natives is their peculiar technology. It is not mechanical technology like the modern world is used to, but strange tools that are rumored to be powered by Yggdrasil's own energy. They can do a multitude of tasks, and are even used as weapons if need be. From those that have witnesses these tools, they are described to be carved from stone, but laced with veins that pulsate with shimmering blue light. Sizes and shapes of these tools depend on what they are crafted for, and no one but the natives themselves know of where and how they originated.

[special note: Natives wear clothing typical of historical tribes from Africa and tropical countries, if of humanoid descent. They are skilled with hunting and stealth, but are usually curious about other trades and can make great students. They refuse to give knowledge about their mysterious tools and guard it feverishly from outsiders.]


Iron Valley [Large continent to the west of Yggdrasil's mainland, wraps around to the east]


The Iron Valley is the second largest region in the world. It connects to the Silver Prairies by a long, narrow marshland (simply named the Wetlands) that divides the Topaz Ocean and the Bleak Sea. There is a stretch of grassland that feeds into the valley before the rest of the continent is ringed by a huge mountain range. These mountains are called the Royal Crest, and the highest peak is King's Summit. Many winged creatures live and migrate there, such as Pegasi, Gryphons, Dragons, and Angels. The base of the mountains are protected by tall pine trees and massive boulders, and further up the slope the weather becomes treacherous from ice and wind.

In the heart of the valley, the world's largest and most technologically advanced city has taken root. They have mastered all of today's existing technology and science, with some of the more educated scientists having successfully created futuristic tech not quite readily available on Earth. The city has sprawling streets and towering skyscrapers, but toward the outskirts there are more suburban-type housing and rural countryside nearing the base of the Royal Crest. Inhabitants here are very knowledgeable about science and machines, and can be a bit lacking when it comes to surviving in the wilderness. However, being inventive creatures, they usually can figure out how to manufacture a tool out of scraps in a time of need. These people typically travel the most out of all creatures in the world and have stored the most information in their computers, but because they rely on technology the most, they are the most detached from Yggdrasil in terms of natural communication.

[special note: The tech in this city is very advanced and on par with what we use today in our own world. There are even more advancements than what we use today, so futuristic tech is also a norm here. They are very apt at protecting themselves from danger and illness, but their usage of technology and science has caused a disconnect between them and nature.]


The Bleak Sea [Gray-blue body of water in the northern hemisphere, separated from the Topaz Ocean by the Wetlands and the Marine Divide]


The northern sea is not a friendly one. As the Topaz Ocean's opposite, it produces icy, bitter waters with tremendous waves that show no mercy. Life in these waters is a constant struggle, and only those hardened by the unforgiving sea can survive here. Sailing on the Bleak Sea is nearly as dangerous as trying to trespass into the Great Forest, for the monsters are similar in their quest to destroy any outsiders. Although the water is gray and dull, the glaciers that it creates at the borders of the Forbidden Tundra are black and terrifying.


The Forbidden Tundra [Northern most region of land from the City of Trees, separated from the forest by a mountain range]


There is very little known about this place. This is due to the small amount of travelers that have ever journeyed here and back alive- perhaps the most dangerous place in the entire world, even more so than the Great Forest. The tundra is separated from the rest of the world by the Bleak Sea and a mountain range referred to as the Devil's Fangs, so named for the sharp, spiked peaks that nearly reach the clouds. Traversing the mountains is a feat in and of itself, although just as negatively stigmatized as roaming the tundra. A great taboo has been placed on those who step foot anywhere near the mountains or the tundra, as it is feared that the root of Yggdrasil that once fed this land has died, and in the absence of the life-giving energy, a terrible dark force was born.

Here is where Nithhöggr lives; it is a fearsome beast that resembles a dragon, but displays attributes of many different species. He was created as result of Yggdrasil's energy, a counter-force of sorts, but was contained in a deep slumber by the power in Yggdrasil's roots. His prison is a fortress of gigantic ice spears that encased the monster in a hollow glacier. For some reason, Yggdrasil's root stopped feeding the energy that kept Nithhöggr asleep and thus has allowed him to awaken. Though he still remains weak like a newborn, his power radiates through the Tundra and curses anyone who dares to venture into it.

[special Note: The rest of the Nine Regions have no idea who and what Nithhöggr is, or that he actually exists, though there is an old children's tale about an evil creature that was vanquished by Yggdrasil's holy power. However, with current events, rumors are pointing toward the Tundra as the source of the evil spreading through the world.]

Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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Endless kinds of creatures live in this world, but they are all connected through Yggdrasil's energy. Since the death of Yggdrasil's root in the Forbidden Tundra, a mysterious illness has begun to sweep through the planet. It began when a famous adventurer named Ignus Luther traveled to the Devil's Fangs in search of a treasure hidden there by a long-extinct tribe from thousands of years ago. When he managed to survive the cliffs, he decided to explore further into the Tundra as it was, at that point, uncharted territory. What he found instead of treasure astonished him- a dome-like structure made of collapsed ice pillars that appeared to glow from the inside. Ignus touched his glove to the ice out of awe, but suddenly found a pair of eyes glaring at him through the frost. He cried out and was flung back from the fortress by a mysterious force. Frightened to his wit's end, he fled back across the Tundra and somehow managed to descend the Devil's Fangs without much difficulty.

When he arrived back at his home in the Iron Valley, Ignus was feverish and babbling nonsense. His skin was searing hot and his eyes were bloodshot and murky. On the third day of his illness, froth began to form at his lips and his skin grew ghastly pale. He died a day later, with a bizarre black marking along the right side of his temple that traced along the edge of his face, curled behind his ear, and down the side of his neck. The veins surrounding the mark grew dark as well, similar to how the skin looks when poisoned with nightshade.


Stories of Ignus's adventure passed quickly, although the accounts of the story vary in each region. No one truly knows what it was that he witnessed in the Tundra, but it reinforced everyone's beliefs to leave the dead land alone. Of course, not everyone followed this stigma- several others after Ignus attempted to invade the Tundra, but none ever got as far as he before they were forced to turn back for one reason or another. Each time, they returned with a strange marking on the sides of their faces and necks, but these people never suffered illness nor died from strange circumstances. They did, however, change from their previous selves- After about a week from returning, it was observed that these travelers with the markings no longer spoke of Yggdrasil or left offerings for the tree as they once had. Those that lived in the City of Trees relocated elsewhere, farther from the forest, as if uncomfortable by the close proximity. However, what truly caused alarm was that the mark did not just remain on the original traveler. Somehow, the mark was contagious, and spread to others that came into contact with the travelers. Those that cared for Ignus as well caught the Mark, but no one could figure out what it meant or what it did. Fear of the Mark spread just was quickly as the accounts of Ignus Luther's death, and so anyone found to carry it were treated like diseased animals. Efforts to remove these people from society have been frequent, but usually fail once "normal" folk become too frightened to come near a Mark'd person.


Currently, it has been nearly a hundred years since Ignus Luther died. Stories surrounding his death and the Marks (called "The Luther Plague") still run rampant, and while fear over the Marks have diffused somewhat, there is no denying that those who become Mark'd are treated like vermin. Since the beginning of the Plague, those affected by the Marks sometimes undergo bizarre behaviors such as seizures and sporadic muscle spasms, but none have ever fallen victim to illness such as that responsible for Ignus's death. When these occur, the outline of the Mark becomes tinged with violet or red light. It seems that the Plague is no longer as easily caught as it had originally been; now a days, most are either born with it or poisoned with it by somehow consuming a Mark'd person's blood.


Since the appearance of the Marks, the world has begun to witness a ravenous darkness. The seasons have started to blur together, which ruins crops and migration patterns for the flora and fauna. Dead things randomly appear out of no where; some look to be slaughtered, others have no conclusive sign of death. Plants will turn black and wither as if they had been burned, but a suspicious tar-like substance is left in their wake instead. These remains give off a peculiar scent; it is neither sickening nor enticing, but rather a bizarre smokey-sweet scent that leaves a pounding ache in the heads of those who smell it. Obviously, all of these eerie events have struck fear in the hearts of the citizens of this world, and there has been much talk of trying to reach the Holy Garden and Yggdrasil to beg for help.



Your Job:


This roleplay is very open-world. You are free to be whatever and whomever you want. There are no restrictions here when it comes to species or age or appearances, etc. Alien, centaur, human, faerie, you name it, you can be it. Obviously, if it is a breed not widely known, something you create, or a species known from a video game/other medium, you need to elaborate on the species and what it is like when you apply. However, keep in mind that Gods other than Yggdrasil do NOT exist here.

You're welcome to take any role here, EXCEPT for Yggdrasil, the Guardians, or Nithhöggr. You can be Mark'd or not Mark'd according to what you want to play. Those who are Mark'd may or may not be "bad guys" later in the story. If you choose to be a Blacksand Jungle native (these can be any species as well), you must keep in mind that their technology is very secretive and therefore should not be discussed or described in great detail. If you need help with this technology, talk to me and I will elaborate more on it.

I'm aiming for most people in this roleplay to be involved in a group that will try to access Yggdrasil, but you can still have characters that are in other parts of the world. This roleplay does not need a set storyline to be followed at all times, but should generally follow the plot if possible.




-Follow DC rules. Don't make the mods mad :c

-Be kind and courteous of other roleplayers. Use nice language even if you're upset!

-If you want to add drama to the story by incorporating a new event, talk to me first about it in PM so we can go over whether or not I think it fits the story/timeline. Sometimes I don't want things to happen during specific times, so these need to be OKed by me first. (For example, no alien invasions, explosions, wars/battles [unless it is strictly between personal characters], or other game-changing events)

-Romance is accepted and encouraged. Romance can be between any gender or species. However, don't write about something you wouldn't want someone under 13 to be reading in terms of description.

-Please do not "bullet-post". This is an extensive amount of posting between only two people and leaves behind mostly everyone else; wait for others to post and catch up before your character moves on. This is not meant to be a fast-paced roleplay.

-Try to keep the time of day in sync with people who are in the same region as you. The only exception I give to this are those in the Iron Valley, as they are a few hours a head of all other other regions.

-While I won't decline Mary Sues or Gary Stus (like I said, make your character anything you want), I encourage you to be original and keep in mind how others are going to view them as the roleplay goes along. Most people don't appreciate an overly-powered godlike character, so I would highly appreciate it if your characters are balanced in terms of strengths and weaknesses.

-There are good and bad characters just like in any other story. Feel free to take any side of the spectrum as the roleplay goes on.

-You must be proficient in writing in order to apply. This means you are able to properly utilize grammar and spelling mechanics without many problems, and that you have little issue with developing paragraphs in order to provide sufficient information for the rest of us to respond to. This MUST be reflected in the profile you send to me; I react poorly to vague detail and minimal effort in character creation.

-For your character, I need your username, character name, gender, species, and appearance. Feel free to add to this information if you want it to be known, such as history, personality, age, etc (I highly encourage this) and format it the way you want. Send it to me in a PM labelled "I am Mark'd" or "I am not Mark'd", depending on whether or not your character is Mark'd.

-Do not change anything about the scenery or storyline that has been specified above without my permission.

-Please visit the OOC thread to remain updated and to discuss anything pertaining to the roleplay. Any and all are welcomed at the OOC, even if you don't plan on joining yet!

Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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Active Characters

Characters who become inactive will be removed from this list, so I strongly recommend saving your profiles so they are not lost if this happens.





Full name: Cherius. No last name.

Race: Shapeshifter (I hope that's okay.)

Gender: Male.

Age: Early twenties, the exact number Cherius isn't sure.

Appearance: Very rich hair that tends to cover his obsidian-black eyes, black in some layers but red-brown in others. Cherius is tall, but not unnervingly so. His muscles are filled out very well and his skin has a tan tone to it, but he manages to never be too dark or too pale. His chest and arms are covered in small scars and he might have made very proud parents and very happy ladies if the left side of his face wasn't covered in one swirled mark.

He can transform into four other things. A lion is his favorite form, with a russet red-brown pelt and a midnight black mane, but he can also become a wolf, a cheetah and an antelope. He's recognizable in all of these forms by the colorings of black and red-brown, and for the swirly mark on the left side of its face. His clothes don't transform with him though, so he avoids transforming as much as possible...

Another reason he usually doesn't like to transform, aside from not being able to use his swords very well, is that for about a week after transforming his ears don't change back to normal. They stay in the shape of the animal they first assumed and twitch and move a lot. It's irritating for him.

Personality: Cherius is always sorry. For one reason or another he always finds himself apologizing but his gruff nature makes the world think he's insincere. He has a very hurt heart and is very afraid of people because he has the underlying fear that they'll hurt him in one way or another. Because of this he can be aloof and rough, his nerves of steel and serious look does a good job of scaring off anyone who would try to be close to him. For this, he tends to make a mess of places he tries to stay and either leaves of his own accord or is chased off for his noncompliance to assimilate or because they feel his mark has driven him aggressive. But deep below the cold gaze and harsh snaps he really only wants to be accepted and to see love blooming for himself and everyone else. It is because of that deep inner love that Cherius has a habit of becoming the unlikely hero who steps in against the great injustice he sees before his eyes.

History: Cherius was born with his mark because of his mother, who had it but managed to pass it off as an elaborate birthmark to Cherius's father. When he realized that his wife was having seizures while pregnant he almost stormed out the door in a fit of rage. All Cherius remembers about his parents was that they were usually angry at each other, but he never really got to knew them because one day when he was three, he came back home from when he was playing outside to find that they were both gone. He still has no idea where they went or why. This didn't bother him at first, as he was too busy just plain missing them to wonder why they were gone, but it started to affect him as he grew up.

He was raised by his village, which became normal for him. Only a few people knew about the mark and those few people usually kept their mouths shut because Cherius was a sweet and quiet child. He drifted from house to house, usually sleeping in the homes of his buddies or friends of his parents. He was very happy when he wasn't missing his mom and dad, but eventually he ended up forgetting who they were because he was so young when they vanished.

But his peaceful life changed when invaders from another village came and took power.  His home was poor, and quickly bought out by the richer invaders. The newcomers governed using both ends of the stick- the whip and the carrot. They paid for the beliefs of the poor parents, and punished them when they did things they didn't agree with. Helping a marked was one of those things. A sweet face stood no chance against propaganda and public humiliation. As quickly as his village had taken him in, they kicked him out. Within a year, he was forced to leave his home and take up the sword to keep himself safe. He was ten years old.

He became a nomad after that, everywhere he goes he's been shut out of doors, kicked out of inns and denied access to food and water. These experiences have hardened and hurt him, and he doesn't like sharing half of the things he's been called or treated as.


Name: Elijah

Race: grimm


- grimm are immortal creatures that are thought to originate from the Forbidden Tundra.


- grimm bring sorrow, darkness and sometimes death. Sometimes if they are a strong enough presence the plant life in the area around them will begin to die. Some people view them as an omen of death.


- grimm are male and female, though sometimes they do not distinguish between genders.


Gender: Male

Age: Uknown


Appearance: Elijah is tall and imposing, standing almost 6'3, with broad shoulders, hard muscles, and a study build. His skin is pale, touched with freckles and white scars, and, unlike Sheba, he never seems to tan. Elijah has dark hair that is about medium-length, grey eyes, and sharp, square features. Elijah is also bears the Mark on the left side of his face, down his neck, and across his shoulder and chest. Elijah wears simple clothes underneath his thick, heavy traveling cloak.



Personality: Elijah is quiet, brooding, and a bit eerie to behold. He hardly ever speaks, but when he does it, it is most important to listen. Elijah is very old, as the air about him emulates, and is knowledgeable about a great many things. He is serious, and a bit somber, but he enjoys the spark of bright life that Sheba brings to his long life.


History: Elijah does not clearly remember when or where he was born, but he knows it was somewhere near the Forbidden Tundra. He does not recall having any parents, or siblings, or even any friends, but things like that never seem to bother Elijah. He is not sure when he contracted the Mark, other than it was after moving the bodies of some dead explorers he came across. The marks appeared on his face a few days later and have since spread, leaving him suffering from seizures and strange hallucinations he could not explain. He is not sure how long he suffered before Sheba found him.


He had never left the bitterness of the Forbidden Tundra until he met Sheba, a traveling Fire Fury from the southern desert. Elijah saved her from death when she wondered too close to the Tundra, and has been with her ever since. Neither are sure why they stick so close together, other than Sheba's determination to cure him of the Luther Plague.


Skills: grimm do not have any particular 'skills' and are thought to just be beings that roam the Tundra's. Elijah has never fought nor mentioned any abilities he might have, though Sheba has seen him drain the life from a man who harmed her. What Sheba saw is a grimm's true ability, as they are bringers of death, and can kill if they wish.


grimm's cannot be killed, but they can be weakened by a variety of spiritual plants or charms. grimm's can also be staked or paralyzed by the precious metal iridium.


Extra: Elijah has a strange affinity for animals and is remarkably good with them, despite his nature. He is also fond of fruit drinks, something Sheba introduced to him.


Not Mark'd


Name: Ophelia Jillian Blackburn

Race: Centaur

Current age: Adult; twenty five years.

Gender: Female

Physique: At the withers, she stands 15.4 hands tall- equal to five feet and four inches- and to the top of her head she stands at 9 feet tall flat. Her humanoid features include lightly tanned skin (dotted with freckles across the nose, cheeks, collarbone, and shoulders), gray-green eyes, faintly arched and slender eyebrows, and full lips. Her hair, like her tail, is long and curly and a deep jet-black. She has a lean body with muscular arms and shoulders from spear-wielding. Her horse features take after that of a Friesian horse; moderately long, somewhat thick legs, a deep chest, and light feathering of hair around the hooves. Her head hair resembles a Friesian’s mane.

Human characteristics Friesian characteristics {x} {x}


Personality traits: Ophelia has learned to protect herself and others by being judgmental. First impressions are lasting impressions, and generally it is difficult to change her mind about someone once she forms an opinion of them, especially if they came across negatively in the beginning. She feels she must judge the character of another person based on their actions and behaviors before she allows herself to trust or otherwise give them some leverage against her. Because of this, she has become very solitary, and sometimes even snappish if she feels like strangers pose a threat. She has no problems with the “Attack first, ask questions later” mentality, although she does feel terribly guilty if she discovers she wrongfully hurt someone. However, Ophelia only judges based on behavior and ethics, and never on physical appearance or features.


Values: Ophelia was raised as a very spiritual person, but in her adult years has found it difficult to maintain that faith. She has seen too much pain and suffering to fully believe that Yggdrasil is caring for the world how was promised. She keeps this information to herself, however, and does not like to discuss religious ideology with others. While she struggles with her spiritual conflict, Ophelia firmly believes that something wrong is happening and that if Yggdrasil won’t do anything about it, she must. She cares not about Marks, but they are a sensitive issue and can induce quite a fury in her if the subject comes to conversation.


Historical Background: Ophelia was born in the Silver Prairies, the first child to her intermediate family. Her fascination with spear-wielding as a young foal shaped her future for warrior training, and she studied hard under the Masters of her herd. When she reached adolescence, she became the older sister of a filly named Naomi. Ophelia wanted to teacher her sister everything she had learned about fighting, but Naomi was more interested in the healing arts and caring for small animals. Regardless, the two shared a close bond. They grew up as best friends and shared all of their secrets, which was why Naomi entrusted her with a terrible secret one day; she had become Mark’d. She had been caring after an injured rabbit when she discovered a rattlesnake bite. Thinking none of it, she had sucked the poison from the rabbit’s leg in a last ditch effort to save him. It was after that, however, that she felt a peculiar tingle on the side of her head. When she looked into the water at a nearby pond, she saw a black marking spiraled around her cheek and jaw bone. Naomi hid the Mark from the other villagers by covering her skin in mud and pretending she had fallen into a puddle, but she and Ophelia knew it wasn’t a pretense they could keep up for long. When her sister began to suffer from the seizures, Ophelia tried to gather different healing herbs and ingredients to sooth the symptoms. However, the town healer noticed this odd behavior and went to investigate Naomi’s hut while Ophelia was gone. The healer, although he adored Naomi, was stricken by his findings. He spoke to one of the Herd’s elders, and together they decided that Naomi had to leave the village and go elsewhere before she posed as a health risk to the non-Mark’d members of the herd.

Ophelia and Naomi ended up in Iron Valley looking for a place for Naomi to stay. Since a good portion of Iron Valley’s citizens were either Mark’d or affiliated with someone Mark’d, there was much less controversy over Mark’d beings and they accepted Naomi without much trouble. Ophelia, on the other hand, felt pressed to find a cure or a way to bring Naomi back to their village without facing hostility. Currently, she travels the world in search of information on how to end Luther’s Plague.


Skills: Ophelia was trained as a fighter and is proficient with a spear. She’s not very good with archery, rather decent at sword fighting, exceptional with knives, and somewhat capable of using a blow dart. Using a hand-drawn map is incredibly difficult to her, as she prefers constellations and star-nagivation. She cannot use technology to save her life. She simply does not understand how it works, although she can follow simple directions on how to operate an electrical tool. Ophelia strongly prefers natural tools and those made strictly from the earth, since science is way over her head and too difficult for her to understand. This doesn’t mean she’s dull or dumb, but the mechanics of modern technology are simply too different from what she’s used to that it creates a knowledge barrier. To her, modern tech is just as mysterious as magic.

One thing that Ophelia really prides herself in, however, is not her warrior prowess. Because her parents are book collectors and menders, Ophelia learned a lot about the surrounding world (aside from scientific texts… she never touched those), most specifically the different cultures and lands. She is deeply interested in histories of the many different tribes and communities in the world, and from her studies, has become quite familiar with hundreds of cultures. She likely could tell you the significance of any custom or tradition in any culture just as easily as a scholar from that area. Because of this, travel (besides that to Iron Valley, which she tends to avoid besides visiting her sister) is welcome and she has very little trouble settling into a village and getting along with the townsfolk. The only place she has never traveled (besides the Forbidden Tundra and the Great Forest), and truly hopes to, is the Blacksand Jungle. She only knows so much from the books that came from the Whitesand Desert. 


Extra: In order to make money for herself, she has taken the role of a bounty hunter and frequently takes jobs for warrants on non-Mark’d beings.


Character Name: Sacrallus mehr Dahnohn (simply 'Dahnohn' informally).

Birthplace: Aalcenchury






Aalcenchury is a city located deep underground, situated somewhere in the mountains known as the Devil's Fangs that separate the City of Trees from the Forbidden Tundra.  It's the only known major settlement of the darkfolk.  All other settlements are above ground and normally temporary camps for traveling trade caravans, or occasionally a lumbering camp to gather wood to be hauled north to the city.  This is assumed to be a painstaking process, since it's very difficult to get a caravan in to the Devil's Fangs, especially so when they're loaded with heavy timber.  Scholars generally assume that the darkfolk either utilize underground roadways (which many assume to be unlikely), or simply move carefully over the rough-hewn mountain pathways that their forefathers carved out.  Such roadways don't ever go fully to the tundra, and travelers sometimes avoid them altogether as many are unfinished, stopping abruptly in dead ends.


All anyone knows of the city itself is that it's disconnected from the world.  Darkfolk are never unwilling to talk about their home, but due to their rarity, their language and the fact that many on the outside are working on official business, they often can't talk for long.  What scholars know about it is just a surface description of the city.  It's known that the city is large, divided in to terraces, likely in a massive cavern system and uses grandiose design for its buildings.  It's known that it has access both to underground water reserves as well as magma (which is supposedly used to power many of its elaborate machinations).  It's believed that the inhabitants rely on trade at least partially for their meat, but it's well known that there are a variety of subterranean crops that are grown and consist of the main diet – many of these can be found in markets if you're in the northern parts of the world.


Culturally, Aalcenchury is supposedly industrious in nature.  They're known to export all sorts of metal goods, including forged items and ingots of various metals.  They rarely send out trade caravans, but those that are sent often contain large amounts of their exotic crops.  They hold a high interest in trading for technology and meat, and hold a lesser (but still considerable) interest in artifacts that could be considered “magical”.  After the Luther Plague began to spread, these caravans immediately became more rare.  What few do come out are now more often than not headed for the Iron Valley, selling their goods as they go and collecting what they can from the high-tech people they find at the end of their journey.  It's this profound interest and their dedicated trading that's lead to them being somewhat technologically sophisticated themselves – caravan guards are often equipped with firearms.





Character Age: Unknown; he doesn't keep it hidden by choice.  He's simply forgotten.  He's almost positive he's nearly two centuries old.

Character Gender: Male.

Character Species: Darkfolk (plural), darkling (singular), (also referred to as mountainmen and antidwarves).






The Darkfolk are enigmatic.  It's estimated there are around only a thousand outside of their capital city at any one time, and about half of those are part of caravans (which tend to have over a hundred darkfolk each).  For their rarity and dark coloration, unaffiliated people often assume that they're from the Blacksand Jungle.


Physically, the Darkfolk are tall, averaging out at about seven and a half feet, with skin ranging from a dark grey to an obsidian black.  They've got long, naturally muscular arms and legs and stand with a slouch to their naturally lanky figures.  Their legs are digitigrade and end in three-toed feet with pointed heels.  Their faces are narrow and somewhat flat.  Their eyes are often pitch black and their ears are pointed (and it should be noted they have very good hearing).  Hair, often white, grows in the same manner of a human's, with the exception of finer hairs that grow along the length of the spine and on the heels of the feet.  These hairs, when uncovered, are very effective in detecting vibrations in the ground and changes in the air around the darkfolk.  Clothing and armor is commonplace, however, which dampens the effectiveness of the follicles to a great extent.


Their faces tend to be somewhat intimidating.  Their eyes are often wide in order to collect as much light as possible.  Envoys will often wear headgear that reduces the glare of the sun, but any darkfolk who have been out for an extended period of time will have adapted to the light – this can be told from the appearance of a noticeable, light colored iris as the black pupil shrinks to a catlike slit.  This adaptation can take many weeks.  Their hair is commonly tied back in pony tails or dreadlocks and rarely cut (with the exception of facial hair).  It's always very thick and straight.  Nobility will often allow their beards to grow, but for the common man who sweats in the forges or mines, facial hair would often just pose a hazard or get in the way.  Their nose is nonexistent – instead, there are two slits much like you would find in a human skull.  The lips of the darkfolk are almost always parted, although only slightly.  Their mouths are wide, going further in to the cheeks than a human's, and their lips are very thin.  Inside their mouth, there are two rows of interlocking razor sharp teeth that gradually begin to dull (but never quite flatten) the farther back in to the jaw you go.  Anyone studying anatomy would tell you that they're meant to be carnivorous, so it stands to reason that they've adapted to accept fruits and vegetables (often grown underground) as part of their diet.  Still, they trade for a very large amount of meat, so it could assumed that it's the mainstay of their diet.


Darkfolk are known for their longevity.  While none have ever been observed (outside of their city) of dying from old age, conversations with pilgrims have indicated that they tend to live for almost four centuries, with the eldest and most cared for of the nobles reaching upwards of five.  They rely on speed and quick reflex to survive; they're agile runners and well adapted to moving in hazardous areas, particularly caves, where most people would struggle.  They're comparatively more fragile to most other species when it comes to being wounded.  It doesn't take long for one to bleed out, but they clot and heal much faster than humans do.  The few that have enlisted in armies outside of Aalcenchury have proven to be top notch scouts and assassins.





Current Place of Residence: Varying; currently, most likely in/leaving the Iron Valley.

Appearance:  Dahnohn stands slightly above average height for a darkling, approaching eight feet tall, but also slouches a little more than usual.  His eyes are that of a darkling who has adjusted to the light of the sun – they remain wide and piercing, but his pupils are narrow slits like that of a cat's, and the newly formed iris is a very, very pale blue.  His lips, like most of his kin, are twisted in to a perpetual, toothy smile.  His skin is lighter than most, approaching dark grey in color, and he has a variety of burn marks on his neck, forearms, hands and legs, as well as a variety of cuts marring his arms and abdomen.  While it's difficult to tell age with his people, he certainly has the wearied look of an old timer and the scars to back it up.  He is, however, in able condition.  His hair is silver in color and it's been arranged in dreadlocks going down to his shoulders.  Uncharacteristic of his people, he keeps his hair at a moderate length, cutting it regularly.  He has a bit of a stubble and a trimmed goatee.  The tip of his left ear has been nicked off, and the lobes of both have been pierced with golden rings.


His armor is odd and clearly of darkfolk origin, custom fitted for Dahnohn (which makes sense considering the darkfolk's odd anatomic proportions).  Scaled plate armor comes from the top of his neck, ending at his shoulders and waist.  What seems to be golden chain mail (normally covered by his cloak) runs down to his forearms, ending where plate gauntlets are clasped.  Each gauntlet has two short spikes on the outward facing side, which could prove invaluable if disarmed in a fight.  The chain mail also runs down to his hips, where it connects to plated armor that guards his outer thighs.  Chain mail then goes down to his knees, where it connects to another set of gilded plate boots that cover only the front and sides; the fine hairs on his heels are exposed.


A cloak is almost always drawn up over his head, as he's still somewhat sensitive to the sun and doesn't enjoy what he calls the “radiant heat” of it.


He has three clearly visible weapons.  The first, and perhaps the most noticeable, is his rifle.  Whether it was created in the Iron Valley or created from knowledge learned in the Iron Valley is a good question.  It's certainly based on the technology there, but it has the pearlescent, royal, smooth look that many darkfolk creations have.  It fires from twenty round magazines, of which Dahnohn has several spare in pockets on his belt, and seems to utilize a respectably sized cartridge.  It's sleek, long and elegant, not at all useful for close encounters, and has an equally long and elegant scope affixed to the top.  The stock of the weapon folds inwards and a strap keeps it clung to his back.  His next weapon is situated on his left hip.  It's a short sword, curved in nature like a scimitar, with a gilded backing and handle.  It's got the familiar royal look that much of his gear has, implying it originated in the forges of the darkfolk.  The third weapon, affixed right next to his sword, is a simple knife that he uses for all sorts of miscellaneous purposes.

Personality: Despite his scarred exterior and the regal gear he carries, Dahnohn is rather simple.  He smiles quite often (not that he can particularly help it) and generally keeps to himself unless bothered.  He rarely approaches others for fear of racial backlash or violence.  He has a deep fascination with technology and what he considers to be magic (Yggdrasil's essence) alike, studying the latter whenever possible and tinkering with the former any time he can.  He's also rather polite, like most of his people, and tends to go out of his way to help others when he can.  Unfortunately, this makes him a bit easy to take advantage of; he realizes when this is happening, he just doesn't particularly mind.

Traits:  He walks with a slight limp to his right leg and, when nervous or angry, his left hand twitches a bit.  It cannot be told if he's marked or not – not easily, at least.  His skin is, after all, black.  He insists that he isn't to anyone who asks, usually weary of his peoples' close proximity to the Tundra.

Skills:  Around an anvil and a hammer, he is an artist.  He's a master at the creation, destruction and restoration of all sorts of metal items.  He has no idea how to handle a bow, but seems to fare well with anything with a trigger – particularly firearms and, to a lesser extent, crossbows.  When handling a shield, he's clumsy and slow, but he's rather accomplished with the usage of a shortsword.  He tends to be good at speaking to people, particularly when it comes to bartering.

Weaknesses:  He has a rather large appetite, he doesn't speak mainland common incredibly well (though he's learning, and speaks the languages of the Iron Valley quite fluently), he's rather bad at controlling his emotions and he suffers from an injury to a tendon in his leg, forcing him to limp – he can still run well, but it hurts him.

Occupation:  Unknown.  Judging from his almost royal garb and equipment, you could assume he was out and about on official Alcenchury business; this isn't the case, however.  He's not opposed to doing blacksmith work for a few weeks at a time, or taking up contracts when it comes to bounties or defense.  At the very root of it, you could say he's a multipurpose contractor.

Extra: N/A


Character: Esper the Ether

Gender: Male

Species: Ether of Knowledge

-Ether's are an uncommon but well known anomaly of the world. They are the remnants of immensely strong willed people whose energies still reside in the physical plane. They will often retain many aspects of the person they were formed from, but they are not the same person. They are the conscious formation of a person's lingering willpower and are often nothing more than a shadow. Some end up with greater power than others and will even have the ability to speak, though their personalities are often stunted immensely. All Ether's come into fruition with a single goal in mind, a lingering aspiration of their former personages, and will pursue it indefinitely or until its completion. As remnants of passing energy they lack physical bodies with which to feel pain, get sick, or hunger. Because of this they are also immune to the Luther Plague, as well as any other diseases and viruses.


Within the great realm of Ether's there are noticeable distinctions between their purpose and power. All Ether's lack a visible body and will appear as a multidimensional shade, though their bodies are quite tangible. As with all shadows their bodies will disappear when put into direct light. All Ethers are bound to masks that neither come off nor disappear, which makes locating them quite easy. Masks vary in color, size, and shape but often will be bleach white. Beyond this, all Ethers differ. Some materialize with accessories, which range from necklaces to robes to weaponry. The most powerful of Ethers are those with many accessories, each a distinct and individual piece.


Often Ethers are welcomed wherever they go, revered as avatars of power. Those dedicated to learning or scientific pursuits are given free range with scientific materials and research, often acting out the final desires of great and respected mages, scholars, and scientists. Those of martial orientation are seen as omens of strength wherever they go. An Ether of a great general once returned to lead soldiers to an overwhelming victory, dissipating after it had served its purpose.


Ethers that form for vengeful or greedy purposes are given a different name. They are referred to as Shades and are recognizable by the blood red or midnight black masks they wear. As creatures dedicated wholly to their cause there is nothing one can do to deter them. Often they are captured on sight so as to prevent terrible deeds from taking place. There is no true way to kill a Shade or Ether so most people will bind those that are dangerous through magical means. There are rumors of powerful Shades locked away in unseen places, biding their time indefinitely until they can break their restraints and unleash their fury. These types of Ethers are exceptionally rare and spotted once every century or two, often the vengeful spirits of powerful dictators that must be stopped before they can wreak havoc.


Appearance: Esper, as all Ethers, is inexplicably linked to his possessions. His brightly colored robes and milky white mask never leave his person. The staff at his side is a shimmering gold color and will often float around him as if held by some unseen force. In the light Esper appears to be nothing more than a floating robe, but his body is quite tangible and able to interact with the world around him. -x-

History: Esper Malicanth was a powerful, well respected prodigy  within the field of medicine. As a child he had been fascinated with biology as a hobby. Though he lived in a more rural area of the Iron Valley he would often be out observing nature and performing tests on various creatures he didn't understand. The older he became the more serious his tests were. He would study the speed of the other kids as they raced the track at their school and contemplate ways he could improve their performance. Or he'd classify various snails he found and note the differences between their shells and behavior. Esper was at the top of his class and always did well. It was no surprise to his parents when he told them he was going off to college.


While studying everything he could Esper stumbled upon an unusual and overlooked branch of science. Applied Psychokinetics, or the study of quantum energy and applied magic. As a world where magic no doubt existed there were many who wanted to study its effects up close, figure out why it worked and how. It was incredible, he thought, and so he set out to learn all he could. By the time he was out of college he already had internships lined up for multiple universities that focused on the subject.


Esper's work was groundbreaking. He became the leading force behind many medicines crafted solely through magical means. He churned out one innovation after another, giving people instant cures for a host of diseases and infections. As he became more well known he was allowed to work closer to more laborious projects. While assisting in a project designed to cure the common cold, Esper solved the final variable standing in medicine's way. By applying magic into the cure, they were able to combat an formation of the virus that  presented itself with no harmful side effects. Esper's work put him in great standing and he was asked to help countless other groups with their work. His greatest achievement, however, was a cure for a rampant immunodeficiency devastating the lives of many humans. He won countless awards for his work and continued to work towards curing many other problems that plagued the world. With age he turned his focus to more magical problems, unbreakable curses and the like.


Upon first studying the "marks" he was immensely fascinated. It was difficult to glean much information about them and most people would burn the bodies of the victims before they could be studied. Some volunteered for inspection, but handling blood samples and mark'd ones was still taboo. Esper did what he could and most of his late life was spent chasing whatever information he could about the subject. However the older he became the harder it was to move about. When nearing the end of his life he created one last invention. After years of working with magic and studying everything he could about it, Esper had grown quite a talent for it.  This talent he deemed would be wasted should he die. He crafted a device that would store his energy indefinitely, taking more and more from him every day. Upon his death bed, most of his power was safely locked away and separate from himself, designed to release when his heart stopped beating.


When Esper passed the device opened, letting out a swirling energy. Those that had come to see him off were astonished when they heard what sounded like a tornado in his study. What they came to find upon investigating was a tall, shadow-like creature. They watched, silent, as light slowly formed around it. The light came to materialize as vibrant robes and a royal looking staff. When the figure noticed their presence it turned and introduced itself. "I am the shadow of Esper Malicanth. Where his story ended I shall pick up." Its voice was disjointed and echoed in many different voices, as if searching for the right tone to address its company. Moments later it strode from the room, leaving those still in mourning with nothing more.


Since its creation Esper's Ether, which calls itself Esper for no other reason than ease, has been travelling the land studying those that are marked. As it cannot be tainted like other creatures it has no qualms running blood tests and truly dissecting the problem at hand. He has gathered much data and retains it verbatim within his head, but still does not believe there is an end in sight.

Goals: Esper the Ether has only one goal in mind. He exists to solve the plight of those branded with the "Mark". Beyond this he has no other desires. As an Ether he already has an overwhelming urge to complete this task, however the fact that he was made with intent has made this task all the more encompassing. Esper cannot die and will not die until the task is complete. He is inexorably linked to the curse and upon the moment of curing it he will dissipate, his job accomplished.

Personality:Esper the Ether retains many of the personality traits of his creator. He's kind and sweet and selfless, dedicated wholly to his pursuits and willing to work until the end of time to achieve them. He does, however, lack free will. He wants nothing more than to cure the curse, which can often leave him cut off from others. Where some scholars wish to speak with Esper to learn of his findings, Esper only wishes to speak to them if they know more than he does. Which isn't often. He may come off cold at times, but he struggles with his ultimate desires and his amicable nature.


Esper's creator did not realize that giving the Ether so much power and strength also meant giving up much of himself. The wants for pleasure and leisure that existed within the human form have echoed within the shadow and occasionally hinder his work, calling Esper to sleep despite not needing it or eat despite lacking a stomach. If the Ether could truly feel, which he's fairly sure he can't, he would be depressed to have tangible urges that could never be fulfilled. He's even taken by small flights of fancy and will dedicate some time towards healing and curing people of diseases unrelated to his goal. It really is a nuisance.

Skills: All Ether's differ in their abilities and often reflect those powers held by their previous forms. Esper's strengths lie in his ability to heal. He can heal practically any ailment people present him with, either through holistic medicine, pharmaceutical medicine, or energy manipulation. As an Ether Esper is finely attuned to magic and is actually better at healing through applied psychokinetics than his creator was. He can also manipulate the world around him, mainly to the extent of levitating things he needs or projecting images for others to see.

Weaknesses: Esper is greatly lacking in offensive capabilities and prefers not to fight. It isn't why he's here and it isn't necessary. Despite being temporarily immortal, Esper is not indestructible. If hit with enough energy he will dissipate and scatter, leaving nothing of him but his bleach-white mask. This only occurs for a period of time as his energy will reassemble and continue on its way, unable to rest until it finishes its job.


Full name: Seruff Gideon

Race: Minotaur

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Appearance: Gigantic compared to a human, average compared to another minotaur. Seruff has the face of a water buffalo and the horns of a common bull, with big fuzzy brown hair dropping off every part of his body uncovered by clothes. He has crimson stripes that dash over his limbs and back, and big iron-colored hooves that slam into the ground with every step. Even his eyes are huge, huge and red, looking down at you like the axeman ready to take off your head at the guillotine...

Personality: ...but his voice just makes you want to burst out laughing. Seruff is easily one of the sassiest, silliest and goofiest guys in the world, and if the flick of his wrist and the hip-shimmy don't make you wonder why you were ever intimidated by him, watching him snap his fingers and swirl around with a sash-ay will. Despite a silly nature, Seruff tries to be the voice of reason and often attempts to keep people from making rash decisions, but if he can't do that he's also not above picking up his query and tossing them into a lake to get them to listen. He's also not above forcing them to stay in said lake in wet clothes until they do listen to him.

When it comes to marked and unmarked, Seruff doesn't have much of an opinion because he can't decide. While he does feel a little uncomfortable eating from the same plate or bathing in the same water as them, he wouldn't turn someone away from a warm bed or hot food because they have a mark. He just doesn't want to be infected. It's because of this indecisiveness that he tries to avoid stepping into situations where marks are involved.

History: Seruff's life was pretty normal. Happy parents, good home, nice friends, etc. Aside from a confusing part in his adolescence where he had to 'find himself' and he spent a few years training with a monk about axe fighting and staff twirling, not much ever happened to him. The monk taught him a lot of fun card tricks and how to use a weapon, but never about the marks or what they do. It's fear of the unknown that makes him not want to acquire a marking.


Name: Sheba

Race: Fire Fury


- Furies are a female race and only a female can inherit Fury abilities


- Male children are kept in the tribe to take care of daily needs and as potential future mates. Fury women mate for life.


- Fury woman are fighters and equipped to handle a great variety of weapons


- Some Furies are also gifted with elemental abilities (Fire, Water, Earth, Air). These abilities are handed down through bloodlines and cannot be learned.


Gender: Female

Age: 26


Appearance: Sheba stands 5 feet 9 inches tall and has a long, toned body. She is muscular, but not overly so, with slender limbs and soft curves that add just the right touch of femininity to her figure. Her skin has a lovely, honey tan and stays that way for most of the year, even when she is out of the sun for longer periods of time. Her dark brown hair is thick and wavy, falling to just past her shoulder blades, and is most often left down. Her eyes are brown, pure and simple, and easily her most prominent feature. Her lips are full and supple, and her jaw is slightly pointed. Sheba is considered average by her races standard, but more exotic the farther she travels from home. |x|


Personality: Sheba is fierce, bold, and charismatic. She absolutely does not take bull from anyone and will not hesitate to speak her mind. She is opinionated, but intelligent, and knows that her opinion is not always right, so she is also trying to see things from other people's point of view. Sheba understands the importance of knowing all aspects of a situation. Sheba is also very passionate and expressive, and she's not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve or tell someone how she is feeling. While she feels like she is her own best friend, Sheba has a few people she trusts with her life.


History: Sheba was born to a small, nomadic tribe of Fury women and their mates that traveled the Whitesand Desert. Sheba was born to a Fury woman who had been mated to her male for sometime and already had two offspring, her older brothers, Sharik and Rhemel. Since only female offspring can inherit Fury abilities, Sheba became her mother's favorite, but this never smeared her brother's opinion of her. Sheba's mother raised and taught her all she knows, but all Fury woman in the tribe contribute to raising the female children.


Sheba left her tribe when she was seventeen with the simple intent of traveling the world and seeing the sights that her father described in their bedtime stories. When she left the safety of her tribe, Sheba began to learn of those who bore the Mark and developed a strong compassion for those who were exiled and shunned. While she felt for those unfortunate souls, she never acted until she met a wondering man near the edges of the Forbidden Tunda (no, she was not supposed to be there, but her curiosity could not be quelled). The man said little, about his past or where he came from, but he has been with Sheba for the past eight years. She shelters him, protects him, and now looks for the cure to the Luther Plague that is killing her closest companion.


Skills: Sheba is a Fire Fury, which means she is blessed with the gift of fire manipulation. She can create fire or manipulate fire that is already burning. She is also gifted with weapons, as most Furies are, but is especially talented with her fish-hook dagger and whip.


Fury are not immortal or inhuman, so they can be killed like any other human, though they do tend to heal quicker and be more resilient.


Extra: Sheba is a bit of a romantic, often fantasizing about different stories of battles, love, and drama, but that's a secret past time of hers. Sheba is also a hefty eater and is particularly fond of spicy noodles with beef, seafood, and plums.


Name: Rin (no last name due to being born into a small community)

Race: Shinigami (Japanese folklore [modified])

Shinigami were classically thought of as gods, but are not. In fact, they aren't even immortal. Their appearances vary greatly from shinigami to shinigami (though most are dull in color and slightly lanky), but their purpose is always the same. They possess the ability to bring other mortal species to death or make the individual suddenly want to die. However, this is not the entire story. Shinigami must know the name and face of their intended targets. Also, they must physically touch the target (bare skin to bare skin, i.e., hand to arm) for them to die. They may also specify the method of death, but not necessarily.

Shinigami live for an average of about 150 years, but can die of natural causes such as disease (or die from wounds). However, some shinigami have wings and are relatively fast.

These beings are not all-powerful, however. They do not kill other beings left and right. They usually enjoy watching the antics of others and like to see them alive. They cherish life and only take lives occasionally for purposes that vary from situation to situation.

Due to coming from mainly harsh environments and living in small, hardy communities, they are also very easy to bribe with food and drink (although they can survive with it). They are very susceptible to addiction, so anyone who's good at bribing could probably make a shinigami putty in his or her hands (although it all depends on the individual).

Gender: Female

Age: 40 (young adult)

Appearance: Rin is about seven feet tall standing erect, but is often slouched with sagging shoulders. Her hair is blue-grey and braided down her back, reaching to her mid-spine. She looks rather human, but her body is stretched a bit out of proportion. Her arms are thin and hang down to her mid-calf. Her legs are similarly disproportional. Rin's spine is very pronounced and the bones are easily visible through her clothing. Her skin is a light grey color and her eyes are black and sad. Her face looks young and not too ugly or disfigured, though her constant melancholy expression certainly doesn't make her look any better. She has large wings that sprout from her back that are leathery and similar to a bat's in construction and color, though not quite as wrinkly. She flies almost constantly and is quite adept at maneuvering in the air, which makes her shoulders relatively muscular and strong for her build.

The shinigami wears black clothing and always wears pants to ensure decency when flying. She also makes a habit of wearing a dark cloak over everything because it protects her from the cold a bit better than just her normal clothes do. Additionally, Rin wears brown leather boots to protect her feet and keep her warm.

Weapons: Though Rin is a shinigami and doesn't really need weapons, she carries a wooden straw and some darts to protect herself.

Personality: Rin likes people and other races and desperately wants to be around them. Due to her being a shinigami (or "Reaper"), she is not often accepted and, thus, is a nomad. She travels around the world, searching for a purpose and companions. Because she is often alone and cut off from others, Rin is often very sad and her sullen demeanor radiates off of her, almost toxic. She doesn't care whether someone is Mark'd or not because she adores almost everyone equally. Although most shinigami don't go rampant with killing, she is particularly docile, only killing in mercy (i.e., killing someone who is going to die a very slow and painful death so they don't have to suffer). Even then, she feels guilty using her powers and, as stated earlier, rarely ever does. Even so, her constant sadness is contagious enough to keep people away.

Birthplace: A small village of Reapers near the Bleak Sea

History: Rin's history is neither sad nor particularly interesting. She grew up in a village small village of other shinigami, working the land and crafting items to trade for clothing, pets, jewels, etc. She was trained as a weapon maker and sometimes built new buildings with other shinigami for extra rations of metal and wood to make her weapons, which was awarded based on hours of work and effort put into said work. She left her village eventually to search for something else to live for, because she didn't really see the purpose in her life at her birthplace.

Addiction(s): Chicken soup

Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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Thank you!


{Reserved for additional characters/ extra information }

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Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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(( I've been given grace to post whenever I like, so I suppose I will. ))


The ship was by no means grand, constructed primarily of iron and wood. It had both sail and motor, though the latter was not in use, as currently the wind fared well, flowing from east to west. This was perfect for the watercraft, for it headed westward from the coasts of the Iron Valley, destined to reach the furthest touch of land of the City of Trees. The voyage was supposed to take perhaps a dozen days at most, and the ship carried only some cargo for trade. It mainly acted as a ferry for the curious travelers of the technological land it came from. It was on the dawn of the ninth day of the voyage that a loud cry broke out on deck; “Land-ho!” The fifteen individuals on board (only three of which were crew) ascended the stairs to look.


What met their eyes was a glorious sight indeed. From left to right, a massive, tree-covered cliff face rose up against the sea, waves crashing against it. The sun was just now rising above the water, casting an orange-red glow across the shifting waves. Dolphins jumped, swimming with the bow of the ship as it cut through the water like a knife.


Directly in front of them was their destination.


Smoke rose in billowing towers, black and thick. Dozens of piers of varying lengths and widths jutted out in to the ocean water, connecting to a series of staircases that wound up the cliff face, connecting to multiple small terraces, each one dotted with various shops and homes. Fishing vessels could be seen coming in and leaving port, each with a haul to sell or bountiful hopes for a good catch. The town was of an advanced quality for sure. Bronze pipes could be seen winding through the rocky cliffs, steam escaping at the various cracks. It was powered by coals. A town of steam. Not by any means modern, but not primitive either.


The ship pulled in to port and was immediately tied up and secured. The excitement was palpable as a handful of travelers disembarked from the ship as its crew worked to take down the sails and begin to unload its cargo. The last to step off of the boat was the tallest of the group, standing shy of eight feet. He was dressed in a large, black cloak, a hood pulled over his head and a veil pulled up over his face. His pointed ears (the tip of his left nicked off) stuck through two holes in the hood, but the cloak served to hide almost all else of him, wrapped closed at the front. He looked nearly like a monk as he made his way to the cliffside stairs and began to wind his way up, avoiding the fish and fruit merchants, the beggars and the sniveling children. Seagulls swirled over head, catching the updrafts that resulted as the wind hit the rocky cliffside.


The cloaked figure eventually reached the town itself, not just its cliff-carved shops and dwellings. It was nice, with stone brick houses and a large, iron-studded wall to guard it from whatever dangers may have lurked in the forests outside. It didn't take a scholar to figure out it was only a measure of safety. There was not much out there that was capable of razing a city, particularly one so bustling as this. Eventually, the cloaked man found himself in a large courtyard that hosted a flea market. Stalls for this and that lined the streets, and he found himself wading through the people to try to find something to eat. Eventually, he reached a stall where salted pork was being sold. He purchased some, tied the bag containing it closed and rested it on his belt.


He left the flea market, making his way through the town for an hour or two until late morning. He eventually found a park overlooking the sea and the harbor far below, and he sat on a bench. He tugged the mask down below his chin, revealing his grayish skin in entirety. He parted his thin lips to reveal rows of sharp teeth, then carefully untied the bag he had bought earlier, tugging out some meat and setting it inside his maw, chewing carefully and swallowing. He sat and ate quietly, pondering where to go and what to do. He stared out at the sea contemplatively as he ate.

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An old sheet of paper rustled softly between the fingers of a young woman. She had unraveled the parchment thoughtfully, eyebrows narrowed slightly as she concentrated on the neatly printed letters that explained the task at hand. In the center of the paper was a black-and-white mug shot of a cruel-looking sorcerer with a wiry brown beard and beady dark eyes. She knew from the minute she had spotted the paper tacked on the board by the inn that she didn't like the man; the crimes in detail under his picture were enough to solidify her distaste. However, what made her decide to tear the poster from the board was the fact that his pale face lacked any blemish whatsoever, which meant he was more than likely not Mark'd.


Curls of ebony fell in front of her face as she stooped over to adjust the leather brace on her left foreleg. Her journey had carried her far; she had traveled directly from Iron Valley through the Wetlands by foot, only stopping in a small town in the Silver Prairies for a night's rest. Today she found herself at the border of the City of Trees, and somewhere lurking in the shadows was the sorcerer wanted for murder and robbery. She had no doubt that apprehending him would prove difficult. Magic was just as alien to her as the technology that Iron Valley produced, so she was well aware that her physical skills could only go so far when combating magic. However, she hoped to use this to her advantage at the same time; the sorcerer was likely not very apt with tools and weapons of centaur-making, thus it would be a test of time to see whether or not she could best him and drag him back to the town for sentencing. At least they had offered her a deflection shield in which might protect her from magical attacks.


Ophelia wore it on her left arm at the present, with her spear strapped securely against her back like other soldiers would normally carry their warhammers and axes. She had thought about investing in one of those, but for now it was best she kept with what she knew- The spear was her best weapon, with a sword and set of knives tucked away in their scabbards and strapped in the saddlebag that was tied over her withers. There was a blowdart hidden within the leather bodice that sported pieces of armor around the shoulders and abdomen for maximum motility and protection. She rarely used the blowdart, but she had a feeling it would be quite the boon when tracking down this criminal.


After paying for the services of the inn and thanking the smith for his generous donation of the shield (with sincere promise that it would be returned once she brought the sorcerer back), Ophelia double-checked her belongings to be sure that they were properly secured before departing from the town. She briefly glanced into the pub as she passed one of the windows, and caught the sultry eye of a vixen that was draped over the lap of some drunk fellow. The woman crooked a finger at Ophelia invitingly, but the centaur simply snapped her tail and the woman appeared to finally notice the rest of her. How typical, Ophelia thought as she turned away from the pub, leaving behind the surprised bar girl and the pungent scent of ale and greasy meat.


By the time that Ophelia had reached the next town, morning had already made its way high into the sky and the first heat of the day had started to filter through the forest's mossy understory. Sunlight rippled over her black hide in patches and the melodic hum of the forest's wildlife buzzed with liveliness overhead. She quite enjoyed the City of Trees and the tranquility it offered. Although she was born and raised in the Silver Prairies, the allure of forest life seemed much more fitting. But she wasn't running around after bandits and murders just so she could settle into her own life once she made enough money. It was her sister's well being that concerned Ophelia the most. She needed to bring enough gold back to Iron Valley so that she could finish paying for Naomi's modest home at the edge of the City. The fear of Naomi getting evicted and having no where else to turn was a horrid thought.


The town that Ophelia found herself in sat in the center of the forest, somewhat closer to the Great Forest than most people liked to stay. Not that she really minded the proximity to the deadly Guardians and consequently the godly tree itself, Yggdrasil; she only wondered if the tree could feel her doubts, and if it would send one of its precious Guardians to set her straight. She almost hoped it would just so she could be sure their Creator still cared for its creations.


The centaur came to a stop near the town's police department. It was a moderately advanced town in terms of their technology and architecture, with tall structures built around the trees and electrically-powered mechanisms such as rotating doors and streetlights. There was an elven touch to everything that she appreciated, such as the twisting ivy around nearly every pole and wall, or the braids of wood that looked to be fashioned into benches. Even the lights themselves were not as garish as those over the asphalt roads in Iron Valley, but rather soft and faerie-like. Still, even if the town blended nicely with the forest scenery, Ophelia felt out of place in its modern themes. A centaur was rare to see in any place advanced beyond watermills and tarp-covered wagons. Perhaps that was why the citizens on the street craned their necks to scrutinize the half-woman half-horse standing quietly on the corner. Her long tail swished a few times with kindling annoyance at the more obvious few that stopped to fully turn at stare at her; Really, she wasn't THAT odd looking! There were all sorts of other creatures roaming the streets, and they took an interest in her?


Ophelia exhaled noisily through her nose and directed her attention back to the warrant in her hand. The paper had stated that the sorcerer was headed towards this town, so she was hoping the officers that patrolled this area would be familiar with his face. After all, he was a peculiar looking man, and she suspected he might have been of faerie decent. His sharp features and narrow face were certainly reminiscent of that race, and....

"Excuse me miss, are you lost?"


Ophelia lifted her chin to look up at the man who had exited the police building she stood outside of. He was rather burly and tall, but his small mouth and wide-set eyes made him almost comical. However, what made her bristle was the expression he currently wore and the tone of voice that made her think that he liked to view himself on a pedestal among others. His arms were folded over his chest, and his posture hinted that he felt above her in terms of status.

Ha, what a laugh.


However, she bit back the retort and the itch to whip him in public and instead held out the poster in front of his face. "I'm looking for this man," she said sharply, and her gray-green eyes had darkened with the irritation that he had borne in her. "He was last seen headed for this town." The clop of her hooves against the pebbled road as she shifted caused the guard's eyes to flicker past the paper and to her equine body. She could tell from the way that he studied her that he was must less interested in her reasons for being there, and cared not for the warrant she still held up to him. Another spark of anger began to kindle. Very abruptly, Ophelia rolled up the warrant and tucked it in the shoulder bag that had been tied around her waist. "Nevermind, I'll find him myself," she growled. Ophelia had no patience or time to waste on people like him; she actually had a job to do and she would be damned if she let a fool like him derail her from her goal. With an angry snap of her tail, the centaur veered around the incompetent guardsman and trotted down the street in hopes for finding someone that would have half a brain to give her proper information.

Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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(For now I only feel like posting Cherius. I'll post one of Seruff later, when I feel like I'm able to post about him.)


While a dirt path yawned in front of him for many miles, red-clay dust being blown into the air every few feet into quivering green expanses of grass and flowers, it occurred to Cherius that nature wasn't the epitome of kindness or harshness. Nor was it the embodiment of a mother who punished and rewarded as karma saw fit. No, when he truly inspected the needles of every pine tree and every insect mercilessly drained of life by a spider with his onyx orbs, he realized that nature was pure indifference. Even Yggdrasil, in all its infinite glory, really didn't care about the people who left offerings in its woods or threw festivals of massive proportions in its honor. Every concubine, knight, slave and noble in its eyes was equal, as one could only treat the world as equals when there was no favoritism of the kind or wicked.


No matters with mark'd and unmark'd.


Tied upon his back were three weapons; two blades and a spear. There were far from any kind of craftsmanship, as their blades were just sharp enough to cause a cut and their hilts were terribly unbalanced. They were any blacksmith's horror and an artist's bane, but Cherius was able to buy them cheap and they worked well enough to get him by. They had seen the hearts of many bandits and the skin of thousands of rabbits, and now they were beginning to show their wear. The spear was slightly chipped and both of the blades had visible scars in the metal. All three would be breaking soon, and he had to find more cheap weapons or a blacksmith willing to take his tainted money.


He could feel pangs arousing in his head, but he had no desire to stop in the middle of nowhere were bandits ran as free as fleas on a dog's back. Thankfully though, it was just the start of a headache and not a seizure. He halted in his tracks on the side of that dusty clay-brown road, took a seat on the ground, and tried to clear thoughts from his head to quell the rousing headache. With a few gentle rubs of his fingers on his temples, it did. But it went to show that he had to take it easy for another few hours. Hours he couldn't waste, looking at the position of the sun. He had to get to the next settlement near the City of Trees before night fell, or risk a run-in with bandits while his weapons were as threatening as butter knives.


Up up, back on his feet with a grunt of effort, shuffling back down the road with all that he had left. Another hour passed of just walking before there was a squeaking groan in the distance, followed by the soft clopping of hooves on dust. He turned his head to see a wagon with a big tarp cover over it, like pioneers on a trail to the west. He stood in one spot, chewing on his lip, hoping that they were Mark'd sympathizers and not Unmark'd radicals.


He wasn't so shocked to find out they were Unmark'd and looked down at him from their seats with horror, like looking at a rabid animal frothing at the mouth with a bloody snarl.

"Excuse me!" he shouted to the caravan, already rushing to it. The driver slowed for a moment, a smile forming on his face, but it was at that moment that he realized the black lines on the lone man's cheek, the lines that ran through his left eye and his left lip. He realized that Cherius was mark'd. Without even allowing him to say more, the driver snapped the reigns of the horse which caused it to go much faster. Cherius frowned and watched the wagon zip by... but it wasn't zipping by for long. Because the nomad had grabbed onto the back of the vehicle and hoisted himself up quick as a flash. He deposited himself on the floor of the wagon, with his legs hanging off the end, hand still keeping a hold on the side of the wagon to make sure he didn't fall off. There were chickens and hanging hams that swayed back and forth with the movements of the speeding wagon, but the most live thing off all sat next to him. A big burly man with thick hair and a thick beard, eyes as black as his own sat beside him. Cherius didn't want to talk to him, but no one ever seemed to think the same thing he was thinking. "Looks like we gots the same idea..." The man said, "Quick feet 'a yers, getting yerself up here." Okay, first, the only idea Cherius was having now was not talking to that man and it wasn't quick feet, it was quick hands. "Be quiet, or the man will hear us and we'll both be thrown off..." Cherius growled, looking away from the man. This earned a huff and a grumble, but in the end silence prevailed and Cherius got the calm that he wanted all the way to the outskirts of the nearby city.

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After he had finished his meal, Dahnohn eventually found himself walking through a bazaar later in that day. It was in the furthest reaches of the city from the harbor and quite a distance from the main gate as well. It hugged the moss-covered iron-studded stone wall, on which large chunks of rock had been chipped away and left in disrepair. The guard clearly didn't have much presence in this area, so Dahnohn made note to walk close to the ratty barrier, keeping the bustle off to his left. Being surrounded concerned him more than being cornered. A hand rested on the hilt of his sword; it laid against his hip, under his dark robes and out of view. He was gathering attention from merchants and the occasional thief alike (not that they're particularly different, he mused to himself). The commoners didn't tend to pay him much mind.


The darkling looked very much like a common monk, which made him in to a rather large target amongst the ne'er-do-wells of the village. Perhaps he was being too careful. It was doubtful that anyone would mess with him, and it was certain that he would be safe if his equipment had been exposed – the smarter thieves would keep at bay, while the stupid ones would likely leave bloodied and bruised. Still, he preferred the risk of a robbery over a thousand eyes prying at his odd, princely armor.


He stepped over a pipe softly and leaned against the wall of the bazaar, his dark catlike eyes leering over the heads of the thin, predominantly human crowd. Calls from bakers, hunters, jewelers, smiths, textile merchants, entertainers, freaks and prostitutes carried throughout the square. He scanned the stalls, eventually halting his gaze on an alchemist's stand that was devoid of activity except for a lone wolfman sitting in the shaded darkness behind the counter. Dahnohn made his way over curiously.


“Goohd ahfternoon,” he greeted, his whisper-like accent spurring from his native tongue. The dogman nodded in reply, sitting back in his chair. His accent was far more rough, and he spoke more deeply than the darkling did. In an attempt to mask this primal voice, he seemed to speak more softly.


“Good day. Anything yer looking fer?” He asked gruffly.


“I vas vhondering if yhu carried sihmple herbs. Raw mahterials, as it vere.” The darkling cocked his head curiously, leaning forward and gazing at the dogman with his wide, catlike eyes. The creature regarded him curiously, not entirely sure of what he was.


“Yeah. Whatcha got in mind?” The alchemist replied.


“Three leahves of trailrooht and a smahll bundle ohf Alfand twigs,” Dahnohn replied, bowing his head respectfully.


“Can do that.” The alchemist took a couple moments to rifle through his chest (which rested under the stall's table), then pulled out the appropriate materials. The trailroot leaves were long and thin, curled up at the edges. They were mostly a brown, but had shining green veins sparkling through their surface. They were rigid, unable to be bent outwards without flaking. After that came a bundle of short, white, knotted twigs. The alchemist bound the twigs in twine, which were near dripping with a clear, viscous sap, then pushed them over along with the leaves. “Three pence,” he said gruffly.


Dahnohn assumed that he meant the coins so often used for trade here. He had picked up a couple hundred before he came, and rifled in his bag before pulling out three coins, one held between each pair of fingers. He reached his hand out of his robes for the first time, resting them on the table. He took out the linen cloth earlier used to hold his pork, then bagged up the leaves and twigs, setting them upon his belt, the entire time keeping his robes mostly closed.


“Iht is apprehciated. I thank yhu.” Dahnohn gave a short bow and left, the wolfman saying nothing. He took a left down a narrow sidestreet, heading for the main gate. He stopped only once to make it clear he had noticed an orphan – likely a thief – following him, turning and gazing directly at the small human. He ran away, and the darkling continued on his walk.

Edited by Arctic

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"I thought you did not like the City of Trees."


"I don't."


"Then why have we traveled here? It seems a bit strange to me."


"Everything seems a bit strange to you and, since it would be detrimental to our task, my opinions should not limit us to where we travel," the woman replied, glancing back at her companion. The woman was a striking figure, obviously from the southern regions, with sun-touched skin, brown eyes and a thick mass of dark brown hair that fell in waves down her back. She wore simple clothes that allowed for movement and fighting, and a traveler's cloak to shield her from the elements.


"Your logic both astounds and bewilders me, Sheba," the male replied, coming to stand at the woman's shoulder when she stopped. He stood a good two heads taller than her, though his entire form was hidden by a thick, wool traveling coat. The hood was up, shielding his face, and only his slender, pale fingers were visible beneath the coat's sleeves. If one could have seen his face, he would have been quite handsome, with sharp features and a strong, square jaw. His eyes were a dull grey and his hair was dark, cut to fall just below his ears. His skin was pale, as if he had not seen the sun in years, but his body was toned and sturdily built. On the left side of his face, however, were the swirls and curves of the Mark and they curled down his neck and across the left side of his chest. No one but Sheba, his companion, knew this.


"Best to keep you on your toes, Elijah," Sheba answered, flashing him a grin before continuing on into the City. She could feel Elijah at her side, moving as softly as a doe through the throngs of people, and it amazed her that he could make so little sound. Then again, Elijah was never loud. She couldn't quite remember when she had picked up a traveling companion (perhaps a year ago?) but Elijah had not left her side since then. He became a constant variable in her life, never wavering and never changing, save for the Mark that continued to spread across his skin. Even it moved slowly, though, she noted. She didn't know what compelled her to help the grimm, only that she felt she had to. When she had come across him, he had been so confused about what was happening to him. So unsure of what to do that Sheba could not help but take him into her care. He was so wise, to certain of himself, yet when it came to the sickness of the Mark, he had been like a frightened child (though he would not have admitted it). Besides, he had saved her life and she owed him the same.


Sheba continued on, not sure what exactly she was looking for, but feeling there may yet be something to find in the City. Rumors had it that there was new knowledge about the cure here, but Sheba could not verify that they were true. In fact, she'd heard them from the Fae, of all people, which should have deterred her from even entertaining the thought. Fae were far from trustworthy informants, she knew. Still, it had been a lead and Sheba could not afford to pass up any bit of information.


She was about to suggest they stop for something to eat, more for herself than Elijah, since she really wasn't sure he veer ate (she had never seen him do so), when she spotted a familiar face among the crowd.


"Ophelia?" she muttered to herself, craning her neck to try and get a better look at the female. Ah, it was her! She motioned for Elijah to follow her (he would have anyway) and made her way toward the centaur female. It had been ages since she had seen her, or it felt like it anyway, and if Ophelia was here then Sheba believed the City did hold some clue.


"Ophelia!" she called once they were a bit closer. She could sense Elijah's hesitance, but she glanced at him over her shoulder. She smiled at him and, just like that, he relaxed. "Fancy finding you here. A long way from home, I'd say."


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She had taken to ignoring a good portion of the cityfolk in favor of studying the wanted man's face again. Now she was definitely certain he must have at least been half faerie, or perhaps even more. It would have been much more beneficial to her hunt if the damn thing had been printed in color rather than black ink, since faerie folk tended to share similar features. The prominent characteristic of that race, at least that Ophelia knew of, was the color of their eyes and hair. She could tell that his hair was dark, like his beard (now that she looked closer, it had been the faded paper that made it appear brown) and his skin was ghastly pale. Or perhaps that was the lighting...


The centaur sighed and rubbed the center of her brow with the palm of her free hand. Finding this fellow might prove to be more difficult than she had hoped. After all, the town that had put out his warrant wasn't exactly the brightest bunch and was rather lacking when it came to descriptive details about their criminals. The picture looked more like a police sketch of the average sorcerer running about, which would make tracking him down a bit more complicated. Of the few people she had flashed the paper to as in inquiry of his whereabouts, she had gotten three separate leads and all of them were about different men. Not exactly reliable information.


I've only been a bounty hunter for a few years, she reminded herself. Perhaps this job is better suited for someone of higher expertise. Ophelia was not fond of admitting her faults whatsoever, but she acknowledged that her skills, however decent as a warrior, were bordering average as a bounty hunter. It was easy enough for her to take down a target, that was no issue for the centaur- but finding the damn censorkip.gif***s was another matter altogether. Still, on the other hand, Ophelia was quite stubborn and loathed backing away from a commitment. She had promised, after all, to return the sorcerer to the quaint town, along with the enchanted shield that had been bestowed upon her specifically for that task.


"This is going to be a pain in the ass," she muttered to herself. She gave her tail a sharp, agitated flick, before turning around and walking back down the road. She had been headed for the marketplace, but downing a drink sounded like a much better idea.


The sound of her name made the centaur pause and tense in surprise. When she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the voice, Ophelia's eyes widened slightly once she recognized the figure weaving through the crowd after her. The centaur turned, hooves clicking softly over the stone, and folded her arms casually once the other woman and her companion drew close. A light smile (the first in a while, with all that had been going on lately) touched Ophelia's mouth in response to the sight of her old friend.


"Well if it isn't Sheba, the Wicked Temptress," Ophelia stated, one brow arched with amusement. "Home is where I stay for the night these days. You're one to speak of distance, anyway. Unless I'm mistaken, the desert is quite some ways past the prairies. Besides, I thought you didn't like the City of Trees?" There was delight in the centaur's gray-green eyes as she regarded the fury, but of course she did not for a second miss the hooded man standing close by. Her gaze shifted smoothly over to him, and noticed that most of his features were hidden in the shadow of his cloak. A rather mysterious person to be traveling with, but she tried not to question Sheba's ways. "Who is this? Finally settled down, have you?"


She turned slightly at the sound of wheels rumbling over the stone road, and watched as a tarp-covered caravan rolled up to the city's entrance. It was a welcome sight for her, at least, given a good portion of the city's transportation was either by foot or the strange machines brought over from Iron Valley. Wheels and carts were more of her style.

Edited by Shiny Hazard Sign

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Rin flapped around the City of Trees. It really was a beautiful city. The tress were friendly and welcoming. She felt out of place. Strangely, though, she liked the feeling. She'd lived for a while among others of her race and she just hadn't felt right. It didn't feel good to be like everyone else. Although others gave her a wide girth and younger folks gawked in awe of her disproportion and Hellish appearance, she felt a little less sad. Being in the presence of other beings almost always was pleasant for her.

She flew along, thinking about her old home and her travels. She looked down at her hands and studied her calloused hands. She still worked them so they would not grow soft. It was essential that she did not lose sight of herself in her travels. She did have an awful tendency to neglect her own needs when passionate about a thing or idea. At that time, she was passionate about traveling. The nomadic life suited her, actually. Her wings allowed for faster travel times due to reduced traffic and her appearance and stereotypes about her race allowed for easy temporary settlement. No one wanted to be around a death bringer, so it was easy for her to settle anywhere she wished as long as she didn't speak for a certain span of time. She found that people feared her silence. It wasn't as if Rin was perpetually silent, though. She just didn't find a need to speak often.


The buildings around her reminded her of her location in the City of Trees and she looked around. Creatures of every sort were around. Fairies, giants, shifters, mages. Sprites with flowers blooming from their heads, half-humans with animal parts, elves with familiars bouncing along with them. She tried to tame an animal once as familiar... It ran away. Rin just did not do well with animals of any sort. Speaking of animals... What was that? Oh. Just a regular ol' shifter. She had to admit, though. He was really good. Fast. Switching between animals like shedding old skin. She admired him for a while, halting in her path. She turned to watch him and followed along, entranced by his rapid changes. A fox to an eagle to a wolf to a mouse and then a tiger. He bounded from rooftop to rooftop and held his grace as his haunches gathered and he leaped into the sky, flapping his wings as a glittering golden eagle. Okay. So he had a limited number of transformations. That still didn't make his speed at transforming any less impressive.


Then the reaper decided to listen in on a conversation between a nymph and a mage. The nymph was short and skinny with a beautiful impish face. She was dressed all in blue and had bright, shining eyes to match. Her hair was ebony and straight and cut short like a man's hair. The mage, in contrast, had brown hair that was tied up and had deep, dark eyes. He towered over the nymph, though he was not very tall for a human. He wore simple clothes colored brown and tan and black. He looked very common. It was good to look common. Otherwise, one would risk standing out and feeling different. Being different was usually a bad thing. Right?


"Oh, come on! You're such a hypocrite! You go around telling me how to run my own stream, and then you just turn around and neglect your apprentice, leaving him alone and telling him to go up to the Forbidden Tundra if he wants to improve his skills. He's obviously going to die if he goes there without protection!"


"When have I ever told you how to run your stream?" he asked calmly, seemingly oblivious to the nymph's yelling. "And he has his familiar. If he can't come back with his current teachings and familiar, I don't think he'll ever be a good mage, Sal."


"You're so cruel to him!"


"I'm not. It's a hard knock world and I'm simply preparing him for it."


"Pssh. Please!"




"You know I'm right. He's your apprentice and his parents entrusted him to you so you could protect, not send him to his death. Your job was to train him how to use his magic and that was that. But no! You decided that being cold, rude, and downright mean to the poor child was the way to go."


"That's not true at all. I know I am supposed to protect him, but if I let him go home without adequate skills and he dies on a stupid journey..." he trailed off, not caring to complete his thought as his eyes and mind wandered somewhere else.


"Hey!" The nymph snapped her fingers and waved her hand in front of the mage's face. "I'm down here. Remember?"


At that point, Rin decided that the conversation wasn't really worth listening to and moved on. She saw a centaur and a fury and a tall, lanky figure not too far up ahead. Setting her sights on them, she listened, not particularly caring if she was seen or noticed by the others. She just wanted to watch and listen, after all.


(Gotta get to sleep. Sorry for it being so short.)


(Edit to change a semicolon to an apostrophe.)

Edited by Mousia

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Sheba blinked at that. "Settled down? With Elijah?" she asked before she burst out laughing, holding herself about the waist as she nearly doubled over. Elijah only cocked an eyebrow. "Hardly! No, we're just traveling together since he refuses to leave," she explained, shrugging her shoulders and jabbing a thumb at the grimm.


"I tired to leave and you forbid it," Elijah interrupted, and Sheba flushed a bit at that comment but the heat on her cheeks quickly faded. She crossed her arms lightly across her stomach.


"Alright, that's true, but that's only because I'm in your debt and, if you had left, I would never have found you again. Then, I would forever be in your debt and I couldn't have that."


"More Sheba logic," Elijah murmured, but his attention was distracted by something then. He looked over at the creature watching them from just a few yards away, curious as to her interest in their little group. Elijah was always curious when someone (or something) too what he perceived to be as an abnormal interest in Sheba. Deciding that Sheba was safe with the centaur female, Elijah made his way over to where the figure hovered and looked up at her, much of his face still concealed by the shadow of his hood.


Sheba knew instantly when Elijah left her side and she turned her head to follow him with her eyes, watching as he glided through the crowd nearly unnoticed. Something had caught his attention and she briefly wondered what, but then looked back at Ophelia. It was not like Elijah could not defend himself if needed and he wasn't that far away.


"And I don't like the City of Trees," she continued one, as if she had never been interrupted. She couldn't see everyone made it a point to mention that! "But all the other information leaks dried up, so we were left to travel here."


Though she didn't speak of Elijah to many people, Sheba trusted Ophelia, and if anyone would be able to help them, it would be her.


"Elijah is Marked," she whispered, keeping her voice low. She sighed lightly. "He saved my life a while back and I owe him. He has no idea how to help himself so I've sort of made it my goal to find a cure. Thing is, I'm nowhere closer than I was a year ago."


Elijah looked up at the woman, finding her presence a bit strange. He had interacted with Shinigami before, given that they were similar beings, but he'd never seen one so close to a large city.


At least not just flying about.


"What brings you here, Shinigami?" he called up to her, his cloak just barely swaying as people bustled along around him. Elijah seemed ignorant of the cityfolk.

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Rin watched as the creature drifted close, not paying any mind to the cityfolk. As he studied her and spoke, she shrugged a little. "I wander," she replied simply. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, tucking her wings in and allowing them to rest some. She noticed that their heights were similar when she wasn't flying. The being didn't quite know what to do with the information and didn't really care that she didn't.


"I haven't been here in a little while and I thought I'd just come and observe. But not many people usually notice me. Keen eyes." She searched him a little, taking his physique, height, and general appearance into consideration. Pale skin meant cold, northern regions with little sun. Scars meant the area was dangerous. She noticed what looked like whirling black mark on the left side of his face but did not react to it in the slightest because she didn't know for sure, the shadow did a good job of concealing his face (though she didn't care one way or the other). Rin, running down the information she had at her disposal, came to her conclusion. Grimm. But she didn't let on that she had assessed him. Most beings didn't like being looked over in such a way and took offense.


Her eyes shifted over to the other two. The fury and the centaur. They seemed to address each other as old friends. That was rather interesting, though she did not let her eyes linger there for long. It didn't particularly matter to her what other people's relations were. If a fury and centaur (and, presumably, a grimm) could make friends, that was fine with her. She was merely a death-bringer. Merely an omen of bad luck. Merely a nightmare creature, scaring small children by simply existing. The thought used to haunt her. She used to try. The shinigami used to try to associate with humans and elves and mages. But it was just too hard. Too many had shunned her and her people. Too much death had passed before her eyes for her to care anymore. Her job was to kill, that much she knew. But why? Why had her race been given such a curse? What sadist had thought of that...? Yggdrasil.


How had such a tree been born anyhow? A tree that spread life through its roots. She just did not understand it. Her faith had been shaken long before. Her faith in life. Her faith in purpose and meaning. But she didn't want to die. It wasn't as if Rin was afraid of death, but she didn't particularly care when she went or how long she survived.


Part of her was curious about death, though. What did it feel like? Dying. Would she see her left flash before her eyes or was that just a wives' tale? Would she see a light or just darkness, like what radiated from her soul? And what would be waiting for her afterwards? She didn't quite know. But how would she? She merely dealt out death. What happened afterwards was not her responsibility.


Then, a smell reached her nose that made her soul lift with a happy, adoring light.


Chicken soup.


Her weakness. Something she always sought. She'd tried going cold turkey (no pun intended), but it didn't work. However, she did have enough self control to not go flying after the aromatic delicacy. Well, it wasn't exactly a delicacy, but, to a traveler who had not knowledge of the food, her reactions to it could have made him deduce that.


The smell reminded her of the human that had passed through her old village. He and Rin had bonded over chicken soup and she had been sad as he left. Not in pieces, mind you, but a little sadder than usual. Anyway, he'd left her with the addiction to the savory soup and a fond memory of a conversation between them about the politics surrounding Yggdrasil.


That reminded her... The grimm! Rin wondered what his thoughts were, though she was too cowardly to ask about it. If her was a firm religious being, things could end poorly for her.

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"There is little else to notice," Elijah replied, now looking almost directly across at the female. Yes, he had assessed her correctly and was a little pleased to see another creature like himself. He had spent so long in Sheba's company that he forgot what it was like to speak with someone as quiet as himself.


Not that Sheba was poor company, but she was rather loud and boisterous at times.


"It was my understanding that Shinigami did not pass through merely on whims," he continued, cocking an eyebrow at her, though she probably could not tell. Elijah's hood hid most of his face and he liked it that way, as the sun was too harsh and people tended to stare at him, so it was better to stay hidden. "Though, it has been a while since I spoke with one," he added, almost as an afterthought, as his gaze swept across the bustling crowd.


A while meaning a few thousand years.


Despite them being very similar creatures, grimm and Shinigami did not interact as much as one would think. They had their way of doing things and grimm had theirs, so there was little reason to meet and make conversation. Plus, both grimm and Shinigami tended to be solitary creatures.


"How have your travels been, Shinigami?" he asked then, looking back at her and again cocking an eyebrow. "Better question, what are you called, so I may refer to you as something other than what you are."

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