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Higan Retour
Invincible Under the Sun!
29 years old
Born Sep-12-1991
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Former Identities: SlimBlade, YeahThatsVeryeah. Pope Veryeah III, YeahVeryeah Ninjas/NinjettiYEAH, RAWK HAWK
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Higan Retour


Current Mood: Is it the nomad I see?

FETO Profile

RP Data
My Content
17 Jul 2012
Name:Yesukhei of the Taifah
Title: Jinada
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Place of Birth: Sacae
Nation/Group of Allegiance:

Class: Swordmaster
Level: 20/1
Weapon Levels: Sword (B)
Weapons: Click Here To Show/Hide This Text

Blade Fury
Steel Sword With two enchantments:
Conjuration and Penetrating.

An ethereal blade that ignores armor and innate resistance both, it must be turned with weapon or shield to avoid damage. It is said that one must be clear (not pure) of heart and mind to use it. Jinada's most treasured keepsake, he took it from his father's chest when Dyn's treachery came to pass. His left hand is scarred from when he tried to use it before he was ready.

Savage Edge
Steel Killing Edge with Enchantment: Charge.

A moment of preparation, and then an instant, savage killing stroke. If this weapon doesn't slay its target in one strike, though, Jinada will find the weapon unresponsive to his attempts to move it.

Height: 6' (185 cm)
Build: Broad-Shouldered, mildly muscular.
A tall man of green hair and dull gray eyes. His sharp, narrow features along with his cold and detached demeanor give him a villainous look. His hair goes down to his shoulders, and is often ponytailed in the service of practicality.

His garb speaks for of his lineage. He wears a loose shirt that opens at the chest, with a pale green linen undershirt. A thick sash with an intricate pattern is worn at his waist. His pants are worn but thickly woven, and his shoes are but moccasins, the feet beneath paying the price for maneuverability.

Overview: Jinada tends to be very withdrawn and distant. He has spent much of his adult life away from humanity. Once he was sent west, he stayed out, away from people. He tends to bring his focus to bear on one point, which can make him seem overbearing when something catches his interest. Otherwise, though, he is a man of few words.

He holds the honor indoctrinated upon him by his father to heart. He has not told a lie since his childhood. He seeks to become a master of the blade, and his hand is always close to the hilt of Blade Fury.

While he tends toward living off the land, he has been known to take out a bounty head, use the money to enjoy the advantages of civilization.

Biography: Yesukhei was the son of Druud, Chieftain of the Taifah. Raised without any siblings and away from his mother(and village) often, he was groomed from the start to succeed his father. Honest, respectful, and tactful, he would become an excellent leader, and Druud made certain to impress upon that which he should know. At eight, his father took him on a trip, their destination the Kutolah tribe, to find and arrange a marriage. This had been planned for some time. However, one day at a village on the way, Yesukhei declared his intention to marry the chief's daughter, before the chief himself. The claim was taken to heart, and his father went back on his agreement with Kutolah tribe. After all, he said, a man should chose his wife.

Around that time, he started being instructed with the sword. Druud was best in almost all things amongst those in his tribe, and his son would be the same. Yesukhei found himself enamored with the art, and grew enormously in talent. It became expected of everyone that Yesukhei would follow in his father's footsteps.

When he was 13, nearing the time when he would marry the girl he had met five years prior, his father took ill, died soon after. Dyn, one of his father's men, one who had always been envious of his father's position, took it upon himself to become new chief alarmingly fast. Yesukhei and his mother suspected very strongly that Dyn had assassinated their beloved chief, but had no time to act on their suspicion. Yesukhei, at his mother's behest, fled, taking with him the family heirloom, the ethereal blade Blade Fury. He forsook his name then, vowing to reclaim it with his people.

Time passed. He wandered, lived off the land, honing his skill. His left hand was gravely injured during practice with Blade Fury, reinforcing his belief in the tale following it: to use it, he had to be clear of heart and mind, understand perfectly his desires if he wished to use it proficiently. He decided that when he could make the blade move as if it were his own hand, when it did not cut him no matter the care he practiced, when the sword became his[, that would be when he was ready to take Dyn's head.

Midway through his teens, he took a bounty hunting job. Three years with virtually no human contact had distanced him, and in his opinion he lost sight of himself when he was alone for so long. He slew Strygwr the Crazed, drinker of blood and savage of blade, and with the money allowed himself to be absorbed into local culture. He drank, he found the comfort of a bed, he shared the comfort of a bed. He talked with the locals. He sparred, using a normal blade so as not to bring notice to Blade Fury. He found his skill was impressive, but his hands were scarred from trying to hold Blade Fury in battle.

He alternated this, going into the wild to meditate and practice on his own, then gather money via bounty hunter work and live a more relaxing life for a time. Haedrig the Immortal, Ihsan the Immoral, Shin of the TWin Blades, names that could add to his list. Had he stayed in the limelight more often, he might have grown to some great fame, but slinking away when his money was spent, no name was attached to the mystery man who slew these great criminals, and even the legendary bounty hunter Shin, who had disputed a claim to a bounty and died to a nobody. It wasn't even widely believed that they were all one person.

It was shortly before Blade Fury "accepted" him that the Taifah, lead by Jinada's sworn enemy Dyn, launched a rebellion against the Kutolah, and soon after faded from common knownledge. Seemingly denied of his vendetta, Jinada found that he had sharpened his will, focus, and skil all to bring to bear on one point, only to find it no longer existed.

It is here where his story begins. His blade is sharpened for a task he believes is no longer within his grasp, and he must seek new purpose.

11 Jan 2012
The hunter held the hair between his fingers, looking intently at it. He occasionally glanced at the mirror. "Am... am I going grey?" He asked aloud. He looked even closer at the hair. trying to focus his very best on the single strand being strangled by his thumb and index finger.



"Oh, fuck it! My hair's white anyways!" He suddenly yelled out, tossing the hair with a dramatic flourish of his arm. He stopped paying attention to it, but it swayed in midair, and slowly made its way to the ground, ignoring the power put into the throw. The hunter waved his hand throw his hair, still just shy of eye length and neither balding nor thinning.

His tongue massaged the spot on his gums where his teeth were missing, three teeth on the left of his jaw. He suppose it way time to head out. He packed his stuff in silence, not wanting to wake the woman in his bed. What was her name again? Hell, it didn't matter at all. As he started to walk outside the door of the inn, the bartender started to make some noise. Right. He'd had some unexpected expenses last night. "My companion will take care of that, don't you worry."

The bartender seemed to accept that answer, and the hunter started his little journey.


He stared into the mist. The old rickety bridge seemed to go on into nothingness. The mist thick; he could see maybe thirty feet ahead of himself. As far as he knew, the bridge was rather long. He started his way across. As an afterthought he adjusted the haft at his back to make sure it wouldn't catch on the old ropes holding the whole construct together.

His walk was one of silence, as most were. The creaking of the planks under his feet weren't truly a welcome companion, but he decided not to yell at them. The mist continued to block vision of the other side of the canyon. Looking back, the way he'd come was only a dark silhouette, now. The way down was naught but white, as well. Some might fear this to be demons and their trickery, but the hunter had a feeling he was safe from that. Just same shitty weather.

After a time, the creakings weren't only his own. A figure appeared from the bridge ahead. The hunter stopped once the shadow coalesced into a person, decidedly human. It wasn't until he started moving that he realized the other person had done the same. It was a man -- boy, really, from the looks of him, but he'd probably consider himself an adult -- with dark green hair put up into a ponytail. There was a flash of familiarity looking at his clothing, and the hunter grinned as they closed the distance, met face to face.

The man seemed reserved, and was clearly analyzing the hunter from head to toe. The hunter had seen all he needed to of the man already; spacious clothing that would otherwise befit a woman, and a curved sword at his side. That wasn't no scimitar, either. It would come out of the hilt very fast indeed, though what else it was good for was a mystery. The boy's eyes stooped briefly at the hunter's neck. Must have left a bit of the scar showing.

A silence. There was an unspoken understanding between them. "It seems we're at an impasse, kid," mused the hunter, sticking his tongue through the opening in his teeth. The young man grimaced. Pansy. He also seemed taken aback by being called kid. His face relaxed.

"My business is of great import. If I could ask you to go back so I could pass... "

"Tough shit. You go back, and I'll pass, or kill you then pass."

The boy's hand shot to the hilt of his sword. Why didn't you already have it there, you amateur?, thought the hunter.

The swordsman spoke again. "I have done nothing to offend you. My name," a short pause, well covered. The hunter noticed anyways. "Is Rayna Reinhardt. Let me pass or I will cut you down."

The hunter laughed. "I am Harkon Banehallow, scoundrel, hunter, and badass. You have been warned."

Rayna's eyebrow lifted. "Badass?"

Harkon waved it off. "It'll catch on in a couple years. Look, this is how it's gonna be." He produced a coin. Rayna seemed surprised for a moment, but hid it under a passive mask. "We'll flip, and such will decide our route. One will turn his back on the other and make his way to the cliff he left from, and then we shall fight to the death. "

At the last, Rayna's eyes screamed alarm. He was reappraising the hunter, now It was obvious when he realized what was meant by the "hunter" part of Harkon's introduction. He still held doubt, though, and he had a good reason to think he was safe from bounty hunters.

"Or, you could turn now, and leave. Ill take your cowardice as apology."

For now, Rayna doubted the hunter before him to be on the trail of a mark. Good. "Just toss it, you disgusting old man."

The coin flew, and landed in his palm. Heads. Harkon smiled. "Looks like I get to -- "

"Wait, we didn't call--"

"Yeah, yeah you caught on. I'll take tails."

Another flip, and it landed again on heads. The hunter's smile soured. "Best not cut me down while my back is turned. I know I would, given the chance."

"Then it was a trap?"

"Of course, but ya won out in the end, lucky bastard. Let's hurry up; I still want to kill ya. "

"First, give me back my coin." Rayna sounded sullen. He flinched and caught it, Harkon having gave no indication before tossing it over his shoulder.


"It was nothing. I'm gonna loot you afterwards, anyways."


They looked at each other. Rayna started. "How is this gonna ha--

Harkon was already lunging with his glaive. As expected, that blade came out very fast. Now, though, the quickdraw was wasted on defense. Shortly after, Rayna fell for bait, getting between Harkon and the glaive's head. With a flourishing parry, Harhon reversed his grip on his weapon, disarming Rayna. The blade of the glaive was now behind Harkon. He still had momentum, which he expended by thrusting his fist into Rayna's face, his nose giving way under the force of the hunter's knuckles.

The boy staggered. The hunter reversed his weapon again and cut open his target's belly. It was deep, but seeing as no guts spilled onto the soft dirt, the kid would live a few more moments.

Rayna fell to his knees, his almost girlish face now bloodied and his nose broken, though that was the least of his worries. One hand covered his gut, while the other searched at his side, and found a vulnerary. Harkon kneed the boy in the face, causing him to sprawl on the ground. Now, the hunter's pants would have a definitive red mark. He kicked his prey's healing solvent from his hands, and it fell beyond reach.

"You can have mercy now, or several minutes to cling to life, tell me your regrets."

"N-no... I.."

"Enjoy your last moments, then." Harkon checked him over for any other weapons, but besides a knife he had nothing.

Silence. The boy still lived, staring blankly into the air. Harkon looked. Mist. Blood was pooling around him.

"Yeah, there's someone with who I'll be needing to meet with, so hurry up."

"Uh.... I think it's... whom."

"Fuck off."

Some more silence.

Harkon's face became the most serious it had been in awhile. "Your sword hasn't been bloodied by a warrior in open combat, has it." He made sure to include the part about it being a warrior. It wasn't really a question.

"Ughn, nooo..."

"Heh, maybe I'll actually feel guilty about this one, Jinada." That sounding as bitter as it was.

The boy who was not Rayna turned his head with great difficulty. His eyes were already starting to cloud over. "So, you are... I-I thought I'd be taken in alive, and by Evenstar men..."

"Ah, that's the thing. I am one. And before you judge from the hair, no, I'm not of the recovered lineage. Graham has that honor to himself. And as for being taken in alive, well it's personal policy." The boy had to have noticed a few of the scars, though the gravest among them were hidden.

The boy was fading fast, now. Harkon's face went serious again. "How about a woman? Have you lain for a night in the embrace of one, be it whore or lover?"

Jinada's face showed the pain he was in for the first time. "...No. Please, I'll take that mercy now," he said, closing his eyes at the last part.

"As you wish, murderer. With your head, your crimes are forgiven, so rest easy."


Shortly after, a dripping bundle was added to Harkon Banehallow's belongings, along with treasures the boy had carried in life. Meager, he supposed, but coin was coin. Graham wouldn't mind. Graham just wanted the head; he'd stated dead or alive, preferably alive, but he'd asked that to Banehallow. He'd wanted the boy dead.
11 Aug 2011
Okay we've seen like three renditions of this topic. Time to bring it to RoE.

For those of you who don't know, you answer previous posters' questions In Character for each of your characters, then afterwards ask your own for other people's characters. Also you can just write "same" if you like the question provided or can't think of a new one.

Let's start this off with a simple question: What motivates your character? Is your character a "roamer", who has no set goal and just goes from RP to RP?
9 Aug 2011
Name: Ihsan
Title: N/A
Age: 30
Gender: Mandunk
Place of Birth: Nabata
Nation/Group of Allegiance: N/A

Class: Thief
Level: 15
Weapon Levels: B
Weapons: Click Here To Show/Hide This Text

Ebony: Steel Push Knife with Enchantment: Illusion.
The knife of illusions. Pitch-black, it allows Ihsan to create false images. Worn on his right arm, it springs from his forearm.

Ivory: Brave Steel Knife Enchanted with Anima: Conjuration.
A knife handle with a white, ethereal blade, which has a dull glow, Ivory ignores armor. Found among Ihsan's spoils.

Ravager: Serrated Edge Steel Knife with Enchantment: Charged.
Ihsan can feel some real power flowing through this seemingly average knife. It's capable of doing some savage damage. Purchased using money from the funds of Ihsan's spoils.

Khanjar: Reverse Curve Defender Steel Knife.
The only knife Ihsan kept from before finding his spoils. Still plenty useful.

Height: 5'10; 178 Cm
Build: Lean [But Also Manly]
Appearance: A powerful square jaw holds Ihsan's features. A distinct straight nose shows no nostrils when viewing his face eye-to-eye, and it looks ready to punch someone in the face. His eyes and hair are a pale blue, the latter faded from time in the sun, sure, but his skin is a darkened olive tan. Despite their washed-out appearance, his eyebrows are nonetheless worthy of several words. Prominent, dominant, those are words fit for his eyebrows, thick ordeals with spiky ends, which match his sideburns.

He prefers dressing in leathers, and other durable wear. Brown is the color of choice for his jacket and hat, the latter covering his receding hairline. His belt resembles a whip, but it isn't a whip. As for undershirts, a colorful assortment of cottons and linens are his choice, opting not for silks to be ruined by constant wear. Those are, however, his adventure clothes, and those which he might go through a major city in are much more plain, if well-made.

Overview: Ihsan is the humblest man in the world! After all, his spectacular talent for treasure-hunting came about from his desperacy, and if he ever thinks to continue his amazing success, he must remember that his ability is fueled on need!

He can do anything with the highest possible level of confidence, and while many remark on his remarkable luck, he is one to bemoan the one thing that doesn't go right. He knows his place (it's high [it shouldn't be]), and his ability to find secret levers, switches, and the like is top-notch (read: poor).

In all truth, his good fortune has gone to his head. It was his spectacular luck that landed him his riches, and for all he thinks of his self-control, keeping himself led on by need, he expects more treasure to simply fall on his lap.

He's got smooth moves, works well with his hands, and is still pretty agile, even if he might be passing his prime. When it comes to armed combat, however, his luck carries him more than his ability to read enemy movements, predict attacks.

Biography: Living a poor life trying to farm up enough to eat in a rocky patch of the Nabata never sat well with Ihsan. That's how his life was for like 12 years or something by the way. Since he didn't live in a country with like rulers and stuff bandits just came and took their foodstuffs whenever they wanted, and that sucked for Ihsan and his father. His mother died when he was young or something. Anyways that shit was depressing and demeaning. Some would say he was lucky to scrape a living, but he wanted more. He tried treasure hunting, but never found anything. His dad said he sucked at it.

Leaving his house, he wandered the wasteland until he came upon a castle, and joined the bandits there. He did grunt work, never holding a weapon for like 3 years, before being given a knife and pretty much told to go to town with it. With his unimaginably smooth moves and talent for pickin, he became popular. The self-proclaimed queen let him like massage her and stuff since his smooth moves really helped him with that. Some would say he was lucky to rise the ranks so fast, but he wanted more from her, and she was a long time coming (ahahah pun not intended but that works.)

Anyways like ten years later (he's 25 now right? okay im on track) there was some bandit disputes, another crew trying to come up on the fortress. The fortress was really nice so it made sense to Ihsan. Anyways things started to look bad so he and the queen ditched the place. She had gotten kinda clingy and she was scary too so he ran off. His life became nomadic, and he turned to treasure hunting again. There were always things hidden in the sand so it should work out for him things always worked out for him. Everyone he met, mooched food off of told him to stop his crazy hunting he was bad at it anyways, but he didn't care. Besides, less than a year into this traveling he stumbled upon a type of ruin. He walked through, looking for traps, but didn't have any issues. Unbeknownst to him another dude, a real pro, had been through here before. Anyways walking through it and stuff he got to the end, walking over a corpse with a smashed head, and holy shit treasure. And not like a chest either; a fucking assload hoard of gold coins and assorted goods. He found a nearby house, killed the owner, which didn't phase him at all since he had been a bandit, and stockpiled all of it in there over a couple of trips lord there was so much. He bought some camels, some food, then a wagon, and got the hell out of Missur Penninsula, finding himself a really nice house. Some would remark on his remarkable luck, going from rags well he didn't really wear rags but that's not the point to riches, but he wanted more, which really shouldn't be a problem for him of all people. He had to seriously be the best treasure hunting guy around finding something like that. Anyways since he wanted more he still travels looking for treasure, but he hassn't found more yet... It has to be a matter of time.

Notes/Other: EYEBROWS

Ihsan's luck is in his eyebrows
8 Aug 2011
Name: Charlotte of Tuscana
Title: Daughter of Marquess Tuscana
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Place of Birth: Lycia; Tuscana
Nation/Group of Allegiance: League of Lycia

Class: Mage
Level: 15
Weapon Levels: B
Weapons: Click Here To Show/Hide This Text
behold the peak of creative spell-naming
Warmth: Amalgation of fire into water properties; Mercy.
Used to exercise restraint, A ball of fire-water spills shortly after cast. Still as hot as fire, but it doesn't have much time to really burn the affected area, and the initial contact doesn't have much punch.

Flambolt -> Amalgation of fire into thunder properties; Homing.
One of Charlotte's older spells, this was always the reliable one for hitting even moving targets. The flash of heat from it is short-lived, but striking.

Heat Wave -> Amalgation of fire into wind properties; Charged.
After preparation, a swirl of winds surround the opponent, then take flame.

Fire Pillar -> Amalgation of fire into earth properties; Impact.
It comes intensely and instantly, and smashes apart shortly after rising from the ground.

Nightlight -> Reversing; Unstable.(Fire)
An expansion of the spell she uses to find her way at night, it drives the dreaded darkness away.

Oil Fire -> Area of Effect; After Effect.
It seems she's the only one who can put it out; she uses it to light long lasting fires in her fireplace.

Firestorm I -> Area of Effect; Attune.
With this one, she really makes the flames dance. She can control the shape of the fire better the more fire there was available beforehand, giving it potential for entertaining others, if they aren't scared.

Master Spark ->Artillery; Radiate (fire)
Only used once, Master Spark scares even Charlotte. A giant beam of flame appears in a straight line, extending to long ranges quickly, before shrinking away quickly. She doesn't know how far it reaches, but the heat around it is worse than any of other spells.

Height: 5'8; 173 cm
Build: Womanly; measurements 32 -26 -30
Skin Tone: Pale

Appearance: Charlotte is commonly complimented on her looks, though it is rarely compared to those her father had, for which she's thankful. Her face is heart-shaped, and she has a small button nose. Her eyes are small, hiding her dark blue irides. Her hair is at once turquoise and emerald green, patterned similarly to salt-and-pepper hair, and runs to just below her bust. She braids it to the side, sliding down the front of her body. Her right shoulder shows scars from when she burned herself,

As for dress, she takes after her father and dresses in bright colors, focusing on the reds and oranges that complement her hair and eyes. Along with that, she enjoys her clothes to be made of fine silk, and to be heavily embroidered.

Overview: Charlotte keeps to herself, being very studious -- obsessive, even -- of her magic studies. She is used to treating servants and peasantry with basic human dignity, but not much more; they are people, but they serve her and her father, and the tends to be very haughty towards the,.

As short as she might be with underlings, she is very submissive towards equals and superiors, be the matters political or casual. The only exception to this is when her knowledge is called to question, in which case she is quick to anger and very defensive.

She has nervous habits that she hides from everyone. She has an irrational fear of the dark, which she tries to cover by showcasing her fascination with fire. She pulls her braid when frustrated, and snaps her fingers when bored, often causing sparks.

There are rumors about just how far her love of fire goes; some say the accidents she caused were intended, and it's not far from the truth. She casts her magic either my creating a spark in her hands and channeling through a family ring.

Biography: In her younger years, it was noted that Charlotte was a fast learner, if shy. She was easily able to understand her father's political affairs around the age of eight, if unable to make hypothetical decisions, and was reading at a fairly advanced level at 6. Her father the marquess encouraged her, seeing intellectual studies a good thing.

When she was eight, she started trying to teach herself anima magic, in secret. It was less than a month before her mother died, and soon after she burned herself and started a fire in the private library. Her father tried to prohibit her from learning magic, but she was stubborn, causing another fire before her ninth birthday, so he hired a tutor. The accidents stopped, but the tutor remarked that she stubbornly persisted in using fire. She even learned to amalgate fire to act like other elements when he instructed her to use them, unless absolutely necessary. However, Myron cared not so long as the accidents didn't happen.

As she grew into her teens, her father started to groom her to lead Tuscana for when the time eventually came. While she showed aptitude for responding to situations, he doubted her ability to truly make Tuscana grow out of the rut it was, and still is, in. She tended to scare away suitors, as well; the first ran off with singed clothes, and while that one was an accident, she made it a tendency when she didn't like the suitor, and it turned out she was fairly picky. More and more, it seemed that Tuscana might not have a direct heir, unless Charlotte were to marry in with one of her noble relatives. Meanwhile, her father's efforts only manage to stem the flow of Tuscana's decline, rather than actually contribute to growth.

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