Archmage Selinor (Example Post)

[Master Alexander]

Name: Selinor Direl'komas (Selinor Darkwalker)
Age:
Gender: Male
Order: High Council
Weapon:

Selinor is not permitted, by the rules governing magic users, or by his long years studying magic to wield any form of conventional weaponry.

Due to these limitations, which he does not consider truly concerning, he carries only a staff, used more for its magical properties than it ever will be to strike the enemy. The staff is made of an unknown gray substance, more solid and stable than metal, but feeling more like crystal, with swirling tendrils securing an orb of the finest obsidian to one end and an orb of white jade to the other. The crystals can produce light when commanded by Selinor, a light which is stark and cold, white, but without the warmth and friendliness of firelight, more the piercing cold white of ice.

The staff has existed longer than Selinor, forged by ancient magic near the beginning of time, by a mage of unfathomable magical skill. The artifact was recovered by Selinor 1700 years ago on an important mission, prior to which he had used a staff imbued with his own power. Upon finding this new staff, he bound the essences of the objects together before binding them to the same existence, creating one staff, which he has dubbed the Hand of Night.

The staff has a variety of powers, not all of which are yet known to Selinor, and it appears to have some degree of sentience. It feels warm and inviting to Selinor's touch, and though he removes any markings to the surface after every battle, it still feels inviting in his hands, as if the dents that it develops have always been there. Anyone else touching it without Selinor's permission will experience a feeling of unearthly cold or searing heat. If someone holds it for longer than seven seconds, they will permanently lose use of their arm. If they continue to hold on longer than this, they will be frozen solid, or incinerated. If this does not work, for whatever reason, the staff will continue to have violent magical reactions of various elements until it is released.

Familiar:

Selinor’s familiar is Var'En Kal'Inas, a male silver dragon. Var'En is extremely intelligent and fierce in battle. He enjoys Selinor's company. Although he tolerates other humans, he does not enjoy being around them in most cases.

He does, however, take a somewhat patriarchal role among the other familiars of the Guild, instructing them in lore and battle techniques, helping to improve them, especially those under the jurisdiction of the Serendith, as Selinor helps their masters.

Var'En is a realist, and will assess how likely it is that a battle will turn in the Guild's favour with unparalleled skill. Many battles have been won or lost for the Guild on Var'En's wise words.

A huge dragon, almost 20' tall, with a 50' wingspan, Var'En is a true giant of his kind. With an overall length measuring approximately 75' Var'En has few true equals on the battlefield. His scales gleam a brilliant silver, and his eyes, normally a light teal, will turn to a glowing blood red if he is angered. Var'En and Selinor have a good friendship and partnership, and where some seek to control their familiar, Selinor believes in treating them as equals, working alongside them. Due to this belief, there has never been an altercation between the two, and Var'En's presence has been key in several decisive victories of Selinor's campaign.

Var'En is a dedicated thinker and studies the lore of the world in his spare time. His studies have assisted Selinor in the discovery of many ancient and powerful magical artifacts. He hones his battle techniques constantly, and is in excellent physical stature, even among dragons, unlike his master. Var'En has barely ever been injured in battles, and never badly.

Selinor fused a powerful magical relic directly into his familiar's body. Noted by Var'En as originally being called the Lost Gem, not because it was lost, but as something of an ironic musing by its original creator, who knew it would influence the possessor to victory, not to loss. It was renamed the Moon Gem by Selinor, and was fused into Var'En's chest, allowing him to spread a terrible, debilitating fear into the hearts of the enemy, heavily tempting all but the most seasoned veterans to flee the battlefield if he so wills it. This ability is rarely used as it requires a great deal of his energy.

Magic Domain: Fire
Magic Subdomain:

Selinor's long practice and dedicated proficiency in magic allows him to control many of the arcane domains. While his original practice, and strongest powers lay with Fire magic, he was also able to make use of Healing and Necromancy.

When Selinor had reached the absolute limits of power in magic, and could perform only comparatively minor spells from the remaining domains, he was displeased and sought more power, making the decision that no other magic-user had made in decades.

He decided to take the Trial of Magic, the ultimate test of magical ability, testing each domain the mage had mastered to the fullest. After many days of grueling testing, and finding himself more dead than alive on several occasions, Selinor became the first mage in history to successfully complete the Trials, granting him the ability to completely give up one domain of magic, and never be able to cast a spell from that domain again, in return for the power of higher magic from the remaining domains.

Selinor chose to leave behind, for all eternity, the powers of Earth magic in favour of Water and Air. His magical prowess remains in this state to this very day.

Appearance:

Selinor is extremely tall, about six feet, eleven inches. Some have speculated that his height is magically enhanced, but he either distracts from the subject, or denies it caustically.

Selinor's skin is pale white with a very slight blue tint, to a point of looking abnormal to those he meets with. Some think that he must have acquired severe hypothermia on first meeting him.

Selinor's hair is three feet long, a deep, pitch black colour, and, though mostly straight, has slight waves. Many say that this, combined with his skin gives him a striking and cold appearance. His hair is surprisingly light, drifting about in even the lightest breeze, yet always falling back into place.

His face is long, and slender, akin to his body. His nose is thin, his ears back against his head. His lips are thin and ashen, almost white. His features are smooth, aquiline. His eyes are perhaps his most shocking feature, and the first thing many notice on being introduced to him, mainly because their presence anywhere else would indicate blindness. His eyes, including the iris and pupil are a solid, glazed white colour, making his gaze haunting to fall under.

Although Selinor is well over eleven thousand years old, he has the appearance of a twenty-year-old human, as explained in the "Immortality" thread.

Clothing:

Selinor is dressed in long, hooded robes, flowing from his neck down to the tips of his fingers and flowing lightly onto the floor. The robes are covered along edges with brilliantly shining silver runes, protecting Selinor automatically from low level spells, and a few mid level spells. He engraved the runes personally, taking an entire year's time to ensure their perfection. The main body of the robes is a very deep red colour, such as that of aged wine.

He wears a cloak when traveling, especially in bad weather, and a cape during ceremonies and important meetings of the Guild. The cloak is black, with no markings or features, allowing him to remain unseen when wearing it. His cape is a deep aquamarine , covered in additional runes, engraved in brilliant gold.

During training sessions, he can often be seen with a red sash tied over his eyes, allowing magic to be his eyes. When asked about this, he notes that if he can destroy his enemies without needing to see them, so much the better for him.

History:

Born more than eleven thousand years ago to the tribes of Nomads which once ruled over the entire island chain, which they now share with the Guild. The Nomads enjoyed only brief periods of peace during their long history, and were fraught with frequent tribal wars.

Selinor's father was a magnificent warrior-king of the Nomad people, being the one to finally unite all four tribes (Men of the Mountains, Men of the Plains, Men of the Sea, Men of the Woods) for the first time in history. Selinor was a naturally adept mage, taking after his mother, a shaman and diviner. He memorized easily the words to many spells, and created several artifacts of which his parents were undeniably proud. By the time Selinor was eighteen years of age, he was the most adept magic user among the Nomads, not much of a feat in his eyes, considering the Nomads actively discouraged the use of magic, except in divining to benefit the tribe's future. Selinor had been the first significant magic-user in roughly 310 years, and certainly the most adept the Nomads had ever known.

His father called the Council of the Nomads together one night, when they feared that war with the humans on the east coast of Cazenmarr might soon occur, to discuss preparations of war.

Selinor's father, being a wise man sought a treaty with the far larger forces of Cazenmarr. This angered his comrades however, why should they stop their warlike ways for these sniveling, pathetic aristocrats? Selinor of course, sided with his father, but his opinion had long been scorned by the Tribes.

Furious with the deliberation's failure to accomplish anything, Selinor stormed from the tent, vanishing across the Plains. At the time, none went to search for him.

Many days later, Selinor returned to find a scorched zone where the camp had been, stretching for several kilometers in each direction. Exploring for a good time, Selinor at last came upon Luthanen, his father's second in command, who had always been a great friend to him, and who explained the events since Selinor had left.

The argument between the Tribes had taken a turn for the worse. The members of the other tribes, and some of their own, stalwartly refused to attempt to obtain a peace treaty, and continued to jeer Selinor's father about having allowed his son to grow scholarly and weak, rather than training him to be a proud warrior as a true King should have. Several rebellious young leaders had killed Selinor's father, mother, and everyone they could find of his clan. Luthanen predicted that they were the sole survivors.

Not wanting them to be the last of the Tribe, Luthanen gave Selinor something that had been entrusted to the leaders of the clan for millenia, since it was created by the seventh King of Cazenmarr, who, until that point, was the most powerful mage who ever lived. His third son had taken several men into the wilderness, and these became the Nomads, the son took the gift of his father with him always, passing it to his descendants. Luthanen refused to tell Selinor what it did until he had consumed every drop. Once he finished drinking, Luthanen recounted that it was the fabled Serum of Immortality, and that Selinor would now live forever, able to right the wrongs that had been committed against them, and to improve and shape the world. It was important, he said, that the potion go to him, since his line led back to that of Cazenmarr's Kings, and in all these long years, had never been obscured or broken.

Selinor and Luthanen traveled for several days before reaching the area where one of the rival tribes was stationed. They were ambushed while walking along the pathway, and Luthanen was hit by an arrow in the neck, dying almost instantly. Selinor was filled by rage, and used his power to ignite all those who had wronged him so.

Calling on his utmost magical powers, the Wayward Son of the Nomads raised a vast fortress, consisting of an enormous tower and numerous other buildings, as well as a protective wall, out of the ground by sheer magical power and will. The Citadel of Starlight had been created, the Guild of the Mists, was born that day.

In the three years following, Selinor recruited those sympathetic to his cause, regardless of homeland. Some had come from the former tribes, and, testing their hearts, Selinor found true sympathy among them. Many came from the Kingdom of Cazenmarr, seeking a test for their blade, a teacher for their magic, a better life, or simply a new place to live. Selinor took in anyone and everyone who was to be trusted, and in time the Guild grew. From its humble beginnings of Selinor and Luthanen, the Guild reached over 10 000 strong within months. (In modern times, the Guild holds a membership of over 700 000, still paling in comparison to Cazenmarr's enlistment of 5 000 000 troops.)

Selinor did for the Guild what the Nomad tribes, who still inhabited several islands opposite them, could never have allowed him to do. He led them strongly, fairly, ushering in a golden age of prosperity for over 1 000 years. Then, suddenly, and without warning, he vanished. Nobody knew what happened to the charismatic young mage and his silver dragon, but eventually they faded into myth and legend, traveling to parts unknown and remaining there for several thousand years. The Guild remained mostly intact when Selinor left. His ancient, hand-carved wooden staff lay always across the door of his chamber, and none entered it in his absence, choosing instead to use new rooms for the Guild's rulers. In time, some people grew to disbelieve what they had heard of the young mage who lived for hundreds of years, and who had been unmatched in magical skill.

The wars with the Nomad clans persisted, the Sects of the Guild, which Selinor had originally laid out plans for, continued training, and for centuries neither side in the war gained any ground. There was nothing they could do to gain advantage, the Guild was unable to overcome the Nomad's sailing abilities, and the Nomads unable to match the Guild's powerful warriors on land.

One day, the mightier structures of the fortress began to fade from the fabrics of reality and the Nomads invaded, killing and enslaving the members of the Guild. A small group eventually emerged in the foothills surrounding where the Citadel had once stood, headed by a powerful Knight, whose strategies had led them to several victories so far, but who was not known to the men by name or face, for he never revealed either. Aside from giving orders, the only metallic echoing that escaped his helm was talk, considered to be that of a hopeless optimist by some, that Selinor would live yet to walk among them all again.

Indeed, one day not long after, he would. Several months later, after a variety of successful skirmishes brought the Black Knight to be well-known among the Nomads, they were woken in the early morning by a piercing screech, as if the world itself were a huge piece of metal being wrought in two. Running outside, they saw an enormous sea of silver scales envelop the sky. A dark shape loosed from the side, and struck the ground hard, creating a deep, though perfectly geometrical crater. As the men coughed while the dust cleared, a robed figure strode forward, a man not one of the soldiers had seen in his life, but whose renown among the Guild made him instantly recognizable. Moving as one, they would all kneel before him. And then he spoke. "Where is the one who knew?" The Black Knight stood, bowed deeply, and walked forward. "You believed that I would return...when by all other accounts, my very existence was but a legend...why?" The Knight bowed. "My parents, and indeed my whole line has taught their descendants that Selinor was real. That he would return one day and lead us back to the Guild's former glory!"

Selinor smiled, "Your ancestors were wise. Tell me, what has become of the Guild?" The Knight looked to the ground, "The Citadel vanished some years ago my lord..we were overrun by the Nomads. Many live in captivity now, we are all who still fight."

Selinor's face was crowned by deep lines of concern. "There is one more among us who fights, but that is not now important. Come with me men. It is time we returned the Guild..." he paused, "to its former glory." He turned to the Knight. "What is your name?"

The Knight appeared somewhat embarrassed. "I have never known one my lord. The Black Knight is how I am known, and that is all." Selinor smiled "Then that is how you shall remain. You are the new leader of the warrior Sect, the Deirnakos. Congratulations."

Selinor and the handful of soldiers retook their land that day, and the Citadel came back into being, a magnificent fortress-city, covering more land than you could see from one end to the other, and around it, a wall of what appeared to be solid obsidian, with its glassy darkness, but that no weapon could so much as scratch. Along with this came the hopes for their future. Organizing the Sects into existence once more, Selinor prepared to end this war. Selinor recounted part of his story for them on the night of their victory, and this is what the scribes took of it:

"Selinor had reached the absolute limits of power in magic, and could perform only comparatively minor spells from the remaining domains. Selinor was displeased and sought more power, making the decision that no other magic-user had made in decades.

He decided to take the Trial of Magic, the ultimate test of magical ability, where the God of Magic personally tested each domain the mage has mastered to the fullest. After many days of grueling testing, and finding himself more dead than alive on several occasions, Selinor became the first mage in history to successfully complete the Trials, granting him the ability to completely give up one domain of magic, and never be able to cast a spell from that domain again, in return for the power of higher magic from the remaining domains.

Selinor chose to leave behind, for all eternity, the powers of earth magic in favour of water and air. His magical prowess remains in this state to this very day."

In present day, with 11 000 years having passed since he drank the potion, Selinor is still adamant that the Nomads must be defeated, since, in these eleven millenia, they have turned from mild anger to fanatic ferocity in their attempts to destroy the Guild.

Selinor has done a miraculous job rebuilding the Guild in just fifty short years to an enlistment of 700 000. The reunited Guild, with its new glory, and first contact in 10 millenia to the outside world, prepares to march on its foes for what it thinks to be the final time.

Selinor wants to see the good and righteous people of the Guild achieve and maintain the peace they deserve. If only he could see the shadows looming in the future.

Attitude:

Selinor has a strange attitude. He is calm and collected, a stable leader of the Guild, and will look at all sides quickly to make the best decisions in times of crisis. When in discussions he will see any argument from all sides, and think carefully before making any decisions. The Acolytes of the Guild bring with them skills which will benefit the entire Guild, and Selinor wants to see that these people, the oppressed and shunned, are given the chance he was not granted. To lead their lives normally with those they care for, and to strike against those who would harm them. In his mind, anything done is to be repayed equally.

The battlefield awakens something different in Selinor. His rage of the past let loose, and personified is a frightening sight. He loses all regret, all restraint. He will put people through a painful death before his eyes to teach them a lesson. Those who try to repress the Guild, to destroy the lives of the innocent, to tear apart the lives of the ones who came to him seeking shelter, they will be repayed with the destruction of their own lives.

Selinor has the wisdom of many centuries, and an astounding memory with which to hold it all, making him a valuable resource of research to the Guild. He lived through events no other person alive has seen, and witnessed things in the depths of the earth which would shake normal people to the soul. His overall demeanour reflects his beliefs, the opressed should have another chance, the oppressors should be repaid in kind.

Other:

Leader and magical instructor of the Guild of the Mists in ancient times, and since his return, and a powerful Archmage.

Selinor is looked up to by almost every Guild member, having provided them, or their ancestors, shelter within the walls of the Guild. Although the Guild was formed by Selinor and his loyal friend Luthanen, it now encompasses people from every imaginable location, some whose origins are still unknown.

They have all sworn to serve the Guild and each other, giving a bond closer than brothers.

Sample Post:

The silver-haired Archmage stared off the balcony of one of the topmost rooms of the Seren Tower. "This place," he breathed softly, to himself, "Our home, one day it will be free from the wretched tyranny of our ancestors. One day, not today, but soon perhaps."

He stood, pondering these things, on a high balcony, outside his personal quarters, looking upon the Mystelenvyn, where the high ranking officials, or even just the Sect Leaders of the Guild met to discuss matters of importance.

A deep creaking sound filled the air, and an enormous silver dragon flew into sight from his hidden layer near the Citadel. "Hail, Var'en," he called out to the huge creature, his familiar for a timespan of 11000 years. Selinor the massive and ancient dragon acknowledged him. What purpose brings you to ponder atop the tower today?

"Old scars, new wounds, what else is there ever, eleven millenia we have fought, and still have not prevailed. Perhaps as a mage my life's purpose is best suited to times of battle and strife, but even I think we have all earned a break." Patience, old friend the dragon screeched, We will see the day yet. Have we not been gaining ground steadily in those 11000 years? We have not lost a battle, except in our absence and the Citadel's weakening, since the leadership was in turmoil...back in the old days.

Selinor's thin lips contorted into a smile. "Were we ever so young?" The gargantuan creature let loose a mighty roar, filling the grounds of the Citadel as did the brilliant reflections of his silver scales. You see? You cannot even remember our last defeat! Selinor darkened considerably. "I remember, Var'en....I always will. Scars remain after time, they do not fade. For the sake of those under our protection, for the sake of our own selves....we shall never lose again."

Selinor strode along the balcony, caressing his staff with his long, thin fingers. Then, he walked off the edge. He kept going, floating, almost motionlessly, but for the gusts of wind whipping his hair about him. Floating towards the dragon, he clambered onto its back as he reached it. "We have time to check on their progress, if we go quickly, and now."

The great dragon shifted his course in mid-air, soaring over many miles of empty land. The Alaherian Desert, still looking as they had 11000 years ago. The coastline surrounding two sides of the citadel vanished. Soon, the huge hill, and the citadel itself could no longer be seen. The pair flew over smaller outposts of the Guild, sometimes hearing a cheer from below as they went. Then they were out over the open sea.

The shimmering water reflected the huge dragon to stunning accuracy, and then they hit the other coast. Selinor readied several spells in his mind, putting up a defensive barrier around them both. They had entered the land of their former allies, the elusive Nomads who had been at war with them for many years. Only three weeks ago had they taken back the entire scope of their new island, and they were still on high alert for a potential counterattack. Indeed, to the normal observer, everything would appear to be fine. Being one of them, and knowing their ways, however, Selinor assessed the situation. They were gathering...they would strike, likely soon. "Let's put a stop to those ideas," he growled in a harsh, whispering voice. Var'en nodded, twisting in mid-air into a steep dive.

Themesong:
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