Jump to content


  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

603 Legendary

About Archmage_Cataris

  • Rank
  • Birthday 08/17/1994

Contact Methods

  • Minecraft Username

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    Sydney, Australia

Character Profile

  • Character Name

Recent Profile Visitors

32181 profile views
  1. I miss being a noob guard at Al'Khazar gate in Aegis, harassing everyone that wanted to get into the city. Kick ons at Dawn's Bakery. 

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. Slic3man


      Welcome back

    3. Heero


      Yo @CloakandDagger was looking for you just the other day, dude!

    4. Archmage_Cataris


      I been good. Haven't really RPed for a while. Don't even have a computer anymore, haven't for a long time. Just spending my days working and going to gigs.


      Yeah I messaged Cloak within a few hours of him messaging me. Haven't heard from him since lol

  2. Been quite some time. 

    1. Heero


      Yeah it has man

  3. If you go to the Members list, and go 'Join Date' I am on page 94 of 2341, or in other words I am the 1864th forum member of LOTC out of 46800

  4. The Magician ____________________ "You too are an exile. You mourn for the broad open steppes where you have room to spread your fey wings. Here you feel stifled and constricted, like an eagle that cries and beats against the bars of its iron cage." -Cataris conDoin Born as Ricardt conDoin, he is a human male that is sensitive to the void, much alike to his father before him. He is known for his lineage to the near-extinct and former Oren Noble house of conDoin. House conDoin has shared much tragedy. During the Undead incursion of Aegis, many of house conDoin were felled due to their close proximity to the Undead Portal in the far northern reaches of the continent. Ricardt is noted as having an aura of calm that emanates from him. His aloof and enigmatic demeanour belie a ruthless nature, but he is not above helping others. His long life has been frequently attributed to his connection to the void, but is truly the product of a half-breed, human and elf. Ricardts location or place of residence is unknown, but he can be seen wandering the land. Biography ______________________ Early Life (Itnan of the Snows Maiden, 1320 > 1346) The young bub gazed from his mothers back as she fled, tears falling from her eyes. While she ran south, his head was facing north, yet years later he would never recall this memory for he was far too young. In the distance the child saw a city crumbling, Snowy Fields. A force of great Magicians battled Necromancers from what could only be perceived as a hellish domain. Bolts of tremendous ferocity echoed in the night, yet the screams of the peasants that fled flooded the night all the more with their cries. There the Magician was seen, the one in a brilliant emerald green robe with only a half head of brown hair, the other half was burnt away with burns, his left eyeball lazed and white, blinded. The Magician turned to his opponents as the baby watched, hurtling tremendous boulders at the skeletons, and wrought destruction within their ranks, but as his companions began to lose their ground, one by one the other magicians fell until only two remained, the emerald green robed man and a woman in all black, and at the point of what seemed their death, they vanished. The child remained silent as his mother continued to run, surrounded by a horde of fleeing civilians that made their way south. The baby now stood taller, six years had past and he was nearing his 8th birth-date. There was something about him other people didn’t like, his eyes were a deep sewage brown, his hair so dark it bordered on midnight black, his mother always insisted on cutting his hairline perfect all around, giving him a 'bowl cut'. He walked the streets of the capital of Oren, Al'Khazar, but any attempt to play with the other kids his age was met with rejection and hatred. He would make his circuit around the city each day, first he began near the barracks of the military, making a wide skirt to the market district, where the smell of freshly baked good enticed all, then towards the cathedral, people gathered silently within as the Archpriest lead them in their prayer, then towards the keep, a few paces before taking the first step to ascend to the fortress he turned left, down a long winding path past several shops including a fletcher, a tailors shop that always seemed to have shady figures hanging about outside and an odd magical store which contained magically controlled objects from replaceable limbs to triangle steel trinkets that spoke to you. He stopped his running and began to walk, panting heavily as he approached the gates, the guards nodding in his direction, he was always unsure if it was a nod of friendship or suspicion and they’re on to him, everyone was suspicious of him. He walked out the gates and stopped outside the VonSchlitchen Inn, a wealthy merchant and magical researcher owned the place, a jolly man that was always seen behind the counter. By the time the young child had left the company of the tavern, of which no one had ever dared start a brawl there, he found himself in the pouring rain, and night was descending upon the bright blue sky. He looked around and gazed upwards, it was staggering for him to see it, the tavern was tremendously tall but that was due to the fact it was built within the side of a cliff, it was five stories high, and at its highest peak was a balcony. He rubbed at his eyes, a droplet of rain splashing him and once more looking up he saw it, someone was leaning over the railing with his back turned, and suddenly he fell back, forcefully pushed, falling twenty metres until his back made contact with the cobblestone. Ricardt was traumatised, shocked and rooted to the ground in fear as he gazed at the corpse with wide eyes, its robes an emerald green, a half head of hair, the left half of his face covered in third degree burns and his left eye white, it felt so familiar, a tremendous overwhelming fear washed over him, he had seen someone die, and somehow, he knew him. The young child was in his middle adolescence with a handful of books pressed tight against his chest, he hurried his way through the gate, the guards nodding in his direction and now he knew what it meant, it was a friendly nod, they must have known of his troublesome time with making friends. He slowed down to a walk as he made his way past the tavern, gazing up to the balcony where the man had fallen but now two people stood by the railing, one was a man in a black mask, the other a woman with a red hood and a red bandana hiding the majority of her face but it couldn’t be mistaken, she was an Elf. His gaze remained locked on the two until he had mistakenly walked into a dwarf, releasing his books in fright at the sudden jolt, the leather bound parchment slamming the dwarf atop his skull, resulting in a furious bark of anger from the short legged humanoid. “F-forigve me mister! I hadn’t se-seen you, s-sorry” Ricardt barely managed to state, falling to his knees to pick up his books, the dwarf simply growled and made his way into the tavern. Ricardt picked up his books, sat in the gutter and flicked through the pages, to most they were simply scribblings and drawings but to him it meant more, it was a project he had been working on ever since he was apprenticed by the magician Baldwin, a practitioner that dabbled in mostly ‘lesser’ magic as fellow wielders called it, dealing in household magic from brooms that swept the floor to books that flipped their own pages, and a few defensive spells for measurement. When he gazed back up, the books tightly closed and pressed against his torso, he looked to the railing again, but now a third figure stood with them, the third being the dwarf. He frowned in wonder and mused quietly to himself 'who’re they..?', he picked himself up from the gutter and made his way down the road. The door creaked loudly as ever, Baldwins table sat right near the entrance, only enough space between the desk and the door so that they didn’t bump when the door swung open. His books rose high like miniature learning towers stacked atop his table. Ricardt moved and took a chair, gazing around the room, brushes were cleaning dishes as water seemed to splash itself up from the pot and against the plates, many things hovered and worked by themselves. A cup of tea sat across from him, a spoon moved around and around the edge of the cup, spinning the contents within, it seemed to have a mind of its own as it finished stirring it hovered out of the liquid, tapping itself against the edge and then dropping suddenly to the floor. Baldwin stood up from his table, sighing aloud and picking up the spoon, placing it on the table beside the tea. He poked his hairy head through the curtains, frowning deeply at Ricardt, his nose scrunched up, his long grey hair and beard dropped past his beltline. Another head then poked its self out from behind the curtains, rather than the tall 6ft 3” magician, it was a tiny 5ft 1” Monk garbed in the religious robes of Om’echan. A piece of cloth covered his head and only revealed his beady brown eyes, he spoke not a word and then hid himself behind the curtain once more. Ricardt knew not to question the old magician, some believed he was going insane but he was the only teacher Ricardt had. He flipped open the book titled ‘The Basics of Magical Entities by Nitholiak VonSchlitchen’ and lowered his gaze, delving deep into his book. He now closed the book, what was once a bright day was now a dark night, an old Baldwin slept on the floor with only a bit of hay between him and the floorboards, this wasn’t the first time he had zoned himself out from time, losing himself among the knowledge contained on the parchment. Baldwin claimed it was a special but also dangerous gift, one that may mean his death if he had enemies and he just so happened to be reading when they wandered in, or simply growing too exhausted from a lack of sleep, causing himself to faint while reading, which to note has happened once before. Adulthood (1346 > 1498) At the age of twenty-eight, he had yet to finish his project, and sadly in this time Baldwin and Ricardts own mother had passed away. Leaving himself alone and isolated to his studies, it had been eight years since the capital city was taken by a force of Necromancers, and had unleashed some new ‘weapon’ magician on the Sister City. The magician in hand wore a steel mask covering his face, he was a skeleton capable of magic unalike anything Ricardt had seen, truly regarded as a powerful magician. Ricardt lived in a small tavern room he rented each week on the Whispering Isles, his neighbour was a friendly fellow, a one Lysle Rigger, an aspiring tailor and excellent in his skill. On the topic of his neighbour, he had actually fashioned Ricardt his own robes, quite simple but he loved them regardless. Dark black with grey highlights, along with a simple tied brown rope as a belt, of course he would never leave home without his pair of sandals. He was regarded as one of the lesser magicians, but continued his studies in his field of expertise in arcane defensive constructs, but there was still something about his persona that no one liked and generally avoided. Ricardt felt innately suspicious about Lysle, and his friends, a red headed elven woman by the name Lily, a dwarf by the name Logan Boldshoulder and a sandy haired sailor coined Dash Rogers. Most days Ricardt found himself locked in his room, sifting through books, sometimes not leaving for days as he simply zoned out from the natural currents of time, losing himself in his studies, then falling exhausted in his bed for many hours. Some evenings he would spend it out on a balcony, drinking alongside his neighbour and the friends of his neighbour. One night he heard them comment on the magician wrecking havoc on the North, but Ricardt was quick to change the topic from such dreary tales. Thirty-nine was the age he was when he moved from his new home in Hanseti, Asulon, to Salvus. He pondered much on the fall of Aegis, and the mysterious magician. It seemed no matter how many times someone had ‘slain’ this beast, he returned from the dead once more to continue his chaos. Then again, that is why they were called the Undead. They were the undying. You could not truly kill something that was already dead. Nonetheless, this magician seemed more puppet than puppeteer, controlled by a more powerful foe and Ricardt had been proven correct, or so he believed. Rumors had been sprouting of this magician that when seen rather than throwing out bolts of energy at any poor sod, he flees in terror, and when attacked he often retreats rather than fought, and when it was not possible he was forced to kill his assailants. It was so contradictory to the once feared 'Lich', yet he wore the same mask. Ricardt was reminded that he had not seen his old neighbour nor his friends in some time, last he had heard Lysle and Lily were happily married and moved far south past high mountains and into deep snow, living in a small shack by a graveyard as gravekeepers in Hanseti. Fourty-six was truly a defining year for him, it was when he had abandoned his small time tricks and began to enhance his mental prowess. He had met a great magician by the name of Amas that spoke to him in confidence of the ‘aura’ that people felt around him, it wasn’t what people thought but an energy that emanated from him, a gift he was born with. There were many people in the world, it was so diverse but there were also ‘natural-born magicians’, himself being one of them. Some are born with bodies designed to gain muscle, some to be tall, but rather his body was fragile and his mind designed to work harder than others. Although it meant he was capable of great things, it did not mean he could already do it, much like those born with a body designed to lift heavy things, he had to work himself up with much practice and training before he could reach his full capacity, and yet he may die long before he ever reached it. Magic was not something you could click your fingers and vullah, you could lift mountains or call forth cyclones, no, it took decades of mental training, something not many magicians understood, or still understand. Ricardt had kept the same haircut his mother had always cut him, and now rather than a small tavern room he slept in a suitable bedroom adjoined with another magician, and down the hall were countless other practitioners. When gazing through the vast and seemingly endless library he found something, a book on the beginnings of the Guild he was now a part of. Flicking through the pages he recognised something, a drawing of the original members of the Guild. Four people, but the most notable was the green robes, and the scarred face, it was ‘him’. His finger trailed the page down below the figure, tapping the name twice and muttering ‘Cataris conDoin’. He flicked through the pages, losing himself to time as his mind became encompassed only by the writings of the book, and upon finishing, he was horrified. It had been discovered, this magician he had witnessed die was in fact the Lich of the North. A few years had past, and he had been walking to his newest home, a small cottage house on the border of a rather small Kingdom solely interested in the trade of harvests, the local nobles were House Perea that governed the land he lived upon. Most of whom he had known and had died several decades ago in Aegis, Amas had told him that due to his circumstance of birth as a half-breed, he aged far slower than most humans. A being stood hunched in the road, speaking to two others, but they were without flesh and the tallest of them wore a mask of steel. Instantly Ricardt began to gather the energies around him, building up his defences and magical constructs if any would dare attack him, while he was far from the most powerful being, he was still an opponent a few skeletons couldn’t handle, but he felt it, an aura that sent the hairs on the back of his neck on end. The same aura that surrounded Amas and his fellow guild members, but it was coming from these three, the leader of the three raised his hand, and to the churn of his stomach his defenses were instantly wiped out, completely unravelled and gone, the two others cackled and made their way into the forests, but the masked magician stood watching him, the mask had no eye slits, nor slits to breathe from. A face was carved into the mask, that of a crying man, could this be whom he thought it was? The magician stepped closer and closer, raised a skeletal finger to Ricardt’s chest, yet he stood rooted in fear, not turning to flee or even defend himself, the skeleton spoke in a voice hoarse and strained “I see the life you hold, strange that I would find you here.. Say, do you know your father?” “No..” Ricardt slowly responded, now once again nothing more than the scared boy in the rain that night many years ago. “Ah, you have conDoin blood in you. I see it coursing through your body, a strong blood. A strange encounter, awkward in its truest form, but I must say my piece before I leave. You surely know of those crimes I committed, you are older than you appear.. Just know they were not of my choice.” his finger poked hard against Ricardts chest at that last word, the magician then turned his hunched spine and began to wander off into the forest, following the two other magicians that had walked off. He spoke lastly, "You too are an exile. You mourn for the broad open steppes where you have room to spread your fey wings. Here you feel stifled and constricted, like an eagle that cries and beats against the bars of its iron cage. Free yourself." That same year was the last time he visited Amas, taking a bagful of books and rations, giving his farewells. He had learnt much, and only wanted solitude from the world. He found it in the far south, making good friends with an Elf by the name of Gulamendis. They lived by themselves for many decades, until finally things took a change for the worse on Asulon. Ricardt had decided he would travel to Anthos, and later, Athera, and do what he could for the aid of the Greater Good. While he preferred not to dabble in the disputes of drunkards nor the wars of Kingdoms, he would do all in his capabilities to prevent any evil that threatened the population. Alas, his dearest friend dared to stay behind. He could not give up his home, and it was never known what ever happened to Gulamendis when Asulon fell. One-hundred and eighty-two, Ricardt stepped off the ship, gazing about the landscape, he let out a faint smile, pulled at the straps of his bag and began to walk down the road in his black robes and brown sandals.
  5. Fre$, futuristik, flame-thowing Zef krew

    1. Lirinya


      Play nicely.

    2. Archmage_Cataris


      Or they'll send me back on a boat to Australia with the rest of the banned people

    3. kwakamungus


      Im not banned.... yet

  6. Meet Wessly Colin. Wessly is a young man, soon approaching his twentieth name day. In exactly fifteen days, six hours and thirty-eight minutes. He would do the calculations himself, and tell you proudly. He is of relatively average height for a man of his stature. He stands at approximately five feet and nine inches. He too, measured himself. He wears a hat, preferring to hide his shaggy hair rather than brushing it. Wessly was raised in House Colin to be a fighter, though it was just something he could never find himself to be too involved in. Often times pretending to be too sickly to participate in training, only to spend all day in bed reading books. Poor Wessly was trapped in the life not destined for him. He helps many of his friends and family in the management sector of things, proving himself to be a useful nugget when it comes to that. At least it made up for his lack in spirit for fighting. From a family of fighters, Wessly is apparent to be the black sheep of the lot. He can be found wandering the markets, buying things and then selling them for profit to another man. He's good like that. Though when he is expected to fight, most men would not count on his skills in combat. Regardless, being a Colin, he carries a sheathed sword at his side at all times. Wessly is a relatively cheery, quick-witted and too-smart-for-his-own-good man. He's a reliable friend and ally to those that befriend him but in the world of politics and economy, he can prove to be a fearful adversary. Watch what you say around Wessly, he just may snap back at you with a quick word and a handful of facts.
  7. It needs to be said. Whenever I see your name, I only see it as 'Swagger Clan'

  8. Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

  9. I applaud your boldness, Cataris :3

  10. [[i'm awake now. I went to bed so I never got to respond.]] Fukuhara Takao clips the small dwarven warhammer onto his belt. He raises his hands and grasps the rim of the dwarven helmet and slowly removes it revealing a dark haired, dark eyed generally 'mean looking' man. Takao motions in the direction of the carts and caravans tending to the deceased and injured. "Yuu may find une uver there." As Lei approached, Takao turned and held out an open palm as if to receive something. "Yuur weapun."
  11. Takao shifts uncomfortably, suspecting of something to happen, an ambush perhaps? He lowers the warhammer slightly but remains mentally on guard. "I ask questiun. Yuu answer nuw. What du yuu want here?" His gaze darts left and right, looking over the rolling hills, corpses scattered, blood splattered. A treeline sits a fair while away, the forest within dark. His eyes remain on that treeline for a moments glance before returning to the mans own eyes.
  12. Fukuhara Takao notices the man not of his own walking about the fields of red. Takao holds firm the Dwarven warhammer and slowly begins to approach, light on his feet. Within a spears length, he stops and questions the man. "Whu are yuu and what du yuu want?"
  • Create New...