Elanthipedia - User contributions [en]

Caidie

2018-03-29T04:46:04Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidie.jpg|right|250px]]
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== ''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Bantam, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
Waves of angry brown and white scars twine the length of her right arm, covering the flesh from shoulder to wrist in a chaotic maelstrom of artistic scarring. The image of a small Elven child defiantly dragging a greatsword behind her is branded deeply into the unmarked skin at the heart of the whirlwind. Scored grooves left by the edge of her tapered sword trail in the wake of the slight figure, lines terminating in jagged letters that form the word "SHAR" on the inside of her right wrist.

She is wearing a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, an Elven silver wedding band set with a moonsilver-infused Gnomish kocho berry, some bloomers of delicate Albarian lace with ruffled bottoms tied by tiny bows and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

Caidie

2018-03-29T04:36:54Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidie.jpg|right|250px]]
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 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

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== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Bantam, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
Waves of angry brown and white scars twine the length of her right arm, covering the flesh from shoulder to wrist in a chaotic maelstrom of artistic scarring. The image of a small Elven child defiantly dragging a greatsword behind her is branded deeply into the unmarked skin at the heart of the whirlwind. Scored grooves left by the edge of her tapered sword trail in the wake of the slight figure, lines terminating in jagged letters that form the word "SHAR" on the inside of her right wrist.

She is wearing a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, an Elven silver wedding band set with a moonsilver-infused Gnomish kocho berry, some bloomers of delicate Albarian lace with ruffled bottoms tied by tiny bows and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

File:Caidie.jpg

2018-03-29T04:35:17Z

THISACCOUNT:

Caidie

2018-01-09T09:53:55Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]
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 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

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== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Bantam, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
Waves of angry brown and white scars twine the length of her right arm, covering the flesh from shoulder to wrist in a chaotic maelstrom of artistic scarring. The image of a small Elven child defiantly dragging a greatsword behind her is branded deeply into the unmarked skin at the heart of the whirlwind. Scored grooves left by the edge of her tapered sword trail in the wake of the slight figure, lines terminating in jagged letters that form the word "SHAR" on the inside of her right wrist.

She is wearing a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, an Elven silver wedding band set with a moonsilver-infused Gnomish kocho berry, some bloomers of delicate Albarian lace with ruffled bottoms tied by tiny bows and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

<3

Caidie

2017-08-25T13:38:15Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]
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 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

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== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Sanaulis, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
Waves of angry brown and white scars twine the length of her right arm, covering the flesh from shoulder to wrist in a chaotic maelstrom of artistic scarring. The image of a small Elven child defiantly dragging a greatsword behind her is branded deeply into the unmarked skin at the heart of the whirlwind. Scored grooves left by the edge of her tapered sword trail in the wake of the slight figure, lines terminating in jagged letters that form the word "SHAR" on the inside of her right wrist.

She is wearing a well-worn black cotton shirt painted with a goat head sporting riveted goggles, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a slouchy pair of multi-pocketed khaki knee pants and a pair of untied brown leather combat boots with silver grommets.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

<3

Finnbar

2017-01-12T17:07:28Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Finnbar
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=prime
}}

[[File:finnarportrait.jpg|thumb|250px|right|Self-portrait by Finnbar ]]
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 ''"Finnbar, So hot right now."''   

 
== '''''Description''''' ==

Finnbar has pointed ears, carefree coastal-blue eyes and a crooked nose. His sun-bleached silver hair is short and heedless, and is worn tousled. He has tanned skin and a lean build. 
He is slightly under average height for an Elf. 
He appears to be young. 
He is clean shaven. 
He is in good shape. 

He is wearing a dapper grey cashmere flat cap, a sleek scalene satchel dyed in graduated grey tones, an impeccably tailored shirt of raw white silk, an Elven silver band with elegant platinum striations, a pair of black silk-lined suspenders with silver clasps, a pair of dashing charcoal twill breeches with elegant folded cuffs and a pair of gleaming black calf boots with niniam side buckles. 

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== '''''Portraits of a Legend''''' ==

[[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|left|What Finnbar might look like, by Maxwelinski ]] [[File:finnbar_3.png|thumb|250px|right|Life with Finn, by Caidie ]]

Caidie

2016-10-23T05:39:35Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]
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 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

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== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Dejacque, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 

She is wearing a well-worn black cotton shirt painted with a goat head sporting riveted goggles, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted wedding band of white pine and blackened sicle wood, a slouchy pair of multi-pocketed khaki knee pants and a pair of untied brown leather combat boots with silver grommets.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

<3

== '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==

No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5.

[[File:Caidied.jpeg|thumb|350px|right|Caidie by [[Nideaya]] ]]

> read paper

The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.

[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|left|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]

   

>read other paper

The paper reads: A large crowd stands in a broken circle right in the middle of the infirmary, looking on at two women in the middle. A beautiful Elf, wild and savage-eyed, has just slapped an old, matronly Empath across the face. A Rakash man nearby is ducking his head, trying to avoid a spray of spittle flying from the gaping mouth of the Empath. What appear to be dead songbirds litter the ground.

Along the bottom of the paper, you notice, Author: [[Maxwelinski]] [[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|250px|right|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

File:Caidied.jpeg

2016-10-23T05:37:59Z

THISACCOUNT: THISACCOUNT uploaded a new version of File:Caidied.jpeg

File:Caidied.jpeg

2016-10-23T05:37:18Z

THISACCOUNT: THISACCOUNT uploaded a new version of File:Caidied.jpeg

Caidie

2016-10-23T05:35:21Z

THISACCOUNT:

[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]
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 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

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== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Dejacque, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 

She is wearing a well-worn black cotton shirt painted with a goat head sporting riveted goggles, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted wedding band of white pine and blackened sicle wood, a slouchy pair of multi-pocketed khaki knee pants and a pair of untied brown leather combat boots with silver grommets.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

<3

== '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==

No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5.

[[File:caidied.jpeg|thumb|350px|right|Caidie by [[Nideaya]] ]]

> read paper

The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.

[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|left|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]

   

>read other paper

The paper reads: A large crowd stands in a broken circle right in the middle of the infirmary, looking on at two women in the middle. A beautiful Elf, wild and savage-eyed, has just slapped an old, matronly Empath across the face. A Rakash man nearby is ducking his head, trying to avoid a spray of spittle flying from the gaping mouth of the Empath. What appear to be dead songbirds litter the ground.

Along the bottom of the paper, you notice, Author: [[Maxwelinski]] [[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|250px|right|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

File:Caidied.jpeg

2016-10-23T05:21:04Z

THISACCOUNT:

Enef

2016-09-06T08:55:28Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Enef Scafft
|race=Human
|gender=Male
|instance=prime
|status=a
}}

==Appearance==
You see Enef Scafft, a Human. 
Enef has an angular face, deep-set grey eyes and an aquiline nose. His black hair is long and thick, and is worn untamed. He has pale skin and a lean build. 
He is tall for a Human. 
He appears to be middle-aged. 
His forearm has a tattoo of a rended and fleshy wound exposing battered steel and gears rather than bones and sinew. 
He is in good shape. 

He is wearing a red and black plaid flannel shirt, a pair of tan overalls styled with a multitude of deep pockets and some loosely-tied cracked leather workboots with frayed laces.

==Misc==
Murderer of [[Arilana]].

Buuwl

2016-09-06T08:53:19Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime

}}

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 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   

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[[File:Sexahb.png|center|450px]]
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== <code>''Description''</code> ==
You see Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl, a Gor'Tog. [[File:Togball!.png|right|300px]]
Buuwl has sparkling blue eyes. He has dark green skin and an athletic build. 
He appears to be young. 
He is in good shape. 

He is holding a Gor'Tog-sized haralun greatsword with sparkling letters "LUCY" along the blade in his right hand. 
He is wearing a felted brown hat with rounded bear ears, a Gor'Tog-sized senci spear with a multicolored carved dragonwood shaft, a witch ball, a witch ball, a cross-strapped korograth-hide baldric anchored by a wide abdominal strap, a platinum parry stick inlaid with bands of jade, an unusual jade-inlaid dragonwood wedding band limned in pure white thealstones, a dusky black hunting kilt layered with wide leather sections and a pair of battle-worn diamond-hide boots lined with threadbare fur.

== <code>''A Little Known Fact...''</code> ==

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|left|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl]][[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|250px|right|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

== <code>''Not All Togs Who Wander Are Lost...''</code> ==

[[File:lostinaesry.png|thumb|500px|center|Lost in Thought ]]

<3

Maxwelinski

2016-08-15T14:16:30Z

THISACCOUNT: Undo revision 450852 by THISACCOUNT (talk)

== Description ==
{{PC
|name=Maxwelinski Dejacque
|status=a
|race=Rakash
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=The one with all the people in it.
}}
Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

== The Story ==
[[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]
When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.

Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.

He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.

Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.

The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.

“You like killin' things?!”

“W-what things?” Max was rattled.

“You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”

Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.

He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.

“This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”

Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.

He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.

After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.

“Can anyone heal my bird?”

No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.

This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.

Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.

“Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”

A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.

“What's a dusk berry?”

“Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”

Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.

…

“Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.

“What rank is that?”

“Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.

He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.

It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.

“Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.

He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.

In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.

Maxwelinski

2016-08-15T14:16:01Z

THISACCOUNT: Undo revision 450853 by THISACCOUNT (talk)

== Description ==
{{PC
|name=Maxwelinski Dejacque
|status=a
|race=Rakash
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=The one with all the people in it.
}}
Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

== The Story ==
[[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]
When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.

Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.

He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.

Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.

The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.

“You like killin' things?!”

“W-what things?” Max was rattled.

“You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”

Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.

He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.

“This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”

Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.

He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.

After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.

“Can anyone heal my bird?”

No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.

This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.

Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Moon Mage's Guild. Then, a distraction.

“Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”

A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.

“What's a dusk berry?”

“Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”

Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.

…

“Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.

“What rank is that?”

“Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.

He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An average girl came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.

It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.

“Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.

He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.

In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.

Maxwelinski

2016-08-13T03:40:56Z

THISACCOUNT: /* The Story */

== Description ==
{{PC
|name=Maxwelinski Dejacque
|status=a
|race=Rakash
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=The one with all the people in it.
}}
Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

== The Story ==
[[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]
When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.

Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.

He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.

Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.

The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.

“You like killin' things?!”

“W-what things?” Max was rattled.

“You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”

Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.

He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.

“This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”

Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.

He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.

After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.

“Can anyone heal my bird?”

No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.

This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.

Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Moon Mage's Guild. Then, a distraction.

“Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”

A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.

“What's a dusk berry?”

“Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”

Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.

…

“Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.

“What rank is that?”

“Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.

He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An average girl came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.

It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression.

“Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.

He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.

In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.

Maxwelinski

2016-08-13T03:38:26Z

THISACCOUNT: /* The Story */

== Description ==
{{PC
|name=Maxwelinski Dejacque
|status=a
|race=Rakash
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=The one with all the people in it.
}}
Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

== The Story ==
[[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]
When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.

Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.

He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.

Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.

The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.

“You like killin' things?!”

“W-what things?” Max was rattled.

“You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”

Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.

He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.

“This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”

Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.

He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.

After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.

“Can anyone heal my bird?”

No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.

This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.

Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Moon Mage's Guild. Then, a distraction.

“Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”

A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.

“What's a dusk berry?”

“Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”

Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.

…

“Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.

“What rank is that?”

“Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.

He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An average girl came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.

It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.

“Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.

He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.

In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.

Caidie

2016-08-13T03:34:47Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Mad'uuwl
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Riverlynn
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

 
== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Mad'uuwl, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

== '''''Going Green''''' ==

[[File:cayandbuuwl.jpg|right|250px]] He was the color of happy things; spring grass, sweet apples, toads that turn into princes.
He arrived in the mist of festivities, a huge man but a happy and free man.
He was almost something from her dream-
barbarian, chaotic, kind to those she loves.
His sparkling blue eyes, like a secluded lake on a hot summer's day, met hers and they were bound to each other, she may not have known it at the moment,
but they were.
She'd given up on silly little fairy tales and he'd never kissed a rose.
The words he spoke so casually left her thinking it was a joke,
''"Let's get bonded."'' he said in such a tone lacking all inflection of a question.
Laughing freely with her head thrown back, raven curls awaken from their slumber, she nodded emphatically,
''"Okay!!"'' she responded, throwing away what little caution she had.
The sister of her heart produced a dusty rose still sheathed in vivid holy light from inside a cluttered vault, (That may have been bonded to a Rakash Cleric)
He took the leap and kissed the rose and almost as a dare, she kissed it back. The donkey god smiled.
Two wild Barbarians bonded but never more free.

<3

== '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==

No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, Buuwl's wife, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5.

[[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|350px|center|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

> read paper

The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.

Maxwelinski

2016-07-30T00:08:35Z

THISACCOUNT:

User talk:THISACCOUNT

2016-07-22T19:38:06Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{CRVio | Prin.jpg }}
==Image uploading==
Hello, please make sure to include the following in the summary of every image that you upload: <nowiki>[[Category:Images]]</nowiki> . This is so that images are properly categorized as images for easy searching and organization. The instructions for this are fully listed on the upload page each time you do one. 

Also, as we have discussed via AIM in the past, images on Elanthipedia must either be created by or for the poster, or permission must be obtained from the copyright holder. Please include the original source (artist and/or copyright holder) when posting images. Like most other wikis, Elanthipedia does not allow images of unknown or unverifiable origin. Note: Manipulating or modifying an image that someone else created does not make it solely your own for the purpose of Elanthipedia's copyright policy. You must still get permission from the original content creator, and the file page must link to the original source. 

Thanks--[[User:ABSOLON|ABSOLON]] ([[User talk:ABSOLON|talk]]) 12:27, 17 July 2016 (CDT)

==FIXED==

I own all rights to this picture. It was created for me by the player of Finnbar and is mine. However, I noted it now that he drew it for me and I see no reason at all why you would think this is a copyright violation.

--[[User:THISACCOUNT|THISACCOUNT]] ([[User talk:THISACCOUNT|talk]]) 14:38, 22 July 2016 (CDT)

Prinie

2016-07-22T18:37:08Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Prinie
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Empath
|instance=prime
}}

[[File:Prin.jpg|left|250px|thumb|Prinie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

You see Prinie McTavish, an Elven Empath.
She has pointed ears, thick-lashed crystal blue eyes and a darling little nose. Her chocolate brown hair is very long and thick with voluminous curls, and is worn pulled back by a strand of lightning amethysts interspersed with speckled woodland violets and allowed to flow over the shoulders. She has soft sun-kissed skin and a dainty yet supple figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.

She is wearing a winsome white silk sundress embroidered with twining woodland violets and some thin-strapped lavender sandals with gossamer ties.

Caidie

2016-07-17T12:01:51Z

THISACCOUNT: /* Description */

Prinie

2016-07-17T11:24:02Z

THISACCOUNT: Created page with "{{PC |name=Prinie |status=a |race=Elf |gender=Female |guild=Empath |instance=prime }} border You see Prinie McTavish, an Elven Empath. She has ..."

{{PC
|name=Prinie
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Empath
|instance=prime
}}

[[Image:Prin.jpg|left|250px|border]]

You see Prinie McTavish, an Elven Empath.
She has pointed ears, thick-lashed crystal blue eyes and a darling little nose. Her chocolate brown hair is very long and thick with voluminous curls, and is worn pulled back by a strand of lightning amethysts interspersed with speckled woodland violets and allowed to flow over the shoulders. She has soft sun-kissed skin and a dainty yet supple figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.

She is wearing a winsome white silk sundress embroidered with twining woodland violets and some thin-strapped lavender sandals with gossamer ties.

File:Prin.jpg

2016-07-17T11:23:09Z

THISACCOUNT:

Finnbar

2016-07-17T11:20:04Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Finnbar
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=prime
}}

Finnbar has a triangular face, slightly pointed ears, blue-grey eyes and a crooked nose. His silver hair is short and thick, and is worn in a tousled, finger-combed style. He has tanned skin and a lean build. 
He is slightly under average height for an Elf. 
He appears to be young. 
He has some light stubble on his face. 
He is in good shape. 

He is wearing a pale grey Elven wool cloak secured with an opal brooch, an ironwood quarterstaff with platinum bands, a sky blue velvet instrument case clasped with matte silver buckles, a sleeveless white silk tunic belted with a steely grey sash, an albredine crystal ring, a carved silver pick, a pair of pressed steel-grey pants laced with neat platinum cording and a pair of gleaming grey calf boots with platinum side buckles.

[[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|right|What Finnbar might look like, by Maxwelinski ]]

User:THISACCOUNT/Sandbox

2016-06-24T16:38:06Z

THISACCOUNT: Replaced content with "{{User sandbox}}"

Maxwelinski

2016-06-24T16:35:01Z

THISACCOUNT:

== Description ==
{{PC
|name=Maxwelinski Dejacque
|status=a
|race=Rakash
|gender=Male
|guild=Bard
|instance=The one with all the people in it.
|relat=Prinie
}}
Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.
He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build. 
He is tall for a Rakash. 
He is a pack hunter. 

== The Story ==
[[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]
When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.

Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.

He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.

Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.

The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.

“You like killin' things?!”

“W-what things?” Max was rattled.

“You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”

Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.

He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.

“This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”

Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.

He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.

After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.

“Can anyone heal my bird?”

No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.

This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.

Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.

“Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”

A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.

“What's a dusk berry?”

“Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”

Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.

…

“Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.

“What rank is that?”

“Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.

He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.

It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.

“Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.

He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.

In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.

Item:Pair of airy white Albarian lace gloves

2016-06-09T15:52:48Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Item
|name=pair of airy white Albarian lace gloves
|look=Tiny seed pearls are scattered across the fan-patterned lace
|sourcetype=-
|fname=No
}}
Thinking about the gloves, you wonder if you might not be able to ADJUST, BITE, CLEAN, CLUTCH, FIDGET, PAT, PINCH, WAVE, and YANK it.

Item:Pair of airy white Albarian lace gloves

2016-06-09T01:04:13Z

THISACCOUNT: Created page with "{{Item |name=pair of airy white Albarian lace gloves |look=Tiny seed pearls are scattered across the fan-patterned lace |sourcetype=- |fname=No }} You believe that while worn,..."

{{Item
|name=pair of airy white Albarian lace gloves
|look=Tiny seed pearls are scattered across the fan-patterned lace
|sourcetype=-
|fname=No
}}
You believe that while worn, you can RUB the gloves to change its color, and PULL gloves to make it shimmer.

Recalling similar items, you believe the following random colors are possible via RUB: white, blue, green, yellow, brown, tan, grey, violet, bright red, dark red, teal, green, orange, purple, rose-colored, dark blue, sky blue, forest green, leaf green, lavender, bone white, royal blue, silver, golden, striped, black.

Uritel

2016-05-04T01:33:21Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
|Player Name=Uritel defiqe
|Status=a
|Race=Human
|Gender=Male
|Guild=
|Instance=Prime
}}
 
 
== Description ==

Heresiarch Uritel defiqe, Malice of Urrem'tier, a Human. 
He has deep wrinkles under pensive amber eyes. His honey hair is shoulder length and curly, and is worn arranged in tight dreadlocks. He has copper skin. 
He appears to be aged. 
He has an elaborate arrangement of piercings in the flesh surrounding both of his eyes. Trines of blackened iron spikes tipped in amber are positioned above and below each eye, while a short, double-ended spike is inserted just above the bridge of his nose. 
He has a tattoo of a grinning demon peering down sardonically at a group of hapless warriors on his back. 
 

== Barroom Banterings ==
 
 
Light filters into the smoky barroom as the door opens and a cloaked elven woman enters. Glancing around the room she takes in the patrons, plucked from the seedy underbelly of the city, almost as if someone was setting a scene for a tale laden with mystery and intrigue. Sauntering up to the bar, and only tripping once or twice, the woman settles herself upon a barstool before gazing at the elven barmaid, with meaning.
 
 
A sly smile plays across the lips of the buxom barmaid as she eyes the newcomer, she grabs a pint from the shelf below the bar and fills it to the top with golden ale and places it in front of the woman. "Here you go, Sy... stranger." Giving a serious nod, she begins to walk away when the woman speaks.
 
 
"I am here seeking out information," she says, a little too loudly. The other patrons shift uncomfortably, whispering among themselves and eyeing the door. "I was told I could find out something about a man here."
 
 
Nodding solemnly, the barmaid adjusts her corset, fidgeting with the restrictive garment, betraying her discomfort with the garb. "I could help you,” she replies in hushed tones, “for a price."
 
 
Sliding an envelope across the bar, the cloaked questioner speaks softly, " I am seeking information about the cleric, Uritel. I was told he frequents such places. I was also told you would want this." Nodding at the envelope she watches as the other woman picks it up and glances at its contents, before tucking it in the top of her corset.
 
 
"So, Uritel is whom you seek," the barmaid asks, wincing at the awkwardness of the words.
 
 
"He is," the woman says with a solemn nod.
 
 
"He is like the night. A cleric by trade, he threw off the bond of holy work and has walked on, a loner in the seedy underbelly of the city," the barmaid recites, glancing at a parchment tucked in her apron. "His parents were brutally murdered in front of him when he was a small child. As his father lied dying at his feet, he begged him to undertake the holy work. His mother, bleeding and broken could only nod as her soul crossed the threshold to the starry road. "
 
 
Leaning in, the woman listens intently as the story unfolds, hardly noticing the elothean woman that has taken the seat next to her.
 
 
"Young, Uritel did not handle their deaths well. He vowed to avenge them, but, it did not really fit within the guidelines of the cleric guild. He was constantly fighting against the elders as they sought to lead him in the right direction. Often frightening them with the anger behind his spells.
 
 
"He kept to himself, wealthy because of the legacy left to him, he was a homebody and made few friends. Some say he has a lair, a place where he can hide away, he trusts few and loves even less. He is a soldier, fighting his own war by night in the city where crime never sle...."
 
 
"Why is it so dark in here?" A group of dwarven men burst through the door, talking loudly as they make their way to a corner table. The commotion breaking the din of the room as they look around at the other patrons, looks of confusion on their faces.
 
 
A woman in an apron rushes to them men's table and whispers to them, the group glances at the cloaked woman at the bar and chuckle before settling into their seats, doing their best to mimic the scowls of those around them.
 
 
Glancing around the room, the barmaid pulls at her corset, fidgeting uncomfortably under the gaze of the elothean woman. Pulling the parchment from her apron she glances over it muttering under her breath. "Soldier, dead parents, lair, night..."
 
 
Taking a drink from the stein in front of her, the Elven woman's face turns a shade of brilliant red as she begins to choke on the potent ale. Blinking back tears, she whispers "I thought we were going with tea?"
 
 
An ironic smile plays across her face as the barmaid leans close and responds, "I wear a corset, you drink the hardest ale I can find."
 
 
"So, he is a mysterious man of mystery then?"
 
 
"The most," the barmaid nods trying hard to smile. "Mystery wrapped up in an enigma with a dash of handsome ruggedness..."
 
 
"Oh my Gods," the elothean woman gasps as she recognizes the barmaid. "[[Caidie]] what are you wearing?"
 
 
"My name is Lola," the barmaid responds, dissolving into laughter.
 
 
"You are horrible at following a script," the elven woman exclaims, pushing her hood back and stomping her foot.
 
 
“Synamon, what are you doing?”
 
 
"Forcing me to wear this stupid corset," [[Caidie]] declares, still laughing.
 
 
“We are making Uritel a man of mystery,” Synamon exclaims, giggling at the Elothean woman’s confused expression. “You were married to him Arianah! You know the story!"
 
 
“Wait, the dead parents and vengeance," Arianah begins, gazing from one woman to the other. "His parents are just retired, Tesla and Foxxwen live in Aesry!"
 
 
"He might have a lair," Synamon exclaims, breaking into fits of giggles.
 
 
"Sure, we lived there when we were married. We had a butler named Fred-Al, and blight bat problem too," Arianah says trying to keep a straight face.
 
 
"This is serious stuff!" Synamon stomps her foot and attempts to glare at the men and women seated around her as they all begin to laugh. The waitresses giggle, completely breaking character, as they pull the curtains back allowing light to filter back into the not so dark and dingy barroom.
 
 
Shaking her head, [[Caidie]] reaches under the bar and pulls out a pink and white striped togball jersey and slips it over her head. Looking significantly more comfortable, she leaps over the bar and gives Synamon a playful shove. "I don't know why we had to do all this. He is really pretty interesting on his own."
 
 
"Oh sure, a Cleric that dabbles in all kinds of magic and doesn't even cleric anymore," Synamon says with a sarcastic smile. "Oh, wait, that is pretty interesting."
 
 
Laughing, Arianah says, "I always thought he was at least a little interesting."
 
 

== Disclaimer ==
 
 
The preceding tale is brought to you by the player of Synamon with or with out the permission of Uritel. Please remember it is OOC to call him bat-brain or ask where Robin is, but he is like the night, and awesome.

== Artistic (loosely called) Portraits of Uritel ==

[[File:Uritel_Bust.jpg|thumb|300px|left|Uritel defiqe]]

[[File:Uritel_Portrait.jpg|thumb|200px|right|Uritel defiqe]]

Caidie

2016-05-04T01:15:21Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Mad'uuwl
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Riverlynn
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

 
== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Mad'uuwl, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair. 

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

== '''''Going Green''''' ==

[[File:cayandbuuwl.jpg|right|250px]] He was the color of happy things; spring grass, sweet apples, toads that turn into princes.
He arrived in the mist of festivities, a huge man but a happy and free man.
He was almost something from her dream-
barbarian, chaotic, kind to those she loves.
His sparkling blue eyes, like a secluded lake on a hot summer's day, met hers and they were bound to each other, she may not have known it at the moment,
but they were.
She'd given up on silly little fairy tales and he'd never kissed a rose.
The words he spoke so casually left her thinking it was a joke,
''"Let's get bonded."'' he said in such a tone lacking all inflection of a question.
Laughing freely with her head thrown back, raven curls awaken from their slumber, she nodded emphatically,
''"Okay!!"'' she responded, throwing away what little caution she had.
The sister of her heart produced a dusty rose still sheathed in vivid holy light from inside a cluttered vault, (That may have been bonded to a Rakash Cleric)
He took the leap and kissed the rose and almost as a dare, she kissed it back. The donkey god smiled.
Two wild Barbarians bonded but never more free.

<3

== '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==

No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, Buuwl's wife, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5.

[[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|350px|center|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

> read paper

The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.

> read other paper

The paper reads: A large crowd stands in a broken circle right in the middle of the infirmary, looking on at two women in the middle. A beautiful Elf, wild and savage-eyed, has just slapped an old, matronly Empath across the face. A Rakash man nearby is ducking his head, trying to avoid a spray of spittle flying from the gaping mouth of the Empath. What appear to be dead songbirds litter the ground.
Along the bottom of the paper, you notice, Author: [[Maxwelinski]]

User:THISACCOUNT/Sandbox

2016-05-03T15:48:13Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{User sandbox}}

== <code>'''Description'''</code> ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:Acbd11624b4b3c80904fe4ba3cf2599e.jpg|right]]
She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her black hair is very long and curly, and is worn tousled. She has fair skin and a lithe figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair.
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies.

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a silver bracelet, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a sleek blued steel bonding ring bead-set with an array of rainbow sapphires, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

Tinkery

2016-04-27T14:58:31Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Tinkery Gnickerbocker
|race=Gnome
|gender=Female
|guild=Trader
|instance=prime
|status=a
|relat=Klausette
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen."''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

 

== <code>''Description''</code> ==

You see Tinkery Gnickerbocker, Tiny Dancer of Elanthia, a Gnome.

Tinkery has thick-lashed turquoise eyes and a button nose. Her dark brown hair is very long and curly, and is worn arranged in pigtails. She has rosy skin and a plump figure. 
She is tiny for a Gnome. 
She appears to be an adult. 
She is in good shape. 

She is wearing a fitted military-style jacket of rich brown cotton with copper accents, a tattered linen shirt painted with a trio of interconnected gears and cogs, a bronze-plated buckler shaped like a cogged gear, a copper wedding ring, a pair of copper zills, a poofy tutu of layered coppery tulle sprinkled with tiny gears and cogs and some coppery winged boots with tiny cog-shaped wheels attached to the soles.

[[File:MissGnomer.jpg|center|700px]]

== <code>''Trader Life''</code> ==

[Miss Gnomer's, Sales Floor] 
An engraved oaken sales counter sits prominently in the back of the shop, providing a surface for merchant and customer to haggle or exchange goods for coin. The wooden floor lies empty, leaving customers space to move about freely, while an oak armoir stands against the oaken walls. 
You also see a bucket of viscous gloop, a plaza guard and an oaken door. 
Also here: Tinkery. 
Obvious exits: out. 

Pacing back and forth, tiny hands clasped behind her back, the cog-shaped wheels on her boots made a soft humming noise as they rolled along the floor, “This just won’t do,” she muttered to herself. She gazed at the armoire with her turquoise eyes, sparkling like precious gems, the bottom shelves filled with wares to sell while the top shelves, too far out of reach, stay barren. She wrinkled her button nose as she surveyed the room for something to stand on. She knew she could ask the guards for help, but she saw them gathered eating lunch outside her shop door and thought they deserved a break. Adjusting the goggles on her head, she headed towards the backroom. She collected a few items; a couple gift boxes of various sizes, some glue, wrapping twine, and a few of her heavy ledgers from previous months. She dragged them to the center of her shop and got to work. Opening the largest gift box, she placed one of the books inside to give it some weight and placed the lid on the box. She repeated the same process with the other boxes, placing one on top of the other, adding glue and twine for support, until she had a colorful set of make-shift stairs. Standing proudly before her finagled solution, she tugged at the bottom of her military jacket, adjusting the fit and started to scramble to the top with a treasure for sale in hand. Atop of the highest box, she observed her humble shop and couldn’t help but hug herself tightly. She’d come along way and she had worked so very hard. After carefully placing price tags and stocking her armoire she climbed down. Still a little out of breath, she tugged on each of her pigtails making sure they were tight and went to put the "OPEN" sign on her door.

   

<3

Caidie

2016-04-19T05:38:52Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Mad'uuwl
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

 
== '''''Description''''' ==

You see Caidie Mad'uuwl, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin. 
She is surprisingly short for an Elf. 
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair. 

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
It was their eyes, wasn't it?
Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?
That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?
They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

== '''''Going Green''''' ==

[[File:cayandbuuwl.jpg|right|250px]] He was the color of happy things; spring grass, sweet apples, toads that turn into princes.
He arrived in the mist of festivities, a huge man but a happy and free man.
He was almost something from her dream-
barbarian, chaotic, kind to those she loves.
His sparkling blue eyes, like a secluded lake on a hot summer's day, met hers and they were bound to each other, she may not have known it at the moment,
but they were.
She'd given up on silly little fairy tales and he'd never kissed a rose.
The words he spoke so casually left her thinking it was a joke,
''"Let's get bonded."'' he said in such a tone lacking all inflection of a question.
Laughing freely with her head thrown back, raven curls awaken from their slumber, she nodded emphatically,
''"Okay!!"'' she responded, throwing away what little caution she had.
The sister of her heart produced a dusty rose still sheathed in vivid holy light from inside a cluttered vault, (That may have been bonded to a Rakash Cleric)
He took the leap and kissed the rose and almost as a dare, she kissed it back. The donkey god smiled.
Two wild Barbarians bonded but never more free.

<3

== '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==

No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, Buuwl's wife, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5.

[[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|350px|center|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]

> read paper

The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.

> read other paper

The paper reads: A large crowd stands in a broken circle right in the middle of the infirmary, looking on at two women in the middle. A beautiful Elf, wild and savage-eyed, has just slapped an old, matronly Empath across the face. A Rakash man nearby is ducking his head, trying to avoid a spray of spittle flying from the gaping mouth of the Empath. What appear to be dead songbirds litter the ground.
Along the bottom of the paper, you notice, Author: [[Maxwelinski]]

Caidie

2015-12-29T03:44:31Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Sanaulis
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin."''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

 
== '''''Description''''' ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]

She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her raven black hair is waist length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. 
She has fair skin and a lithe figure. 
She is tiny for an Elf. 
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair. 
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies. 

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

== '''''You Lost?''''' ==

[[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field,
a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,
“You lost, Elf?” The voice boomed.
Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, “Maybe.” Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona

== '''''Whispers''''' ==

[[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other.
Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable.
There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.
Sisters by heart.
Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears.
In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive.
Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.

== '''''Going Green''''' ==

[[File:cayandbuuwl.jpg|right|250px]] He was the color of happy things; spring grass, sweet apples, toads that turn into princes.
He arrived in the mist of festivities, a huge man but a happy and free man.
He was almost something from her dream-
barbarian, chaotic, kind to those she loves.
His blue eyes met hers and they were bound to each other, she may not have known it at the moment,
but they were.
She'd given up on fairy tales and he'd never kissed a rose.
The words he spoke so casually left her thinking it was a joke,
"Lets get bonded," he said.
Laughing freely with her head thrown back, she nodded emphatically,
"Ok!!" she responded.
The sister of her heart produced a dusty rose from a cluttered vault, (That may have been bonded to a Rakash Cleric)
He took the leap and kissed the rose and almost as a dare, she kissed it back.
Two wild Barbarians bonded but never more free.

   

<3

Uritel

2015-12-29T01:16:04Z

THISACCOUNT: /* Barroom Banterings */

{{Player character
|Player Name=Uritel Defiqe
|Status=a
|Race=Human
|Gender=Male
|Guild=Cleric
|Instance=Prime
}}
 
 
== Description ==
Heresiarch Uritel defiqe, Malice of Urrem'tier, a Human. 
He has amber eyes. His honey hair is shoulder length and curly, and is worn loose, tucked behind his ears. 
He has copper skin. 
He is elderly. 
He has a thick bushy mustache that droops heavily on his upper lip and a long shaggy beard. 
He has a tattoo of a grinning demon peering down sardonically at a group of hapless warriors on his back. 
 

== Barroom Banterings ==
 
 
Light filters into the smoky barroom as the door opens and a cloaked elven woman enters. Glancing around the room she takes in the patrons, plucked from the seedy underbelly of the city, almost as if someone was setting a scene for a tale laden with mystery and intrigue. Sauntering up to the bar, and only tripping once or twice, the woman settles herself upon a barstool before gazing at the elven barmaid, with meaning.
 
 
A sly smile plays across the lips of the buxom barmaid as she eyes the newcomer, she grabs a pint from the shelf below the bar and fills it to the top with golden ale and places it in front of the woman. "Here you go, Sy... stranger." Giving a serious nod, she begins to walk away when the woman speaks.
 
 
"I am here seeking out information," she says, a little too loudly. The other patrons shift uncomfortably, whispering among themselves and eyeing the door. "I was told I could find out something about a man here."
 
 
Nodding solemnly, the barmaid adjusts her corset, fidgeting with the restrictive garment, betraying her discomfort with the garb. "I could help you,” she replies in hushed tones, “for a price."
 
 
Sliding an envelope across the bar, the cloaked questioner speaks softly, " I am seeking information about the cleric, Uritel. I was told he frequents such places. I was also told you would want this." Nodding at the envelope she watches as the other woman picks it up and glances at its contents, before tucking it in the top of her corset.
 
 
"So, Uritel is whom you seek," the barmaid asks, wincing at the awkwardness of the words.
 
 
"He is," the woman says with a solemn nod.
 
 
"He is like the night. A cleric by trade, he threw off the bond of holy work and has walked on, a loner in the seedy underbelly of the city," the barmaid recites, glancing at a parchment tucked in her apron. "His parents were brutally murdered in front of him when he was a small child. As his father lied dying at his feet, he begged him to undertake the holy work. His mother, bleeding and broken could only nod as her soul crossed the threshold to the starry road. "
 
 
Leaning in, the woman listens intently as the story unfolds, hardly noticing the elothean woman that has taken the seat next to her.
 
 
"Young, Uritel did not handle their deaths well. He vowed to avenge them, but, it did not really fit within the guidelines of the cleric guild. He was constantly fighting against the elders as they sought to lead him in the right direction. Often frightening them with the anger behind his spells.
 
 
"He kept to himself, wealthy because of the legacy left to him, he was a homebody and made few friends. Some say he has a lair, a place where he can hide away, he trusts few and loves even less. He is a soldier, fighting his own war by night in the city where crime never sle...."
 
 
"Why is it so dark in here?" A group of dwarven men burst through the door, talking loudly as they make their way to a corner table. The commotion breaking the din of the room as they look around at the other patrons, looks of confusion on their faces.
 
 
A woman in an apron rushes to them men's table and whispers to them, the group glances at the cloaked woman at the bar and chuckle before settling into their seats, doing their best to mimic the scowls of those around them.
 
 
Glancing around the room, the barmaid pulls at her corset, fidgeting uncomfortably under the gaze of the elothean woman. Pulling the parchment from her apron she glances over it muttering under her breath. "Soldier, dead parents, lair, night..."
 
 
Taking a drink from the stein in front of her, the Elven woman's face turns a shade of brilliant red as she begins to choke on the potent ale. Blinking back tears, she whispers "I thought we were going with tea?"
 
 
An ironic smile plays across her face as the barmaid leans close and responds, "I wear a corset, you drink the hardest ale I can find."
 
 
"So, he is a mysterious man of mystery then?"
 
 
"The most," the barmaid nods trying hard to smile. "Mystery wrapped up in an enigma with a dash of handsome ruggedness..."
 
 
"Oh my Gods," the elothean woman gasps as she recognizes the barmaid. "[[Caidie]] what are you wearing?"
 
 
"My name is Lola," the barmaid responds, dissolving into laughter.
 
 
"You are horrible at following a script," the elven woman exclaims, pushing her hood back and stomping her foot.
 
 
“Synamon, what are you doing?”
 
 
"Forcing me to wear this stupid corset," [[Caidie]] declares, still laughing.
 
 
“We are making Uritel a man of mystery,” Synamon exclaims, giggling at the Elothean woman’s confused expression. “You were married to him Arianah! You know the story!"
 
 
“Wait, the dead parents and vengeance," Arianah begins, gazing from one woman to the other. "His parents are just retired, Tesla and Foxxwen live in Aesry!"
 
 
"He might have a lair," Synamon exclaims, breaking into fits of giggles.
 
 
"Sure, we lived there when we were married. We had a butler named Fred-Al, and blight bat problem too," Arianah says trying to keep a straight face.
 
 
"This is serious stuff!" Synamon stomps her foot and attempts to glare at the men and women seated around her as they all begin to laugh. The waitresses giggle, completely breaking character, as they pull the curtains back allowing light to filter back into the not so dark and dingy barroom.
 
 
Shaking her head, [[Caidie]] reaches under the bar and pulls out a pink and white striped togball jersey and slips it over her head. Looking significantly more comfortable, she leaps over the bar and gives Synamon a playful shove. "I don't know why we had to do all this. He is really pretty interesting on his own."
 
 
"Oh sure, a Cleric that dabbles in all kinds of magic and doesn't even cleric anymore," Synamon says with a sarcastic smile. "Oh, wait, that is pretty interesting."
 
 
Laughing, Arianah says, "I always thought he was at least a little interesting."
 
 

== Disclaimer ==
 
 
The preceding tale is brought to you by the player of Synamon with or with out the permission of Uritel. Please remember it is OOC to call him bat-brain or ask where Robin is, but he is like the night, and awesome.

Caidie

2015-11-12T19:56:58Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Sanaulis
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn
}}
== '''''Description''''' ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:Acbd11624b4b3c80904fe4ba3cf2599e.jpg|right]]
She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her raven black hair is waist length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed. She has fair skin and a lithe figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair.
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies.

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

{{-}}

== ''[[Riverlynn]]'s Journal Pages'' ==
[[File:1c34757b5e70813b5690f64e571502f0.jpg|center|frameless|650px]]

== ''Lost?'' ==
[[File:20ef83da8a311faa864db0e99f0c9330.jpg|center|frameless|750px]]
== ''Whispers'' ==
[[File:B2bf05eeb3107de109aad57b6ef9c047.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt=Riverlynn and Caidie created by Caidie using daz3d|[[Riverlynn]] and Caidie]]

== ''Going Green'' ==
[[File:Ca35add3067e156b8bbae2fc7adc52dc.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt= Buuwl and Caidie created by player of Caidie using Daz3d|[[Buuwl]] and Caidie]]
{{PCSkills}}

Caidie

2015-09-26T13:29:09Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Sanaulis
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn
}}
== '''''Description''''' ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:Acbd11624b4b3c80904fe4ba3cf2599e.jpg|right]]
She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her black hair is very long and curly, and is worn tousled. She has fair skin and a lithe figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair.
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies.

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

{{-}}

== ''[[Riverlynn]]'s Journal Pages'' ==
[[File:1c34757b5e70813b5690f64e571502f0.jpg|center|frameless|650px]]

== ''Lost?'' ==
[[File:20ef83da8a311faa864db0e99f0c9330.jpg|center|frameless|750px]]
== ''Whispers'' ==
[[File:B2bf05eeb3107de109aad57b6ef9c047.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt=Riverlynn and Caidie created by Caidie using daz3d|[[Riverlynn]] and Caidie]]

== ''Going Green'' ==
[[File:Ca35add3067e156b8bbae2fc7adc52dc.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt= Buuwl and Caidie created by player of Caidie using Daz3d|[[Buuwl]] and Caidie]]
{{PCSkills}}

Buuwl

2015-09-23T00:07:38Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime
| Relative = Caidie
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   

</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
[[File:Sexahb.png|center|450px]]
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

== <code>''Description''</code> ==
You see Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl, a Gor'Tog. [[File:Togball!.png|right|300px]]
Buuwl has blue eyes. He has dark green skin and an athletic build. 
He appears to be elderly. 
He has a tattoo of a skeleton dancing on a bed of fiery coals on his back. 

He is wearing a felted brown hat with rounded bear ears, a witch ball, a witch ball, a platinum parry stick inlaid with bands of jade, a tempered partisan, an unusual jade-inlaid dragonwood wedding band limned in pure white thealstones, a dusky black hunting kilt layered with wide leather sections and a pair of battle-worn diamond-hide boots lined with threadbare fur.

== <code>''A Little Known Fact...''</code> ==

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|left|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl]][[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|250px|right|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

User:RWYCKOFF/Sandbox

2015-09-23T00:03:20Z

THISACCOUNT:

Buuwl

2015-09-22T23:42:51Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime
| Relative = Caidie
}}

<blockquote>

 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   

</blockquote>

[[File:Sexahb.png|center|450px]]

== <code>''Description''</code> ==
You see Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl, a Gor'Tog. 
Buuwl has blue eyes. He has dark green skin and an athletic build. [[File:Togball!.png|thumb|250px|right|Buuwl]]
He appears to be elderly. 
He has a tattoo of a skeleton dancing on a bed of fiery coals on his back. 

He is wearing a felted brown hat with rounded bear ears, a witch ball, a witch ball, a platinum parry stick inlaid with bands of jade, a tempered partisan, an unusual jade-inlaid dragonwood wedding band limned in pure white thealstones, a dusky black hunting kilt layered with wide leather sections and a pair of battle-worn diamond-hide boots lined with threadbare fur.

== <code>''A Little Known Fact...''</code> ==

Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

[[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|200px|left|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|left|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl by Sekmeht]]

File:Togball!.png

2015-09-22T23:36:52Z

THISACCOUNT:

File:Lostinaesry.png

2015-09-22T23:34:18Z

THISACCOUNT:

Buuwl

2015-09-22T23:22:23Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime
| Relative = Caidie
}}

<blockquote>

 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   

</blockquote>

[[File:Sexahb.png|center|450px]]

== <code>''Description''</code> ==
You see Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl, a Gor'Tog.
Buuwl has blue eyes. He has dark green skin and an athletic build.
He appears to be elderly.
He has a tattoo of a skeleton dancing on a bed of fiery coals on his back.

He is wearing a felted brown hat with rounded bear ears,a witch ball, a witch ball, a platinum parry stick inlaid with bands of jade, a tempered partisan,an unusual jade-inlaid dragonwood wedding band limned in pure white thealstones,a dusky black hunting kilt layered with wide leather sections and a pair of battle-worn diamond-hide boots lined with threadbare fur.

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|right|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl]]
[[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|200px|right|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]

Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

File:Sexahb.png

2015-09-22T23:11:40Z

THISACCOUNT:

Buuwl

2015-09-22T23:08:12Z

THISACCOUNT: /* Description */

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime
| Relative = Caidie
}}

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|right|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl]]
[[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|200px|right|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]

Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

== <code>''Description''</code> ==
You see Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl, a Gor'Tog.
Buuwl has blue eyes. He has dark green skin and an athletic build.
He appears to be elderly.
He has a tattoo of a skeleton dancing on a bed of fiery coals on his back.

He is wearing a felted brown hat with rounded bear ears,a witch ball, a witch ball, a platinum parry stick inlaid with bands of jade, a tempered partisan,an unusual jade-inlaid dragonwood wedding band limned in pure white thealstones,a dusky black hunting kilt layered with wide leather sections and a pair of battle-worn diamond-hide boots lined with threadbare fur.

Buuwl

2015-09-22T22:33:09Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{Player character
| Player Name = Buuwl Mad'Uuwl
| Status = a
| Race = Gor'Tog
| Gender = Male
| Guild = Barbarian
| Instance = Prime
| Relative = Caidie
}}

<blockquote>
<blockquote>
 ''"Are we human or are we dancer?"''   
</blockquote>
</blockquote>

[[File:Buuwl_Character2.png|thumb|250px|right|Sensible Buuwl Mad'uuwl]]
[[File:Gortog.gif|thumb|200px|right|'Tog Baller, Shot Caller]]

Buuwl can prove to 1997. He is a personable, generally helpful tog who drinks heavily and spends plats like a baller. If you need to contact me outside of the game, or have any general questions regarding drinking, barbarianing, or the like... feel free to hit me up on AIM @ drbuuwl.

User talk:RWYCKOFF

2015-09-22T17:12:27Z

THISACCOUNT: /* Possible copyright issue */

==Possible copyright issue==
Howdy! The copyright of the images you recently uploaded (Leil.jpg, etc.) are unclear. In general, if you didn't create the image, and it wasn't created for you, you need to get permission from the owner before posting it. Please include the source (artist and/or copyright holder) when posting images. Like most other wikis, Elanthipedia does not allow images of unknown or unverifiable origin. The images will be deleted in three days if an appropriate source isn't listed. Please see our [[Elanthipedia:Copyrights]] policy for more details.--[[User:ABSOLON|ABSOLON]] ([[User talk:ABSOLON|talk]]) 16:33, 20 September 2015 (CDT)

The leil.jpg was deleted already by Rwyckoff. However just to be clear the other pictures on this page I created from a program and other things i purchased in order to create them --[[User:THISACCOUNT|THISACCOUNT]] ([[User talk:THISACCOUNT|talk]]) 12:12, 22 September 2015 (CDT)

Caidie

2015-07-27T14:22:13Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Sanaulis
|status=a
|race=Elf
|gender=Female
|guild=Barbarian
|instance=prime
|relat=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn
}}
== '''''Description''''' ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:Acbd11624b4b3c80904fe4ba3cf2599e.jpg|right]]
She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her black hair is very long and curly, and is worn tousled. She has fair skin and a lithe figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair.
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies.

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a silver bracelet, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a sleek blued steel bonding ring bead-set with an array of rainbow sapphires, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

{{-}}

== ''[[Riverlynn]]'s Journal Pages'' ==
[[File:1c34757b5e70813b5690f64e571502f0.jpg|center|frameless|650px]]

== ''Lost?'' ==
[[File:20ef83da8a311faa864db0e99f0c9330.jpg|center|frameless|750px]]
== ''Whispers'' ==
[[File:B2bf05eeb3107de109aad57b6ef9c047.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt=Riverlynn and Caidie created by Caidie using daz3d|[[Riverlynn]] and Caidie]]

== ''Going Green'' ==
[[File:Ca35add3067e156b8bbae2fc7adc52dc.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt= Buuwl and Caidie created by player of Caidie using Daz3d|[[Buuwl]] and Caidie]]
{{PCSkills}}

Caidie

2015-07-27T13:36:45Z

THISACCOUNT:

{{PC
|name=Caidie Sanaulis
|race=Elf
|guild=Barbarian
|gender=Female
|instance=prime
|status=a
|relatives=Buuwl, Uritel, Riverlynn, Qompanions
}}
== '''''Description''''' ==
You see Everlasting Caidie Sanaulis, Intolerant of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.[[File:Acbd11624b4b3c80904fe4ba3cf2599e.jpg|right]]
She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a freckled nose. Her black hair is very long and curly, and is worn tousled. She has fair skin and a lithe figure.
She is tiny for an Elf.
She has a pair of silversteel-riveted leather goggles resting askew in her hair.
Her left wrist has a tattoo of a childish Elf dancing amid a field of zombies.

She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a silver bracelet, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a sleek blued steel bonding ring bead-set with an array of rainbow sapphires, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.

{{-}}

== ''[[Riverlynn]]'s Journal Pages'' ==
[[File:1c34757b5e70813b5690f64e571502f0.jpg|center|frameless|650px]]

== ''Lost?'' ==
[[File:20ef83da8a311faa864db0e99f0c9330.jpg|center|frameless|750px]]
== ''Whispers'' ==
[[File:B2bf05eeb3107de109aad57b6ef9c047.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt=Riverlynn and Caidie created by Caidie using daz3d|[[Riverlynn]] and Caidie]]

== ''Going Green'' ==
[[File:Ca35add3067e156b8bbae2fc7adc52dc.jpg|thumb|center|frameless|750px|Alt= Buuwl and Caidie created by player of Caidie using Daz3d|[[Buuwl]] and Caidie]]