Character Bio Compendeum (Now Helmed by the Murgence)

Warning: This is an extremely long bio (more of a short story) of my character. It is many pages long, and may hurt your eyes from the monotonous tone it may or may not be written in. Remember reading for long periods of times may cause permanent damage to your eyes, and to only read in well-lit areas. Read with caution.

The Story of "X"


Name:
Silas, otherwise known as "X"

Appearance:
He is a shorter than the average and fairly thin man, and gives off the
appearance of someone who may be sickly at times. On the contrary, he has
strong, lean muscles that prove otherwise. He is aged around 25, but always
keeps the stubble on his beard due to his younger appearance of about 18. Silas
has tanned and slightly rugged skin from working the land for the majority of
his life, and has short, dark brown hair normally covered by the hood on his
cloak. He has a disinterested and tired look in his eyes mostly, and normally
keeps them cast onto the ground. If not focused on the ground, his eyes are
surveying his surroundings or other people, but the hood on his cloak also
covers them at these times. A contrasting feature to his appearance, he has a
smooth, but deep voice that often catches people off guard. He is very fond of
wearing plain, sometimes ragged clothing, but he prefers to always have a long
cloak wrapped his body from head to toe with a small “x” stitched onto the
right shoulder for unknown reasons. This is perhaps from working in both the
burning heat of the summer and the chilling cool of the winter. Silas is the
type of person you wouldn't normally give a second glance, and he is aware of
all of these things.


Silas' fate was believed to be set in
stone from birth to death. His family had an ancient lineage of farmers who
worked the land around Rosemere castle for hundreds of years. The barons and
lords of the area never took notice to this family of farmers, and only gave
them a second thought when they needed a quick job done and they had no
servants to cover the matter. To make things worse, the family could never
obtain a Surname to at least literally give themselves a name. This family
failed to produce any person of significance, be it due to the family not being
of nobility or lacking a certain skillset in most areas. The men were not very
bright. The most they could do was heavy lifting and manual labor that would curse
them for the rest of their lives, and they were never wealthy enough to afford
even the simplest of educations. The women were sadly doomed to also working in
the family, along with cooking and cleaning like most other women that weren't
fortunate enough to be of nobility in that time period.

Silas was different, to his dismay.
Most men in his family boasted tall, powerful builds, almost knightly one could
say. They knew what to do with their hands, at least with the tools needed for
farming. Silas however was frail and not very athletic as a boy. He was shorter
and thinner than most of the boys his age, and was even too clumsy on his feet
to be able to play the sports the others were able to whenever he finally got a
break from his work. To top it all off, he bruised and became sick very easily
to complete the perfect example of someone who should not be stuck with manual
labor all day.

But to both his advantage and disadvantage, he was the smartest boy his family had ever birthed. No one ever knew why, but Silas was exceptionally skilled with both numbers and with words. He would often calculate the current year's profit of the farm in a matter of
seconds, and would predict the next few years' annual income on the spot. He
taught himself to read from simply reading signs and flyers on the nearby
castle walls, and could manage to read the most complicated of texts when he
got his hands on them. He knew from a small age, however, that his family could
not afford to make use of his knowledge. He had to deal with being limited in
his education and studies and had to abandon any reading he might have been
doing on his own to work the land on the outside of Castle Rosemere.

He never complained about his differences, however. Silas knew there was no point in pushing for something that would never happen, so he pushed himself to be the best farmer there ever
was. He did not necessarily obtain a knack for fixing things and working the
land, but the tools farmers generally used became extra limbs to Silas. The sickle,
or a scythe as he preferred to call it, began to become an extension of his
arm, and he walked around all of the country of Easthollow with his trusty
scythe on slung over his shoulder. He even began to obtain wiry muscles from
working so diligently for the whole of his teenage years, but still had a
slightly smaller than average build than most his age.

Besides his physical and intellectual strengths and weaknesses, Silas was a very noble boy growing up(or he at least kept to his own idea of justice and nobility). He was polite to everyone he met; even those who did him wrong, and always gave what he had to offer to
anyone who might need it. He was shy until a certain age, but after breaking
the shell of shyness came quietness and coldness. As a young boy, he was scared
of others, but tried his best to act his best around them. As a teenager, he
began to care less and less about others' opinions but he refused to talk
unless spoken to. Even then, he sometimes gave off a cold personality and
refused to answer if he saw no reason in giving one. He still tried his best to
kind, but it was not in his nature.

Silas did not give up on his individual learning, however, and read any books some careless noble would leaving lying on the ground or anything in the trash piles that his family was
required to burn every month. On one glorious day, he found a Battle Tactics
issue written by the local Battlemaster himself. The Knights of Rosemere could
be seen drilling and sparring every day on the outside of the castle walls,
with Silas watching attentively. He was more of a critic than anything else.
The whole while Silas watched the knights make clumsy swings that left them
open to strikes from seemingly every angle possible he was both coming up with
better attack combinations with less openings and counteractions for those.

Silas looked at the Battle Tactics book, and realized it was an older copy that was probably considered obsolete. The techniques used in the drills that the knights were practicing weren’t much different than those in Silas’ new, but old book. The knights were only
performing a few changes here and there, so Silas figured this book may have
been thrown away due to better siege or tower defense tactics introduced. The
foot soldier’s attacking patterns were terrible, however, and Silas could not
stand it. They were predictable, sloppy, slow, and just outright bad. To make
things even harder for Silas to understand was that even other armies were
making the same mistake! Silas’ land was close enough to the castle of Rosemere
to view a full-scale siege on the castle. Rosemere’s knights usually met the
attacking army’s troops about a quarter of a mile away from the castle, so
Silas took the chance to view the battles from a short enough distance to critique
the soldiers’ fighting abilities.

Silas did not notice it for the longest time, but he had more than just a knack for hand-to-hand combat strategies. He could pick out a warrior’s biggest flaws within one or two
attacks delivered and would often predict how he would fall in battle. “This
soldier always leaves his left side open,” Silas would say to himself. And sure
enough, the exact soldier was cut down by a powerful swing from a greatsword,
crushing his entire rib cage on the left side of his body.

The thin, tanned man decided he was bored with only farming in his life. When he turned 18, he was given a piece of land directly next to the castle, and used it to his advantage to view
even more battles. The Battle Tactics issues continued to roll into his hands
one way or another, and he could keep up with the changes in them with ease. He
started to predict the changes that would be in the next issue, and eventually
did not need to read the books any longer to know what the tactics and
strategies would evolve into next. He managed to visit a few duels between
knights inside the castle walls to get a view on one-on-one combat. Not to his
surprise, the same problems showed up. Silas decided it was time he stopped
complaining to himself about how bad the techniques were, and that it was time
for him to actually do something about it.

In reality, Silas knew no one would heed his advice about how atrocious the knights looked when performing their drills. He was a lowly peon without a last name and the lords and barons of the area were too stuck up to listen to even the most prestigious and knowledgeable
men of arms. So Silas decided what needed to be done needed to be done – he was
going to fight in a war.

Silas was 21 when he fought in his first war. The castle was put under extreme siege defense measures and was evacuated of all of the people of importance. As normal procedure, the two
armies met a quarter-mile away from the castle, which was only a couple
minutes’ walking distance from Silas’ small cottage. He walked with confidence
with his scythe slung around his back, now battle-ready from Silas learning how
to sharpen and shape the blade into an actual weapon rather than a traditional
tool. There was a lone tree set off about 300 meters to the side where the two
armies would first clash. Silas decided to make it his hiding spot, knowing he
could not just join the Knights of Rosemere’s ranks without being noticed.
Silas stood in under the tree, and the grass in the whole open field before him
slightly swayed back and forth like the calm before the storm that was to come.
The sky was overcast, making the midday seem more like the evening.

The two armies began marching toward each other in the distance ten minutes after Silas arrived, with Castle Rosemere and its knights to Silas’ left and the attacking armies’ warriors to
his right. The numbers of the armies were about 400 each, an even match that
would provide a great battle to watch on a normal day.

This was no normal day, however, and Silas was ready to prove that. The two armies began rushing towards each other, and Silas watched intensely for the best moment to strike. The armies clashed, and Silas decided that was the best time to make his away over to the
battlegrounds. He was quiet in his movements, but moved very quickly. Silas was
now in excellent physical shape, and could use his muscles both powerfully and
quickly. He reached the battle in a matter of seconds that would take the
average man minutes and slung his scythe into his hands from over his shoulder.
His cloak was flying behind him, but with his hood still covering his face.
Silas knew the danger of battling with no armor, but he was confident – and
possibly prideful enough to do it.

Silas’ first experience of battle was exhilarating. He entered the fray slightly to his left to prevent himself as appearing as one of the enemy and found his first target. The enemy soldier
just won his bout against one of Rosemere’s knights, but his victory did not
last long as he was cut down by a long bladed sickle from behind. The sharpened
blade of Silas’ scythe cut through the steel of the soldier’s armor much easier
than a regular longsword used by most knights of the current era. Even some
greatswords would find it difficult to cut through many inches of steel along
with human flesh and bone with such ease.

Silas glanced at his first downed enemy on the ground knowing if he spent too much time relishing on his victory he would share the same fate. He realized he made the right decision because another enemy soldier was charging with a large axe in a double-handed grip.
The enemy was easily sidestepped and cut down straight through his lightly
covered torso, possibly for better movement. It was a mistake for the soldier,
however, and many of his brethren fell to the same fate.

The Knights of Rosemere struggled as individuals, but excelled in unified efforts to take the enemy down. They generally moved in groups of 3 or 4, and took each individual enemy down so quickly that no enemy could plan a surprise attack from behind while they were
busy with another. And with the unfortunate fall of one knight, another knight
in a group of 4 would quickly bring a group of 2 to a group of 3 in a matter of
seconds. Silas was complementing this strategy on his own by taking down one
ore two enemies planning to take on a Rosemere group on equal grounds. He could
easily cut the enemy group off, cut one enemy down from the surprise, battle
another with ease toe-to-toe, and retreating to another enemy group without the
enemy or even the warriors of Rosemere knowing what happened.

With these tactics and the strange, hooded figure
cutting down enemies left and right, the enemy army was made quick work of.
When Silas noticed there were only about 30 soldier of the enemy army left, he
made his quick getaway. Not one soul from either side of the battle remembered
the hooded figure, much less paid much attention to him during the battle.
Silas returned to the tree off to the side of the battlefield, and sat down to
rest. He was cut in numerous places. There was a nasty gash across his left
shoulder and he was pretty sure his right arm was on the cusp of being broken
from the blow of a mace to his elbow. Silas looked up, past the tree’s leaves
and saw that the sky was still overcast. The cloudy sky made him realize what
he had done was not the smartest or sanest thing he had done. He killed nearly
40 men if he counted correctly. The thought made him cringe when it crossed his
mind, but was slightly comforted by the cruel fact that it was war. Only about
15 of the Rosemere Knights perished that day, but he could have easily been one
of them. He was lucky that he did not lose an arm or leg, and was glad that he
was able to simply fight alongside his fellow countrymen to ward off yet another
invasion.

Silas then realized what he really wanted. He wanted
to fight nobly alongside likeminded people. Not a single soul knew what he had
done that day, but he was completely fine with it. No one would ever know what
the young farmer had hidden behind his hooded face, but the deeds themselves
were good enough payment for his works.

Silas continued to fight in wars for 4 more years.
He gained experience in both small and large battles, and could fight
toe-to-toe with every soldier that would fight for honor or was spawned from
the deepest pits known to man. He began to feel invincible – from both skill
and pride. His whole life, he tried his best to humble himself in everything he
did. He knew he could do certain things possibly only a handful of other men
could do in the world but he refused to admit it. When it came to battle,
however, Silas could not contain himself. At first, he only accepted what was
due to himself. He knew what he had done: he helped Rosemere become a
prosperous castle and nearly doubled the area of Easthollow it took up in only
4 years. He failed to stop at that unfortunately and began to assume he was the
best there ever was.

He figured he could defeat anyone in an honorable
fight, be it the most prestigious knight, the most powerful magician, or the
most vicious monster in the entire known world. Silas was confident that he would win, and refused to think otherwise. Even though he never was recognized
for his deeds, he began to look down on others. He was already a quiet man, but
he began to refuse to even give a new a face a passing glance assuming he was
above them in the area of combat. This once humble, generous man became a proud
and disinterested man.

After the 20^th major battle fought in, he
began to truly reflect on his actions. In 4 years, Silas managed to kill
hundreds – no, thousands – of men in combat. He always thought of this as an
excellent accomplishment, and realized it was, but only to a knight. A knight,
or any warrior whose official duty was to serve and protect deserved the right
to kill in official combat. What Silas really was doing was equal to that of a
random bandit. He was killing without official cause, and that was murder.
Silas became nearly depressed, and became disinterested with life itself. He was
bored with farming long, long ago, and the only thing that felt like it was
giving a purpose was just shattered and began to give him the opposite feeling.

He continued to fight, however, because it was the
only thing he had left to do. He wanted to at least begin fighting with honor
and dignity, so he confronted the captain of the Rosemere knights and requested
to officially be a part of the Rosemerian forces. To his great surprise, he was
accepted due to some of the leaders of the forces hearing of his exploits.

The battle coming up was a battle against a far away
tribe that consisted of many evil knights, monsters, and necromancers. It
started as any other “normal” war would, but this one would prove different for
Silas. He still managed to kill just as many, if not more enemies in a single
battle than he ever had in a single battle, but the overwhelming power of the
enemy soldiers proved too much. He was struck down by not one, two, or three,
but 4 swords thrusted into his chest. He was never sure if it was due to his
disinterest in battle, the psychology of actually being part of a side in
battle, or his pride that caused him to fall. He would not even find out the
sad fate that would come to his beloved kingdom and farmland due to his failure
in battle. What he did know, however, was that it was all over. He defeated his
fate. He was not destined to be just another peon in the cruel world of
feudalism and chivalry. He beat the odds and practically became a knight,
someone of nobility, before ending his nameless family due to not providing a
male heir.

His journey was not over, on the contrary. Perhaps
from some necromancer from the enemy forces, he was turned undead. He was
brought back still with his senses, but when he came to was not outside
Rosemere’s castle walls. He was in a jail cell. For what, he did not know. He
did not care, either. Maybe it was from losing part of his mental abilities
from being turned, or maybe it was from the internal conflict he was going
through before his death, but he truly felt like a zombie. For the longest time
in that jail cell, he battled with himself to regain his wits, and he
eventually did. He regained his focus – his original focus before falling to
pride. He was humbled again, and was as attentive as ever. He never regained
any of his memories, and was sad, however. Sadness overcame his thoughts and he
fell back once again into a state of internal conflict.

Now a ways into his journey, and after learning he
was in the realm of Lordran, Silas is standing before a figure staring out into
the distance. The figure is a man dressed in a beautiful armor, and has his
back turned to Silas. Silas walked over to the man’s side with his cloak
flowing in the wind and his hood covering most of his face. His scythe was
still slung over his back, and gave him the strangest hint of comfort.

“Ah,
hello! You don’t look hollow, far from it!” the man dressed in the armor said.

Silas looked to him from under his hood and then looked
towards the sun, which was strangely both as bright as he ever remembered but
not so bright as to hurt his eyes. He looked to the man in the armor again but
with intent to pay attention this time.

“I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight.
Now that I am Undead, I have come to this great land, the birthplace of Lord
Gwyn, to seek my very own sun!
… Do you find that strange? Well, you should!
No need to hide your reaction. I get that look all the time!
Hah hah hah!”

For some reason, Silas felt comforted for the first time in a long time in both his live and undead lifetime. Talking to this man
made him both remember and decide that it wasn’t too late to reach that state
of nobility he longed for so long ago. And he now had all the time in the world
to reach it, so he decided he would wait and see where fate took him this time
around. He continued to listen to the man named Solaire.

“The way I see it, our fates appear to be intertwined.
In a land brimming with Hollows, could that really be mere change?
So, what do you say? Why not help one another on this lonely journey?”

Silas thought it over for a while and
said, “Yes, yes that sounds good.”

“And
what is your name, new traveler?” Solaire asked him.

Realizing
he never introduced himself, he began to answer, but could not recall his name.
He searched his own person for a telltale sign of identity, but to no avail. He
then noticed a peculiar “x” sown into the fabric of his cloak on his right
shoulder.

Silas crooked a small smile from under
his cloak, and said, “X…. my name is X.”

"There once was a man named Jeragius, who could not be beat"

"He scoured the lands slaying any that stand his way"

"But one day a tricky man locked him in a prison, and he has not been heard from since."

- Old Rhyme



Jeragius has the a face uglier than a dead drakes and always wears face covering Headgear

Tall and thin he dodges well and alot

He wears the Many different armor pieces all aquired from many different areas of which he has adventured and these are swapped out regularly



Jeragius journal day 12

"I came upon the ruins of the city New Londo and these damned ghost The sealer Ingward sold me some transient curses. Though it was rather hard to kill all of the ghosts that followed me up to him, Im currently trying to convince him to give me the key to the seal though he wont go for it proba"

The rest of the page is blood splattered and unreadable

Day 67

"Ive been stuck in this cell or quite a while not sure if i'll ever get out"



Day 68

"Guard dropped a corpse in my cell im going to check it

It had a key! the key to my cell finnally an escape!"



"A man named Jeragius who could be beat many have tried but all have died he really is quite neat"

Trychu, Welsh for 'to pierce, to hack, to hew, to amputate' and Gwirionedd, Welsh for 'truth, verity'. His name is an allusion to a 'Sword of Truth'.

Trychu Gwirionedd (pronounced t-ri-ch, the gutteral sound Scottish people are famous for like at the end of loch, -ih g-weer-ee-on-eth)
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Astoran
Hair: A mix of dark brown and gold, halfway down his neck and slightly shorter bangs
Skin: Pale
Eyes: brown with green-tint on the bottom
Clothing: Ciaran's Mask, Chester's Longcoat, Traveller's Gloves, (Big Hat set) Heavy Boots
Primary Weapons: Sunlight Straight Sword, Dragon/Crest Shield Ascended Pyromancy Flame+5, Beatrice's Catalyst (2), Black Knight Greatsword
Trychu is a kind, young Astoran commoner with a sharp, absolute moral compass. He has no patience for lies and halve-truths, and is blatantly harsh towards liars

Heres a character that i have created for this forum hope its okay.
Can anyone suggest what covenant would be vest to join thanks.


The Knight With No Name, The One Knight, The Broken Soul.

Appearence: 
5"12, muscular build with broad shoulders, dirty face and hair.
He has a thick black scar down his back from when his best friend Domhall of Zena stabbed him in the back due to jealousy.
Hair color: black
Eye color: blue
He wears a one piece of armour from each of Gwyn's knights.
Artorias' helm,
Goughs' body armour,
Cierans gauntlets,
Ornsteins leggings.
He treats each piece of his armour like a trophy, and hopes it will plant fear into the heart of any creature.

Personality; extremely proud of his accomplishments and power, dispises all those who he deems weak.
He loves a challenge and never rejects a  duel.
He is easily corruptable when it comes to gaining power and surpassing others, although he does try to grasp onto the humanity left within him.
He also is very determined and has one ultimate goal; to kill Gwyn.
Prefers to work alone, but if it gets him closer to Gwyn, he will work with others.
He hates Gwyn and Domhall of Zena.
He is from Zena but most know him to be a lone hollow who ventured from the undead asylum in pilgrimage.
He refuses to reveal his name as he despises who he once was, only domhall knows his name.

In Combat: He is a skilled knight and has an incredible will power and willingness not to give up and can take great amounts of punishment.
He wields a variety of weapons and chooses one to suit his current situation. 
He likes to use the weapons of his fallen foes, they are (like his armour) considered trophies.
He wields artorias' greatshield.
Due to his varied armour he is neither  weak or resistant to magic, fire and lightning. 
He has also started to delve into the art of pyromancies and the dark magic of the abyss as they are rather powerful tools in the right (or wrong) hands.

Bio:
The roar bellowed from the asylum to far away lands but within a matter of minutes the demon was silent and the knight claimed his prize; one of the famed titanite slabs.
He ventured back to the surface and sheathed his sword and sighed; dissapointed that he hadnt been challenged.
The lone knight laughed at the thought of who he once was.

He had been the victor over countless demons, monsters, phantoms and humans, but four of those victories felt different, the souls... The souls of these humans felt... intertwined somehow?,
Rather fitting for his broken soul.

The knight grasped his sword and trudged forward through the snow and glanced at the rotting hollows, feeling pityful for the hollows he drew his sword from its hilt and quickly dealt with them.

After all the souls he had taken he felt no more remorse of sadness just anger.
The knight sat down to gather his thoughts and rest.
An awful screech echoed from the far side of the asylum, the knight stood up and walked over to the creature which had made the noise; the crow, the crow which so long ago had taken the knight to the beginnings of his journey.

Then out of the pit of the knights sore and beaten heart was a sharp flash of anger, he thought of all the things he had done and seen, confused to why he wasnt being honoured for it, why were lonely knights like him not looking up to grand statues of him and singing songs of glory and honour?, why not?
He had slayed Gwyns four great knights, why didnt Gwyn approve of him! 

The knight gazed down upon his sword and examined the blood smeared upon it  and the soul fragment next to him, he considered consuming them both, but no soul tastes better than a knights soul, a hero's soul, a lords' soul...

Maybe it was time to show Gwyn what he had become, he had become the ONE knight, a knight with the strengths of the four greatest knights in history and the weakness' of neither, 

His lips parted into an malicious grin, he walked over to the giant crows' nest and curled up into a tight ball , this was it! he was going to complete the final part of his journey, he would journey back to fire link shrine and kill the greatest lord of the souls; Gwyn, and then every soul in the history of lordran will tremble at the thought of the one knight who conquered all; 
The Knight With No Name.

Enaid Waleis. Enaid, 'soul, purity,' and Waleis, 'Welshman,' from Welsh, 'foreigner.'

Name: Enaid Waleis. Pronounced En-aye-d W-ah-l-ah-s
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Ethnicity: Astoran
Skin: Slightly pale by Astoran standards, olive-toned
Hair: Dark, slightly red-tinted brown with golden highlights
Eyes: Green-tinted brown
Clothing: Tunics, jackets and shawls. He likes fingerless gloves, Ciaran's Gaunlets, the Heavy Boots and Bringand's Trousers.
Arms: Balder Side Sword, Sunlight Straight Sword, Crest Shield, Dragon Crest Shield, Balder Shield, Pyromancy Flame, Oolacile Ivory Catalyst/Beatrice's Catalyst
Magic: Magic Weapon, Great Magic Weapon, Crystal Magic Weapon, Power Within, Chameleon. He specializes in placing magic inside of things and himself, rather than outside or creating blasts of magic.

Enaid is a sweet, gentle soul who has become involved in events much grander and greater than his strength in Lordran. A lost, eternally uncertain young man, he was perhaps even more alien in his home of Astora. His natural intelligence was enough to rival the scholars of Vinheim, yet he had no desire to join them. Neither did the martial pursuits appeal to him, for such he viewed as murder that would always haunt him. Indeed, any skill and path he lacked.; lost he was, spending the last few years before he died searching for any path that suited him.

And then he died.

And then he became Undead.

Enaid was caught and encaged in the Northern Undead Asylum, as were so many others who had the Darksign branded over his or her heart. A dying knight, Oscar, freed him and bade him to journey to Lordran and complete his quest. And upon arriving, he
Upon reaching Lordran his world became darker yet. Murder became necessary for his survival, and the deeper he dived into the lands of Fire and Dark, the greater his anxiety became. All sides had lied; all sides were malignant, and it was his potential to become the greatest monster of all. And even still he holds the greatest light in the Dark: hope.

About Time I did this. Sorry for the font size I copied this from Word and I can't seem to correct it right.


Soris Ice
GoldWing


It all started with a chilly night, and now I
fight for her and justice .






Name: Soris Ice Goldwing, prefers Soris, called Sory by Cirno to
his annoyance.






Appearance: 5’8ft or 1.76784meters in height, Thorolound race. A
strong build of upper and lower body strength and a small scar shaped as a
snowflake the left side of his chest. His face is always covered with a helmet
so no one really knows what he looks like now, all that is known is that his
left eye has since turned cyan since the “event”. As for his age, since no one
seen his face so people naturally think he is at least 34 from his knowledge and
what he says and most people outside of Lordran are afraid to ask. In reality he
is 23 but after the “event” his lifespan has increased to near immortality and
he has stopped showing signs of age so it is of no importance to him
anymore.





The story of the cold damned:





Soris, who was born Soris Goldwing was the son of semi-wealthy
family in the southern regions of Thorolound in the far outskirts from the large
town of Rosenburg, a town known for its roses and strange ability to produce
strong knights and clerics who hunt undead and those of magic. Soris’ father was
a retired veteran knight of Thorolund who like many men in the family, once went
to Lordran and became well known for saving a group of clerics from a hoard of
hollow alone during his third trip there. He then spent his time training the
recruits and making holy weapons, a skill passed from each Goldwing to the next.
His mother was an intelligent woman who, though was a high priestess, spent her
time raising Soris as any normal mother would but also taught him the art of
healing, something her family knew very well. His mother and father met during
his mother’s first trip to see what Lordran was like and find the right of
kindling. Though unsuccessful the two fell in love, married and months later
gave birth to Soris.





Now Soris was a strange child in Rosenburg. Born as a healthy
infant, his health started to slip during his first five years. It was said that
his mother spent those five years in the Goldwing estate personally using her
healing skills to save her son, even going as far to use the family sacred
talisman, a talisman of great miracle power, to save him. When he did recover,
he was a weak child but had already a mind three years ahead of his age group
from his mother who taught everything she thought he needed while his father,
though a little sad by his weak son, taught Soris battle tactics and how to
wield a sword a little as a time. Till Soris was nine his life was nothing
interesting, while his grades excelled and his character had a way of making
people feel better, his physical weakness made him unable to start training as a
knight like his ancestors. Instead he became a healer in training for his mother
in the town’s church and an apprentice to his father for his workshop, by
managing the shop. Doing these things made Soris a known face to the public, but
it was not something he wanted entirely. Soris really wanted to become a knight
like his father and one day travel to Lordran. Soris was not stupid with Lordran
however, his father had traveled there five times and told stories of his
dangers there and those of past Goldwings, including one who spent years in
Rosenburg as an undead before leaving when he started going hollow. That
Goldwing was Soris’ great-grandfather, who was finally put to rest by his father
on his first trip to Lordran. Soris dreamed of one day becoming a knight and
then started doing that. Each day he would take his training sword and go into
the nearby forest during the night, which was off-limits in Rosenburg to anyone
without being granted entranced by Rosenburg’s count, and train close till the
moon was almost gone. It was a slow thing till one chilly night changed his life
forever.





Now the reason was the forest off-limits was a strange one. The
forest in times past was once used as a rite of passage for knight-errants and
new clerics because simply hollows would be wandering around mindlessly. However
that changed five years before Soris was born when something only deemed magical
happened. During one night a sudden burst of strong magic ran through the forest
and Rosenburg and put the town in full alert. The count ordered no one enter
there but five young stubborn squires decided to prove their worth and went into
the forest. What happened in there was describe as horrifying, the entire town
heard was screaming, and what sounded like large shards of ice hitting them. Had
it not been for a healing cleric running to get them out, those squires would
have died of frostbite and bleeding from cold wounds. That mourning a scout
troop reported that much of the forest from the deeper parts had been frozen and
that the Hollows had all been frozen, broken and the squires told of some blue
mage telling them to stay out. From then on the forest was called the Forest of
frozen death.





Now as to why did Soris go train in the forest was anybody’s
guess, but most people who are ask agree was the risk. He never really did
anything dangerous and this was something he could get away with. Soris was very
careful of course, since the family estate was close to the forest, he could get
into and out the forest fast and always went on a full moon so he can see
anything dangerous, as there were still Hollows wandering. It was a regular
thing Soris did when he was nine till that one night. It was a full moon in mid
spring and like every full moon Soris snuck out of the estate without being seen
and went into the forest. Though it was a cold night he went in his favorite
spot that was in a deep part of the forest, far away from sight. After half an
hour passed he heard something deep within the forest, the sounds of ice and a
girl’s voice saying “How weak you are!” Wondering who that was and if that was
the blue mage Soris took off following the noises. After a bit of wandering
Soris found to his amazement a girl perhaps three or five years older than him
use magic of ice and destroy a small hoard of Hollows by herself. However one
strangler saw Soris and went after him and Soris, using a simple training sword
of weak iron thought two things: He was going to become undead, and that the
Hollow was going to die with him, and Soris put everything he knew and charged
it. As it turned out that more were coming and the when girl saw Soris she
rushed at him. Instead of attacking him, she grabbed and froze his sword, making
it light and sharp and said “Let’s see who kills the most of these monsters!” At
first Soris was stunned, having been raised to hate magic, but that was not
important and he and the girl teamed up to kill the hollows. Rumors say at least
fifty Hollows were killed but Soris and Cirno say it there was only thirteen,
and that Cirno was going easy.





After the Hollows were dead Soris, who put way more energy he
had, nearly collapsed but used an herb he found that restored stamina. The girl
seemed to have been enjoying the whole event, probably because she was strong
and he changed things for her. Still Soris wondered who was she? Those squires
were not lying about a blue mage she was quite blue: Her eyes, hair, her outfit
were all blue, but what struck him were her wings. She had wings of ice and
could fly. Soris had no time to think on it since the girl came up to him and
started talking to him about his is not bad for a human and wanted to know his
name. After he introduced himself the called herself Cirno, the strongest being
alive, and started asking him just where was she and that this was not her home.
From then on the two started long conversations about where Cirno was from,
where she is now and just what was she killing for so long. As
the two talked they got closer and decided to become friends and agreed to do
some things for each other. Cirno promised to capture some Hollows for Soris to
train on, help his physical weakness, and teach him some ice magic if Soris
would return every half to full moon, teach her the nature of her new world,
bring some food and find someone to repair her clothes. The two shook on it and
a new found friendship was struck.





Since then Soris made it a must to keep returning to the forest
to see Cirno and train on the Hollows she caught for him to use. Many years past
like this and throughout that time things began to change in the forest,
Rosenburg, and of course Soris and Cirno. Due to Cirno finding Hollows for to
kill deeper in the forest, people started travelling on the roads closer to the
forest and Soris’ father’s smithing was becoming more famous as time went on. As
the years past Soris found himself in the Town’s knight academy as a member of
the newly formed elite group. Soris was proud he finally made his goal real.
However something was to go wrong forever: a test to kill his best friend Cirno.
Soris and the other elites were to put an end to the frozen forest for good when
he was 22 and Soris had warned her to get away as fast as she could, however the
other found her. What happened afterword went like
this.











“She is just a child sir! We can’t just kill her!” Shouted Soris.
“Quite Soris! She has been a threat for years and is obviously undead! She’s
likely stealing humanity form us with her blasted magic!” Said
another elite. “Hey I’m not an undead idiot!” Cirno getting annoyed said. “Why
you little…” a knight raised his blade to strike. “NO!” Soris had stopped the
knight by severing his hand. “Traitor!” Everyone shouted. Soris looked at what
he did with a heavy sign of displeasure, he will always be hunted by the very
people he once loved. Everyone but Cirno he thought. “Fine. You knights and
clerics who fight for the Flame are nothing but sinful fiends who care for
nothing but to get your blasted flame back at any cost! To dare harm a child for
your own prejudice against what you can’t understand is a warrant of death!”
Soris said as he knows saw the hypocrisy of his own people and attacked all the
knights with what he had learned since he met
Cirno.





In the end, most of those “knights” had been killed or fled for
their lives but Soris had fallen as well, only to be saved by some magic and the
thing he dreaded the most: becoming undead. “How could the very people I once
trusted be as ignorant as strike a child who wields magic in the name of the
gods?” He said aloud. As he turn Cirno said “Hey I’m not a child any more than
you!” with an angry look. Soris smiled and said “Well you look like one. Now
then we can’t stay here anymore as they will hunt
us.”





With a puzzling
look he said “I think our best option is to head to Lordran. It will be safe and
I can keep you safe and hunt down those clerics.” Cirno was a bit sad but
understood enough after those years with Soris when he could barely fight and
from him teaching her about her new home. Then she realized he said hunt clerics
and said “Wait why and how?” Soris looked away to the road ahead and said “I
read in a old book I found that somewhere in Lordran there was a god who ruled
over justice and followers who hunted sinners. Knowing how these “men of Gwyn”
are so sinful I think it would be a wise idea to join the god and serve justice
against the guilty. Hopefully I should also gain the strength to defend you.
Despite your power you are not as strong against large numbers.” And with that
the two gave mad but funny looks at each other and started towards their new
home with a new purpose.

Name: Cahlem (Car-lem)
Weapon of choice: Halberd, +15

Gear: Hollow thief hood, Dark armour, Witch gloves, Dark leggings, Lighting notched whip +5 (Offhand), Charcoal pine resin x99, Rotten pine resin x99

Build: http://mmdks.com/1pfz

Covenant: Exiled of Ariamis

Back Story:
Once, a long, long time ago, Cahlem was a knight and protector of New Londo. But on the dreaded day when the 4 kings were corrupted by the power of lifedrain, Cahlem along with his brothers in arms were changed into terrible beasts, with an everlasting hunger for humanity.
Though Cahlem’s transformation was not the same as the other knight’s, he kept the size and build of a human, and retained most of his former emotions and awareness. This resulted in Cahlem being considered a runt by many wraiths. Cahlem needed to find a way to gain respect among his brothers. Luckily, Cahlem had once heard a story about a legendary beast created through Seaths mad experimentation on crossbreeding. Legend has it he created a beautiful half-human half-dragon hybrid equal in elegance and lethality with the unique ability of lifehunt, a power that can be used to kill Gods. But the only way to enter her domain is through a large painting in Anor Londo, with a peculiar doll as the key. The doll was the toy of the beast when she was but a child. Cahlem, wanting the lifehunt powersto prove he was the mightiest wraith in Lordron, set out on a quest to slay the crossbreed.

After years of searching all of Lordron, from the wretched depths of Blighttown to the grand cathedrals of Anor Londo, he finally found the doll in the northern undead asylum on a corpse in a cell. With the doll in hand he touched the painting in the grand room of Anor Londo and was sucked into the bleak world of Ariamis. After fighting through hordes of monsters, Cahlem reached the crossbreed’s fog wall. He braced himself for an epic battle and entered…

There she stood, calm, with a sad expression on her face, Cahlem was in awe at the sight of the creature’s beauty. Cahlem dropped his weapon in awe and walked towards the figure “Who are you?” He spoke, trembling slightly. “I am Priscilla, guardian of this plain. Leave undead, you do not belong here” Cahlem was strangely attracted to Priscilla, and he changed his mind about slaying her, instead bowing at her feet. She spoke again “You are wise for an undead, but you must hurry home. Plunge down from the plank and return to the place from where you came”

Cahlem nodded, picked up his halberd and jumped into the darkness. Back at New Londo, Cahlem explained what had happened to the other wraiths, but no one took notice of him. Eventually they became tired of his story being repeated over and over… so they killed Cahlem, leaving his body at Firelink shrine.
He was angry and frustrated when he was resurrected at first, but then he smiled: “…Now that I have been exiled from the wraiths, I can reside with Milady in her world, and keep her company… “

Cahlem was sitting around the bonfire in the painted world when a figure walked up to him and spoke “You don’t belong here, what is your purpose here?” Cahlem kept quiet. The figure spoke again “If you came here out of exile like the rest of us, then why don’t you lend us a hand by keeping our queen from those how may harm her. A covenant with our lady, of sorts” Cahlem stood up, and extended his arm to the figure. They then shook hands and Cahlem spoke “I will join you and your brothers, but what do we call ourselves?”
The figure smiled “The Exiled of Ariamis, now come… there is much to discuss…”

Ok I commandeered this thread and I will be adding and organizing new bios as they are entered here. This is too useful and creative of a resource to go without a loving hand, and making the edits into the OP won't be too difficult for me. I'll add the topic to my watch list. If anyone needs to swap affiliations just say so.

Emergence wrote:Ok I commandeered this thread and I will be adding and organizing new bios as they are entered here. This is too useful and creative of a resource to go without a loving hand, and making the edits into the OP won't be too difficult for me. I'll add the topic to my watch list. If anyone needs to swap affiliations just say so.

Cool, I added something a while back, but wasn't sure if it was an active thread or not.

Nice E!! I'll modify the Exiled character lore section to simply link here...nice and tidy like!

For existing characters, should I just post new stuff, or edit my OP, E?

If it's a character that is already existing and included in the compendium, just edit in updates to their lore in the op. I would only make new entries in this thread if you have a new character to submit to the compendium.

Heyhey, Im one of the Exiled. Orusae's profile and bio are up under the main topic of the covanent.

Post it here please so that I don't have to go all over looking for content and to keep everything compiled under one thread.

My RP ^^

The story of Never – The Exiled
Never (real name unknown) was the younger sister of Marvellous Chester. After his sudden and unexplained disappearance, Never made it her goal to find her estranged brother and return with him to their homeland of Carim.
On her pilgrimage to Lordran she came across a self-proclaimed peddler and his bodyguard both from Zena with whom she decided to accompany. The peddlers use of language and humour amused Never and confused her as her homeland was a dark, serious place with little use of merriment.
The journey Lordran lasted for weeks with Never and Domnhall getting on favourably. The journey was not without its share of dangers however. Domnhall revealed himself to be skilled with a long sword and his bodyguard’s great sword also became useful, especially when travelling through the undead villages in Balder. Never had never before seen such chaos and destruction as in those 2 weeks walking through the undead infested land.
Never’s arrival in Lordran was one of violence, Domnhall stated that the best route into Lordran was through the plague infested Blightown, a pitiful place where the citizens had become warped und no longer recognisable as humans.
It was through this section of her journey that Never fell into a state of depression, Domnhalls words no longer comforted her and the realisation that the population was all but destroyed, filled her with grief, the road they travelled was littered with the bodies of women and children and the idea of Never seeing the sun again had been plaguing her mind. Never took time to cleanse and lay to proper rest the bodies of the children she found, after all, Chester would have just laughed at her for doing so if she did on the way back. Domnhall was squeamish about contact with the bodies but his bodyguard helped Never silently.
They finally made their way up the collapsing scaffold up to the exit and stopped outside the famed city of New Londo, Never did not like it there and asked Domnhall to take them forward, as he happily obliged she turned to look behind her and saw a white transparent body drifting along the waterlogged rooftops, the bodyguard pulled her towards him and told her not to look, “Nothing can be done for those ones”.
They stopped at Firelink shrine at the top of the elevator to rest. It was here that Never encountered here first new person in weeks, the only word she could use to describe the man was morose, Domnhall argued that he looked crestfallen, but Never could not see a difference between the to words and dropped it, too tired to argue with the quirky man.
“Next is through Sens Fortess” Domnhall smiled. A deadly house of traps awaited them. Never knew she would have nightmares about the place for years, luckily for her the snake men who resided in the keep were dim-witted and easily fell into the traps they themselves had set. It also helped that the crossbow given to her by Eidas was powerful enough to fell the few that got to close. At the top of the fortress was a giant tunnel. Domnhall said it would take them straight into the heart of Anor Londo, the first place to start looking if Chester was indeed in Lordran.
The tunnel, despite its girth was short and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the top of the famous Anor Londo Elevator. Domnhall suggested a peek at the Archives of Seath, “a wealth of knowledge after all! And who knows who we may find there”.
The undead here were different to the rest, the bodyguard stated that they were cursed and that they were “not your average hollows”. After pouring over tomes and examining volumes of books, Domnhall stated he wanted to continue upwards and they all took the book scrolling lift to the 3rd floor, crystals identical to those on the hollows lined the walls here. After reaching out her hand, the bodyguard slapped it away and warned her not to touch the crystals. Domnhall continued happily along the crystal lined corridor and peered through the archway at the end, Never remembered clearly his burst of joy at the sight he saw, floor after floor of books circling around them in a room bigger than any Never had ever seen. Domnhall ran up to the 1st floor to start and the bodyguard and Never made it to the middle of the room. “something isn’t right”, the bodyguard looked up at the giant dragon Seath perched on the ceiling. The bodyguard pushed Never out of the way and rolled back as Seath crashed onto the marble floor, Domnhall ran next to them out of breath as the balcony where he had been standing was reduced to splinters by the giant dragon. “Run” the bodyguard said calmly as the pulled his great sword from his back and charged at the dragon. Never ran, without looking behind her and didn’t stop. She ran until she found herself lying on the muddy ground outside of the archives. 10 minutes later Domnall appeared, carrying the crystallised armour of the bodyguard. “He didn’t need it anymore.” He stated bluntly as Never stared at him disbelievingly.
A mutual agreement was made. Never would continue to keep searching for her brother and Domnhall would return to the lower levels of Lordran. They stopped at the entrance to the tunnel and curtly said their farewells. “Here, It’s better than what you’re currently wearing” he handed her the crystal bodyguards set. “Look after it, he was a good man.” Never watched as he walked away she even watched as he placed the black firebombs at the other side of the entrance. “Good day to you. And goodbye”. Never walked away before the dust clouds could reach her.
Her stay in Anor Londo was not a long one however, after a few days a woman who identified herself as the Darkmoon maiden stopped her and attacked without warning, easily defeating Never who was undoubtedly better equipped to long range fighting. When she awoke she was greeted by another woman with a face masked by a giant sun shaped crown above her head, in her hands she was holding Nevers Avelyn. “Yes, there is no doubt. An assassination attempt” She stated. “Heritic, thou art here bye banished to Ariamis. May you rot away with the other abominations there”.
***
Never stopped at the icey door and stared at it, the path had been horrific with monsters and warped undead at her heels the entire way. Her brother was gone, she had given up on him, the cunning fool would be fine anyway, provided he didn’t annoy anyone TO much. She opened to door and stared at the sight she saw. A girl, 8 feet tall, holding a scythe in her two hands, her silver hair slowed over her shoulders and her furry tail wrapped around the front of her body, wait…. tail?
***
Never stared out over the Ariamis graveyard, contemplating her exiled existence, her brother rarely crossed her mind and there wasn’t much to miss when It came to that joker Domnall.
Her journey was over though, Carim was a nasty place anyway, certainly not a place worth missing, besides, this place was fun, the food was good, the company was excellent, and there were plenty of would-be assassins available for target practice.

My lore


Once there was a Nordic huscarl known only as Tuhka. He wandered his
frozen home using his pyromancy to keep him warm. He used his chaos
magic and his skill with a blade to storm castles that were home to the
enemies of the Nordic civilization alone. He wandered for years until he
found a gem with a rune on the sides and it was the runes for blizzard.
As he read the words frost covered his body and he slowly froze to
death. He was reborn as an undead and he wandered aimlessly until he
found a strange doll and held onto it. He walked to a painting in Anor
Londo and it reminded him of his home. He went to touch the painting and
fell into the world the painter had created. He met the queen of the
world and was grateful that she offered him a home. He had purpose once
again. Now he stands guard like a statue frozen in time until the frost
whispers to him and calls him to battle. He serves his new queen without
hesitation and slays her enemies without mercy. He felt like a new man
and he thought he needed a new name so he choose the only thing that
kept him company in his home. Frost. The warrior watches over his new home with great pride. As he dead before he became undead.

Lore of the Character Sare, Exiled Of Ariamis.

Appearance: Tall, very thin, wears the robes of the Painting Guardians, wielding a Washing Pole and Composite Bow.

"She was born in Anor Londo. Abandoned on the streets. Ridiculed and outcast by a genetic disorder forbiding her
hair to grow. In her early years, she would visit the great painting room, allowed to enter by the Guardians of
whom did not see her a threat to, in her young knowledge, the paintings and their great worth. Forever transfixed
by the enormous painting that has been hanging in that room, she almost felt... Safe, while staring at it. She longed
for a way to live in a place of which she would not be disgarded for her deformities. One day, after spending 4 days
straight in front of the painting, a solitary guardian whispered in the dead silence of the room "There's a way.."
Taken aback by the guardian's few words, she left. Fearful, as she had never heard the Guardians speak. Alone she wandered
Pondering what the guardian meant. "There's a way.." She thought for days, weeks, until she couldn't think of anything
She asked the Guardian, standing in the corner, looking over a fresh corpse of black iron that had fallen from the rafters,
"How?" He pulled her close, she looked at the corpse, and felt cold steel slide between her ribs. She had never felt the
pain of death before. Her last images were of the guardian, lifting his hood, telling her that this is "the way...."

She jolts awake, an inferno in her chest, looks around the room and finds herself in a cell in an unfamiliar place.
Her only companion, an old, shrivelled man who tells mad tales of a living painting, built with his own hands, and a key,
Of which is not in the shape of a key, but holds the power to open the door. A small doll, of which he hands to her in his
last breaths, swearing he is going home, to see his beloved friend. She thought nothing of it, but kept the doll close.
Only after talking to the man who claimed his name to be Ariamis, did she notice that she was cold. Too cold. She felt
her face, looked at her arms. She was dead. And yet living. She left her cell, wandering the Asylum of which she had decided
was no place for her. One day, a crow came. It lifted her off of the desolate graveyard, and takes her to a new home.

For the next 13 years she wanders this place, learning the lore of the realm, learning of the place that she never knew
existed over the walls of Anor Londo. She learns of a way to return to the old city, through the fortress of Sen. Upon
Returning to her home, she finds that, unbelievably, the Guardians are still here. Standing vigil over the same room. Dust
upon their clothes, dried blood upon their daggers. The guardians recognize the doll, and understand it's meaning. Without
words they turn, gesture to the painting. She is scared. How did the Guardians live for so long? She saw her old.. Friend,
still standing over what is now a skeleton in black iron. He speaks only these words. "You have the key. Enter our world,
become one with us." She notices now, he has 6 fingers on each hand. He too was an outcast. She walks to the painting, as
She did so many years ago. A slight ripple, and she jumps back, suddenly aware that the painting is not what it seems. She
approaches cautiously, touches the painting, and is sucked into what can only be described as a portal. Upon opening her eyes
she realizes she is on a bridge. Inside the painting. She travels North, finding a small scrap of paper that reads "Find
the cloth. Find your power" written in letters far too large for human hands to write so intricately. She wanders this world
for days, finding a chest with a set of white robes, and an enormous blade sitting on a table with a shield and bow.
Upon finding Priscilla, she swears to protect her, as this is the first place, and she is the first person to accept her
openly, and trains with these weapons day and night for years. She returns to the bridge, standing as gracefully on the swaying bridge as a leaf
in the wind, watching. Waiting for intruders to blunder their way into this sacred place. She was donned the name "Sare"
by Priscilla, Meaning "Beauty" in a long forgotten tongue, and has lived to serve her queen, never fearing Hollowness,
for she will never lose her purpose. Never lose her love. Never, lose the will to protect."

Hope I've posted all of this right. >.>

Name: Lucien
Home Country: Astora
Covenant: Leader of The Sunlight Coalition
Appearance: Not very tall, but not short either. A muscular build. He wears his old Astoran armour from when he was a solider, and carries his father's sword. He has a tan, being a warrior of sunlight and all, and has thick black hair, with no facial hair.

Backstory:
Born into a poor family, and losing his father at 10 years old, Lucien quickly learned how to fend for himself. He always had a fascination in the sun... How it worked, what it was, why it was there. His father was a solider, and taught his son the basics on how to use a sword, and a good thing to, for one fateful night, screams could be heard. A large group of undead were raiding his village, The militia - Which included his father - of his village quickly took arms and fought them off. Sadly they were outmatched, None of the soldiers survived, his village was destroyed and he was forced to escape to, What was then the Capital of Astora, Having nothing but a weeks worth of food, His great-grandpa's golden coin, and his father's old sword. About five years later he joined the Astoran Army, and fought against the undead, wielding his father's sword. He proved talented and moved up the ranks quickly. He was about to receive the biggest promotion of his life at around the age of 19. The King of Astora had called for him, and 9 other elite knights. They were to go to Lordran, and retrieve and ancient blade known as the Sunweaver. Upon reaching Lordran, they ventured up to what is now called the Undead Parish, spoke to the local priest, and he said "There is no such blade, I do not know who told you this, or why you have dared venture here". Confused, they asked him why it might be such a dare to come to this place? The priest replied "The undead live here, I keep them at bay with a few sorceries but I fear I may not be able to hold them off for very long. You must leave before the curse falls upon you!" Lucien and his men laughed, He replied "Foolish old hermit, just us few men could take down an army of the undead, They do not scare us. Come men, we must continue our search." Quickly after they heard steel fall to the ground from upstairs. Lucien turned to the Priest, "Who else is here?". He did not answer, he ran as fast as he could. Rolling his eyes he drew his sword and walked upstairs, while being accompanied by two of his finest men. When he reached upstairs he saw an armoured man, digging through a barrel. "Hello? Who are you?" The man quickly turned around, and revealed himself to be undead. Lucien put up his guard, "Quick men, Formation!" They quickly circled around the armed undead and waited for it to make a mistake. Just then two more undead crawled in from a nearby window, and drew out their swords. "Pick a target men, don't let it outsmart you." Lucien finished off his foe then turned and looked at the rest of his men, "Hey! We could use a bit of a hand up h-... Oh my god!" One of his partners replied without keeping his gaze off the undead in front of him, "What is it Lucien?". Lucien kept staring at the lower floor, "Their all dead!" He could hear footsteps coming from upstairs, "Come on men we need to get out of here!" They nodded and quickly went downstairs, but were greeted... by their dead men. Or should I say, "Undead" men. They were surrounded on the stair case, with little room to maneuver in, They were quickly overwhelmed and killed. Lucien woke up days later, with the bodies of his fallen foes lying on him. Pushing them off he checked his corners, and continued out of the Parish assuming he was merely knocked out earlier. He continued on until he found, what looked like, a man standing near a broken down shrine, staring at the sun. He tried to sneak up on him, but was interrupted by him speaking. "You know it's not all that bad." Lucien was confused, "What?". The man turned around revealing armour with a sun painted on it. "Being like me, you know, undead!" Lucien then realized what had happened. The man turned and looked at him, noticing his armour, "Ah, A fellow Astoran. Solaire of Astora, At your service..." There was a brief pause, "You're awfully quiet, If I didint know any better you could be a hollow! Ohohohoho, ah what a shame that would be..." Lucien quickly looked up, "Im sorry, im just... in shock I suppose. What are you doing here?"
"Ah, Gazing at the sun... Magnificent isint it, like a wondrous body."
"When I was a boy, the sun fascinated my greatly, and now that I look back at it, I seem to have fallen under it's spell again."
Solaire turned, "We seem to be exactly alike... You and I, would you like to join my order? Warriors who fight under the name of the sunlight?"
"Can't turn back now, I would be an outcast. Yes I will."
Solaire chuckled. "Ohoh, wonderful, I think we are going to be great friends you and I."



I hope nobody cares that I put Solaire in my story, it would be the only logical way Lucien would have been able to join the Sunbros.

Say, is this thread dead? The edits to the front page stopped WAY earlier than the last post was made. And the thread holder didn't sign in for about half a year either.

Would love to post my character profile, but what's the point if this thread is dead and there's no real way of finding the character profiles anymore? Eventually, it'll just end up being buried amongst others who posted their character posts in hopes of others reading them...

I've been keeping up with the new additions, as I explain at the very beginning of the OP. I have just been editing in new submissions, they just haven't been called out in the edits for some weird reason. You can post away with confidence!

Name: Oerest (Oh-er-est), The Deformed, Exiled of Ariamis

Appearance: Tall, somewhat thin, burnt and disfigured face, callused and cut hands

Bio: Oerest was born in a small village just on the outskirts of Astora. His father worked as a merchant and his mother died in childbirth. Since his dad was a merchant he traveled all over Astora and even to other countries, always taking Oerest with him. One day they arrived in a small town on the outskirts of Astora; the streets were empty and the homes looked run down. Noticing the mysterious and suspicious nature of the town the two made camp a few hundred yards away. As their eyes began to shut they heard the beats of hooves on the ground behind them. Off in the distance they saw a large group of mercenaries riding towards the village with torches in hand. Oerest and his father sprinted to the town and took shelter inside an abandoned general store. Shortly after the mercenaries rode through the town and began to burn it hoping to flush out Oerest and his father. As the fires raged around them they scrambled to find a way out of the burning store and away from the mercenaries; however, the only way out seemed to be through the entrance and right into the hands of the mercenaries. Oerest's father found an old smuggler's room and hid Oerest inside in order to keep him safe from the fire. His father then ran into the street and lured the mercenaries away from the town. He ran as long as he could until they caught him, killed him and pillaged his merchandise. Oerest was only twelve that day and suffered burns all over his face, scaring and disfiguring him permanently.

    After that tragic night Oerest wandered through the Astoran country side until he found his way home. After four years passed and Oerest reached manhood he joined the army and began his military career. He trained extensively and developed his combat skills swiftly. He was on the fast track to becoming an officer until he was discovered taking weapons to trade on the side. After being dishonorably discharged from the Astoran Army, Oereste made his way east and began training with the weapon masters there; however, his concept of honor differed from that of the men in the east. Oerest felt that he should be able to fight without restraint and that combat didn't stop at surrender, for Oerest, combat only stops when the other man is dead. After being exiled permanently from the temple he made his way to Balder. He didn't stay there for long as he was instantly shunned because of his appearance. 

     Throughout his travels Oerest had heard tales of a land called Lordran where gods where born and heroes thrived. He eventually made the pilgrimage to Lordran. Upon arriving at Firelink Shrine, Oerest met with Laurentius and learned the very basics of pyromancy. Laurentius told him tales about the first flame and the Witch of Izalith and urged Oerest not too seek out the powerful chaos pyromancies. Of course Oerest didn't heed Laurentius's warning and headed into Blighttown to seek out a way to the Demon Ruins. In Blighttown Oerest met Quelana, a daughter of the Witch of Izalith. Oerest trained under her for a very short time until she discovered he wanted access to the chaos pyromancies. Quelana refused to continue his training and forever banned him from returning to Blighttown; if Oerest did return, Quelana said it would be the end of him. Knowing her power Oerest fled Blighttown and made for Anor Londo. After a harrowing journey through Sen's Fortress Oerest defeated the Iron Golem with the help of Black Iron Tarkus. Oerest quickly found out Anor Londo was not everything he had heard it to be. After being chased through the city by giant guards, gargoyles and bat demons Oerest took refuge in the chapel. 

     He hid in that chapel for several weeks and he could never tear his eyes away from the giant painting on the back wall; it was as if the painting had called out to him. Eventually, he gave in and touched the painting. All of a sudden he was dragged in and he found himself on a rickety bridge in the middle of a snow covered mountain range with what appeared to be the ruins of an old castle in front of him. Curious about his new surroundings, Oerest made his way to the entrance of the castle and was greeted by a half-dragon/half-woman creature wielding a large scythe and on her side stood a much smaller man in an odd yellow outfit. She introduced herself as Priscilla and offered sanctuary to Oerest. Graciously Oerest accepted and became a part of the Exiled of Ariamis. He vowed to protect Priscilla at all costs and to forever keep the secrets of the painted world safe. Now he works closely with the Exiled of Ariamis to hone his skills and to forever to keep Priscilla safe.

Name: Ignis, the raging fire.

Covenant: Follower of Izalith

Appearance: Very muscular appearance, scars from burns, Suprisingly well kept hair and handsome face with green eyes. He wears a ripped up gold hemmed hood, and skirt, with some pieces torn around his body. He wields two Chaos Furyswords and has a very bright pyromancy flame.

Bio: Like his sisters he was trained in the arts of fire sorceries from his mother, The Witch of Izalith. But he was definitely not a favourite. His sisters teased him, He was not talented like they were. He could only produce a flame big enough to be seen, or burn one's finger. But there was one sister who cared for him. She was the oldest of the sisters and would comfort Ignis when he was bullied, and gave him private lessons of things that their mother would not teach them until they were older. However this was for a good reason, He could not control this fire and his skin was badly burned when he attempted to use it, especially when he was angry. His entire body went up in flames and ended up falling down a series of floors, down into the bottom of Izalith. He was trapped down there and forgotten, but he could not die. Something had changed.

He practiced his fiery powers in seclusion. He did this for hundreds of years, until finally something happened...

For 1000 years he watched his city burn until he finally had the power to escape where he had been trapped. Many demons took his place down there, and he sealed them off. He escaped the city that was being raided by demons until he met two of his sisters, Quelaag and his older sister, They were not the same. They had been transformed into strange spider half demons but they were still conscious. One sister disappeared, while the others had either been killed or consumed in chaos. When they had explained what happened, they all vowed to protect their lost city, and family.

Ignis and her sisters developed new pyromancies together, with the power of Chaos. They are extremely powerful and they each hold their own seperate unique power. But sadly, the Elder sister's care, and humility was the death of her, She had sacrificed herself to protect a human pyromancer, and a follower of the Chaos Trinity. This was too much to bare for the others, so they each collected humanity for the sister, and continued to do so. The sister started to lose memory, first about her brother who she had recently met up with again, Ignis. And then started to lose memory of Quelaag her last known sister. Ignis secretly gave humanity to Quelaag that was then delivered through her, to avoid scaring the eldest sister. Ignis can still be found today in Lost Izalith protecting his mother, and chaotic sisters, and the Fair Lady.

There is only so much one can do though... For in Lordran there are no happy endings. It is a lost cause for Ignis to protect his lost city... He is alone, and all memory of him is erased...

That is when he finds them...

Tempestatem Ignis...

Name: Silvester of Carim

Covenant: Gravelord Servant(in-game only)

Appearance: Pale skin, medium black unkempt hair and slim body. Wears a black hood, with a black coat, with tattered clothes around his hands and, armored leggings. Wields an assort of weapons at the ready including knifes and bombs

Combat skills: Uses parrying dagger, a great scythe and, occainsionally uses a sword he looted from a balder knight. He loots bodies for a living so he's quick on his feet and doesn't stay in one place for long. Will use magic if possible, mainly to buff his weapons.

Bio:
  When he became undead he traveled to Lordran with a group of people, one being a "Sir Lautrec the Embraced", while one wore crimsion colored robes and the other wore simple leather armor. Silvester was always quiet, he was always in the shadows. They came across a "peddler" named Patches and asked if he could follow them. They quietly talked it over and then agreed. It took them a month to reach Lordran.
  When they did they rested at a bonfire near a church ruin. They were all quiet until Patches asked what they all hate. The one with robes said "hard headed idiots', the one in leather said "thieves", Lautrec said "those who are greedy and horde everything". Patches was silent after hearing there answers and quickly turned to Silvester and asked him the same. He simply replied "People who shouldn't stick there nose into other peoples business", this startled Patches.
  After about an hour Silvester simply got up and left for the Catacombs. He noticed that Patches was following him and quickly used to ledges in there to lose him, but sliped and fell onto another ledge, almost losing his grip on it. Almost able to get up Patches walk in front of him steping on his fingers, "hey there buddy, how's it hanging", he pressed harder on his finger, "dont worry you'll be with your other buddies soon". He then kicked Silvester off the ledge and he died for the first time. He was then reanimated back at a bonfire, soon he left to find patches.
  He checked where he was at and found a strange scythe near the ledge and picked it up. After a few swings he thought he would keep it, and he continued with his manhunt. He searched though the Catacombs and a little bit into the Tomb of the Giants. Soon he gave up and fell asleep in a coffin, after a few hour he got out and saw a giant coffin with Nito, the First of the Dead, inside. He hear a voice saying that if he'll joined the Gravelord he would help Silvester find Patches, after some thought he agreed.
He now skulks around the Catacombs waiting to do his master's beding, and for Patches to come looking for him.