Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register ) · IRC Chat


Profile
Personal Photo
Rating
 
Options
Options
Personal Statement
Echelon doesn't have a personal statement currently.
Personal Info
Echelon
What a fine lack of faith you place in the ridiculous.
29 years old
Female
Location Unknown
Born Sep-28-1990
Interests
Discord: EchoCian#9325
Email: echo0cian@gmail.com
Other Information
Wii Friend Code: No Information
DS/Wii Friend Codes: No Information
Google Talk: No Information
Former Identities: Echelon, Hawk Girl, Eschewed Obfuscation, Echo, The Artful Slug
Skype: No Information
Statistics
Joined: 9-February 08
Time Online: 95d 22h 58m 21s
Profile Views: 9,747*
Last Seen: 28th February 2019 - 02:23 AM
Local Time: Feb 22 2020, 05:01 PM
1,156 posts (0 per day)
Contact Information
AIM echocian
Yahoo No Information
ICQ No Information
MSN No Information
Contact Private
* Profile views updated each hour

Echelon

Veterans

Current Mood: No data.
FETO Profile

Topics
Posts
Signature
RP Data
Comments
Friends
My Content
14 Aug 2012
Harshorn's morning had started out relatively peaceful - sunny weather, clear skies, no sign of anything amiss. Until one neared the stable that housed travelers' horses, and heard the sounds of frightened and injured beasts who'd suffered sliced tendons and other injuries that weren't possibly accidental. Such damage would have normally been life-threatening, but thankfully the town's local healer specialized in horses and acted as soon as she heard the commotion in the early hours. Now several had the worst repaired and some others were bandaged to wait for their turn; and she dozed on a hay bale in the back to regain her energy, blissfully unaware of the argument raging in front of the building.

"Why were there no guards stationed?" Emil snapped. "This is a recurring problem, yet you have no security for your guests?"

The stablemaster's skin had been getting redder over the last several minutes. "We did assign a guard. Two, in fact! If that's not satisfactory-"

"It's certainly not satisfactory if someone can slip past two guards and neither of them bothered to report in until the healer was already making her rounds," Emil cut back. "It's therefore your responsibility-"

"You knew the problem. We're shorthanded watching our stock as it is. It would be your responsibility to tend to your own animal-"

"Of course, fool I am for trusting in the word of the stablehand who assured me Swift would be safe for the night." Emil crossed his arms and glared at the stablemaster, who glared back just as stubbornly. A small crowd had gathered by now. Emil hadn't wanted to cause a scene - though what else had he expected, confronting the man in the open? - but he wasn't about to back down, either. He sighed irritably. Anger getting the better of him again. "Look. I ask only that you reimburse the healer working on them now - nothing more, nothing less, from the town if need be."

The stablemaster's skin turned an even more interesting shade. "We haven't the money to spare to cover beyond our own stock! Pay for your own horses. We have enough problems."

"Your problems have overflowed to your guests, not all of whom may have even known about the situation and took your stablehands at their word as I foolishly did," Emil growled. Surely he wasn't being unreasonable? "I could ask reimbursement for the damage, but since you do have a talented healer, the least you can do is own up to your lapse."

"It was not our lapse!"

And so it continued. It would never end at this rate, and Emil was getting very uncomfortable with his unintended audience - and beginning to doubt his own stance, though it was too late to back down now. Surely someone could help settle this one way or the other...?
2 Aug 2012
Harshorn is a town well known for the quality of its horses and makes most of its livelihood trading them inside and outside Araducia. So when their stock starts showing strange injuries that couldn't have occurred naturally, it's no small matter - and when it starts happening to travelers' horses as well, something has to be done before there's even worse trouble.

So, SRP with Emil with a fairly loose plot (for once). Only requirement is that the characters like animals enough to want to help, horse of their own not needed. I'll take two, maybe three others based on whatever criteria I feel like at the time.

Cast
Emil, Shaman (Echo)
Isleifur, Assassin (Foe)
Alphonse, Ranger (spasmgasm)
Antilochus, Myrmidon (Fifth Fang)
9 May 2012
Name: Emil Rainahd
Age: 22
Home country: Araducia
Affinity: Dark
Gender: Male
Height: 5'5"
Build: Wiry

Class: Shaman
Level: 10

Weapons: Wrack, Luna, Repulse, Death Ray, Flux Mine Shadow Snare, Sever, Nosferatu, Yotsumund
Weapon Levels: Dark - C (1/5)


Summary: Emil is, for the most part, a quiet and introspective sort who acts with maturity beyond his years. He doesn't speak without reason and often keeps to himself, sometimes not even noticing when he's addressed. Despite occasional social awkwardness, he's a watchful young man who always looks out for the weak and can't bear to see another suffer. He questions and examines options cautiously and strives to avoid conflict - a sharp contrast to the common image of an Araducian tribesman. However, he also has a strong sense of justice and isn't afraid to confront someone if he firmly believes he's in the right, and can be very stubborn once his mind is set. But that mild-mannered front conceals a vicious, feral defensive instinct under threat; a thirst for revenge hidden in the righteous drive for justice; festering grief; and a mind balanced precariously between the living and spirit realms that considers life and afterlife much more often than is healthy.


Appearance: Emil doesn't look like someone to readily approach at first glance, dressing as he does in dark colors that harshly contrast his pale skin, with sharp features and wild black hair decorated with raven feathers and bone beads - not to mention the actual raven often perched on his left shoulder. One could say they bear a strong resemblance to each other. His eyes, one amber and the other violet, often seem focused on something beyond human sight; they've long earned him uneasy looks from the superstitious. But his smile is warm with a certain charm, when he shows it, and he's turned quite a few heads whether he's recently shaved or left his stubble to its own devices. His low voice with its clipped tribal accent rarely rises except in song, and the calluses on his long, slender fingers mark him as a musician even before he picks up a lute.

He typically dresses in leather dyed in the dark greens and browns of the forest, soft and lightweight for his tunic and trousers, thicker for the light armor that protects his forearms, chest and thighs - practical for someone whose lean frame attests to agility over power. His formal wear when he's not traveling has a wider range of colors, leaning toward blues and violets, but still remain dark tones. Most of his clothing has hand-stitched detailing of various types of plants, birds, animals or random patterns, added to whenever boredom strikes. His prized possession is a black fur cloak and shoulder wrap trimmed with long feathers either molted from his raven or found lying on the ground from other birds. The staff he uses as a magic focus is longer than he is tall, white with intricate patterns carved along its length leading up to a violet gem at its head. It goes well with the lotus pendant he wears on a chain around his neck, usually hidden under his tunic.

Corr himself is a typical example of a raven, while his horse, Swift, is a beautiful black stallion with a flowing white mane and tail, bred for speed and remarkable endurance. Emil rides him bareback on short trips, but for longer journeys his tack consists of a hackamore rather than a bridle and a plain, lightweight saddle whose only adornment are a few snaffles to attach equipment and loops to hold his staff. Both are black with a simple dark blue pattern for a striking contrast.


Bio: From the start, it was clear Emil was not a normal child. Normal children didn't appear out of nowhere near the border of the Deadzone, half-dead and with no memory beyond darkness and loneliness. Normal children didn't take years to get over a fear of speaking to reveal themselves perfectly fluent. Normal children weren't left-handed and witch-eyed with an uncanny knack for handling problematic horses, wild animals and carrion birds. Normal children didn't slip around camp like wraiths, and they didn't speak to thin air as though an invisible person stood there.

It was thus no wonder that Emil spent the first few years of his new life being called a bad omen by the tribe's more superstitious members. Fortunately not all were so narrow-minded, and he was especially fortunate that a couple was patient enough to take the mess of a boy in and raise him as their own son. They were the first people he could recall meaningful interaction with, and it became easy to forget that he was their child by adoption rather than blood. Five years after he was discovered, it was almost easy to forget his origins. Almost.

His parents taught him basic magic, but it was the tribe's medicine woman who finally recognized the signs that Emil had the ability to see and communicate with the world's spirits. His father taught him staff magic; his mother taught him music, and how all magic types interrelated; and the medicine woman taught him to hone his unusual ability as well as the art of Elder magic.

This didn't help his standing with the superstitious ones, who insisted his presence would bring disaster to the camp if not all the tribes and perhaps the country, but even they couldn't claim that he misused his powers or did anything but support the tribe. Most of the rest appreciated his willingness to help, and he had no shortage of friends, helped in no small part by his developing good looks. His mother and father made certain he understood the dangers of Dark magic, and the medicine woman drilled into him that magic was a sacred tool, not something to use recklessly. He was firm in these beliefs when the elders and his parents agreed, after two years' delay, that the time had come for him to take his rite of passage.

He was a withdrawn 17 when he left with his pet raven and loyal horse, relying on wilderness skills to get him across Araducia and into Marcellus, and a more self-assured 18 when he returned - with troubling news. For years, the tribes of Araducia had been dealing with a demon-worshiping cult that called themselves the Blood Rose Order. They desecrated sacred ground with grisly rituals, murdered entire clans if they weren't driven off to fuel necromancy, and kidnapped any children they could for who-knew-what purpose. Emil had found that purpose: Some were sold into slavery. Others were...changed. He didn't know the details. But he had come to believe he'd been one of those children - freed, somehow, but it explained much of his unknown past and the many phobias he still sometimes struggled with.

But most disturbing was an uneasy feeling more than anything in particular he'd uncovered - a feeling that they were preparing for something. The slowly increasing demonic activity throughout Skylessia, the Order striking more frequently, chaos erupting in other parts of the continent, restless spirits... Emil felt the world was straining under tension, soon to burst with a disaster he couldn't imagine. He didn't think he could stop it. But neither could he rest idly without trying.

He investigated throughout Araducia for a few more years, building up a reputation as something of a hero as he went, and his fears only multiplied. One small part of that tension finally erupted when he returned from one of his sojourns to find the camp his tribe had used for years empty, ransacked, bodies littering the ground. He found the survivors, his parents among them - but there were precious few. The Blood Rose Order had attacked. Anyone too young or old to fight had been killed or dragged off; the warriors that lived were forced to flee or be wiped out entirely. It wasn't cowardice; it was the only way to ensure enough of them lived to warn the other tribes that the situation had worsened so dramatically.

Emil didn't let himself grieve for those lost, though they included the old medicine woman, friends, lovers; and his own infant son, conceived for a couple unable to have their own child. He saw the survivors to the next Rainahd outpost, and there he vowed he would stop the Order or die trying. It was then that his mother gave him a gift: A pendant in the shape of a lotus, a family heirloom she'd had for her entire life. She'd never let it out of her sight for as long as anyone in the tribe had known her. "Keep this with you," she told him, "and protect it with your life. It's a key. It will guide you to the lock, when it's time." She smiled, then, and hugged him tightly. "You're my son, no matter our blood. He'll understand that. Remember all we've taught you, and be true to yourself. That's all that matters."

He couldn't get either of them to explain what that meant - but it didn't much matter. If his mother said it would guide him, he trusted it would. He still didn't mourn, no matter that his father confided that they, too, had lost a son before he entered their lives; instead, he buried it. Grief could be his fuel, when he let himself feel it. Once again, he packed up his belongings and set off into the world with his staff, horse and raven, determined to find the root of the tension and pluck it with his bare hands - or find someone else who could.


Additional Notes/Comments:

- He's skilled with numerous stringed instruments, and an excellent singer with a rich baritone voice.
- Theme song is Night of the Hunter.
- People who frequent tribal lands and the areas nearby may have heard some tales of the "raven man" and his heroic exploits.


RP History

N/A


Art Gallery

---
24 Apr 2012
Caisra's cemetery was normally a quiet, peaceful place. It had the kind of air that encouraged respect and contemplation, a place some even came to study under what some believed to be the benevolent eyes of past souls. No one buried here was less than a model citizen, whatever their chosen profession, be it the clergy or a doctor or a well-loved minstrel. Klaus wasn't sure he believed it, but even a skeptic like him couldn't deny there was something calm about it on a sunny day with the flowers in bloom and the kindly memory of those who lay here.

That was before those flowers were trampled and dug up and the bodies exhumed, and guards with weapons were posted around its perimeter wall. It felt like a travesty, a mockery. As Klaus studied the empty grave in front of him, he couldn't help but feel he was the one being mocked - for in the overturned dirt lay one of his own quill pens, the very one that had been filched from his desk the day the book disappeared. The desk he hadn't left until a page rushed over to tell him the storeroom was unlocked. Meaning that whoever had stolen the book had not only slipped past him to reach the room and gotten in and out without making a sound, they'd decided to hang around and swipe a personal belonging behind his back while he was still in earshot. The worst part was that until this moment, he'd been none the wiser.

Cirr might recognize the pen, but Bellemere wouldn't. Klaus closed his eyes and chose not to acknowledge it. No sense looking like even more of a fool than he'd already been made into. At least no one was accusing him of being the culprit...yet. Which was all the more reason not to draw attention to the damnable quill. He turned to the unsettled guard at his shoulder; if the man had noticed it as well, he didn't mention it. "Two hours ago, you said?"

"My best guess," he said with a quick nod. He glanced from Klaus to the upturned dirt and back again. "I didn't hear a thing until I walked by and saw this, I swear." He hesitated and finally settled his gaze on the crooked gravestone. "Brother Vestin...he didn't deserve this, librarian."

"Nobody does." It was all the pitiful comfort Klaus could give. Sympathy had never been a strong suit. Right now he just wanted to get on with his investigation, without the interference of a man who'd made it known he believed in the tales of souls seeking vengeance on those who disturbed their resting places. "If that is all, Sir Devon..."

"Oh, certainly." The guard backed off, but still looked uneasy. Klaus felt he was waiting for more reassurance, but there was nothing he could do about that. Instead he knelt at the edge of the grave and fished the courret out of his pocket. The palm-sized wardstone's chill against his skin told him there was no magical residue here. Frowning, he stood and slowly began circling outward from the area. No telling if the rare device even worked. With no ability to sense magic on his own, though, it was all he had to rely on.

Devon hovered at the fringes. He didn't seem to want to leave Klaus to his own devices, but at least he appeared to understand he would only interfere with a mage's work. Klaus withheld a sigh. The guard would be terribly disappointed to learn the one capable mage among their odd trio was as yet too inexperienced to detect the traces of the teleportation spell he searched for.
5 Apr 2012
Caisra's cemetery has always been considered a sacred area, the final resting place of many worshipers of Saint Elimine and other notable upstanding citizens - until graves began to be found dug up with bodies missing, with no sign of the culprit even when the unearthing had to have happened in the middle of the day with guards watching. Strange, but not particularly alarming, until a valuable and little-known book from the city library went missing - a book of ancient and long-forgotten spells that included twisted, dangerous magic someone could perform with exhumed corpses.

It was during Klaus's watch that the book went missing, and now he feels it's up to him to go retrieve it before Caisra has a chance to find out just what kind of spells it contains. But if it's as bad as he fears, he's going to need some help to do it.

Cast:
  • Klaus Ardane (lv8 Dancer, Echo)
  • Cirr d'Aegr (lv9 Mage, Foe)
  • Bellemere Veliska (lv5 Cleric, Lightascetic)
  • Hadrian Ravache (lv5 Priest, Shiaherazade)
  • Aurora Sweetmaple (lv10 Dancer, Darth)
Won't be up for a few more days so I can get a good interest check. Fifth slot depending on interest. Won't be first come, first serve. I don't expect this to have a breakneck pace, but I do expect everyone to post promptly. If you haven't posted by the time I'm ready to update, I probably won't wait. And there's no excuse for not thoroughly reading all posts no matter how long they are.

Mention how your character would get involved if you want. We can assume Klaus is out recruiting, so would he find them at a tavern, or might they have already been at the library when this was discovered and offered to help, or heard a rumor on the street and come to investigate? Any notes like that would be useful for working out the details.
Last Visitors


4 Nov 2013 - 21:10


30 Jul 2013 - 23:21


2 Apr 2013 - 21:42


24 Oct 2012 - 12:58


2 Oct 2012 - 19:29

Comments
Destin
It's been forever--just thought I'd poke my head in and say hey if you ever come by anymore
30 Jul 2013 - 23:22
Donny
Happy Birthday, Echo!
28 Sep 2011 - 1:22
Lil B
Your Gang Sines avatar made me laugh ridiculously hard. Thanks for the laugh.
2 Jun 2010 - 17:49
Crimea River
Congrats on a well-earned promotion. I'm sure you'll do amazing things for Skylessia. ^_^
3 Feb 2010 - 12:20
Spectre
Name change? Totally sexy.
15 Jan 2010 - 22:00

Friends

17407 posts
Active: 8th November 2018 - 03:23 PM

4639 posts
Active: Private

1865 posts
Active: 13th July 2015 - 03:54 AM

1006 posts
Active: 11th April 2013 - 12:28 AM

1521 posts
Active: 8th August 2012 - 07:42 AM
View All Friends
Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 22nd February 2020 - 05:01 PM

Affiliates