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Description
Art by Riveriia

O F F I C I A L C H A R A C T E R S H E E T F O R

{{ Character Sheet || Power Chart || Inventory }}

I D E N T I T Y

N A M E
Haven Name: Waspmouth

Common Name: Def

Faction Name: None

Nickname: None

A G E
Current Age: 5 years, 6 months

Birthday: 2.1 B.C.

G E N D E R A N D S E X U A L I T Y
Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Single

H E R I T A G E
Breed: Bengal

Ancestral Affiliation: Unknown; likely rogue

Origin: Pilgrim Knight

C H A R A C T E R T Y P E
Auma Type: Light

Auma Appearance:

Character Slot: Primary

P E R S O N A L

P E R S O N A L I T Y
Summary: Personality summary here

Personality Traits:
{ Cocky }
Def is more than confident in his abilities, although maybe a little too much so. Although he has little to show for it, Def is more than confident he will be able to handle anything the Calamity can throw at him, a feeling strengthened by his time alone. That, or run away.
{ Fast Talking }
Def really doesn’t like to stop talking. If there is a witty remark to be made, Def will be there, tongue wagging. While his thoughtless speech has definitely gotten him into trouble, it’s also gotten him out of more than one tight spot.
{ Jolly }
It takes a lot to get Def down, and even more for him to show it. His easygoing nature can make him seem careless at times, but he simply prefers to laugh about problems rather than let them get him down. Whether you laugh or cry, the problem will get solved; might as well attack it with a cocky grin.
{ Compassionate }
Although he might come off as uncaring or unsympathetic, Def cares deeply for those close to him. If he views you as a friend, you can rest assured he’ll have your back or listen while you bare your soul.
{ Loud }
When Def is speaking, everyone knows. Gifted with a powerful set of lungs, he quickly found the best way to drag himself to the center of the stage was to be the loudest, most obnoxious cat in the pack. When skill or words fail, volume can be the difference. Or so he is convinced.
{ Loyal }
Once Def has settled down with a group, he is loyal to a fault. He will never turn his back on a friend in need, no matter how badly they messed up. This gives him little tolerance for instances of perceived betrayal.
{ Brave }
Def will never back down from a fight, at least one that isn’t obviously unwinnable. He’s brave, not stupid; as long as there is a chance, no matter how slim, he won’t back down, especially if a friend’s life is at stake. This doesn't mean he won't fool around with a fight he deems unimportant. When the chips are down, though, Def can be counted on to stand strong

{ Self-sacrificing }
Def will lay down his life for a close friend. The bonds of companionship can transcend all things, even death. He’s already seen too many people close to him die to watch another fall while he still draws breath. To do so would go against everything Def likes to think he stands for.
{ Greedy }
One of Def’s more apparent vices, he loves gems or any item that sparkles. Whatever it is, he wants it. He won’t go so far as to steal from another cat, but he unabashedly considers himself a greedy hoarder. He might trade, but he’d prefer to decorate his home with his treasures.
{ Vain }
Whatever the situation, Def considers it a mortal sin to be anything other than finely groomed. One can find him spending much of his free time, when not admiring his hoard or off trying to find items to increase, carefully grooming himself. He likes to think it makes him look dashing, and that it might, but he really wouldn’t look all that different if he spent only a tenth of the time he does tending to his appearance.
{ Impatient }
Def is a cat of action. Watching and waiting are boring; if you want to fight or settle something, better to handle it in the moment rather than skulk about the point. This can lead to him seeming blunt at times, and makes him a terrible candidate for missions involving stealthy ambushes. If the goal of the mission is theft or sneaking, he can handle it; it’s only sneaky combat or waiting which annoy him.
{ Flirty }
An incorrigible flirt. If it walks, Def might try to flirt with it. No matter the female, he’ll try his best to woo her. Not that he’ll go anywhere with it; he thinks of flirting as an art that he is well on his way to perfecting.
{ Confident }
Although this ties in with cockiness, Def isn’t just empty speech; he carries himself with the air of one who is thoroughly sure of his abilities. No matter what he might say, he knows the measure of his own abilities, and exactly how much he is capable of accomplishing.

{ Dramatic }
Def loves to spend his time in the spotlight, and he sees the quickest way to it through melodrama. He loves to overemphasize his actions, whether to give a dramatic flair to his story or mock another cat. When in the midst of a dramatic tale, one can expect him to lay a paw over his eyes to “shield them from the tragedy”.
{ Decisive }
Another aspect of Def’s impatience, he excels at making decisions on the fly. He likes to take all the information he has and come to a quick course of action. Indecisiveness is death on the field of battle; in order to excel, one must read an react to changes in an instant.
Personality Type: ???

Alignment: ???

A P P E A R A N C E
Looks: ???

Build: ???

Scars and Disabilities: ???

Accessories: ???

M I N D - S E T
Habits: ???

Fears: ???

Dreams/Goals: ???

Beliefs: ???

Physical Health - x% (i.e. "100%"): Explanation here

Emotional Health - x% (i.e. "100%"): Explanation here.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Romantic Partner:
{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"
Best Friend(s):
{ Hopflight | Male | Haven Monarch | Living }"The second best looking tom in all of Safe Haven."
Friend(s):
{ Fallowsparks | Male | Seeker | Living }"Skips is always fun to hang out with. It's rare you find someone who doesn't buy into drama that much, but you best appreciate it when you do."{ Flightpaw | Male | Seeker Apprentice | Living }"Well, it turns out he's not that bad! I'd still like to get to know him better but he's a nice guy."{ Nightmist | Female | Espion | Living }"Night's a gem; quiet and thoughtful, it's always nice when I bump into her."{ Ashenpaw | Male | Vanguard Apprentice | Living }"Smashin' Ashen is always fun to hang out with, even if sometimes he's a bit... literal? Is that the word?"{ Firpaw | Female | Vanguard | Living }"Fir and I went through a lot together on her Proving. She's really sweet and I... trust her."{ Bathsheba | Female | Earth-Mother | Living }"The Old Silver Fox? She's good; working through a lot, though, so I want to help how I can."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Cassiel | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"If there's any other cat who would have made it here it would've been him. He never backed away from an enemy though."{ Nuria | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She deserved better..."{ Dumah | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I... can't believe she turned. I thought she was stronger."{ Samael | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"He probably died before he realized anything was amiss."{ Andara | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She fought to her last breath. I wish I'd known her longer."{ Elisha | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She probably shouldn't have even been there with us. Never got to thank her for patching me up that last time."{ Abraham | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"He always joked that I'd outlive him."{ Micah | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"Quiet but always at your side when it counted."{ Sella | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I... miss her a lot."{ Vicar | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I don't think he liked me but I looked up to him."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"Crush(es):
{ ??? | Female | ??? | Living}"I'm not telling, you snoop. If you want romance drama, go and talk to Hop."
Enemies:
{ Skinner | Female | Way/ Devil | Living }"Skinskin and I go way back. I don't DISLIKE her, but "{ Skoll | Male | Ashen | Unknown }"I didn't really know what it meant to hate until I met Skoll."
Acquaintance(s):
{ Tigerpaw | Female | Vanguard Apprentice | Living }"Tiger's a pretty great gal. She and I get along alright."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"
"Other":
{ Pebblepath | Female | Way/ Parrot | 'Living' }"She probably thinks I have her under enemy."{ Nicholas | Male | Prisoner | Imprisoned }"I don't want to talk about that."{ Tidefrost | Female | Chief Vanguard | Living }"She doesn't like me very much but she's important to Hop."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"

P R O F E S S I O N A L

R A N K
Profession: Vanguard

Current Auma Score: 69

Apprentice: It's a miracle. Galepaw has been blessed with Def as a mentor.

Past Apprentices: Spicepaw

P O W E R S
Power Class: Self-ClassStrength: Bash, Enlarge, Stunning Blow, Indomitable, Shattering Blows, Strong

Phasing: Ghost Limb, Selective Permeability, Phase Free, Intangible Vitals, Fog, Ethereal Padding

Armor: Light Armor, Brace, Medium Armor, Protective Shield, Block, Sanctuary, Heavy Armor

Weapons: Melee Weapon, Improve Weapon, Tail Weapon, Trap, Explosive

Camouflage: Obscure, Traceless, Invisibility, Hide, Meld, Wipe, Specter, Blur

SK I L L S
TBA until re-work

A B I L I T I E S:
None currently.

E Q U I P M E N T
Item 1: Item description and stats

Item 2: Item description and stats

Item 3: Item description and stats

Item 4: Item description and stats

Item 5: Item description and stats

H I S T O R Y

B L O O D - T I E S
Parents:
{ ??? | Male | ??? | ??? }Def never speaks about his father{ ??? | Female | ??? | ??? }Def never speaks about his mother.

Offspring:
{ None | --- | --- | --- }Def has no children.

E X T E N D E D
Adopted Family:
{ Tyrael | Male | Pilgrim Knight (Archangel) | Deceased }Def's mentor, gruff and kind.

B A C K S T O R Y
{ Pre-Calamity }
Def doesn't speak much about Pre-Calamity times. For those who ask, his tale begins when he joined the Order. For months, Def had scavenged to survive, living day-by-day, meal-by-meal. He grew thin and feral and made no attempt to contact other cats. One day, he stumbled upon a large group of warriors. Def snuck into their camp in order to… acquisition food. As he approached the food stores, a heavy paw clamped on his neck, claws sinking in.
“What’a we got ‘ere?” Def was forcibly lifted, all the while hissing and yowling, to stare a gruff, old tom in the face. Def was summarily taken prisoner by the group of cats, imprisoned until they met up with the rest of the patrol.
Even as the group of warriors reconvened with the patrol, members of Skinner’s gang fell upon the group, striking quickly and without mercy. Surprised and utterly unprepared, the group fell back. Def strained against his bonds, trying to free himself. The tom that had captured him took notice of his efforts and stopped, locking eyes with Def.
“Can ye’ fight, kit?”
“What?”
“Are ye’ deaf, kit?”
“Uhm, yes?”
“Dammit, can ye’ fight?”
“Aye, sir. Probably a damn sight better than your men.” Snorting, the big cat cut him free.
“Prove it then, an’ make yourself useful.” Already, Def was charging in, setting about left and right with his finely honed claws. While obviously not as skilled as the other warriors, nor as well disciplined, when Skinner’s gang turned tail, he was still amongst the standing.
“Not bad, kit,” said the older cat, walking over. “Gotta name?” When Def didn’t respond, the older tom snorted. “Deaf, is it?”
“Yep, you can call me Def. And you, grey-whiskers?”
“Tyrael.” Def snorted and walked back to his bindings, plopping himself down. There were still too many cats standing, and most seemed to be in too foul a mood for him to attempt an escape.
“Now what?”
“Now, ye’ have two options. We can either try ye’, and I can assure ye’ that it will be fair. Or, you can join our ranks.”
“You want me to join you?” Def asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow. When the older cat nodded, Def grinned. “Let’s see. Join a bunch of mouse-walloping fuddy-duddies, or have let myself be tried by a bunch of grey whiskers? Seems pretty apparent there’s a right and wrong choice, grandpa.”
So, Def ended up joining the Order of Light. And through his time with them, he honed his body. Through the strict tutelage of Tyrael, he went from a nigh-feral tom to a competent warrior. Over time, he came to be respected within the Order, although his quick tongue landed him into trouble more than any five of the other recruits combined. Still, he felt a sense of camaraderie he had been missing for a long, long time and he welcomed it with open paws.
He proved himself enough that he was offered a position as an initiate. Def quickly accepted, as he was infatuated with the Order. He just as quickly realized the religion stuff wasn’t for him; he liked the central message, but it seemed like too many people got a little wrapped up in the details.
“Bunch a’ nonsense,” Tyrael confided privately. “But it gives people something to keep their heads straight and eyes forward.” That’s what Def would’ve heard if he were listening, anyways.
Thus, Def did not become a Brother of the Order. Instead, he became an Order Knight, like his mentor. Still affiliated, still fighting the good fight against darkness, but less for the religion and more because it was the right thing to do. Def also enjoyed the great valuables they came across during their line of work, helping himself to whatever treasures he could. His hoard, as he called it.

{ Post-Calamity }
When the calamity struck, Def’s section of the Order was absolutely devastated. Ashen emerged from all about them, and where one fell two more stood to replace it. Cats fell left and right, old friends of many campaigns ripped to shreds by this new unrelenting foe.
Def did his best, and is proud to say he didn’t flee. Trying his best to defend the weaker members of his group, Def took a mighty blow and was soon unconscious. When he awoke, the dead were strewn about the battlefield, Ashen alongside Pilgrim, left to die. Any survivors, if there were any, had picked up and left.
Days trickled by as he tended to his wounds, licking at singed fur and stung pride. For the first time in a long time, tears flowed as he thought of the helpless expressions of fear and agony, forever burned into his memory. All about him, twisted creatures roamed, stalking the land. He had seen one group of survivors and, even as he tried to make contact, watched them torn about by these twisted monsters. Cursing himself a coward, the once-proud warrior fled, tail between his legs.
Whenever Def could, he gathered food and made his way West, dragging his hoard with him. He hunted sparingly, and shared what he could when he stumbled across a survivor. Although brave and impulsive, Def was far from stupid; at least, he liked to think so. Whenever he saw the Ashen, he maneuvered about them to the best of his abilities, lying low and avoiding combat when possible. He assured himself it wasn’t cowardice; it was simply admitting that he was outclassed. Still, he couldn’t shake the feelings of disgust he harbored for himself. Whenever he encountered a group engaged in battle, he would help however he could. The first Ashen they slew, he found an earring on. Grinning, he pierced his ear, taking to admiring his new “dashing” appearance whenever he could.
These proved hard days for Def. His fur became matted and filthy, and he found himself alone far more than not. Whenever he could, he bathed and cleansed himself, shuddering as filth sloughed off him in sheets.
Description here
{ Post-Call }
When he heard the call, Def was overjoyed. Finally, a place to rest, a place of commune, a place to call home. And, a place he could store his gathered relics of the Good Times. As Def made his way to Haven, he found himself slowed by his hoard. Dragging it along in a sack attracted far more attention than he liked to admit. Finally, he settled on two bits of equipment; the earring from the Ashen, and a shoulder pauldron he had had for so long, still bearing the mark of the Order Knights. Everything else, he stuffed into a tree hollow, vowing to return. Which would have been a great plan, if he hadn’t proceeded to get totally lost for the next full moon cycle. He didn’t know it, but he was wandering in circles only a couple of days from Safe Haven. Which made it all the more fortunate when light exploded, a convenient signal (obviously intended for him) that finally helped him to find the right path.
While traveling, he came upon a group of other survivors. Thinking quickly, he designated himself leader. Once the walls of Safe Haven were in sight, he ran off, intent on being the first to herald in the new arrivals... and to make sure no one would dispute him as leader.

E X T R A

S T A T S
Wound Capacity: 8

Carrying Capacity:Armor: Unlimited
Weapons: Unlimited
Items: 2Damage: +++ melee, + ranged

Dodge: ++ melee, - ranged

Damage Reduction: 100%

Resistances:Physical: +++

Mental: -

Environmental: -

Poison: ++

Wyrd: ++

Death: ++

O T H E R
Themes:

O O C

L I T E R A C Y - L E V E L S
Script: Open/closed

Short response: Open/closed

Mid-length response: Open/closed

Good god why are we writing novels?: Open/closed

R P - M E T H O D S
Skype: Open/closed

Notes: Open/closed

Comments: Open/closed

Other: Open/closed

A V A I L A B I L I T Y
Time Zone: EST

R P - S A M P L E
Source: This was a roleplay I ran for two players in my D&D campaign. It was done over Facebook chat. They had just secured an alliance with a goblin tribe and were exploring to see what kind of allies they had actually earned. Chief Wippledon was the goblin chief.

Sample:

Chief Wippledon steps forward and begins a chant in the warbling goblin tongue. It rises and falls, bouncing around the chamber, reverberating around until it sounds like a dozen goblins chanting with one voice. Meanwhile, four goblins in tattered robes run in. Printed in white paint are bones across their faces, glowing eerily in the low light of the chamber. They dance about Wippledon, bodies spasming as some sort of fervor takes hold over their feeble minds. Their motions are irregular yet, despite all reason, seem to match the rhythm of the chant.
The chanting slowly begins to increase in speed. As it does so, the chamber's temperature drops below freezing. The goblins gathered in front of you are all shivering, teeth rattling and forming a kind of macabre rhythm for the chanting. Ice forms across your armor, and your blade is tinged with white hoarfrost. Slowly, a pale mist creeps into the chamber, writhing tendrils skittering across the floor as the mass of smoke winds its way in.
The chanting takes on a primal tone as Chief Wippledon's voice starts to rise and fall, going through peaks and valleys. The priests are whipping themselves into a frenzy, laughing maniacally as the speed of the chant increases. Somewhere off, deep into another set of passages, a set of drums begins setting a much more deep, reverberating beat to that of the chattering teeth and scraping of goblin feet.

  Boom rattle rattle
  Boom rattle rattle

The drumming intensifies, as does the shivering. It takes everything in you to fight off the urge to shiver, to join the rattling.

  Boom Boom rattle rattle
  Boom Boom rattle rattle
  Boom rattle Boom rattle Boom.

And then it stops.
The air itself hangs still, the only sound your heart pounding in your chest. The shamans have frozen, hands raised to the ceiling. Chief Wippledon is standing, shifting from foot to foot. The drums are silent, the rhythm they created gone with the heat and your breath. Not even an echo returns to bring life to the chamber. Despite the ever increasing chill and flowing mist, the chattering of goblin teeth has all but disappeared. You grow aware that your desire to shiver has faded as well, as whatever sense of apprehension and growing dread holds you enthralled.
The silence drags on for minutes, the chamber's temperature dropping by the second. The air is thick with moisture as the heavy mist settles across the floor. Slowly, the sickening smell of a corpse far past its prime enters the chamber, carrying with it nausea and thoughts of the grave.
Every second, it seems as though the smell has reached its climax, must have reached a climax, for how can rot and sick and death smell so much? And yet, still it intensifies.
Soon, the entire chambers smells of a mausoleum and is as cold as death itself.
Faintly, far off, you can hear a faint... *click-click*.

*click*... *click*... *click-click*.
*Click*... *Click*... *Click-click*.

As it grows louder, even if you've never heard it before, you recognize what can only be the sound of bone striking stone.

*Click*... *Click*... *Click-Click*.

No other sound is heard. The cold is so numbing, the mist so dense, and the silence so absolute save for the sharp, inevitable *click* you almost have to wonder if you are alive or if you too have passed into some early grave.

*CLICK*...
*CLICK*...
*CLICK-CLICK*.
...

Nothing. The rhythm is gone. Without the noise, there is nothing.
Suddenly, the torches flicker before reigniting. The change is so brief, so sudden, even those of you with low-light or dark-vision are blinded as darkness reigns. When the lights return, they are a shade of what they once were. A flickering shadow, a cold mockery of flame. It is as if the flames themselves had died and were casting light from beyond the veil, into this world from some other ghostly plane.
And standing in the furthest back passage in the chamber, illuminated by the dead light, oblivious and uncaring of the cold, is the Lich.
In life, it might have once been man or elf, or so its height seems to indicate. Two arms, two legs, a head... But there, the similarity ends. Rather than smelling of corpse, it now simply smells of age. It is the scent of dusty tomes and forgotten places. The scent of history, of things long lost that have been unearthed. No sound comes from it as it strives forward, save for the soft *click*... *click*... *click-click* of a measured walk. It's feet, worn to bone, are only briefly visible through the mist as it strides forward full of terrible purpose.
Rotting flesh clings to the gleaming bones, grey and long, long dead. The bones are whiter than the freshest snow, a mockery of purity and holiness. Long robes flow from its form, cascading formless over its hollow form. With nothing to hold it in place, the robes dance to a forgotten wind, trembling as they move. There is no question they had once been beautiful, yet the life is gone from them now. They are grey and colorless, a dead outfit so touched by time it is a wonder they hold together, just like the creature they garb.
In its hand is clasped a plain, ivory scepter. It is a simple shaft, utterly unadorned. It is cold and white and dead; white, not in the purity of bone, but as emptiness. It is nothing. It is blank. It is what you would see at the start, and at the end.
But most terrible of all is its face. Those of you who can raise your eyes to look at it are greeted by a death grin, white teeth frozen in the mockery of joy and happiness. Hollow cheeks, hollow mouth, hollow eyes. Bits of flesh cling to the bone like fragments of forgotten food, remnants of time's meal that have not been cleansed. It is the face of death itself, framed by strings of silver hair hanging lifeless, unmoving before whatever fell wind moves the robes. About its head orbit five iridescent stones, each a color you cannot describe. Not one of them is namable; these are colors that have not been seen, comprehended, or labeled. Their very memory is difficult to call upon.
But it is the eyes that grip you. Hollow, filled with darkness. The false light of the torches does not penetrate the cavernous depths. Empty as the scepter seems, these are emptier still. The scepter is joyous by comparison. The rod, at least, has the hope of an end or beginning. Here, there is NOTHING. It is void, it is shadow incarnate, and still... within dances an alien intelligence, consuming what it sees. Comprehending. Ever-watching, ever-vigilant.
It advances through the mist, and as it does so the vapor seems to die. What little air currents that danced almost playfully through the clouds fall deathly still, previously unnoticed but now sorely missed in absence.
With fell purpose it glides past you, reeking of age and death. Slowly, it advances on the still standing Wippledon.
Wippledon bows low, hands spread wide. The lich inclines its head, creaking as it does so.
Slowly, it turns to regard the goblins trembling before it, a feeble barrier of life between you and the end.
Calculating, sightless eyes roaming.
Staring.
Piercing.
Dissecting.
And it raises a bony appendage, gesturing at one goblin somewhere between the end and the beginning.
"She will do."

C R E D I T S
Blank character sheet © Riveriia

of Stars and Clans © Riveriia , PenguinEatsCarrots , Brayd-Gerard , and other members of the oSaC Admin Team

Waspmouth © Brayd-Gerard

Description
Art by Riveriia

O F F I C I A L C H A R A C T E R S H E E T F O R

{{ Character Sheet || Power Chart || Inventory }}

I D E N T I T Y

N A M E
Haven Name: Waspmouth

Common Name: Def

Faction Name: None

Nickname: None

A G E
Current Age: 5 years, 6 months

Birthday: 2.1 B.C.

G E N D E R A N D S E X U A L I T Y
Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Single

H E R I T A G E
Breed: Bengal

Ancestral Affiliation: Unknown; likely rogue

Origin: Pilgrim Knight

C H A R A C T E R T Y P E
Auma Type: Light

Auma Appearance:

Character Slot: Primary

P E R S O N A L

P E R S O N A L I T Y
Summary: Personality summary here

Personality Traits:
{ Cocky }
Def is more than confident in his abilities, although maybe a little too much so. Although he has little to show for it, Def is more than confident he will be able to handle anything the Calamity can throw at him, a feeling strengthened by his time alone. That, or run away.
{ Fast Talking }
Def really doesn’t like to stop talking. If there is a witty remark to be made, Def will be there, tongue wagging. While his thoughtless speech has definitely gotten him into trouble, it’s also gotten him out of more than one tight spot.
{ Jolly }
It takes a lot to get Def down, and even more for him to show it. His easygoing nature can make him seem careless at times, but he simply prefers to laugh about problems rather than let them get him down. Whether you laugh or cry, the problem will get solved; might as well attack it with a cocky grin.
{ Compassionate }
Although he might come off as uncaring or unsympathetic, Def cares deeply for those close to him. If he views you as a friend, you can rest assured he’ll have your back or listen while you bare your soul.
{ Loud }
When Def is speaking, everyone knows. Gifted with a powerful set of lungs, he quickly found the best way to drag himself to the center of the stage was to be the loudest, most obnoxious cat in the pack. When skill or words fail, volume can be the difference. Or so he is convinced.
{ Loyal }
Once Def has settled down with a group, he is loyal to a fault. He will never turn his back on a friend in need, no matter how badly they messed up. This gives him little tolerance for instances of perceived betrayal.
{ Brave }
Def will never back down from a fight, at least one that isn’t obviously unwinnable. He’s brave, not stupid; as long as there is a chance, no matter how slim, he won’t back down, especially if a friend’s life is at stake. This doesn't mean he won't fool around with a fight he deems unimportant. When the chips are down, though, Def can be counted on to stand strong

{ Self-sacrificing }
Def will lay down his life for a close friend. The bonds of companionship can transcend all things, even death. He’s already seen too many people close to him die to watch another fall while he still draws breath. To do so would go against everything Def likes to think he stands for.
{ Greedy }
One of Def’s more apparent vices, he loves gems or any item that sparkles. Whatever it is, he wants it. He won’t go so far as to steal from another cat, but he unabashedly considers himself a greedy hoarder. He might trade, but he’d prefer to decorate his home with his treasures.
{ Vain }
Whatever the situation, Def considers it a mortal sin to be anything other than finely groomed. One can find him spending much of his free time, when not admiring his hoard or off trying to find items to increase, carefully grooming himself. He likes to think it makes him look dashing, and that it might, but he really wouldn’t look all that different if he spent only a tenth of the time he does tending to his appearance.
{ Impatient }
Def is a cat of action. Watching and waiting are boring; if you want to fight or settle something, better to handle it in the moment rather than skulk about the point. This can lead to him seeming blunt at times, and makes him a terrible candidate for missions involving stealthy ambushes. If the goal of the mission is theft or sneaking, he can handle it; it’s only sneaky combat or waiting which annoy him.
{ Flirty }
An incorrigible flirt. If it walks, Def might try to flirt with it. No matter the female, he’ll try his best to woo her. Not that he’ll go anywhere with it; he thinks of flirting as an art that he is well on his way to perfecting.
{ Confident }
Although this ties in with cockiness, Def isn’t just empty speech; he carries himself with the air of one who is thoroughly sure of his abilities. No matter what he might say, he knows the measure of his own abilities, and exactly how much he is capable of accomplishing.

{ Dramatic }
Def loves to spend his time in the spotlight, and he sees the quickest way to it through melodrama. He loves to overemphasize his actions, whether to give a dramatic flair to his story or mock another cat. When in the midst of a dramatic tale, one can expect him to lay a paw over his eyes to “shield them from the tragedy”.
{ Decisive }
Another aspect of Def’s impatience, he excels at making decisions on the fly. He likes to take all the information he has and come to a quick course of action. Indecisiveness is death on the field of battle; in order to excel, one must read an react to changes in an instant.
Personality Type: ???

Alignment: ???

A P P E A R A N C E
Looks: ???

Build: ???

Scars and Disabilities: ???

Accessories: ???

M I N D - S E T
Habits: ???

Fears: ???

Dreams/Goals: ???

Beliefs: ???

Physical Health - x% (i.e. "100%"): Explanation here

Emotional Health - x% (i.e. "100%"): Explanation here.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Romantic Partner:
{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"
Best Friend(s):
{ Hopflight | Male | Haven Monarch | Living }"The second best looking tom in all of Safe Haven."
Friend(s):
{ Fallowsparks | Male | Seeker | Living }"Skips is always fun to hang out with. It's rare you find someone who doesn't buy into drama that much, but you best appreciate it when you do."{ Flightpaw | Male | Seeker Apprentice | Living }"Well, it turns out he's not that bad! I'd still like to get to know him better but he's a nice guy."{ Nightmist | Female | Espion | Living }"Night's a gem; quiet and thoughtful, it's always nice when I bump into her."{ Ashenpaw | Male | Vanguard Apprentice | Living }"Smashin' Ashen is always fun to hang out with, even if sometimes he's a bit... literal? Is that the word?"{ Firpaw | Female | Vanguard | Living }"Fir and I went through a lot together on her Proving. She's really sweet and I... trust her."{ Bathsheba | Female | Earth-Mother | Living }"The Old Silver Fox? She's good; working through a lot, though, so I want to help how I can."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Cassiel | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"If there's any other cat who would have made it here it would've been him. He never backed away from an enemy though."{ Nuria | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She deserved better..."{ Dumah | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I... can't believe she turned. I thought she was stronger."{ Samael | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"He probably died before he realized anything was amiss."{ Andara | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She fought to her last breath. I wish I'd known her longer."{ Elisha | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"She probably shouldn't have even been there with us. Never got to thank her for patching me up that last time."{ Abraham | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"He always joked that I'd outlive him."{ Micah | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"Quiet but always at your side when it counted."{ Sella | Female | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I... miss her a lot."{ Vicar | Male | Pilgrim Knight | Deceased }"I don't think he liked me but I looked up to him."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"Crush(es):
{ ??? | Female | ??? | Living}"I'm not telling, you snoop. If you want romance drama, go and talk to Hop."
Enemies:
{ Skinner | Female | Way/ Devil | Living }"Skinskin and I go way back. I don't DISLIKE her, but "{ Skoll | Male | Ashen | Unknown }"I didn't really know what it meant to hate until I met Skoll."
Acquaintance(s):
{ Tigerpaw | Female | Vanguard Apprentice | Living }"Tiger's a pretty great gal. She and I get along alright."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"
"Other":
{ Pebblepath | Female | Way/ Parrot | 'Living' }"She probably thinks I have her under enemy."{ Nicholas | Male | Prisoner | Imprisoned }"I don't want to talk about that."{ Tidefrost | Female | Chief Vanguard | Living }"She doesn't like me very much but she's important to Hop."{ Name | Gender | Affiliation (i.e. "clan, way, rogue, Vanguard, etc") | Status (i.e. living/deceased/missing/unknown }"Quote here"

P R O F E S S I O N A L

R A N K
Profession: Vanguard

Current Auma Score: 69

Apprentice: It's a miracle. Galepaw has been blessed with Def as a mentor.

Past Apprentices: Spicepaw

P O W E R S
Power Class: Self-ClassStrength: Bash, Enlarge, Stunning Blow, Indomitable, Shattering Blows, Strong

Phasing: Ghost Limb, Selective Permeability, Phase Free, Intangible Vitals, Fog, Ethereal Padding

Armor: Light Armor, Brace, Medium Armor, Protective Shield, Block, Sanctuary, Heavy Armor

Weapons: Melee Weapon, Improve Weapon, Tail Weapon, Trap, Explosive

Camouflage: Obscure, Traceless, Invisibility, Hide, Meld, Wipe, Specter, Blur

SK I L L S
TBA until re-work

A B I L I T I E S:
None currently.

E Q U I P M E N T
Item 1: Item description and stats

Item 2: Item description and stats

Item 3: Item description and stats

Item 4: Item description and stats

Item 5: Item description and stats

H I S T O R Y

B L O O D - T I E S
Parents:
{ ??? | Male | ??? | ??? }Def never speaks about his father{ ??? | Female | ??? | ??? }Def never speaks about his mother.

Offspring:
{ None | --- | --- | --- }Def has no children.

E X T E N D E D
Adopted Family:
{ Tyrael | Male | Pilgrim Knight (Archangel) | Deceased }Def's mentor, gruff and kind.

B A C K S T O R Y
{ Pre-Calamity }
Def doesn't speak much about Pre-Calamity times. For those who ask, his tale begins when he joined the Order. For months, Def had scavenged to survive, living day-by-day, meal-by-meal. He grew thin and feral and made no attempt to contact other cats. One day, he stumbled upon a large group of warriors. Def snuck into their camp in order to… acquisition food. As he approached the food stores, a heavy paw clamped on his neck, claws sinking in.
“What’a we got ‘ere?” Def was forcibly lifted, all the while hissing and yowling, to stare a gruff, old tom in the face. Def was summarily taken prisoner by the group of cats, imprisoned until they met up with the rest of the patrol.
Even as the group of warriors reconvened with the patrol, members of Skinner’s gang fell upon the group, striking quickly and without mercy. Surprised and utterly unprepared, the group fell back. Def strained against his bonds, trying to free himself. The tom that had captured him took notice of his efforts and stopped, locking eyes with Def.
“Can ye’ fight, kit?”
“What?”
“Are ye’ deaf, kit?”
“Uhm, yes?”
“Dammit, can ye’ fight?”
“Aye, sir. Probably a damn sight better than your men.” Snorting, the big cat cut him free.
“Prove it then, an’ make yourself useful.” Already, Def was charging in, setting about left and right with his finely honed claws. While obviously not as skilled as the other warriors, nor as well disciplined, when Skinner’s gang turned tail, he was still amongst the standing.
“Not bad, kit,” said the older cat, walking over. “Gotta name?” When Def didn’t respond, the older tom snorted. “Deaf, is it?”
“Yep, you can call me Def. And you, grey-whiskers?”
“Tyrael.” Def snorted and walked back to his bindings, plopping himself down. There were still too many cats standing, and most seemed to be in too foul a mood for him to attempt an escape.
“Now what?”
“Now, ye’ have two options. We can either try ye’, and I can assure ye’ that it will be fair. Or, you can join our ranks.”
“You want me to join you?” Def asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow. When the older cat nodded, Def grinned. “Let’s see. Join a bunch of mouse-walloping fuddy-duddies, or have let myself be tried by a bunch of grey whiskers? Seems pretty apparent there’s a right and wrong choice, grandpa.”
So, Def ended up joining the Order of Light. And through his time with them, he honed his body. Through the strict tutelage of Tyrael, he went from a nigh-feral tom to a competent warrior. Over time, he came to be respected within the Order, although his quick tongue landed him into trouble more than any five of the other recruits combined. Still, he felt a sense of camaraderie he had been missing for a long, long time and he welcomed it with open paws.
He proved himself enough that he was offered a position as an initiate. Def quickly accepted, as he was infatuated with the Order. He just as quickly realized the religion stuff wasn’t for him; he liked the central message, but it seemed like too many people got a little wrapped up in the details.
“Bunch a’ nonsense,” Tyrael confided privately. “But it gives people something to keep their heads straight and eyes forward.” That’s what Def would’ve heard if he were listening, anyways.
Thus, Def did not become a Brother of the Order. Instead, he became an Order Knight, like his mentor. Still affiliated, still fighting the good fight against darkness, but less for the religion and more because it was the right thing to do. Def also enjoyed the great valuables they came across during their line of work, helping himself to whatever treasures he could. His hoard, as he called it.

{ Post-Calamity }
When the calamity struck, Def’s section of the Order was absolutely devastated. Ashen emerged from all about them, and where one fell two more stood to replace it. Cats fell left and right, old friends of many campaigns ripped to shreds by this new unrelenting foe.
Def did his best, and is proud to say he didn’t flee. Trying his best to defend the weaker members of his group, Def took a mighty blow and was soon unconscious. When he awoke, the dead were strewn about the battlefield, Ashen alongside Pilgrim, left to die. Any survivors, if there were any, had picked up and left.
Days trickled by as he tended to his wounds, licking at singed fur and stung pride. For the first time in a long time, tears flowed as he thought of the helpless expressions of fear and agony, forever burned into his memory. All about him, twisted creatures roamed, stalking the land. He had seen one group of survivors and, even as he tried to make contact, watched them torn about by these twisted monsters. Cursing himself a coward, the once-proud warrior fled, tail between his legs.
Whenever Def could, he gathered food and made his way West, dragging his hoard with him. He hunted sparingly, and shared what he could when he stumbled across a survivor. Although brave and impulsive, Def was far from stupid; at least, he liked to think so. Whenever he saw the Ashen, he maneuvered about them to the best of his abilities, lying low and avoiding combat when possible. He assured himself it wasn’t cowardice; it was simply admitting that he was outclassed. Still, he couldn’t shake the feelings of disgust he harbored for himself. Whenever he encountered a group engaged in battle, he would help however he could. The first Ashen they slew, he found an earring on. Grinning, he pierced his ear, taking to admiring his new “dashing” appearance whenever he could.
These proved hard days for Def. His fur became matted and filthy, and he found himself alone far more than not. Whenever he could, he bathed and cleansed himself, shuddering as filth sloughed off him in sheets.
Description here
{ Post-Call }
When he heard the call, Def was overjoyed. Finally, a place to rest, a place of commune, a place to call home. And, a place he could store his gathered relics of the Good Times. As Def made his way to Haven, he found himself slowed by his hoard. Dragging it along in a sack attracted far more attention than he liked to admit. Finally, he settled on two bits of equipment; the earring from the Ashen, and a shoulder pauldron he had had for so long, still bearing the mark of the Order Knights. Everything else, he stuffed into a tree hollow, vowing to return. Which would have been a great plan, if he hadn’t proceeded to get totally lost for the next full moon cycle. He didn’t know it, but he was wandering in circles only a couple of days from Safe Haven. Which made it all the more fortunate when light exploded, a convenient signal (obviously intended for him) that finally helped him to find the right path.
While traveling, he came upon a group of other survivors. Thinking quickly, he designated himself leader. Once the walls of Safe Haven were in sight, he ran off, intent on being the first to herald in the new arrivals... and to make sure no one would dispute him as leader.

E X T R A

S T A T S
Wound Capacity: 8

Carrying Capacity:Armor: Unlimited
Weapons: Unlimited
Items: 2Damage: +++ melee, + ranged

Dodge: ++ melee, - ranged

Damage Reduction: 100%

Resistances:Physical: +++

Mental: -

Environmental: -

Poison: ++

Wyrd: ++

Death: ++

O T H E R
Themes:

O O C

L I T E R A C Y - L E V E L S
Script: Open/closed

Short response: Open/closed

Mid-length response: Open/closed

Good god why are we writing novels?: Open/closed

R P - M E T H O D S
Skype: Open/closed

Notes: Open/closed

Comments: Open/closed

Other: Open/closed

A V A I L A B I L I T Y
Time Zone: EST

R P - S A M P L E
Source: This was a roleplay I ran for two players in my D&D campaign. It was done over Facebook chat. They had just secured an alliance with a goblin tribe and were exploring to see what kind of allies they had actually earned. Chief Wippledon was the goblin chief.

Sample:

Chief Wippledon steps forward and begins a chant in the warbling goblin tongue. It rises and falls, bouncing around the chamber, reverberating around until it sounds like a dozen goblins chanting with one voice. Meanwhile, four goblins in tattered robes run in. Printed in white paint are bones across their faces, glowing eerily in the low light of the chamber. They dance about Wippledon, bodies spasming as some sort of fervor takes hold over their feeble minds. Their motions are irregular yet, despite all reason, seem to match the rhythm of the chant.
The chanting slowly begins to increase in speed. As it does so, the chamber's temperature drops below freezing. The goblins gathered in front of you are all shivering, teeth rattling and forming a kind of macabre rhythm for the chanting. Ice forms across your armor, and your blade is tinged with white hoarfrost. Slowly, a pale mist creeps into the chamber, writhing tendrils skittering across the floor as the mass of smoke winds its way in.
The chanting takes on a primal tone as Chief Wippledon's voice starts to rise and fall, going through peaks and valleys. The priests are whipping themselves into a frenzy, laughing maniacally as the speed of the chant increases. Somewhere off, deep into another set of passages, a set of drums begins setting a much more deep, reverberating beat to that of the chattering teeth and scraping of goblin feet.

  Boom rattle rattle
  Boom rattle rattle

The drumming intensifies, as does the shivering. It takes everything in you to fight off the urge to shiver, to join the rattling.

  Boom Boom rattle rattle
  Boom Boom rattle rattle
  Boom rattle Boom rattle Boom.

And then it stops.
The air itself hangs still, the only sound your heart pounding in your chest. The shamans have frozen, hands raised to the ceiling. Chief Wippledon is standing, shifting from foot to foot. The drums are silent, the rhythm they created gone with the heat and your breath. Not even an echo returns to bring life to the chamber. Despite the ever increasing chill and flowing mist, the chattering of goblin teeth has all but disappeared. You grow aware that your desire to shiver has faded as well, as whatever sense of apprehension and growing dread holds you enthralled.
The silence drags on for minutes, the chamber's temperature dropping by the second. The air is thick with moisture as the heavy mist settles across the floor. Slowly, the sickening smell of a corpse far past its prime enters the chamber, carrying with it nausea and thoughts of the grave.
Every second, it seems as though the smell has reached its climax, must have reached a climax, for how can rot and sick and death smell so much? And yet, still it intensifies.
Soon, the entire chambers smells of a mausoleum and is as cold as death itself.
Faintly, far off, you can hear a faint... *click-click*.

*click*... *click*... *click-click*.
*Click*... *Click*... *Click-click*.

As it grows louder, even if you've never heard it before, you recognize what can only be the sound of bone striking stone.

*Click*... *Click*... *Click-Click*.

No other sound is heard. The cold is so numbing, the mist so dense, and the silence so absolute save for the sharp, inevitable *click* you almost have to wonder if you are alive or if you too have passed into some early grave.

*CLICK*...
*CLICK*...
*CLICK-CLICK*.
...

Nothing. The rhythm is gone. Without the noise, there is nothing.
Suddenly, the torches flicker before reigniting. The change is so brief, so sudden, even those of you with low-light or dark-vision are blinded as darkness reigns. When the lights return, they are a shade of what they once were. A flickering shadow, a cold mockery of flame. It is as if the flames themselves had died and were casting light from beyond the veil, into this world from some other ghostly plane.
And standing in the furthest back passage in the chamber, illuminated by the dead light, oblivious and uncaring of the cold, is the Lich.
In life, it might have once been man or elf, or so its height seems to indicate. Two arms, two legs, a head... But there, the similarity ends. Rather than smelling of corpse, it now simply smells of age. It is the scent of dusty tomes and forgotten places. The scent of history, of things long lost that have been unearthed. No sound comes from it as it strives forward, save for the soft *click*... *click*... *click-click* of a measured walk. It's feet, worn to bone, are only briefly visible through the mist as it strides forward full of terrible purpose.
Rotting flesh clings to the gleaming bones, grey and long, long dead. The bones are whiter than the freshest snow, a mockery of purity and holiness. Long robes flow from its form, cascading formless over its hollow form. With nothing to hold it in place, the robes dance to a forgotten wind, trembling as they move. There is no question they had once been beautiful, yet the life is gone from them now. They are grey and colorless, a dead outfit so touched by time it is a wonder they hold together, just like the creature they garb.
In its hand is clasped a plain, ivory scepter. It is a simple shaft, utterly unadorned. It is cold and white and dead; white, not in the purity of bone, but as emptiness. It is nothing. It is blank. It is what you would see at the start, and at the end.
But most terrible of all is its face. Those of you who can raise your eyes to look at it are greeted by a death grin, white teeth frozen in the mockery of joy and happiness. Hollow cheeks, hollow mouth, hollow eyes. Bits of flesh cling to the bone like fragments of forgotten food, remnants of time's meal that have not been cleansed. It is the face of death itself, framed by strings of silver hair hanging lifeless, unmoving before whatever fell wind moves the robes. About its head orbit five iridescent stones, each a color you cannot describe. Not one of them is namable; these are colors that have not been seen, comprehended, or labeled. Their very memory is difficult to call upon.
But it is the eyes that grip you. Hollow, filled with darkness. The false light of the torches does not penetrate the cavernous depths. Empty as the scepter seems, these are emptier still. The scepter is joyous by comparison. The rod, at least, has the hope of an end or beginning. Here, there is NOTHING. It is void, it is shadow incarnate, and still... within dances an alien intelligence, consuming what it sees. Comprehending. Ever-watching, ever-vigilant.
It advances through the mist, and as it does so the vapor seems to die. What little air currents that danced almost playfully through the clouds fall deathly still, previously unnoticed but now sorely missed in absence.
With fell purpose it glides past you, reeking of age and death. Slowly, it advances on the still standing Wippledon.
Wippledon bows low, hands spread wide. The lich inclines its head, creaking as it does so.
Slowly, it turns to regard the goblins trembling before it, a feeble barrier of life between you and the end.
Calculating, sightless eyes roaming.
Staring.
Piercing.
Dissecting.
And it raises a bony appendage, gesturing at one goblin somewhere between the end and the beginning.
"She will do."

C R E D I T S
Blank character sheet © Riveriia

of Stars and Clans © Riveriia , PenguinEatsCarrots , Brayd-Gerard , and other members of the oSaC Admin Team

Waspmouth © Brayd-Gerard