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Anders noticed the man frantically moving through crowd as guards moved in on him. He was hard to miss, as he was similar in size to Anders. The man calmed down when the guards got close after he whispered to one of them. After the guard's gesture, the man began to walk toward the inn for new Branded. Anders pointed towards the man, and said to the short woman, "Looks like one of them's awake. Maybe we'll get some answers soon."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Whatever. If you do that again, don't bother coming back here." At that time, Anders' shift was nearing its end. He wrote a report for his employer about the damage to the wall and table. He included descriptions of each person involved: the alleged cheater, the drunk, and the mage. Upon finishing, he left the pub, taking his daily wages of twenty pieces of silver with him, and walked into the commercial district, glaring at the mage on his way out.

To hopefully put off the stress of the situation that just happened, Anders browsed the stands of artisans. There were knickknacks, dolls, plates and cutlery; some of the bigger stands housed furniture or large, skinned livestock. Unfortunately, nothing caught his eye. Previously Anders didn't want to hear any rumors about the new Brandeds that had shown up, now, however, he felt some gossip could help with his mood.

He made his way to the well where a large crowd seemingly was always present. He walked threw the people towards the well, hearing all kinds of theories about the Branded. One woman said they were demonic, while two men argued whether there were actually four of them or not. When Anders made it to the well he examined it. Nothing seemed different about it. Looked about the same as the day he showed up. His eyes darted to his brand. He didn't know exactly what was in the center. A circle with eight lines forking off of it, each with a different design on their ends. Sometimes he wondered what brands meant. If they were just there for no reason, if they were pictures of their owner's past life, or if they were a symbol of fate and told who would become what. Looking back at the crowd around him, he saw a few familiar faces of people who frequently came into his pub. He asked around the well what people knew about the Branded. Little didn't seem far-fetched.

Anders approached a short woman with black hair standing near the well the same question he'd asked everyone else, "So, what've you heard about the newcomers?"

Anders was furious at the person that had cast the lightning bolt in his bar. Or perhaps he wasn't a person. He was far too skinny, and, given his display of reckless use of magic, far too barbaric to have rational, human thought. Anders raised his voice at the mage, "What are you thinking? You could have killed the both of them with a bolt like that!" Anders gripped the handles of his axes subconsciously, then released them. At that time, the drunk fumbled out of the door.

Anders ran out the door after the drunk. Citizens filled the streets, providing the drunk a perfect opportunity to escape him. Frustrated, he turned back inside to deal with the "man" who'd threatened more lives than the drunk had. "What was your thinking in doing that, huh? He may have been holding a knife up to someone, but that doesn't mean you had to try to kill him. You just about burnt down this entire building." Again, Anders subconsciously reached for his axes, then stopped himself.

He struck against the chest of a stuffed target. Each hit caused the mannequin to shake, despite being on a solid post, and throw dust in the air. Cuts and tears covered the cloth that held the hay against the post, the contents spilling out of each. Anders, using wooden, practicing axes, swung repeatedly at the target, striking high and low and everything in between. Finally, on what had become his last swing, the axe in his right hand, made in the likeness of Marshall, snapped at the head, sending it flying some distance. Anders watched it fly, then glanced at his axe, realizing what happened. Out of frustration, he threw the handle in the same direction of the head that choose to dislocate itself and thought, And to think I just bought that one last month. Hmph, poor craftsmanship.

Anders pulled out of a drawer in his house a list of carpenters he knew of in the city. He searched through the list for the name of the last one he'd gone to and crossed it out, passing about a dozen others that had also been scribbled over. It was not Anders' desire to go commission an axe today, with a group of, not just one or two, but four Branded showing up recently, and the rumors that come with them. Still, he went anyway to town anyway, as he did have a job to do.

During his trip, the sights of the city caught his eye. The people talking, the children playing, and, somehow, the reassurance of each building still standing where it had been previously. As time went on, Anders made his way through a sort of commercial district. Farmers sold their crops, artisans their goods, and some various other shops sprinkled throughout. Finally, he made it to the pub he'd been working at for so long. He entered the dark, dingy building. Groups of men sat throughout the building, with fair women, who were scantily clad, and who also tried to woo their hearts and their money away.

Anders walked slowly to the counter, his boots seemingly shaking the building around him with each step. He glared at onlookers, who seemingly questioned his intentions of being here. Anders was by no means a small person, and had a threatening air around him. Maybe that was the reason he was kept around the pub for so many years, just to scare off trouble and to intimidate anyone he decides not to pay. Anyone who frequented the bar knew he was well-meaning, and, after a few drinks, quite jovial. Now standing behind the counter, the people in the bar went back to what they were doing, seeing that Anders was in fact an employee.

In the same seat that his former master, Marshall, sat in the night Anders life took a turn, was a short, stocky man who called over Anders, asking for a drink.

"What kind of whiskey do you got?" said the man. Anders replied to him, stating what was in stock. "Hmm, I think I'll go for-" The man was cut off by a loud banging, as if a table was flipped over, from across the room. Both Anders and the customer in front of him turned to look, the rest of the people in the pub doing the same, silent. A table was indeed flipped, and next to it, a bulky drunk had pressed a man against the wall, holding a shiv to his neck. Nearby witnesses told the drunk to calm down, which seemingly made him more angry.

The drunk shouted, "He's a liar and cheats a cards!"

"I have done no such cheating!" retorted the man against the wall, careful not to accidentally graze his neck against the shiv and draw his own blood. Anders brusquely trotted to the situation to intervene.

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Anders and the drunk stared at each other, unmoving, like statues.

- Anders' damage is slightly on the low side for an expert axe user. I'll probably bump up Marshall to 3d6 and maybe make Throwing Axe deal 2d4 + 2 + [axe damage].
- Because Protugere is a small weapon, using it to attack will add a small speed bonus (not applied to Berserker Fury). Even without my buff to Marshall, the only reason to use Protugere otherwise would be for roleplaying reasons (which isn't entirely an invalid reason, but still).

I''m definitely not opposed to buffs. I'l edit my post to match your suggestions.

Username: Caruso09

Character Name: Anders Brightwind

• Race: Human

Appearance:

• Gender: Male
• Brand Location: Inside right-upper forearm
• Brand Design: In the center of Anders' brand lies a Viking Compass

Physical Appearance:

• Anders' dark blonde, mid-shoulder length hair lays over his stern face. It is not long on all sides of head, rather, just the top and back, the sides barely more than half a centimeter. He pulls his hair back into a sort of braided ponytail for most occasions.
• Anders’ face is fairly attractive, though it is rough as well. His brows locked in a natural scolding position; his blue eyes are set not far, yet not close, to his strong nose. Underneath his left eye, on his upper cheek, a scar, around half an inch in length, is found. With a strong jawline, and a chin to match, Anders’ mouth lies a short distance from his nose, just as most humans’ do.
• He has a muscular, tall frame, standing at five feet and ten inches. Scars are not uncommon on his body. Most can be found on his upper arms and chest area, the physical results of bad footwork and defense.
• Anders’ daily clothing is nothing special. Typical shirts, trousers, shoes, etc. He does however own light leather chest and shoulder armor, which he has only used during his training in martial arts, a type similar to what we we call Western Martial Arts. He did not always own this luxury, which explains the scars covering his body.

Backstory: ( TL;DR at the bottom )

• Like most people, Anders’ showed up in the well one day, and like most people he was curious about where he came from. Unlike most people, however, Anders sought to return to the Conglomerate and find answers about his origins.
• When he came out of that well, Anders was quite young, probably fifteen or sixteen if anyone was to guess. He learned to be a functioning member of society in the city: do your job, mind your own business, etc. The longer he lived in the city, the more curious he became about the Conglomerate, and, more importantly, himself. He’d heard the stories of the creatures that live outside of the city, and how the Conglomerate is a mess of changing ruins, and so he sought help.
• Anders searched for someone who could teach him the old ways of combat, using steel and might to cut down opposition. Even in a town of 8000 people, there seemed to be no one who knew the old arts of war. Day by day went on, as Anders grew older and began to give up on returning to the Conglomerate. Now, on this day, about three years after Anders’ arrival in the town, he was working at a sort of pub, where guests could drink and wager away possessions in card games, a middle-aged man entered the establishment. Upon approaching Anders’ the man requested an ale from the barista. Anders’ looked up from what he was doing and glared at the man, noticing that he had a peculiar object at his hip. “Of course, sir, and if you don’t mind my inquiring, what is that on your hip? It couldn’t be a knife, it is far too large.” The man gazed at Anders for a moment, the spoke, “A sword.”
• Anders had never seen a sword in person. “I assume you know how to use that,” he leaned in a little closer, “Do you think you teach me how to use one?” Now, this man realized three things, the first was that he had a knowledge of fighting, the second being that he was getting old, and it’d be a waste for him not the share his knowledge, and lastly that he wanted his ale. “First, my ale, then when I leave here, I want you to come with me.”
• Anders followed his elder’s commands, and followed him out of the pub. The man trained Anders in multiple forms of combat with multiple weapons over the next year. After this time, the man, who Anders learned was called Marshall, made his apprentice choose a weapon to specialize in. Anders didn’t think long to decide on the battle axe. He especially favored the duel wielding of them. Over the next four years, he trained daily with Marshall until Anders’ master died, thankfully peacefully in his sleep. Though grieved by his masters death, he received two things from his master in his will: a beautifully crafted war axe, and his copies of manuscripts that he’d used to learn martial arts.
• Now, Anders is twenty-six and still practices combat with his axes daily. He is currently looking to return to the Conglomerate, he even has an appointment lined up with the town chancellor regarding an expedition to the Conglomerate.

TL;DR - Anders found a guy to teach him how to use melee weaponry, and had found a special taste for axes, especially when he’s holding two.

Archetype:

• Expert of battle axes. Uses one axe as an offensive measure, and one specially designed axe as his main defense.

Stats:

• HP: 100
• FP: 35

• STR: 13
• DEX: 10
• SPD: 8
• END: 10
• WIL: 7
• INT: 5

Abilities:

• Strong as the Mountain: Passive | 1.3x more likely to grapple an enemy, and 1.2x less likely to be staggered mid-attack by a normal attack.

• Berserker Fury: Anders attacks three consecutive times, first with his offensive axe, then his defensive axe, then again with his offensive axe. If the first attack hits, the second is guaranteed.

• Throwing Axe: Anders throws his defensive axe at his target. If successful, deals axe’s base damage plus 2d4 + 2. Axe must be retrieved - can be retrieved only after combat unless the hit was unsuccessful. Without a defensive axe, Strong as the Mountain no longer applies.

Primary Weapon:

• Marshall: 3d6 | Named after its owner and Anders’ former master, this axe is beautifully crafted and well balanced.The head is shaped rectangular, with a slight curve on the top and bottom. On the other side of the handle, a four inch long spike extends from the head. Elegant engravings cover the surface of the head, inset an inch from the edges. The handle is made from a solid piece of ash wood, stained to a dark brown, engraved with a pattern that is similar to a lizard’s skin, and a leather wrap down ⅔ of the handle.

Other Inventory:

• Protugere: 1d4 | An axe that does not compare to its counterpart, Marshall. Used as Anders’ main defense, with occasional attacks to supplement Marshall. The axe is shaped to be used for grappling and parrying, with a significant curve on the underside of the head. The back of the head lacks a spike, and is instead a curved piece of metal, about a centimeter in width. The handle is made of ironwood, making it resistant to cracking, cuts, and snaps.
• A sleeveless white shirt and dark brown linen pants.
• Thin leather breastplate and pauldrons. Minor damage. Worn over the sleeveless shirt.
• Hip pouch to carry small objects.
• Some of his master’s old manuscripts, bulk of it being on axes and some on the longsword.

Edit: Just to clarify. I didn't say exactly how many SP my abilities should use, as I thought you'd be a better judge than I of that.

You have a set number of points that you can allocate as you wish.

Races will affect your maximum stat cap (e.g. humans might have a maximum STR of 25, orcs might have a maximum strength of 28). Races don't affect your stats directly, however.

I'll allow non-human races, but I would prefer people play as a human. If you play a non-human race, I would prefer it not be too exotic or magical, but I would prefer it be distinct from typical fantasy races in some way. If you can create an interesting story around your character that requires them to be of an exotic race or your race is interesting in terms of game mechanics I'll be more likely to accept it despite an exotic race.'

Awesome. Definitely interested.

I'm interested, and I have a couple of questions regarding stats.

(e.g. you want to kick down a wooden door and you have 20 strength when the human average is 8, I won't require you to do a roll for that).

I am definitely okay with different races getting stats boosts, I'm mostly curious about it.

((Gonna decline your application, Axy. The backstory is really small. It's big enough know stuff about him, but small enough to not know why he is the way he is. You said that the other slaves told him how life should be, and that made him the way he is, but you didn't really explain what the slaves told him. Your grammar isn't the best, also. I do see, however, that you are from Romania, and I am assuming that English isn't your first language, so I'll let it slide. Lastly, I'm fairly certain bombs don't use batteries, meaning you cant have a battery from a nuclear bomb. Also, Erik making the GPS, which is actually more like a heartbeat sensor, is kind of a stretch with his current background, which shows no signs that he's ever worked with electronics. It is also a stretch due to him finding all the parts and the blueprint to make such an advanced device in a camp that was just burned down.

((Alright. Accepted.))

((I'll accept the blood thing. I'll just take it as a chemical reaction in her blood, causing it to be unseen. The Laboratory Weapon, however, I believe I read the description of somewhere else, and you changed the words up a little to better fit the theme of this RP. Aside from that, I believe that the blade is a little too ornate to be created in a laboratory as a prototype. As for the overall mechanics of the blade, I only have one problem: It being able to slice through the hardest of things. Given that the blade is made of ceramic, there wouldn't be a lot that it could cut through, aside from things like human flesh, but not bone. Should a blade made of ceramic be used to cut something harder than it, the blade's edge would chip away. Even if the blade was made of, say, plasma, I still wouldn't like the idea of something being able to cut through most everything.))

((Naamikari, I just have a few concerns about Anima. 1.) Can you describe the laboratory weapon before I approve it? I just need to know what it does exactly. 2.) Why can't her blood be seen by 'normal' people? You described it as being almost black at first, not invisible.))

((Also, for everyone else, I am writing up the first post, as well as designing more weapons that can be found throughout New York City and in surrounding areas. If you have any ideas for weapons, feel free to PM me about them.))

((NintyStar and Meritania are both accepted. And yes, alfieq, you can remain unaffiliated. I forgot to mention that.))

.

Aiyo was practicing a new, dangerous trick. He focused, concentrating on the cells of his body. In a fraction of a second, he vanished, leaving behind a thick smoke. The smoke began to move and reshape itself. As quickly as Aiyo disappeared, he returned, gasping for air. He held his hand to his lungs, checking that he could still feel them rise and fall. Good he thought, I still have all my vital organs. Aiyo sat down against a brick wall, still panting, and thought about where his life was heading. He came to the conclusion that, because he had such abilities, he needed to find somewhere to go. Somewhere that his practices would be fully respected, or fully hated.