youdude

The elf piped up once again, without the need of nerve-calming liquor, nor mental preparation for public speaking; It burst out of him, like a built up frustration and hatred, his sitting body jolting upwards to a stand, the one-legged cripple wobbling somewhat on his prosthetic. "Who wouldn't agree? The Aenguls and Daemons themselves. To them, we're pawns in their conflicts, tools to resolve their internal bickering. Why stop there; Why stop with just abandoning them? Men and Women of all races have the potential to match them given right condition, and banded together in a crusade, we could.." His hands clenched into tight fists, the creak of his leather gloves signaling their strain to any nearby. "We could take revenge for the misdeeds afflicted upon us by beings considering themselves higher than us. Wage war, against Aenguldemonica, in a righteous act of vengeance." His posture straightened, the elf holding himself high and proud despite the disability and physical frailty, a gleam of determination in his eyes. "Vengeance in the name of all who've suffered under the thumb of these unnatural Sheppards. Are you not outraged, fellow men? That your lives have been manipulated and guided, that your powers rely on the good will of a higher being, that your minds have been polished of all thought that didn't suit your supposed 'patrons' needs? Surely you've had moments; dire moments where you prayed, begged, cried out for help; And no-Aengul came, no-Deamon answered the call, and what help came, stemmed from the goodwill of fellow folk, and not some immortal being."

His breaths were somewhat shaky after the outburst, though despite the amused, horrified, and perhaps even mocking gazes set upon him, he held himself tall, expression an unyielding mask of determined ambition, arms crossed over his chest.

The platinum-haired elf, sat distanced from the group sighed a bit, the released breath sounding tired, displeased.. "The name's Savet, a traveler that's wandered and searched since the first great exodus; Holder if wisdom in mind, and liquor in bladder." It was only polite to introduce oneself once someone speaks about not knowing one's name, even if it could bring more trouble than it's worth. Though he didn't seem to have anything to add to the issue at hand, going quiet to allow those affiliated to discuss.

Savet flinched away from the smile offered, lips twisting into an unnerved frown. The motion was almost degrading, the kind you'd give to a youngling spouting nonsense you humor for the sake of childhood. He fiddled his thin fingers, uncorking his flask for another greedy, nerve-calming gulp; noting how the container is becoming dangerously light from it's emptiness. 
 

"Many, I'd reckon."  He muttered with a quiet scoff, before raising the flask once more, extending his tongue and shaking it's downwards-facing form, catching the last few drops. With his liquid encouragement now depleted, he'll have to rely on himself alone.

Her roleplay is engaging enough, and she's quite imaginative. +1 from me.

Beep boop protect cute girl. 9/10

The elf known as Savet tried his best to hold his tongue, keep himself from adding anything to the banter occurring around him. It wasn't his place, nor did he want to expose his alignment too openly. But... Perhaps, this needed a slight nudge in the right direction. He reached into his coat anew, retrieving his flask for a encouraging gulp that lubricated his tongue back from it's somewhat dry state. And with that, he cleared his throat.
 

"We all know that the two sides will never get along. They are opposites in many ways, though most importantly; Opposites in their ideals and morals. Now, that's good 'n all, but I doubt wasting one's breath trying to explain why their side is right and the other is wrong, is... Worthwhile. So, I suggest that instead of provoking each other--" A daring glare was sent towards the Ghastly queen. "--Which, ma'am you've been quite clearly doing, let's focus on the issue brought up initially; the captivity of Elvira Mantisuku, otherwise known as the Arm."

"Pawns see only see the board from their side; And that's what you are. Pawns of your so-called holy guide, blinded to the wider spectrum of things." Piped up the elf sat against the wall, corking up his prized metallic liquor container as he did. "As my friend here said, there must be a balance of power. You just chose the easy path." His mismatched eyes lingered on the cleric for a short while, before his head drooped, and his gaze shifted to his own gloved palms; Fingers clenching and unclenching once or twice. Seems like he was done.

Lo and behold, the old tome was returned to a shelf as instructed, though possibly in the wrong section; Savet hadn't bothered to check.
 

As the small speech of Vapor began, the platinum-haired Mali listened with a growing frown; Expecting something a tad more eye-opening than listening to the complaints of folk, and the inevitable bickering this will bring. But still, the effort of showing up was made, and he wasn't one to leave. Fear of offending the more... Intimidating attendees might have played a factor in his decision to stick around as well. But, he wasn't above reaching into the confines of that grey tattered greatcoat, producing a metallic hip-flask of mystery liquor. With an eager motion of his thin gloved fingers, the elf uncorked the container and brought it to his still-smiling lips, indulging in a few deep gulps. Suddenly, the tension in the room seemed more bearable, and a slight shift of expression signified the transition of a smiling mask, into an expression of genuine content. He lowered himself along the wall, and sat on the cold marble tiling, drinking away while listening with half-hearted effort.

After being thoroughly amused by the fanfare, flamboyancy and admittedly intimidating nature of Kozilek's entrance, the coat-clad platinum-haired elf gave each new arrival a rather welcoming and greeting tip of his head. Though, he couldn't help but note how... Tense everyone was. No one spoke, and the few who did, only did so out of their own desire to seem polite. "You could cut the tension here with a dulled butter knife." He mumbled to himself in a tone that was only audible to those willing to strain an ear in order to listen.
 

He cleared his throat a bit. "Since people are still gathering... I'm curious; Does anyone know the nature of this supposed debating that's supposed to occur? Considering the list of organizations the invitees are affiliated with, It can only really be religious banter." He spoke out with a much clearer voice, as his gloved hands crossed across his chest, those thin lips of his stretched into a smile meant to encourage a response. Mayhap he'll get a conversation going after all.

A steady, slow 'twack' of wood against the polished marble tiling below could be heard, rhythmical and ever-louder. Slowly but steadily, the cause of the noise neared; Turning the corner and revealing itself to be somewhat out-of-place looking, platinum-haired elf. He made no attempts at concealing his identity, and to any who know him, the name Rudolf, or mayhap even Savet would come to mind. His attire was less than formal, the raggedy grey greatcoat trailing behind him ever-so-slightly, the cripple walking with hastened intent despite his disability. A wave, casual and relaxed was given to the patrons of varying intimidation, only for his mis-matched eyes to settle on the host.
 

"..Ah- It's.. You." He spoke up, perhaps the first voice to echo in the expansive library. His head tilted slightly in respect, and his hand fiddled for something from within his coat.
 

A tome, worn and bound in black leather was produced from within the covering ragged attire, held tightly as the tired-looking elf approached the supposed herald of embers. "Quite a book you've gifted; But I've no use for it now. Here, mayhap it'll come in use during this congress." He spoke and held the tome out for the old relic of a man to grab, offering a rather sincere smile, before moving to a nearby bookcase, turning and leaning his back against the stacked tomes of varying importance and quality.

I don't recognize the movie it's from, but the expression captures the essence of LOTC fairly well. 6/10

MC name: Youdude

Character's name and age: Savet Oltyma, 904 years old

Character’s Race: High-elf

What magic/s did you learn?:
   -Fire evocation, or the cooler name for it; Pyromancy

   -Sensory Illusion

   -Minor Dabbling in Void Translocation

Who/how did you learn magic/s?:

-Fire evocation; The first magic he's learned, and the one he's most versed at, Savet learned Fire evocation at a fairly young age from a tome. And although his initial connection to the void was done by himself, his progress was slow, and he sought the help of various teachers to help him, never quite establishing himself as a pupil yet instead picking up tips and tricks from each one; Hearing their approach to the art and molding it with his previous knowledge.

-Sensory Illusion; A magic learned out of necessity from the vast tomes held by the Once-powerful Delvers, using Glamour to disguise himself and hide his impurity for his own gain. Though with frequent use, he soon began to realize the potential, and devoted study into becoming somewhat adept at the art. While manipulating senses other than sight isn't his strongpoint, his attention to detail causes the images he bends into reality to seem convincingly real.

-Void Translocation; A magic picked up along with his studies aswell as a moderate understanding of the void. Although he never quite devoted his time to it, and never went in-depth, semi-frequent use has made him versed in what little functionality he had discovered within it.

Offer an explanation of said magic/s you learned:

-Fire evocation: The art of shaping the element Fire from the void, manipulating the evoked flame, and using it's heat and light for one's benefit. One must have an intimate knowledge of the selected element, and usually, have the mage's personality itself align with it somewhat. Only flames created by the evocationists can be manipulated, and cease to exist once the flow of mana is cut off, or one's concentration is broken.

For the fire-evocationist, flame is as intimate to them as their own hands. It's chaotic, destructive nature and it's contrasting comforting warmth and life-saving light. Flame in itself is a duality of power and gentleness, a concept that needs to be grasped before one even attempts to form this potent element. To form the element fire, one must establish a connection with the void, and then begin to form it. Their mana is the fuel for the flame, and is what is used to control it; To grow it, to mold it into the rough and crude shapes an Evocationist is able to form without delving into Conjuraton. A smart Pyromancer will never create a large flame out of nothingness, but instead start with a spark, which they will feed and grow, molding it steadily into a great ball of fire to send at their enemies, or perhaps to raise over their heads as a source of warmth, light, and refuge from any fire-fearing beasts. Though as any fire evocationist knows, they are in no way immune to their own creation; Burns commonplace, and gloves recommended and regular attire for the fiery casters.

*As with any magical casting, the toll on the body is great, and while a versed fire evocationist can hold his own for quite a while, it is ultimately a test of endurance and willpower. Over-exertion can lead to fainting, and over-estimating one's abilities can even lead to spontaneous death.

*One can only control the flame he has summoned, and is in no way immune to the element in question.
*Line of sight is required, as the evoked flame can only exist while the casters concentration lies upon it.

-Sensory Illusion: Illusion in general deals with the manipulation of one's perception. May it be thoughts, or their physical senses, Illusion alters those to the casters will to some reasonable degree. To do this, an illusionist must master himself first, and learn to project the image, sensation or emotion in it's fullest; Study it extensively and know every aspect of it. Without this, the illusion is folly.

The art of Illusion's use are only truly limited by two things, it's inability to directly influence the physical world, and the imagination of the caster. It has flaws, and many physical limitations, but a witty and sharp mind can find ways to overcome these through careful planning. To begin creating an illusion, one must first know exactly what they will be creating. An image, a scent, a sound, perhaps even the touch of a hand upon one's shoulder. The illusionist must sit, meditate, plan and re-create the sensation in one's mind to it's entirety, and only then risk the plunge into the void. Indeed, the illusionist sends a part of him into the endless nothing of infinite potential; His mind. From there, he sculpts, like an artist using mana as his paint, and the void as his canvas; And once the creation is believable, the illusionist retrieves his creation from the void, and projects it into the mind of his audience. This ofcourse has it's toll, requiring concentration, and varying amounts of mana all depending upon the size of one's audience, the number of senses affected, and even the size of the illusion. A notable thing is that the illusionist must have experienced the sensation, seen the sight, or heard the noise in order to re-create it. A deafening screech might be difficult to create for example, as hearing it would, as the name implies, leave one deaf.

*Illusion does not affect the real world, it can only affect the perception of living beings upon it.

*One can never create an image of something they have never seen or experienced. While imagination certainly helps, an attempt at creating this would leave the illusion warped and in every way unconvincing.

*Fooling oneself is impossible, though why someone would wish to do this is beyond me.

*Line of sight is important, as one must adjust his illusion to  interact with the physical world, lest it seems folly.

-Void Translocation: The art of manipulating matter, disassembling and re-assembling it, pushing it into the void and retrieving it. Due to the nature of the magic, whatever is stored within the void cannot be transformed into something else within it, only returned to it's original state. The larger the object, or perhaps even living being; The more effort is required to perform the disassembly, and re-assembly. 

For a character to perform Void Translocation, he must understand two things. That the void is a realm of infinite potential, and that things in it cannot exist in the way that we perceive. The first step into Void translocation would be to perform extensive study into the nature of the void in itself, and to the brave student, even attempt to disassemble small and simple objects. The would-be mage would soon find himself out of breath though, shivering with effort and strain, as any object sent into the void, must have both it's size and complexity paid for in mana. The next step in one's journey into the magic would be to attempt to retrieve the objects sent into it, finding that the spent mana has 'bound' itself to the shattered pieces, and therefore allows the caster to retrieve it. But any failed attempts at sending the object into the void in it's entirety, would leave the 'information' too scattered in order to be retrieved. Re-assembly in itself is a much harder process, and can easily be failed, which would leave one with a half-completed broken object, with the rest of the material lost in the endless nothingness of the void. Disassembly can only be done at close range, to the amateurs only by touch, with the exception of highly skilled translocationists, who can manage the feat at a moderate distance with the toll of extra mana and a better understanding of said objects. Liquids, fires and living beings moving are also a limitation, their forms changing too rapidly to be translocated into the void.

*Any entity (Except players)  can be disassembled, but the caster has to first understand it, and be able to provide the mana needed. Larger entities need both more mana, and a longer time to understand.

*While disassembling is relatively easy due to the natural tendency of matter to remain in disharmony, reassembly always takes time, concentration and a good pillow to sit on so your back doesn't hurt while you sit.

*Magical items are both imbued with fluxuating mana, and are usually rather hard to fully understand. Manipulating them with his magic is next to impossible, the only exception being if you were the one who placed the enchantment in the first place.

*Line of sight, man. Line of sight. But since the magic is medium-ranged at it's very best, this goes without saying.

Provide evidence you’ve garnered to said subtype:

It has literally been years since I've actually started to learn, and with my recent year and a half hiatus, and a computer-change, both screenshots and memories are missing. Though as an old member of the community, and an established magic user, hopefully that isn't an issue.
 

Fairly cool. 7/10!

Banned for butt

Name: Savet

Reason for wanting to join:

"The past haunts me, persional reasons which I shall not convey so freely. I've already taken a step towards deaths door, and felt the warm chill blow from the hinges. It opened my eyes, and made me want to see.. Made me want to surpass fear, frailty, weakness.."

“Does thou agree to serve the master? ----. Does thou agree to honor thy brother, to uphold thou sister? ----.”

"I shall follow the master with the exception of hurting a specific individual. And honor shall be mutual. As given, such shall be received."

OOC (optional)

Minecraft name: Youdude

Skype: Youdude1

Banned for living in this plain of existance.

Z)(e )(omestuck.

9/11

Banned for fine azh

In  an ruined town, a bell would ring for its very last time. It draws you into the dim depths of the decrepit stone building bearing it, the door creaking as it opens. Once inside, the stench of rot and dried blood floods your sences, and upon lighting a torch, you realise its insides must have once been neatly furnished as a home or possibly a workplace... You cant quite tell as its now only a ghost of what it once was.  Tables flipped, shelves broken, books shredded, medical tools and vials on the floor- as if something went rampage. Only one thing remains relatively untouched, a writing desk with an extinguished candle. Upon it are various notes, scribbles and simbols which seem to be mostly about anotomy and various mechanisms. But one book stands out, A leather-bound journal.
 

Upon skimming it, you'd notice how neat the handwriting is at first, yet with each passing page it progressively gets messier and sloppier. You assume its writer either got mad, or just slowly became lazy.
Page 1

The first page seems to be an introduction, and an explanation of its contents, confirming that this is indeed a journal.
 
"These are the persional thoughts and research notes of Savet Ultyma, a scientist first and a doctor second."

"After long consideration I've went into exile/hiding, the recent memory loss leaving me hated and hunted by both the common folk and the cult of Iblees. With this in mind, I may not live to pass on my discoveries and breakthroughs so this journal shall  hopefully be of use, dear reader. I shall write an entry every seed to spare you any unnecesary reading and rambling."

Page 2

The page is just a normal journal entry, noted as 'first month of exile'.
 
"The month has been spent mostly gathering up supplies and equipment, trying to do so in secret has proven quite difficult. My defective ear and eye-discoloration is quite an easily noticable feature so glasses and a hat were necessary. But this was a discovery of trial and error, one I only made after I've been chased across a field of wheat with delicate equipment in hand. I felt like a petty street thief in all honesty, and was disgusted to look at myself in the mirror for an entire day after the ordeal. But such is the price of setting up a functioning laboratory, which i've managed quite nicely by the way. Im also thankful of my own location, this old building near a graveyard. I've dug up a corpse, stapled its limbs together and used it as an anatomical skeleton model. I've named the bundle of bones Jerry for comical reasons. The isolation hasn't had much of an effect on me yet thankfully, though every time I look at Jerry I swear he isn't in the place I left him."
 
In the corner of the messy building, you indeed see this alleged Jerry, but it seems he's now sporting a classy suit.  Good for you, Jerry.

Page 3

The page is just a normal journal entry, noted as 'second month of exile'.
 "The month has been spent in peace and work. Meditation and exercise have kept my mind sharp and my body fitter than ever. Work and experimentation has went well, and its how I spent most of my time. I was even so lucky to come across a wounded man, which I gladly took  in as a research subject. He was doomed to die anyway, why not make use of the poor soul. So in the name of research I've systematically questioned him about his life. The autopsy didn't reveal much other that he indeed was an avid drinker as he said, his liver in quite a state. I discarded the organ and preserved as much as I could. Isolation still hasn't affected me."
The dark turn of  the tale makes you look around, the broken jars on the shelf and the rotten-smelling liquid inside even more unsettling than before.

Page 4

The page is just a 'normal' journal entry, noted as 'third month of exile'.

"I am amazed at how much you can find out by just opening a body up. Its almost too easy to read a person with their insides on display. I have no idea why this isn't a standard procedure in interrogation. I've even managed to keep a captured subject alive after the examination so its not even lethal! But what bothers me is how oddly easy it is to get subjects to trust and follow you. Are we all so weak-willed, so easily misslead? How frail is a mind? This needs further experimentation. Isolation still hasn't affected me."

 

Page 5

The page is just a 'normal' journal entry, noted as 'fourth month of exile'.

"Breaking a mind has proven to be just as easy as disecting. Simply isolate the person, submerge them darkness, offer them no sounds and in a matter of days they begin screaming. Sadly, finding subjects has become increasingly harder, people starting to fear the tall gray figure offering freindly help. I am honest too, I'll help them, their offspring, their family, their fathers. Everyone will benefit from my work. A goal to my research has finally been set, improving upon the creators initial design. Transcend the need for a god. I was weak when I supposedly followed the occult, but Im learning. Slowly I'll be able to replace weakness, remove it, cut it away. Perfection. Isolation still hasn't affected me."

Page 6

The page is just a 'normal' journal entry, noted as 'fifth month of exile'.

"A crypt has been transformed into my laboratory. I've begun systematically removing fears, desires, persionality from subjects. Only a few dont end their own life, but the ones that do are re-used. Improving upon the mind is one thing, but the body is still weak. It can be so much stronger, so much tougher. We have a hormone that actually limits muscle growth. Although removing it eventually causes heart-failure, its clear that with work, reducing its amount would lead to beneficial strength increase. I am starting an evolution. Isolation still hasn't affected me."

Page 7

The page is just a 'normal' journal entry, noted as 'seventh month of exile'.

"Ive been spending too much time in my laboratory, almost forgot to eat, sleep, drink. Im lucky I even noticed my writing desk to remember I had a duty to document my work. Progress is steady, yet I've begun to experience haunting dreams. Jerry had a talk with me about how 'immoral' my work is. Its true that lives have been ended and ruined, but it was in the name of Science. Still my faithful freind has convinced me to stop taking new subjects and make do with what I have. But that gave me a new idea. Why try and change upon an existing design when I could make a new one! Isolation still hasn't affected me."

Page 8

The page is just a 'normal' journal entry, noted as 'twelfth month of exile'. The handwriting is a lot less neat, almost rushed.

"I need to be breif, my work awaits. Creating new life has proven to be more difficult than I had originaly imagined, the preserved organs useless. Yet with a breaktrough, I have managed to revive my own creation, using freshly extracted material. Although its eyeless mouthless form seemed to writhe in pain and agony, this is just the beginning. Isolation still hasn't affected me."

Page 9

The page is a rushed journal entry, noted as 'fifteenth month of exile'. 

"Flesh is weak, decays and rips. I've been focusing on it too much. I can adapt my work, just as mother nature adapts. Every created life has died, the record was three weeks. The still-phisically normal subjects seem to have gone mad from watching my work. Weaklings. My own fault for not conditioning them. Out of pity I ended their lives, stopped their judging stares. They know nothing of my genious. Isolation still hasn't affected me."

Page 10

The page is this time suprisingly neat again, the author taking his time to write this. Its noted as the 'sixteenth month of exile'.

"Strengthening flesh with metal and iron has proven to be effective. Bones reinforced and flesh toughened. Although the living body rejects such implants most of the time, with careful treatment and proper medicine it can be convinced to accept them. This has opened up so many new opportunities. I've run out of subjects, and Jerry still insists on taking new ones being too 'immoral'. He forgets I still have myself. Isolation still hasn't  affected me."

Page 11-??

The pages from this point on are barely readable, this the last page that makes sence, the last page not covered in odd simbols and soaked in what can only be blood. There is no date or title.

"Isolation still hasn't affected me. I've ascended now. I've evolved despite Jerrys efforts to stop me. The metals in my body hurt, the stiches now rather covering. But Im stronger than ever- Maybe I dont have to hide anymore. I will be hated, hunted.. But I can fight now. I've beaten death."

"Pain is a side effect that can be removed."

"Isolation hasn't affected me."

((Did you enjoy it? Should I continue this untill the entirety of my absence has been acounted for RPly? Feedback appreciated!))
((Edit:  A few of my freinds have noted it seems like this has turned my character into something that needs Lore written for it. It hasn't, just note this is the writings of a mad individual; Not reflecting what happened too realistically.))

Purely by chance, Savet would walk by to witness the effigy put up, his brow quirking as he read the message over.

"..Well, that was fast." He mutters before flipping off the corpse, going on his merry way with a spring to his step.

Oh this is a lovely idea.
So the most "Badass" moment of my favortie character, Berdo was actually a defeat. When he willingly sacrificed himself in a battle against the scourge (At the time when they had bladehands and were a tad strong in RPpvp), to save his superior. It was quite a battle, and I actually managed to solo two of them in the battle, but eventually died; Died fighting, so others could live.

Banned for butt

9.9/10 because I suspect you drew that
minus 0.1 because of minor doubt

I actually need more LOTC folk on my skype to question about server status at times, so mind you adding me, as you specified one should? youdude1's the name.

Also everyone reading this, add me. Skype party!

Hmph- Overly-emotional, but otherwise you seem nice enough. Hello now formally acquainted player!