The following have entered a creative writing competition. Their task is to write about the character they are playing in a roleplaying game. Please help vote for the best writer by posting the name you liked best.

The following names are in the competition.

Drizdon D’Sargon
Tiage
Metalwing
De’Lana
Kashell
Daeron Haeloth
Kyrserni Farwalker
Millendor Riniken


*********************************************************************
Drizdon D’Sargon the Dark Elf Wizard

Drizdon D'Sargon scrabbled up the last few feet and stood at the highest peak of one of the Dwanen Mountains breathing hard in the cold crisp thin air. His whole body ached from the long arduous climb, especially his cold hands. Sinking into a meditation form taught by his masters at the battlemage schools of the dark elves, Drizdon warmed his hands back up finding warmth from the element he was most akin too, fire. Drizdon removed his long black cloth head wrappings and allowed his long silver-white hair a rare treat of flowing free in the mountain wind. Turning his blue black skinned face, Drizdon scanned the clear night sky with his almond shaped violet eyes looking for a sign from the Dragon Goddess, but the only thing he could see was the beginnings of the dawn symphony and the only thing he could hear with his pointed ears was the winds chorus among the peaks.

Dawn his favorite time of day. His second favorite being sunset. Drizdon could remember the first one he saw. Drizdon removed his back pack with his spell books and gear and set it on the ground next to him. Arranging his black cloak with a hood around his dark green tunic, black pants, and knee high black boots, Drizdon sat down on a comfortable looking rock careful to move the longsword belted over his tunic in an easy access position and watched the sunrise while he waited for the Dragon Goddess.

Drizdon's mind wandered back in time to that first sunrise. That one was a birth of sorts. Drizdon was born in the under-world and had spent many years under the sever tutelage of Master Wizard Del Throm of the Battlemage school and Master-at-Arms D'Sellaxon. Everyday rising early to fight with every weapon, or with no weapon, in groups and singlely or many on one or one on many. Then to train with magic for the rest of the day. Copying spells over and over again.

Casting spells walking, running, right out of sleep, and during weapons training with the Master-at-Arms. Every failure was followed by beatings and labor. Many students died on the floors of those schools. During the final exams, Drisdon had to kill a fellow student to advance. He did kill the student and found that he could not be a cold killer like the rest of his race. Finally having had enough, Drizdon used his skills and sneaked into his Master-at-Arms armory and took a longsword and scabard. At his Master Wizards house, Drizdon took a spell book and three magical throwing stars that returned when called.

Drizdon loaded up his muscled body with its road map of scars and walked into the deep dark of the under-world vowing never to return. A few months later, Drizdon emerged out of a cave into a dark night with bright sparkling lights high above which he later learned were called stars. What came next burned his eyes and made them water, but the reds and oranges and yellows carved their beauty deep into his heart.

A year later riding a horse in the forests and avoiding the obviously earned hatred of his race by covering up his hair in a black cloth wrap and wearing a cloak, Drizdon received a vision to climb to the top of this mountain and attend the Dragon Goddess. This rare event happens every 5000 years! For most civilizations in the Lands of Bavidirian the dragonrider is nothing more than a myth. Drizdon consider himself lucky to potentially become such a fabled protector of the lands.

As the sun began to rise the Dragon Goddess arrived saying: "Do not celebrate yet warrior! You must first accomplish two vital tasks before receiving the opportunity of becoming a dragonrider! You must care for the golden egg given to you for 84 days before it can hatch. Then you must care for it for another 84 days before it becomes a youngling, which enables the dragon to fly for the first time. Evil knows of your possession and will do anything to attain the valuable dragon egg. You must protect yourself as of the egg with your life. If either should die the lands will fall into the hands of evil and all life as we know it will perish."

With that the Dragon Goddess fades away into the golds and reds of the dawn's colors. Drizdon thought this might have been the best sun rise yet.

"I hope my horse is still there." Thought Drizdon as he breathed deep, put his gear back on and began to climb back down for days. A few days later at the edge of a cliff, Drizdon sees a horse waiting for him. Drizdon smiled.

*********************************************************************

Tiage the Dark Elf Assassin

Tiage was always a loner, as far as she can remember she was alone. There was a time where she was with her family, but something came through her small town killing everyone but her. She ran like her father told her, she ran till she could no longer move. Since that day she has been bitter towards others. The anger seems to always take control; she has learned how to use this gift during a battle. She has always been fighting a daemon deep within. Her story is cold and sad but she would not change a thing, it was helped her in so many ways. She spends many nights thinking bout her father's last words to her. Almost like its haunting her. Only the strong will survive this world.

She wears a black cloak; it usually covers her from head to toe. She wears this to hide scars from her past. Never taking off more than her hood unless needed. Under her cloak she wears a white, short tattered dress, black boots to match her cloak. Her hair is the color of fire to match the fire in her eyes. She carries a bow on her back with red arrows, on her side she has a small dagger, it may be small but she knows how to kill anyone with this small dagger. With her bow she carries a long black sword, red ribbon wrapped around the handle. This sword was some magical powers that she dears not to use unless needed.

*********************************************************************

Metalwing the Dark Elf Wizard

A young dark elf wizard got his name from the magic armor he possesses. When he was young, he crept into the dark woods to observe the Dark Elf Wizards make magic. They stood around a fire and chanted while casting magical potions into the flame. The flame took on a life of itself and turned into a luminous being that towered above the forest. As the wizards continued their magic the luminous being grew and stretched ever higher into the sky. The purpose of the being was to attract and gather dark magic for the Dark Elf Wizards and tiny glimmers of magic could be seen floating towards the luminous being and absorbing into its body.

As the luminous creature waved its arms like the swaying branchs of a tree in the wind, the young Dark Elf noticed a light in the sky. It looked a bit like a flaming arrow but grew larger and appeared to be headed straight for the gathering of elves. The flaming orb grew larger and larger and approached closer and closer. The luminous magicial being looks up at the last moment, just to see a flaming molten ball of metal from the far reaches of the sky strike him between the eyes.

An implosion occurs where the dark energies of the dark elf wizards and the luminous being instantly are absorbed into the man sized ball of molten metal which continues on it path, straight at the young dark elf. The young elf has little time to react, so he just throws his hands over his eyes as the blob of molten magic and energies strikes the ground directly in front of him. A splash of molten metal covers the young elf and extends behind him for several feet.

A strange thing happens. The dark magic of the elves are seeking dark elves to deliver their power and bond with the young elf, protecting him from burns. The dark energies are absorbed into the metal also and convert the strong space metal into something stronger yet pliable, somewhat like dragon's skin but much tougher and permeated with magic.

The solidified splashes of metal behind the young elf take the shape of bat wings which can spread or fold tight against the back unseen.

The Dark Elf Wizards come running up to observe the transformation. They check the young elf to find him, dazed, confused, but otherwise unharmed. "We must remove this at once" stated the eldest of the wizards and casts a bolt of dark energies at the metal to cause it to leave the young elf's body. The bolt of magic is simply absorbed, like all the other dark magics and adds to the hidden powers contained within the strange suit of armor. The young elf looks up surprised and flaps his useless wings, yet unable to harness their hidden power.

One Wizard opens his mouth in surprise and exclaims "A metal wing?"

The Elder Dark Elf Wizard surveys the situation calmly ... then says, "Yes. He shall be known as Metalwing".

The young elf stands erect feeling great strength and energies flow through his body and bows to the great wizards and says,"So Metalwing I shall be."


*********************************************************************

De’Lana the Dark Elf Assassin

De’Lana, once Delera Montakalin, lived in a odd little village. Odd because the village seemed to accept all races and treated them all alike. The villagers were numerous, but had little and were happy for any newcomers, and therefore help, they could get. She didn’t have the troubled youth many would expect.

Her childhood was full of love and living and plenty of fun with her parents and siblings. Delera was the youngest of 4 children, Her father, Eltan, made short trips out on small adventures but was home most of the time and showered all the children with love and affection. He easily made enough money to support the family while her mother, Madran, stayed at home baking bread and pastries for the village folk. All in all, things were great on all fronts.

When Delera was 12, her two brothers, Chadrin and Latilen, both eager for wealth and notoriety, decided to leave home, she was devastated. At 13, her sister Malia died in childbirth, the child was lost as well. At 14, her mother was killed in a freak accident involving a horse and cart in town for the local marketplace bizarre. Finally, at 15, her father died, of a nasty infection in his lungs (TB). She was spared having to spend many years watching her father succumb to his condition as it took him in less than two days.

Most of the villagers expected Delera to be next to die. Some even blamed her for the deaths of her own family members. She became an oddity, ostracized, even hated by those around her. She was called demon, witch and other horrid names a child should never hear. For the next 4 years, Delera was not Delera, but ‘ that poor girl’ or ‘that demon child’ or ‘black devil’ or ‘the witch that killed the Montakalins’. Her identity had been destroyed. She did nothing to stop it, or abate. She simply took it, and moved on. For that same 4 years, she began disappearing for about a week at a time every month. No one noticed she was gone. At 20, Delera found herself ready to recreate herself. To cut all ties, she staged a huge scene in town.

She entered town and threw a tantrum at the first person to look at her funny, when the name calling started, she proceeded to go into a frenzy and tell everyone in town exactly who she was, and what had happened to each of her family members and that she had nothing to do with it, that she would give anything to have them back. Feigning frustration, contempt, hatred, exhaustion and then just giving up, she stormed into her childhood home, threw her clothes in her wagon, hitched up the horses and rode out of town as fast as the horses could run. She never looked back.

During her 4 years of “off time”, she had been schooling in one of the guilds of a township a ways off, and she had learned amazing fast by channeling her hurt and anger into her learning. Once she was well away from the village, she stopped, cut her hair, changed her clothing, hid all of her old things away, changed out the canvas on her wagon, dropped the yoke for two horses and pulled out a single yoke, and set one of the horses free in opposite direction from the village. Now with a wagon canvas of a different color, with only 1 horse rather than 2, different clothing, a new name and a new attitude, she began her new life.

Her angst and bitter sadness became her greatest weapons. They became the weapons that enabled her to do her job…completely detached. Dressed as a warrior, trained as an assassin. Delera Montakalin became De’Lana.


*********************************************************************

Kashell the Dark Elf Assassin


“Endless Vendetta”
The Kashell Embrose Story

The Beginning…

Deep within the depths of the caverns that wind endlessly beneath a sleeping volcano, a small tribe of Dark Elves exist who are forced to train day and night without rest. The female races are forbidden to speak and are sworn to devote their very existence to serving the males. Every full moon the leaders proclaim who they believe to be the toughest amongst the trainees, and they gather in a small red circle just outside the eastern shore entrance.

Kashell was no ordinary Dark Elf; he was one of the few that were rumored to be of another origin; as he was an orphan. Found naked and wrapped in a small black cloth next to the sea that their caves overlooked. Despite this, he devoted his young years to living up to the tough and demanding expectations of his elders. As he grew into the later years of his youth, he would be chosen for this cruel ceremony. Six warriors would enter the ring but only one would ever find their way out. Within the crowd that gathered was the High Elder’s daughter, the one who sought this young Elf’s heart.

Kashell, who despised the idea of killing those with whom he had grown up with, found that hesitation in battle can be one of the last mistakes a soul could ever make. There, deep within those caves, he had found a deeper purpose and an outlandish resolve. Her heart, in the end, was what he truly desired. Though his wounds looked fatal, he would emerge victorious and dropped to one knee within the ring. A deep slash across his chest but his will would not be deterred. The woman would gasp and shake her head during the entire contest before streaking out and to his side upon his victory.

“I’m fine, my love, I will recover.” Those would be the last words the two would share. When she stormed across the circle, she had offended the Elders; after all, a woman interrupting the ceremony and stepping foot upon the circle was strictly forbidden. For this act of supposed treason and treachery, she was tossed into the volcano to her demise without the chance to even say goodbye…

Enraged by this vicious cruelty to his own daughter, no less, Kashell would do something even far more drastic and despicable. In the middle of the night, he swiped the Elder’s sword and with it he would pierce his heart and cover his mouth to smother his screams. Eyes narrowed as he looked into his eyes, he would whisper one little phrase in his ear, before his body went cold and limp, ‘Wait for me in Hell, because you deserve far worse than only this.”

Within the middle of that same night, he disappeared into the forest. He ran and ran with no knowledge of where he was heading only that he wanted, needed, and yearned to be far away from there as possible. Finally, deep within a region he had never seen, he collapsed. Exhausted and utterly drained of energy, he rested upon the cold grassy floor, knees bent head lowered, and a palm upon the floor as that was when her voice spoke to him. She said warmly to his ears, ‘You must find the Golden Egg then you will find your destiny.’ From there… his new story began.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Description…


Kashell stands roughly about six feet and remains forever concealed by an all black wardrobe made most of cloth and fabrics. His eyes are a deep yet intoxicating blue aura but aside from his eyes most of him remains concealed. It’s said that he bears a lot of tattoos, though none of them are clearly visible. Scars he has plenty of from his younger years with the mainly obvious being a large, rather disconcerting one that runs directly through his left eye that starts from just below the hairline down to mid-cheek.

Stripping him to the flesh, you would easily notice the odd tribalic symbols that cover both his arms and one symbol in particular of note is the one resting upon his neck just aside of the male’s apple. This is the sign of his descendants, or more appropriately (since actual origin is unknown), the tribe he was raised by. It’s thus said that this is solely why he remains cloaked to hide that from any who might still be in search of him.

His hair is silver and rather long, which goes to remain unknown as it always hidden beneath his hood. His body type is, due to his vigorous training, athletic but he is not muscle bound as he only has a trained six pack abdomen. His arms are rather strong for his rather slim 194-pound frame but he is, however, extremely fast and agile which easily accounts for his weakened state. One more note, you won’t find a single piercing on him because if you ask him, and he actually answers, he’ll tell you anyone the same thing, ‘They’ll get caught in my hood’.

With a very mild temperament, he’s not known to pick or start fights but is more known to just blend in. Although he might not speak much, he has a soft gentle voice that doesn’t in any way fit his demeanor. Kashell is also very exceptional at hiding any and all emotions which makes it nearly impossible to read what is being processed in that brain of his. The knowledge he gained in being a thief is accounts to being an even better assassin and isn’t known to be one to steal; which is why being an assassin, along with that cold-hearted character, makes him one deadly and ghost-like killer.

Around his right wrist, if you remove the thick black gloves, you’ll find a small bracelet made of beads and shells. While it holds no true value or price, it holds a deep and unbridled meaning to him; it’s believed it is all that remains of his first, true love.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Blade Master…


While he has a certain knack to use whatever might be available there is one weapon in particular you rarely will ever witness him without. ‘Lunatic’s Skull’, also known as the Blade of Lunacy; which is the blade he stole and murdered the Elder with before fleeing from the caverns. The blade is quite chaotic looking and rather devastating when wielded in the right hands. The hilt is made of a mix of metal and some hardened gem substance that makes it nearly unbreakable. At the top of the hilt, where the blade meets the hilt, there is a depiction of a twisted skull and a spider crawling out the left eye socket.

The blade itself is made up of a strong metal and silver to give it that bright, brand new shine. However, with some type of tampering, the silver shine has been tainted with both black and red streaks which give it an even more demonic-like style. The blade itself is roughly about 19-inches long and has three notches or ripples towards the end. Kashell would later customize it to fit his fighting and swordsmanship style by paying a blacksmith to increase the size of the hand guard to drop those little nicks and cuts he was constantly receiving.

Aside from this blade, he also carries with him the assassin’s essentials. Two short twisted daggers for close range, quick kill effectiveness and moving in tight spaces or just to be even further stealthy. Kashell, however, isn’t known to wield anything with blunt capabilities, like that of your axe, hammer, or otherwise, because of splattering patterns of blood that are caused by these forms of weapons. On one final note; he is very moderate in hand-to-hand combat and knows how to dish punishment as much as take it; but that is, in no way, his area of expertise.

*********************************************************************

Daeron Haeloth the Wood Elf Druid

He once called the forest of Cedardale home. A peaceful and quiet place with much beauty. He lived in a small remote village towards the edge of the forest. He ran and played without a care in the world as a child. He laughed and giggled playing around his parents. They smiled and sent him off to play in the woods with the animals.

"Love you" he called out as he ran out the door. "We loved you too" his parents yelled as he disappeared into the forest. Little did they know that would be the last time they would see one another again. A short while later screams emitted from the village and a faint glow could be seen. Daeron raced back towards the village screaming out for his parents tears rolling down his face. He was snagged up by one of the orcs that was leading the attack and thrown in a cage.

He continued screaming and crying for his parents for hours. Getting tired of hearing him, one of the orcs knocked him out with a blunt end of a mace. A few orcs gathered around and to amuse themselves took the boy and made a small incision on the left side of his neck severing his vocal cords. Then piercing his ears with a long thin needle till blood poured and they felt that he couldn't hear. They all grunted and snorted while throwing him back into the cage. Two days later he woke up and looked around he saw them but couldn't hear them. He began crying but his throat hurt too bad. He felt a small cut on his throat and couldn't help but to cry even though it hurt him badly. Why they didn't kill him along with the rest no one will ever know. They treated him as a pet; they tortured him day in and day out.

Covered in blood with cuts and gashes all over his body he was trapped. He has no clue how long it has been since he first entered this forsaken place. One night sitting up looking at the moon tears rolling down his face. He thought about his parents and friends. He suddenly remembered something that his parents have told him. “Some have the power to communicate with animals. We see that in you son. Learn how to whistle and you will have a raven, howl correctly and you will have a wolf." He never did learn to whistle or howl as he was instructed. He shook his head and tried. He waited not knowing if he had done it.

Suddenly a young raven landed at the cage, he had some hope now of escaping. He pointed at what held the cage door shut and the raven began picking at it. Finally the cage door swung open after what seemed like hours he took off running with the raven gliding above him. He tried hard to howl and felt a crack in his throat and spit up some blood. A young wolf appeared at the edge of the woods. Now followed by his new found companions he didn't stop running. He eventually collapsed in a thicket beside a lake.

He slept for three days straight until something woke him. He had no clue what was calling him that day, all he knew is that he had to follow where it led him. With his two companions always close by he began to travel curious as to what this strange power was. Forever scared by his childhood, and only faint memories left of his home. He is no longer the little boy but a man ever cautious not really trusting anyone. Afraid of what might happen if he gets too close.

*********************************************************************

Kryserini Farwalker the High Elf Wizard


A high elf wizard is slightly different form that of a normal elf, as it reflects the large amount of time they have spent studying the arcane arts.

Meet Kryserini Farwalker, High Elf Wizard, one of the most revered races in the land of magical creatures.Kryserini is known for her unique style of dressing compared to her fellow High Elves. Elves are known to prefer colorful clothes, usually with a green-and gray cloak that blends well with the colors of the forest, Kryserini however, has her own unique style. She wears a gold gown that accentuates the curves of her slim, sultry and petite body with slits on both sides that shows off her soft smooth legs from the thighs down. Over this she wears a beautiful shimmering blue cloak woven with magical threads. Wherever she goes she commands the attention of all with just a wave of her hands.

To become a high elf wizard and to be chosen by the Dragon Goddess to become a dragon rider of the lands of Bavidirian, Kryserini had to learn much about the hard way from apprenticeship over journeymanship to finally attain the mastership of wizardry. Her uncanny ability to master every aspect of her training, her persistency, determination and strength of character put her above all others. She was in a league of her own; she trained only with the best. Every test, every quest was completed and conquered with little effort, such was her strength. She possessed the qualities needed to be a dragon rider.

Kryserini does not have any special magical weapons, but has her power and spells to protect her as well as her magical cloak. She possesses excellent sight, unmatched by mere humans. She can spot hidden enemies from two times as far away as other warriors. She is haughty and honorable. Kryserini never uses poisons or drugs of any kind no matter what the circumstances. She has unwavering determination and control and is well trained in the martial art of the White Tower known as Miniath and is an expert at delivering deadly accurate blows to her opponent. Not many can match her inhuman quickness and agility. The magic of the high elf is the most powerful in the known world; its powers and arcane secrets are far beyond the understanding of others.

*********************************************************************

Millendor Riniken the Human Rogue

Millendor was born on the mean streets of the city, never knowing his father and believed to be the son of a prostitute; he was raised by a master of a local thieves guild on the rough side of town. Growing up as a vagrant and trained by the thieves’ guild to steal and scavenge what he needed to survive. He was very good at this and good at escaping the city guardsmen. A man with a lengthy criminal record and a rougish reputation,Millendor has been implicated in a lot of crimes he did not commit.

Millendor is a creature of the city and dislikes country travel except when escaping from some local authorities. He is more likely to hide from what he believes to be a superior opponent than to stand and fight. However, Millendor does have a streak of good in him and avoids outright murder and generally tries to only steal from the rich or well to do.

Recently, a fortune teller told Millendor of some sort of destiny he has but he does not know whether to believe this or not. A man with a past and many enemies it is strange that he was chosen to be a guardian of a dragon egg and it remains to be seen what the ultimate outcome of the dragon’s decision to choose Millendor will be. Perhaps there is more to Millendor than meets the eye.

Millendor Riniken

I'm liking Millendor Riniken the human rogue as well...

Reason being that in that short context of words, I could see him in my minds eye clearly...The others although good descriptions, just didn't show up well for me, on that tele in my mind...

I have to go with the Human Rogue as well
(Millendor Riniken the Human Rogue)

Can't I just pick 'em all 'cept dude who has 60 already lmao and my own (against the rules)?

If not...
idk..
I got a thing for redheads >.>
Only one of 'em got red head from what I saw..

Kashell

I like them all >.<

..me too..
You can tell we/they all were worked hard on. :/

Refresh to the top.. We need more votes.

"Daeron Haeloth the Wood Elf Druid "

I usually shy away from growing to like an invalid in fiction, because I'm very suggestible (extremely) and my ability to suspend reality is too keen. So I identify with the limited abilities of the hero, and thus I start to feel uncomfortable.

But this guy is cool. He used some intuition and presence of mind to get out of the cage. He made friends with animals who are by their own nature, unable to lie. Another big thing I expect of my own friends. He also isolated himsef from society, which is also very much me, though I did that reluctantly, but I could no longer fight my constant frustration with people.

With his two friends, with his need to compensate for his physical challenges, he is sure one to please my alter-egotistical self: A smart ugly short man, left to nothing but his own mental powers to survive, and to the help of two mythical, unrealistic but very real helpers. The raven and the wolf I consider my talents, which is writing and humour; and these please me and help me move about people. The raven and the wolf, as much as my own talents, are the guy's own, as much as mine, inasmuch as I have complete command over my own creativity and I can always expect full allegiance of them. Until my accelerating Alzheimers sets in deeper. Oh, well.

So rather obviously my vote I cast for "Daeron Haeloth the Wood Elf Druid ".