Active RP Profiles

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by Color Me Fubar))
((On hiatus))

Gaia Username: Nojanath
Name: Noj Anath
Gender: Male
Age: 38 - appears younger due to channeling

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Traveling Swordsman/Rouge Channeler
Nationality: Andor
Alliance: Nothing but the Light

Appearance: Noj has darkly tanned skin from years of wandering the roads. He's also rather muscular and roughly attractive for some strange reason. Despite his muscular build and his strong jaw line, he doesn't have a bulky stance or look. He's rather lean and moves very gracefully. His eyes are a light brown color and are rather penetrating due to his lifestyle. The strangest part of his look, though, is his hair. It is a snow white color, reaching just below his shoulders and is rather straight, offset by his dark skin.
Personality: Noj's personality is a rather strange one. He is very kind in most circumstances, seems rather harmless. However, he is also very, very, very stubborn, sticking to everything he puts his mind and heart too, no matter what stands in his way. His actions are dictated by his morals, even though he tends to leap before he looks, and will actively defend any belief he has when challenged. The only time Noj will seem dangerous is when he deems someone as a threat.

Skills: Noj is very talented with a blade and is an avid survivor. He can also channel and is very strong; he doesn't quite know how to actually use that strength, or even use it in general at will. While the sword is his strong point, he is rather decent with just about anything you put in his hands. He can also use his hands at fighting and can hold his ground rather well. He's also good at wheedling.
Weapons: He carries around two longswords, one for use and another as back up. He also has an assortment of knives for skinning and other various ends.
Talents: Is very good at fire and earth weaves.

Biography: Growing up at a small village in Andor, Noj's parents died when he was very young. Being very impulsive and feeling as if he had something to prove he left the village at a young age, making his way into a band of mercenaries at the tender age of thirteen. In the following years he grew into the role rather well, though he didn't like the lifestyle.
During the new wars surrounding Darkfriends, Seanchan, and whatever else one could think of, Noj continually grew more and more disgusted with what he had to do in order to make a living. Convinced that he had to leave the band by the time the Last Battle came around, he defected, striking back and killing a few members of the band once he discovered they were going to work for one of the Forsaken. By himself, he stole a horse and galloped his way to the battle before him, hitting a brigand of Trollocs from behind. The battle would have been short-lived, since Trollocs outnumbered him at least by twenty strong, if it hadn't been for Noj's spark. It creating nothing short of a firestorm around him, destroying the Trollocs. Since the spark, Noj has wandered the road, doing menial farm labor and bouncing at bars to make a living.  

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by Color Me Fubar))
((On hiatus))

Gaia Username: Tevolan
Name: Grailton Kargo
Gender: Male
Age: 23

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Merchant Guard/Laborer/Body Guard/Miner
Nationality: Andor
Alliance: Whoever pays him at the moment.

Appearance: Slightly above average height and build for an Andoran man, the 5’9” and 250 pound youth walks tall and carries himself as any laborer worth his weight in gold would. Straight and loose. The former miner keeps a kerchief handy to wipe away the black dust he still coughs up to this day. Short roughly cropped brown hair frames chestnut brown eyes in a face that neither seems to hate or care.

Personality: Purposely distant to those he feels he need not make contact with while only slightly warmer with anyone currently employing his services. Constantly on the move and never looking back from the saddle he has literally grown into, one would almost think him soulless until he is called to whatever violent duty he has ascribed himself to currently.

Skills: Working in the mines near Baerlon at the early age of seven, he started with the small tasks of hauling water and food before hefting the pick for the first time on his thirteenth name day. As the years progressed and the taut muscles formed en masse, he quickly gained the nickname of ‘Mountain’ as he outgrew men several decades his senior. The long days of boring through rock and dirt came easily to him and few were the days when he went home stiff. Now though he sells his services as a laborer of any sort but excels in the profession of guard. A stint on town watches, body guard for travelers, and currently a guard for a merchant train and his use of a shield and club when on foot or horseback has given him many deaths at his hands and few scars. Fair with crossbow and short bow alike, he keeps a heavily tempered and reinforced miner’s pick at his side at all times for piercing the usually crude armor of those he is paid to put an end to.

Weapons: Shield on his left arm, reigns to his horse around the pummel, the man keeps a crossbow loaded and ready at a moments notice in hand while having a miner’s pick and club at his belt with bow and quiver on his saddlebags.

Biography: A slight breeze swept through the underside of the wagon as the quiet giant lay there wrapped in his blankets. Crossbow cocked, loaded, and ready at the slightest tug on the trigger nestled next to his head as the frolicking of the brown hair constantly played over the moonlit brown eyes in the young face that seemed to show nearly no emotion. He had just been relieved from his post and even though he wasn’t tired in the slightest the former miner knew he would be sleeping quickly. As was usual for the nightly ritual he merely shook his head as others in the merchant train complained of a long day in the saddle. None of them had the slightest idea of what a hard day of work actually was. They had never carried troughs of water across their shoulders, hefted a pick from sunup to sundown, pushed the carts of coal and dirt along the tracks…

…along the tracks so as not to fumble over rock and loose dirt while carrying the water down the lines to keep the other miners from falling over from dehydration. The boy would stop at every miner he came to, let them take the ladle, get a sip of water, and then move on to the next as if it were nothing. He would do so until he finally reached the end or ran out of water in both buckets, whichever came first. These days though as the new branch was just started only a month ago the walk was short. Coming at last to the men on the farthest end of the tunnel, the nine year old went down to a single knee before carefully setting the water to the ground. Standing up and handing the ladle to the man in front of him, he was greeted with a calloused hand messing up his hair and a low chuckle. “Well if it isn’t little Grailton, come to rescue us old men from dying of thirst on a hot day like today,” his father said to him.

“Da,” he said playfully as he reached up and lightly poked him in the ribs before ducking away from him, “it’s not even halfway through spring yet. I know as well as you do the real heat hasn’t even started yet.” “Then why are you sweating so much, lad? All ready to head back home and pass out from exhaustion again?” The mirror image of the boy knew full well despite the fact he had yet come into the body of the man he would one day become that a grand miner stood before him. The boy could easily outlast any other youth his age and never complain a bit. While the outside world still reveled at the Light’s victory over the Shadow at the Last Battle that didn’t stop people from needing the ores and minerals still found within the mountains and this boy would one day take up the pick to keep them supplied while never a thanks was given his way.

“Leave the lad be, Vaeler. Even a half blind man like me can see he’s been outdoing you since his second day in these shafts.” With a hard swing and a cloud of dust to emphasize his words, the eldest of the workers in the mine left his pick in the mountain before turning to take a drink. An eye patch covering the empty socket surrounded by a grotesque patch of flesh gained from a broken support beam crashing into the left side of his face many years ago was a startling contrast to the jovial smile alight on Nelteen’s lips. “Come on,” the older man said as he cracked his old joints, “we have to clear up enough to set another support before we head out today or find a deposit as big as the inn in Baerlon if you don’t want me to tan your hide like your da use to.”

Bending down and lifting the buckets hooked on the long length of wood onto his shoulders, he could only begin to register a small rumbling before suddenly being picked up by both men. Watching as the tunnel rushed by his field of vision amid the screams and roaring cloud of dust behind him, nobody stopped until they were well clear of the mine and among open air. Somebody shouted, “Sound off!” and one by one all the men called their names and numbers were taken until all were accounted for. Looking up at the two men still holding him, Grailton would never forget the complete and total fear covering the faces of the toughest men he would ever know. “Never forget that sound boy,” his father said in between gasps of air, “that sound always means trouble and death for those that don’t move fast enough…

“…fast enough for my taste,” he heard someone behind him mutter as he suddenly came awake. “We could have stayed at that inn we just passed but no another night under wagons and in the dirt. I swear,” the impudent boy whined, “if he keeps this up I might just-” “You might just what?” Grailton growled as he easily rolled and grabbed the crossbow. “Shut your mouth and go to sleep or I will kill you where you lie and not think twice about it.” Aiming it right for the area where the neck meets the shoulder he steadies his arms before speaking again.

“I was sleeping well, as you should be doing, and if you wake me again I won’t even give you the warning our merchant friend says I’m supposed to give you. You,” he says calmly as he rolls back over and begins drifting to sleep, “we can easily replace. I, on the other hand, am worth nearly as much as half this wagon load to our employer. Remember that well.” Setting the crossbow down carefully as he wrapped his cloak around him for a bit of warmth, he felt the darkness covering him…

…darkness covering him as the most awful belching sound came out from under the ground. He registered someone from further up the shaft screaming about the gas pocket moments before the entire wall to his left shifted. A roaring explosion ripped throughout the entire mine and then only muffled screams was all that could be heard. The dark and dirt pressing down on him so he could barely breathe let alone move was the only way he knew he was not yet dead.

The burning in his chest began searing its way down his sides as what little noise there was began getting farther and farther away. He was nineteen. He was huge. He was strong. He was smart. He was unstoppable by most men and beasts that had ever passed through this area of Andor. He was a testament to a line of miner’s longer than some noble houses. He was suppose to be married by the end of the next season once the local women had been satisfied with the length of the courtship between him and his love.

He was going to die.

The chances of surviving a cave-in were bordering on the strictly impossible, and even more so when gas pockets were involved let alone the total depth he had been at. Since they had started this branch Grailton had insisted that he be the one down here in case such a thing happened. His father had protested the most saying that the reason itself was exactly why he shouldn’t be down there. Eventually the younger Kargo had gotten his way when he promised to move once the marriage was within a month. Every day the protests still came from the older of the two and always with the request to be able to hold in his hands another Kar-

“-Kargo! I’ll be bloody well burned to a pile of ash if I’m going to lose both of you in one flaming day!” screamed Nelteen. The words themselves didn’t even begin to register in the dying youth’s mind until ‘both’. At the prospect laid before him as his body began to burn with the complete lack of air he could feel the beam sized appendages ripple in sync with the flow of adrenaline coursing its way through his veins. As screams of “Here!” resounded through the tunnels and the scurrying of hands plowed into the black dirt the miner felt the first shift of progress and air flowed into his excruciatingly empty lungs.

It almost seemed to the young man’s fellow workers as if the Shadow itself had taken form again when the body burst forth from the dirt. Only once before had the assembled men seen the raging monster before them and none took shame in throwing themselves out of the way once he was free and moving. The only difference between this time and the other was the complete lack of alcohol and a room full of grown men to keep him down until he calmed. Dirt and dust had barely thought about settling when the screams of loss rebounded back through the tunnels to meet the men who had just set loose something that looked akin to monsters of the cookfire stories they told children each night. Mingled with the bloodcurdling babbling spouting from the lips of a son as he held what few bits of his father he could still touch came yet another rumbling and more cries for mercy.

This time he made no move to save himself as the dirt enveloped him again, his mind incapable of truly comprehending self preservation at that particular moment. He welcomed the weight of the mountain upon him and lost himself in the burning caress of his slow coming death. He had cheated himself from this embrace once today and yet she found him again with more vigor than before. She left him smothered, broken, immobile, and completely uncaring. Even as hands wrapped around him again and air made its way back into his body he simply let himself hang in the grasp of others.

They dragged him clear of the mine with his ears still ringing and head still feeling as if it was stopped up with several bales of wool. Words were screamed, questions asked, approaches made, retreats made even quicker, fingers pointed, and the sounds of people sicking up their breakfasts. He could feel blood dripping all over his arms and as he looked down only the upper half of his father’s face stared back up at him. Relaxing his hold and turning onto his side as a long shiver overcame him, his only real thought was when would the tears start?

They did not come that night. Nor the next. Nor the following months as he was forbidden from leaving the bed as he healed. They never came even as he drank himself into a stupor the night he was given freedom and proceeded to fight everything that moved. Not when he ran screaming and tearing at his hair and head from the darkness of the mine as he eventually tried to go back into the depths that had claimed the life of his father and made a dual grab at his own. No, they finally came as he saddled a horse and rode off next to a lone man willing to pay him to keep him safe while on his voyage home back to Altara. As he rode past his mother and the girl who should have been his wife by now he didn’t even bother to tip his hat or show any emotion at all on his dry face. The tears did not come from him but from the two women who had been trying everything to keep him from leaving.

He never looked back. Not even when his employer asked if he wanted to reconsider the offer. He replied with a curt “No” and that was all that was said for several days. The conversation was light and noncommittal at best and awkward or non-existent more often anything else. By the time they had reached the Altaran city in question his club and shield were soundly stained with blood. The man joked that as long as the mining pick stayed with him he could never die and the reputation followed him into the fields, the docks, the forests, and down nearly every road west of the Aiel Waste. He never really paid much attention to it…

…attention to it as he unloaded the wagon. At least that’s what he liked people to think as he whirled around and stuck the loaded crossbow right next to the Adam’s Apple of the man from the previous night. Shock had only barely replaced hatred on the younger man’s face before the trigger had been pulled and blood sprayed everywhere. Cocking the weapon and loading it as he turned around without a care the former miner simply went back to work. He never bothered to look the others in the face as he stepped around the dying youth until he came to the owner of the merchant train.

“I want my pay and I’ll be about my own business,” he stated as one would comment on the sky being blue. “He was going to skewer me and by right of defense no council or magistrate will ever pronounce sentence against me, but never will your men sleep while I am in your wagon. I do not aim to ruin your business so let me be about my way.” Taking the bag of coin from the small and frightened man he merely tipped his hat before heading over to the palomino he had bought a few years back in Tear. Inspecting the hooves beneath the cream colored markings that extended mere inches up that matched the same color as the mane and tail showed that Vaeler was still in perfect condition. Mounting the golden body with an ease that came from literally living in the saddle, Grailton set out on his own again without ever looking back.  

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by Color Me Fubar))
((On hiatus))

Gaia Username: Nojanath
Name: Marek Calver
Gender: Male
Age: 59, and not a year more or less thank you very much.

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Crazy old man
Nationality: Andor
Alliance: Whatever he feels is right

Appearance: He has a white beard, and wears a gray cloak. He's rather bald, and seems to always have a negative facial expression. He has a walking stick that he seems to lean on constantly, which houses a blade inside.

Personality: In one word, cranky. In his opinion, he has been around waaaaay too long, and is fed up with how foolish the young of the world act. Now, don't get him wrong, he isn't about to throw his life away; it's more like he needs something to keep his mind busy. Only problem is that he can hardly stand all of the infuriating youngsters.

Skills: He is an incredibly talented swords man, really a master, though he never officially became a blademaster, too much trouble and too much attention. He also used to be a very good and powerful channeler, though darkfriends cut him from the Source long ago.
Weapons: A staff with a sword concealed within.

Biography: Marek was once one of those foolish kids. He first went to the White Tower, and received Warder training, and quickly became one of the foremost trainees. With time, he got his own Aes Sedai, and they traveled the known world together, fell in love, and so on. When the White Tower separated, his Aes Sedai was killed in the cross fire. Horrified, he took to ale to drown his sorrows, until Taim himself found out that the previous Warder could in fact channel. With a new purpose to his life he trained every day, keening his ability to channel along with his swordsmanship. And like a fool, he rushed into the last battle, only to be cut off from the Source as he was from his Aes Sedai. Having to strong a will at this point to brood over the loss in his ale, he became a hermit, where he kept his skills keen with a blade for the next fifteen years.  

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by Color Me Fubar))

Gaia Username: MorganGoldeneyes
Name: Toyn Mendallaar
Gender: Male
Age: 27

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Armsman - Queen's Guard
Nationality: Andoran
Alliance: The Queen of Andor

Appearance: He is a tall man of 6'4" with broad shoulders and strong muscles. He has fair skin, blue eyes, dark hair and a short beard. He has the face of a fighter, with a scar over his right eye which has made it difficult for him to see through that eye. He wears the red and white uniform of the Queen's Guard
Personality: When in battle or while working Toyin is serious and focused, but on his free time he likes nothing more than to sit in a tavern with a pretty girl on his knee and a game of dice in front of him. He has a strong sense of honor and authority. He is a man that will keep his word and stay true to his oaths. Toyn would give his life for the queen of Andor if she even implied that it was her wish. He can also be very stubborn and proud.

Skills: He is a master swordsman with an eye for good weapons.
Weapons: Heron-marked longsword and longbow along with lots and lots of knives.
Talents: He carves things out of wood when he has nothing better to do.

Biography: Toyn grew up in Camelyn in a noble family that had been loyal to the throne of Andor since anyone could remember. His father died in the Aiel war when he was young and his mother not much longer from sickness. This left him to be raised by an uncle who taught him the way of the sword. For years, he spent all of his spare time practicing forms and sparring with his cousins, who soon proved to be no match for him. He found himself needing more of a challenge and was drawn to the idea of serving the queen. At the age of seventeen he went to the palace, where he became a guard to Morgaise Trakand. After her death, he continued to serve her daughter, Elayne. He helped the Captain-General, Birgitte, save Elayne from the Black Sisters who captured her, then aided in her attack of Arymilla's army. He fought proudly at Tarmon Gai'don under the Dragon Reborn under order from Elayne Trakand. He acquired a wound over his right eye in a struggle with a Trollloc at the Last Battle. His whole life has been dedicated to serving his country and his queen, and it seems like he has done little else. He currently spends his time patrolling the streets of Camelyn, keeping all of it's people safe, or sitting in a tavern.  

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by myself and Inkers))

Gaia Username: Professor Inky
Name: Rosalyn Lamonte
Gender: Female
Age: Early twenties

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Noble
Nationality: Saldaean
Alliance: The Light

Appearance: Rosalyn is slightly short, standing around 5’4”. She is skinny but is endowed with luscious curves. Her dark, curly, brown hair falls midway down her back when let down; however, she normally keeps her hair up and pinned in a circle with the excess falling in beautiful curls down her back. As is common in Saldaeans, Rosalyn has tilted eyes that are a dark green. Her skin is of a tanned color.
She wears very high-end dresses that are both ostentatious and expensive. Her favorite is a crimson shade of red with ruffles at the cuffs and roses embroidered along the sleeves. The neckline takes a deep plunge down her bosom and the petticoat is very large. Rosalyn likes to adorn her head with a large red sun hat with black feather. She also carries a black fan with ruffles on the edge that she often uses to communicate with other Saldaean women of nobility.
Personality: Rosalyn is kindhearted and generous. Aside from her addiction to fine clothing, Rosalyn puts her money towards the benefit of the people of Saldaea. She is very gregarious. People love her sense of humor and cannot help but smile when around her. In addition, she is very smart – taught by the best teachers money could afford in Saldaea – and puts her smarts to productive activities.

Skills: Rosalyn is a born orator. Her eloquence has only increased since her youth as a result of her status as one of the nobility. Additionally, she is adept at reading a person’s expression, tone, or any other physical quality for signs of untruth, emotion, and other things of that nature.
Weapons: Rosalyn carries a small knife tied at her ankle and is proficient with it but does not carry any other weapons nor does she know how to use any others with skill.

Biography: Rosalyn Lamonte was born to mother, Adeline Lamonte, and father, Charlin Lamonte in Maradon, Saldaea. She was raised getting everything she wanted as a result of her parents high status in the nobility and never had to raise a finger. In her later teen years, she became acquainted with a man by the name of Claud Randall. He was a foot soldier in the Saldaean army. The two grew to have romantic feelings for each other; this was completely unacceptable for one of Rosalyn’s high status so the two kept their relationship a secret. Over time, Claud began dabbling in crime for money. He and his close friends started mugging people and breaking into houses and stealing expensive items. The situation began escalating – the houses broken into were nicer and the people richer. Claud started to pressure Rosalyn into helping him because she refused to give him money because of her parents. On one of their break-ins, Rosalyn encountered an unexpected man in the house while Claud was going around back. The man charged after her and Rosalyn pulled out her knife and stabbed the man. He died instantly. Rosalyn could not believe what she had done and fled the area after removing her knife from him. Claud yelled at her for leaving without helping take anything. Rosalyn, upset from just murdering a man, began yelling at Claud and told him that she refused to be with him anymore. Claud did not take this well and tried to kill her with his sword. He managed to cut her side before Rosalyn’s knife met his chest as well. Ever since that day, Rosalyn has vowed to walk in the Light no matter what and has done so since then.  

[Color Me Fubar]

((Accepted by Inky and myself))

Gaia Username: Color Me Fubar
Name: Haidar Martan
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown, appears to be late twenties

Race: Human
Class/Occupation: Warder-trained
Nationality: Illianer
Alliance: White Tower

Appearance: Haidar stands at 6'2", with a lean frame that is muscular without being boxy or large. He lost his right eye in combat, a scar running over that side of his face only amplifying the startling effect his appearance sometimes has on people. His other eye is bright blue and his hair is long and blonde, reaching to his shoulder blades, and is often pulled back while traveling and loose other times.
His face, though handsome, is often grim and uninviting. He wears his Warder cloak at all times, along with a dark-green tunic, black breeches and sturdy leather boots. His clothes are simple and without ornament, perfect for the traveling he does. He dislikes flashy things and the only piece of jewelry he owns is a pendant that belonged to his father, given to him when he left home, and is always worn under his shirt.
Haidar
Personality: Haidar is serious and a bit grim by nature, having no tolerance for fools and jokers. His humor is sarcastic and often biting, earning him no friends at Tar Valon. He is loyal as long as he is not used for injustice and will obey any order given short of cold-blooded murder. He enjoys traveling more than some people and grows restless if in one place for too long. Haidar also prefers the country to large cities, seeing the influx of people as dangerous and unnecessary.
His honor is old-fashioned, but he does not see women as the weaker or fairer sex in any circumstance. Growing up in Tar Valon, he learned to view women as often the more dangerous of the genders and treats them as such, with a mixture of respect and wariness. His opinion of others is formed on meeting them and is not easily changed, much like the rest of him.

Skills: Raised in Tar Valon, he began training as a Warder at a young age. He learned sword skills easily, is capable with a bow, and competent with any other weapon if circumstances demand he use one.
Weapons: A heron-marked sword, a small sword with a lion as the hilt, and several daggers about his person.

Biography: Haidar was born in Illian and taken to Tar Valon at the early age of five by his father, a merchant who traded with the Towers, in hopes of being taken in for training. His father's wish was granted when the boy showed an aptitude for the small sword he was given and Haidar began life in Tar Valon shortly thereafter, seeing his family only once and many years later. His skills for the blade continued to grow under his years of training and he was proud when he was chosen to be trained as a Warder for the White Tower at the age of fourteen. He pushed himself to his limits to achieve his goal and earned his heron sword several years later.
He was Bonded to a Brown sister shortly after becoming a Warder, but their personalities proved to be too ill-matched for the pairing to work; she was content to remain in the Tower and was a passive, peaceful woman, while Haidar grew more and more discontent with the quiet life he was trapped in. Eventually, she broke the Bond after a mutual agreement was reached. Haidar left Tar Valon as quickly as possible, journeying to other nations to improve his fighting skills and perhaps find another Sister. He remained an un-Bonded Warder for an even longer time than his first Bond lasted, due to his personality and the fact that there seemed no Sisters he could put up with long enough. He returned to Tar Valon eventually, only to accompany several other Warders and their Sisters into Tarmon Gai'den, where he was gravely injured, although his scar is the only reminder of that battle.
He remained in Tar Valon afterwards, healing and continuing to train despite orders. After receiving disturbing reports from the eyes-and-ears of the Yellow Ajah, the Yellow Sitter approached him with an unusual request that he found odd enough to try. He is almost in the city of Saldaea, having traveled nonstop since he received his orders.