Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 8, 2019 20:52:13 GMT -8
His brows furrowed deeply, eyes flashing as he pushed himself through the basic sword stances he had learned before being shipped off to the war. He was careful, he was easily guided in his handiwork and footwork.
But he could already feel his muscles protesting. He had only been at it for a little more than a quarter of an hour; he kept his breathing even and steady, his core tight, and his purpose focused. But even still, he was not doing as well as he knew he should.
As he thrust the shortsword out with one hand, the blade lengthened with a thought, becoming the length of an arming sword. He flourished the weapon, spinning it behind his back and into a backhand grip, as his other hand flew forward; from it emerged a length of flaming magic, that sizzled and burned the air around it. He lashed it several times, before spinning on his heel and thrusting his hand forward. In that same instance, the whip straightened out into a spear.
His satisfaction was stolen though, as it erupted into sparks that sizzled and sent pain through his hand and arm. He hissed not in pain but at the pain. Anger flushed through him at the failure. The loss of his own control over the innate powers that coursed through him. He flourished his sword as it shortened back to its original length, before sliding it into its scabbard on his back.
The Dahloen lowered himself to the ground, sitting in the lotus position as he glared at nothing in particular, ignoring the birdsong that began to fill the air as his session ceased.
He breathed out slowly before pulling his hood up over his head. He had cleaned his war stained robes, and cleaned off his armor as best as he could… but that end war had forever left its mark upon his equipment. And he could not allow himself to forget what had happened. He would never forget the death, the chaos, the screams that even now sometimes echoed in his mind when he was awake and haunted his dreams as he slept.
He instead chose to observe the forest around him, to note the life with passing interest; there had been little enough of it by the time he was born that the absolute greenery was… disquieting to him. His homeland and the lands of the Ehloen he had fought in had not been barren per se. But it had not been like this.
His finger plucked at a single blade of grass, and he clutched it in his hand, drawing the life from it to ease his fatigue. It was not much, but it was something. He tucked the now dry piece of foliage into one of his pouches. There was no reason for it. No need for it, but he wanted it. Maybe the life of this world held properties that he could draw from to make new potions and poisons.
He couldn't remain at the ranch forever, after all.
He took a deep breath through his nose and leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes as he stretched his legs out in front of him. He could enjoy the gentle sunlight that escaped between the leaves, let it play about his blue-gray skin. But he kept his ears open.
Even here, in these docile lands, everything was unknown to him; beast, ally, friend, and enemy. Everything was shrouded.
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Seeker Dietrich Konstantine
Established
Roleplay posts: 24 
Age: Physical: 40
Physical Description: A hardened man, Dietrich is a devout man of the Church. Standing at six-foot-five with eyes of gold, turned when becoming a Seeker. His hair is still a chestnut brown, though is usually cropped short and hidden beneath his hat. His beard is little more than unkempt fur that grows longer about his chin and mouth.
Shrewd eyes are alert for the hints of Chaos, a hawk of the human variety.
Clothes and Equipment: His armor is richly decorated in writs of protection and battle prowess, especially his right pauldron, which holds his own marking. A long brown coat protects his body from the weather, worn over an embroidered chest plate, that protects him from physical attacks.
Two golden discs dangle from his neck, each anointed with powers to help Dietrich. One of protection, and one of detecting Chaos.
Across his chest is a bandolier of stakes, sharpened and blessed by Leandros.
Slung over his back, is his hand and a half sword. A double-edged blade with rich and intricate carvings of prayers, lined in silver and blessed by Leandros. Dubbed "Ashbringer", this swords specialty is being lit aflame by the wielders will.
Blessed Bolts are in his cards, holy lightning thrown from the hand.
Allegiances: Seekers of Leandros
Registered: Jan 2, 2019 19:43:37 GMT -8
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Post by Seeker Dietrich Konstantine on Mar 9, 2019 15:12:16 GMT -8
Seeker Konstantine always liked the ranch owned by the elven mage around the outskirts of Voruta. With war and the daemon ever present in his daily life, a nice luxurious place such as this was a rarity that should be cherished and protected. Perhaps he set up a temporary base within Voruta to keep the dark away from the ranch, perhaps it was to help the populace. Multitudes of things led the Seeker-Captain where he went with his band of hunters, never were they really dissimilar.
He and his squire were performing the routine checking of the boundaries, a long endeavor that took the better part of a day, or even two. For this reason, he desired soldiers from Voruta, but the local with hunters were very good at being incompetent, save for some of the unwitting lower ranks. He flexed his fingers as Leandros' power coursed, forcing him to tense his arm to bring back the surge. Glancing at the palm of his hand, a quick frown crossed his features as he wiped the tiny charred bits of leather that formed his protective gauntlet off and into the oblivion of the grass below.
Dietrich led his squire about the boundary fence of the ranch when he caught a glimpse of the man, and at second glance, could tell he was not normal, or from Voruta. Turning to his squire, he commanded her to stay with the horses as he dismounted and mantled the fence, the gold discs about his neck dangling and jumping to and fro with the motion. The one shone brighter as he neared the man, elf, demon.
"Leandros' Grace upon us today, sorcerer," Konstantine called to the man, "A good day to stare at the sun, while the cold ebbs, ey?"
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Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 11, 2019 7:08:03 GMT -8
Hearing the approach of the figure, the Dahlen stiffened and rose to his feet. He moved as quickly as his body would allow, but made no moves towards his weapons. He had learned during his time on the Ranch that it was not a time of War. It was a time of… Peace, was the word. It was a strange concept to him.
Even so, the man before him set him on edge; his long coat and array of weapons certainly put him in the mind of a warrior. Warriors were always ready for battle. The Dahoen looked him over from the shadows of his hood, taking note of the youngling not far off. He flexed his fingers, cycling the power of his magicks through his body as well as linking his consciousness to the enchantments emplaced on his vambraces; the glowing amulet set his guard up.
“I know not your Leandros,” he answered evenly, tilting his head to the side slightly, keeping his face placid, “If it does not wish me ill, then I accept that offer of grace.”
He gave a lift of his head towards to sky, replying evenly, “It is well enough, I suppose. Better than the rain in which I first arrived. Do you have business with me, stranger?”
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Seeker Dietrich Konstantine
Established
Roleplay posts: 24
Age: Physical: 40
Physical Description: A hardened man, Dietrich is a devout man of the Church. Standing at six-foot-five with eyes of gold, turned when becoming a Seeker. His hair is still a chestnut brown, though is usually cropped short and hidden beneath his hat. His beard is little more than unkempt fur that grows longer about his chin and mouth.
Shrewd eyes are alert for the hints of Chaos, a hawk of the human variety.
Clothes and Equipment: His armor is richly decorated in writs of protection and battle prowess, especially his right pauldron, which holds his own marking. A long brown coat protects his body from the weather, worn over an embroidered chest plate, that protects him from physical attacks.
Two golden discs dangle from his neck, each anointed with powers to help Dietrich. One of protection, and one of detecting Chaos.
Across his chest is a bandolier of stakes, sharpened and blessed by Leandros.
Slung over his back, is his hand and a half sword. A double-edged blade with rich and intricate carvings of prayers, lined in silver and blessed by Leandros. Dubbed "Ashbringer", this swords specialty is being lit aflame by the wielders will.
Blessed Bolts are in his cards, holy lightning thrown from the hand.
Allegiances: Seekers of Leandros
Registered: Jan 2, 2019 19:43:37 GMT -8
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Post by Seeker Dietrich Konstantine on Mar 12, 2019 11:30:19 GMT -8
Dietrich placed his hands on his hips as he looked to the sky, squinting in the suns light. Yes, the ranch was worth protecting, if only for the sparse moments of peace, something of a secluded nature set itself about the ranch. If it was by magic, then he'd let it slide, just this once.
"I serve the populace by hunting those that would harm it, the people of this land call it witch hunting," He raised his hands in a mock surrender, "But, that is not why I am here, just that you are on another man's property." He let his hands fall back to his side, letting them hang as he shifted his gaze to the man before him.
"That was my original reason for disturbing you, but my amulet tells me you have something of a magical nature about you. I would like to know more, sorcerer, about you."
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Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 12, 2019 16:52:22 GMT -8
Considering the man as he looked to the sky, Davmyn ascertained he was not out for his blood. At least not openly. He relaxed his posture- if only in the most miniscule of manners- before slightly circling the person. He did not move to flank him, simply to keep himself in a more favorable position should conflict come.
“The owner has been allowing me…” his brows furrowed softly, trying to recall the word. “A furlough as I rejuvenate.”
He knew this was not the word that Al had used, but it was the one closest to which he could compare its meaning. He set his thumbs on his belt, keeping his hand close to his dagger’s hilt. He did not understand this man's interest in him nor did he trust it; Witches were terrifying weapons in the Arsenal in the war machine that was the Dahloen legions. That this man hunted Witches made him… uneasy. He had seen one such witch lay waste to an entire platoon- though the magic was not of the utter destruction kind. He almost pitied those enemies that had fallen to those decaying spells.
“I am no one worth mentioning,” he answered carefully with a shrug. “My name is Davmyn, if you wish a label. DU-557398, if you wish a designation that matters not at all.”
His lips turned downwards though after a moment, before he inquired, “That word you continue to call me. What is it?”
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Seeker Dietrich Konstantine
Established
Roleplay posts: 24
Age: Physical: 40
Physical Description: A hardened man, Dietrich is a devout man of the Church. Standing at six-foot-five with eyes of gold, turned when becoming a Seeker. His hair is still a chestnut brown, though is usually cropped short and hidden beneath his hat. His beard is little more than unkempt fur that grows longer about his chin and mouth.
Shrewd eyes are alert for the hints of Chaos, a hawk of the human variety.
Clothes and Equipment: His armor is richly decorated in writs of protection and battle prowess, especially his right pauldron, which holds his own marking. A long brown coat protects his body from the weather, worn over an embroidered chest plate, that protects him from physical attacks.
Two golden discs dangle from his neck, each anointed with powers to help Dietrich. One of protection, and one of detecting Chaos.
Across his chest is a bandolier of stakes, sharpened and blessed by Leandros.
Slung over his back, is his hand and a half sword. A double-edged blade with rich and intricate carvings of prayers, lined in silver and blessed by Leandros. Dubbed "Ashbringer", this swords specialty is being lit aflame by the wielders will.
Blessed Bolts are in his cards, holy lightning thrown from the hand.
Allegiances: Seekers of Leandros
Registered: Jan 2, 2019 19:43:37 GMT -8
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Post by Seeker Dietrich Konstantine on Mar 19, 2019 20:02:44 GMT -8
Dietrich watched every move the man made, eyes narrowing at the strange code. It set his mind pondering where the man was from, for he was not of any race he was familiar with. Elves, he was far too familiar with, but none of the same complexion as Davmyn.
"It is.. a title I default to when talking to those that can manipulate magic." He then tapped the glowing amulet. "This, blessed by Leandros, tells me when such a thing is near to me, and you are it." The Seeker paused a moment before speaking again.
"Forgive my manners, I am Dietrich Konstantine, Seeker-Captain of the Seekers of Leandros. As I've said, my order specializes in the hunting of the occult and strange, of the chaotic and the leech." He took a step forward.
"I have questions, Davmyn. Is your magic malevolent? Do you harm to strengthen yourself?"
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Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 19, 2019 20:32:09 GMT -8
He nodded his head lightly to the Seeker-Captain, watching as he indicated his amulet and explained his purpose and a light explanation of the Order that he served. His left foot moved back half an inch, muscles coiling as he prepared for a strike.
“I only harm those that would harm me these days,” he answered smoothly, lips twitching only slightly downwards. “If they attack me, their lives are forfeit or whatever else I decide to claim for them in the exchange that I may live. I have no masters any longer but myself.”
He tilted his head in a minute manner, looking this Dietrich over again. There was a force of magic behind him that set his skin crawling, something that spoke that if they did battle it would take more than just head on force to defeat him.
But the Dahloen didn't wish for it to come to that even so.
“I am simply here to recuperate before heading on my own business,” said Davmyn after another moment, but a thought did take him. “Before I set out, I am trying to learn what I may of these lands and those that surround it. Would you be willing to offer me your service in this?”
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Seeker Dietrich Konstantine
Established
Roleplay posts: 24
Age: Physical: 40
Physical Description: A hardened man, Dietrich is a devout man of the Church. Standing at six-foot-five with eyes of gold, turned when becoming a Seeker. His hair is still a chestnut brown, though is usually cropped short and hidden beneath his hat. His beard is little more than unkempt fur that grows longer about his chin and mouth.
Shrewd eyes are alert for the hints of Chaos, a hawk of the human variety.
Clothes and Equipment: His armor is richly decorated in writs of protection and battle prowess, especially his right pauldron, which holds his own marking. A long brown coat protects his body from the weather, worn over an embroidered chest plate, that protects him from physical attacks.
Two golden discs dangle from his neck, each anointed with powers to help Dietrich. One of protection, and one of detecting Chaos.
Across his chest is a bandolier of stakes, sharpened and blessed by Leandros.
Slung over his back, is his hand and a half sword. A double-edged blade with rich and intricate carvings of prayers, lined in silver and blessed by Leandros. Dubbed "Ashbringer", this swords specialty is being lit aflame by the wielders will.
Blessed Bolts are in his cards, holy lightning thrown from the hand.
Allegiances: Seekers of Leandros
Registered: Jan 2, 2019 19:43:37 GMT -8
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Post by Seeker Dietrich Konstantine on Mar 19, 2019 20:59:32 GMT -8
Konstantine smirked at the mans explanation, letting out a light chuckle as he shook his head.
"I can't fault you for protecting yourself, the Overworld is a dangerous place, what with the threat of Daemons and their twisted minions ever present." Dietrich placed his foot back, before he had taken that step forward, before making that unwitting threat towards the man.
"And the Overworld hosts many nations, the largest being Isra, to the southwest. I believe it is old, more than a hundred years, or perhaps about that. I am not quite sure, as the Free City is a mystery to me, one I intend to unravel soon."
"I've no idea if the magi has told you of Voruta, but that is where this ranch lies. A nation of knights, I have chosen this place as my area of operation, so I may scour the attempts of the Daemon, who rest in the woods."
"There are many more, and I can tell you of them all, of Tawakoshi and their mastery of the blade. Of Taingaard and its unruly band of warriors, as large and as strong as bears. Of the Velmerian Empire, and its nobility of mages. I have been many places, purging the unclean, Davmyn, for far too long. There are still many more nations, some I am not welcome in, some I have my tales sung. Though, us Seekers are mostly unwelcome." He added the last part with a chuckle.
"Or of my Order, as my rank is just below our God, and I hold the weight of the lore of the Order." Dietrich rubbed his neck before dropping his hand to his hip, his smirk a lighthearted one.
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Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 19, 2019 21:34:35 GMT -8
He noticed the man giving him space and so allowed himself to relax his own stance; his wrist remained resting on the hilt of his dagger though, as it would not do to let himself be too far from his means of self defense when their was possibility of deception. He nodded slightly as the man spoke, compartmentalized all of the names that he gave before gesturing slightly about at their surroundings.
“This is my immediate concern,” he said with a clenching of his hand into a fist. “I will inquire after the others in due time, but one's immediate surroundings should always be their immediate concern.”
He lowered his hand to his side and fixed his red eyed stare upon the man, before they flicked towards the female that minded the man's horse.
“I will inquire after your Order once this business is concluded; but you have referred to this Daemon several times. What is it?”
He warily watched the man as he lowered himself into a lotus position, waving to the ground before him with a gesture of invitation.
“I would like to know if it poses a threat to myself or… the magi, as you refer to him.”
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Seeker Dietrich Konstantine
Established
Roleplay posts: 24
Age: Physical: 40
Physical Description: A hardened man, Dietrich is a devout man of the Church. Standing at six-foot-five with eyes of gold, turned when becoming a Seeker. His hair is still a chestnut brown, though is usually cropped short and hidden beneath his hat. His beard is little more than unkempt fur that grows longer about his chin and mouth.
Shrewd eyes are alert for the hints of Chaos, a hawk of the human variety.
Clothes and Equipment: His armor is richly decorated in writs of protection and battle prowess, especially his right pauldron, which holds his own marking. A long brown coat protects his body from the weather, worn over an embroidered chest plate, that protects him from physical attacks.
Two golden discs dangle from his neck, each anointed with powers to help Dietrich. One of protection, and one of detecting Chaos.
Across his chest is a bandolier of stakes, sharpened and blessed by Leandros.
Slung over his back, is his hand and a half sword. A double-edged blade with rich and intricate carvings of prayers, lined in silver and blessed by Leandros. Dubbed "Ashbringer", this swords specialty is being lit aflame by the wielders will.
Blessed Bolts are in his cards, holy lightning thrown from the hand.
Allegiances: Seekers of Leandros
Registered: Jan 2, 2019 19:43:37 GMT -8
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Post by Seeker Dietrich Konstantine on Mar 19, 2019 23:11:42 GMT -8
"The ranch lies quite a distance from Voruta proper, where the fortress and the main town lies, Voruta City. There are other villages, of small stature and importance. I have my hunters stationed in or around most, but I only have so many resources at my disposal. I plan to meet with the ruler of these lands so I may pull from his warriors, hopefully, his witch hunters as well." He stopped and stroked his beard, pondering Davmyn's question of the Daemon. The man was not of the Overworld, that much was certain.
"The Daemon is objective. Metaphysical, corrupting an entity in both body and mind entirely. They manifest whenever, wherever, and have taken the lives of many of my battle brothers. The battle with the Daemon is spiritual and physical, requiring a stout mind and martial prowess, of which we Seekers hold plenty." Dietrich dropped himself to a kneeling position, then slowly lowered himself to the ground, sighing when the weight was lifted from his legs.
"I am here to make sure the ranch remains safe, but I'm sure the magi has a few tricks up his sleeves if the evil were to come knocking upon his door."
"And it seems you do as well, Davmyn, many tricks and secrets. What is your origin, if you don't mind my asking."
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Davmyn Uvirith
Established
Roleplay posts: 11
Age: 47
Physical Description: Davmyn's face carries the sharp angles of his race, and his brow is as heavy as any other of his often brooding people. His hair is as red as blood, and the top of his hair is gathered back into a pony tail that flows into the rest of his hanging hair. The hairstyle is meant to keep the shoulder length rough strands from straying into his face, but it often mocks such efforts and still frames he face.
He has a set of tattoos running down from the corners of his eyes across his cheeks and ending at his jawline. He has angular, sharp red eyes squinted softly that give his eyes the appearance of red slashes. His skin is a stormy bluish-grey. Around his left eye is a paler shade of grey and scarred from a burn surrounding it. On his chin rests a small patch of hair, the same color as what rests upon his head.
Davmyn is of a strong build though he does not appear overly bulky with muscle and is best likened to a cat. His hands even still possess the natural elven slenderness despite the special weapons training he engages in quite often.
Both of his hands though, possess the tell-tale swordsman's grip: a callous that moves from the grip of the first finger around the thumb. One would be hard pressed to find this callous, however, as his hands are covered in burn scars. His body has seen thirty years of war, and it bares all of the marks that those that survive carry.
He also possesses the thick wrists and broad shoulders of a swordsman and one has often and comfortably thrown a javelin.
He is tall for a Dahloen, standing at 5'11" and weighing at 168lbs.
Clothes and Equipment: Dark leather armor that fits snugly around his frame, but with flaring pauldrons of leather overlain with hardened resin, and a muffler scarf that has a hood attached to it around the cuirass, as well as a cloth that can be pulled up to cover his face from his nose down. The material on this mask is thick and possessed of two small round objects on each side. Tooled into the leather on one shoulder are two letters in the Ancient Dahloen language followed by a series of stylized lines and slashes, and if one pays close attention they will note it appears to be six characters, giving a total of eight upon the pauldron. Lain overtop of this armor is what appears to be a worn and tattered tabard, but is actually the remains of an intricate robe whose original color can only be guessed at, though now it is a ruddy rust color. The garment reeks of old blood, smoke and ash. Wrapped around this are a series of bandoliers and pouches.
His leather armor is ensorcelled to help regulate his flow of magical powers and enhance his ability to tap into it, as well as to allow him control of the forces he commands to a greater clarity. His boots likewise have been enchanted increase his dexterity and his sure footedness. Hiso gauntlets and boots are leather covered in segmented and once finely made vambraces that have been worked with care and give sharp ridges. Each is set with a single cat's eye agate. From each of these can emerge a shimmering shield of light to protect one from both physical and sorcerous attacks, though they can only absorb so much punishment before needing to be dispelled.
Special Items:
In a brace at his lower back, along one of the belts on his waist are a set of syringes that each contain a different concoction.
Each of the pouches that he wears are small bags of holding- they contain more than what they appear to be able to, but these are not infinite spaces.
Contained in one of these pouches is an old, worn journal hidden beneath a hidden compartment of a potions box.
On his right hand, beneath his leather gauntlets is a simple band of metal around his finger, and around his neck a leather collar riveted with metal studs. There does not appear to be a buckle on the collar and the ring is tight.
On one hip hangs a dagger of golden coloring, of a simple and efficient killing design with the blade- double edged and coming to a fine calculated point though the guard is of a more curled and yet still simple design , and on his back is a shortsword of similar origins and design. The sword, when drawn can lengthen to no more than that of an arming sword, along with the hilt though it cannot shorten.
Allegiances: Himself
Registered: Dec 27, 2018 12:09:11 GMT -8
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Post by Davmyn Uvirith on Mar 20, 2019 0:06:54 GMT -8
The Dahloen frowned at that explanation of this enemy, but accepted it. He was used to not being able to see and know what enemy was what until battle was truly joined. He looked to his lap for a moment as he began to ponder on things, lips turned downward in a deep frown.
“I do not care for things I cannot kill with my own hands,” he said with a slight shake of his head, blowing a sigh through his nose, before looking back upon the man. “But… as to your mission, ware that you do not fall upon those undeserving of your wrath. It will breed enemies more numerous than one would think. Or it could… have more devastating effects.”
He shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable where he sat, wondering for a moment how he should respond.
“I am not from here, you are correct in this; I am from… somewhere that is now gone, I think. The world here is different, more green than the one I knew. More filled with life and without great wars and death.”
His red eyes turned about as he listened to the birdsong and viewed the area around them with a knitting of his brows.
“But I have not ventured far from here since I arrived,” he took a breath through a deep breath through his nose and shook his head. “I desire to rest- as I have told you- to replenish.”
He turned his eyes back towards the female that minded the horse, and he felt his stomach stirring at the thought of taking the man's steed for his own hunger; it would last him- if prepared properly and stored- for several months. Instead he pointed at it.
“Where I am from, the beast you ride would be considered food. We had other means of transport than what your people here seem to use. Means that make your beasts seem slow and… wasteful.”
A thought occurred to him, and he carefully eyed the man for a long moment.
“Your fellows you mentioned,” began Davmyn with a calculated pace. “Would they perhaps be as patient in my explaining as you are? Or would they resort to striking first?”
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