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Dragon Age: Shield Maiden's Journey Character Profiles

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Millenium Joker

Supernova
Joined
Jul 4, 2012
Location
Metro Atlanta
<UserName>

General
Birth Name:
Titles:
Nickname:
Race:
Sex:
Age:
Class:
Subclasses (if any):
Specializations:

Features
Height:
Weight:
Figure:
Skin:
Hair:
Eyes:
Scars & Tattoos:
Description: (Picture is acceptable, but text is preferred)

History
Background:
Starting Equipment:
 
RE: Dragon Age: Shield Maiden's Journey

<Millenium Joker>

General
Birth Name: Valerius Nikolovich Tovrusky Dimskovech Ilyat
Titles: Sir
Nickname: Old Man
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 42
Class: Warrior
Subclasses (if any): Champion
Specializations: Sword and Shield

Features
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 210
Figure: Athletic
Skin: Olive
Hair: Black, neck-length (usually with one or two braids down the side of his face, though the rest falls freely), no facial hair.
Eyes: Blue
Scars & Tattoos: Multiple scars around body, small scar over upper lip, Crest of Highever tattooed on chest.
Description: Standing at an even 6 feet tall, Valerius is an average-sized human male with an athletic build, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as his body goes through motions. Though he is usually covered by armor, his body has it's share of scars and bruises from combat, both training and live weaponry. Proficient with a sword and shield, he acts as Aimil's steward and personal bodyguard, even going so far as to teach the female Cousland in the ways of the warrior, something his body reflects quite visibly. With rich olive skin, piercing ice blue eyes, and raven black hair with a touch of gray at the sides, Valerius has had his share of females swoon over him in his youth, and continues to attract attention from the more... mature denizens of Thedas. A sharp, angular face provides the scaffold for his luxurious crop of hair, giving the old veteran an almost regal appearance.

History
Background: A veteran of many skirmishes and conflicts, Valerius has been (as he puts it) from one side of Thedas to the other at the beck and call of those with more power and money than he. The only land he claims to not have seen is Par Vollen- unsurprising, given how reclusive the Qunari are. For the last 10 years he has served the Cousland family in one form or another, and to have had the throne of Highever usurped while under his guard is an insult Valerius takes personally. He travels now, with the last surviving Cousland, a female warrior named Aimil. Though she has much to learn, Valerius will be there to teach her, he has sworn. On a side note, he has a thing for Elven and Orlseian women.
Starting Equipment: Splintmail Cuirass, Splintmail Gloves, Splintmail Boots, Steel Longsword, Yew Kite Shield, 5 Sovereigns
 
Jugger82

General
Birth Name: Nathan Stone
Titles: None
Nickname: None
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Class: Warrior
Subclasses (if any): None
Specializations: Two-Handed Axe or Two-Handed Spear

Features
Height: 5'6
Weight: 177 lbs
Figure: Average, yet lightly muscular
Skin: White
Hair: Blue
Eyes: Blue
Scars & Tattoos: None
Description: My Avatar

History
Background: From a foreign land, Nathan was trained in his city's Warrior Guild and mastered the use of an axe and spear, sometimes both at the same time via his halberd since it was both axe and spear. The solitude of the Warrior's Guild in his country drove him mad, as none hired his guild for bodyguard protection or escort missions. Nathan would eventually defect, and go overseas until he came to Ferelden working as a freelance mercenary. Though, he trusts others easily in some portions but does not trust them in other portions, so he occassionally comes along as a simple traveler who has lived with Dwarves in the past...as a false life he would tell to those he does not trust ENTIRELY.
Starting Equipment: Sharp Shovel, Civilian Clothing, Heavy Jacket with the Freelance Mercenary insignia on the shoulders.
 
Fetwick

General
Birth Name: Dario
Titles: None
Nickname: None
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 31
Class: Rogue
Subclasses (if any): Assassin
Specializations: Longbow

Features
Height: 5'8
Weight: 153
Figure: Slim
Skin: White
Hair: Black and short length, combed upwards.
Eyes: Blue
Scars & Tattoos: A small one under his left eye.
Description: A little on the short and skinny side for a human, most can be contributed to his malnourishment growing up as a slave to the Antivan Crows. He wears an eye patch on his left eye as a disguise, and to hide the scar under his left eye, which is perfectly fine. He has stubble and is a little rugged looking from spending most of his time hiding from his former comrades in the Ferelden woods.

History
Background: As a young boy, he was made a slave to the Antivan Crows and taught to master the arts of marksmanship. He fared well until a year ago, when he missed his target. However, it wasn't quite Dario's fault. He was betrayed by his friend Felipe, who tried to kill him mid-shot. As they scuffled, he threw his friend from the high building, just in time for the Crows to witness. Believing Dario to be a spy, they shot him in the eye. He somehow caught before it penetrated deeply, as he too fell from the building. Luckily, a few canopies from the below market broke his fall. He feigned death as they examined his body and then tossed it in the ocean. He swam directionless for a day, before being picked up by some Ferelden-bound sailors. He has been hiding in seedy taverns and random forests ever since.

Starting Equipment: Studded Leather Armor, Studded Leather Gloves, Studded Leather Boots, Yew Longbow, 2 Sovereigns.
 
< RAZE >

General
Birth Name: Dezrith Alabaster Reinhart
Titles: None
Nickname: "Four" (Tevinter), "The Flicker" (Free Marches), "Dez"
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Class: Mage
Subclasses (if any): Spirit Healer
Specializations: Death, Mana, Fire

Features
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 132 lbs
Figure: Gaunt
Skin: Olive
Hair: Black
Eyes: Black
Scars & Tattoos: Lyrium tattoos and grafts
Description: Gaunt, skinny, and generally rather sick-looking, Dezrith is the funny-man of any party, always smiling and cracking jokes. Being a mage, and a murderer, means his only way of seeming normal is by covering himself in a veil of humor. Secretly, he’s wracked with guilt, but to everyone else he is playful and upbeat, and at first glance, or even second glance, it is almost impossible to tell what secrets are hidden behind that smiling face. He is charismatic and crafty, finding it far more effective to humiliate than intimidate, and seems to only let his smile fade when he sends his lyrium grafts into overdrive, since the gut-wrenching pain the process causes make it impossible to hide.

History
Background:

There are those who believe that the Tevinter, while being heartless slavers, would never enslave one of their own. That their society is utterly opposed to ours and that no mage is suppressed. I can tell you they are wrong. The Tevinter are experimentalists, willing to try anything, no matter how morally depraved, in the pursuit for power. It is not uncommon for members of the Imperium to mutilate themselves in order to graft lyrium into their bodies. What is uncommon is for such individuals to survive the brutal procedures. Naturally, the magisters require test subjects before they can comfortably perform such operations on themselves, to see just how much lyrium one can bear before dying. I was such a test subject, born a mage with incredible power. Even my captors were unaware of my full extent. But, of course, to them it did not matter. I was denied my magic, and thus denied my connection to the veil, for as far back as I remember, locked in a featureless room except for the soft, dull glow of the glyphs of neutralization covering the floor and walls. Every now and then they would drag me to the operating theater to tear me apart and graft me with more and more lyrium. They replaced my corpus callosum, cerebellum, amygdala, thyroid, and half my bone marrow with the blighted stone. By the end of it I felt more lyrium than human. I could barely think anymore. My mind throbbed wildly at every waking moment. All I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep to numb the unbearable pain. So I did. I collapsed and, in my weakness, fell unconscious. And for the first time in my life, I dreamed. That was when all hell broke loose.

Once I crossed the veil, they came for me. I was fresh, naive, and teeming with untapped power. Demons, hordes of them, each vied for control over me; urging me towards forging a pact with them, seducing me into running with open arms into their wicked agendas, each draining me of the very essence that kept me alive, for losing my mana meant losing my only anchor out of the fade, imprisoning me there forever as a puppet to the demons. My only savior was a spirit of freedom. He came to me against impossible odds, driven by his desire to see his virtue upheld. He opened my eyes. Told me it was all a trick. And I will never forgive myself for how I repaid him.

Once I knew the truth I had control of myself again, control of my powers, but the demons were unwilling to let go so easily. They attacked me, forced themselves into my mind with everything they had, and I responded in kind, burning demon after demon as I screamed in agony, burning through the very reserves of mana that were keeping me alive. By the end of it I was safe, but the price of that safety brought me to the brink of death. It was then that my instincts kicked in. Through killing so many demons… I had become just like them. Reason blurred by bloodlust. Morality trumped by instinct. A predator. And so I devoured my only friend in this foreign land. I took the spirit against his will and forced him to merge with me, granting me the power to return to my own world.

The resulting influx of power allowed me to leave the veil, but I had a new problem. The facility had been destroyed, no doubt the backlash of my internal conflict. As I pulled myself from the rubble the only thing more painful than my broken bones was the throbbing inside my head as the spirit thrashed inside of me. I had enslaved freedom, corrupted innocence. I was little different from an abomination, except our roles had been reversed. He was the mage, and I the demon. But I couldn’t let go of him yet, for it was his power that healed me of all my wounds, his power that had me running and jumping not even a day after I had broken half the bones in my body. I could not release him. He was simply too useful, and I had become intoxicated by his gifts, be they willing or otherwise.

For six years I was nothing more than a madman, wandering the land without purpose, intoxicated by my power. There was something… addictive about being able to master life and death, to just as easily fuel the fire of life as stomp it out. I was like a child, eternally amused by the reactions people had towards the wandering mage just as likely to end your life as prolong it. It was their confusion that entertained me most: whether to praise me for healing half their village or fear me for burning down the other half. I was like a child. But like all children, I grew up.

Eventually the madness began to dull. Perhaps the spirit was no longer resisting, or perhaps he had merged so completely with me that he no longer could. A part of me regrets that I ever regained my sanity, only to look upon the havoc I wreaked. The pain, the suffering, the poor, forgotten souls brought back to the living only to be cut down like flies once again… I wanted to forget it all. To run from the sins of my past. To forget and try desperately to live for the future. By the time I had regained enough control that I trusted myself around others, I made my way to the nearest city from where I was: Starkhaven. It was there that I bought passage to the furthest place from my birthplace I could. It was there that I set sail for Denerim.

Perhaps I will find somewhere to settle down, and finally put down my staff. Or perhaps, just perhaps, I will find a way to atone for my guilt. Not for some pointless deity, but for myself.

Starting Equipment: Tevinter Hellstaff*, Civilian Clothing, Forty silvers.

*:While mages outside the Imperium have taken quite fondly to the idea of equipping their staves with blades to fight off melee assaults, the Tevinters remain the only ones skilled in the art of the Zweithar, staves bearing blades on both ends. The whirling motions of one proficient with such a weapon allows even weaker magi to pack enough momentum into a single blow to keep enemies at bay, where their devastating spells are strongest. Most commonly known outside the Imperium, by the few who recognize them, as “Hellstaves” since the staff’s astonishing ability to deal deep blows in the hands of even the leanest of magi was originally attributed to the assistance of demons and blood magic.
 
CyanideDisaster

General
Birth Name: Aimil Cousland
Titles: Lady
Nickname: ---
Race: Human
Sex: Female
Age: 23
Class: Warrior
Subclasses (if any): ---
Specializations: Sword & Board

Features
Height: 5' 4"
Weight: 134 lbs
Figure: Athletic, slim
Skin: Ivory covered in orange and brown freckles
Hair: Strawberry-blond
Eyes: Baby blue
Scars & Tattoos: No tattoos, various tiny scars along her body that come with weapons training
Description: Aimil is a girl just turned woman, and when she is not covered in her armor is it easy to see. Although she is muscled and toned, her body is naturally slim. Her shoulders are slim but her hips just slightly wider and most days her breasts are bound back with heavy bandages, but are nothing more than modest when not.

Fair skinned and soft, Aimil took after her lady mother in that way. However the tiny nicks and perpetual bruises show just how much like her father she really is.

Aimil still has soft features with a gentle jaw, a button nose and high cheek bones, not to mention the small dimples in her cheeks when she smiles-- if she smiles. Originally Aimil kept her long strawberry-blond curls tied back in a tight bun, but since fleeing Highever she had to resort to cutting it short, just under her ears. Her baby blue eyes were once wide and filled with wonder, but have narrowed in mistrust.

History
Background: Aimil Cousland was the youngest daughter of the reigning Couslands in Highever. She had an older brother who had left to fight the Blight in Ostegar, one she had begged to join. The Couslands as a family were kind people, often looking after their populace with more care than other houses. Aimil grew up knowing one day she would be a lady, lay down her blade and be arranged to marry another lord of a different house. But even with this weight on her shoulders Aimil grew up a happy child, play fighting with her elder brother, playing hide-and-seek with the guards and even getting up to shenanigans with some of the squires.

Then Howe came.

Starting Equipment: Aimil wears a kit of scale armor, fitted to her body specifically, with her she carries the Cousland sword-- an ornate blade that has been passed down through her family, and a badly damaged Shield of Highever. On her she also carries 5 small health potions she has pulled off of bodies. She also managed to escape her castle with 7 gold coins, 60 silver, and 80 copper pieces.
 
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