Blessings of Anoura OOC Thread [Closed, Pre-LoC]

Yeah. I wouldn't say anybody in this group is 'elite', but hey it sounded cool right?



Name: Anoura Vidayl

Nicknames/Aliases: Little Nora.

Species: Human, Fontéan (unknown to her, raised a Muertian).

Gender: Female.

Age: 17.

Homeland: Gulf of Gabriola, technically. Born on a boat leaving Oberex' Taketh for Muertia. Believes she was born in Muertia.









Height: 5 foot, 6 inches.

Weight: 9 stone, 1 pound.

Eye Color: A light Hazel colour.

Hair Style: Long and flowing, typically parted down the center to allow her vision.

Hair Color: Is lightly red headed, as seen in her picture.

Facial Hair: None to speak of.

Skin Color: Bares the gently tanned skin of a pure Fontéan.

Build: Currently she is a little thinner than the image above presents, with less muscle mass and not as filled out yet. Although her body is clearly robustly built and well bloomed, she suffers from a relatively poor diet of late. Typical peasent girl, really.

Distinguishing Features: None to speak of, yet, bar her red head of hair which seems quite rare in the region.

Apparel: Simple peasent garb, Anoura is currently wearing a simple dark blue tunic, a brown belt tieing it down at her waste and a pair of dull brown leather pants and boots.

Weaponry: Nothing but a rusted iron dagger, the kind of weapon somebody doesn’t expect to use.

Equipment: Aside from what has been mentioned above, Anoura does own a rather well-read holy book that tells the story of Thaddeus Orexes, The Nine Holies, and the Tenth Kingdom. It stands out from her other possessions, as it looks like something a noble might read from. She has a small pouch that holds a handful of Muertian Crowns, the local out-dated currency, and a very thin roll of Té.





Profession: Generic Peasent Girl, so far she has no defined profession – although she has long helped her parents on their farmstead. Sowing crops, tending them, harvesting.

Skills: Anoura likes to practice slashing about her iron dagger in the backgarden, and while she’s not used it in any actual combat role – she likes to think she can handle herself with it. That has yet to be seen. Anoura has a rather brilliant memory, and can remember many of the verses in her Holy Book off heart.

Magic Abilities: While Anoura does not know it, she is capable of manipulating Arcane Magic. However, she focuses mostly on prayers – Holy Magic that she doesn’t know has a true effect, but definitely does.

Training: Anoura’s family hasn’t given her any tutoring of note. She can read, write and do basic mathematics. Other than that, she’s just been trained to perform tasks suitable for a Muertian farmhand. This actually included some basic aid treatments, herbalism and wound management from her ‘Mother’. Farm Animals can get a little vicious sometimes, so it was important to know how to fix them up and fix up ‘Da’.

Mount: Anoura’s Farmstead does have a horse, although the Mare is broken and rideable, she is at heart a draft animal. Her name is Genvi.

Other Possessions: Anoura has no other notable possessions.

Companions: No Companions to speak of.





Factional Affiliation: Raised in Muertia, she owes the people of her ‘homeland’ a hefty amount of respect. Although she believes wholly in the religion of the Kingdom of Fonté, she has yet to actually visit and has mixed views on the faction’s dealings.

Rank: Anoura has no rank within any faction.

Sexual Preference: Anoura’s an evolving young girl, who doesn’t quite know how her winds flow yet. She’s found herself attracted to members of both genders in her youth, but has never explored any of those options to see what feels ‘right’ yet.

Relationship Status: She’s never even had a relationship.

Religious Beliefs or Ideologies: Anoura believes wholly in the Fontéan religion of the Ten Holies, for now.

Personality: ‘Born’ to a Muertian family, Anoura has had a sense of duty and respect instilled in her. The land of Muertia is a harsh place, where every day might be the day you need to call upon the Blackguard. Anoura’s respect for this organisation is massive, so high that she actually still considers joining the organisation. Her family has instilled in her some strict morals, to respect herself and respect those around her. A devout family, they drilled into her that kindness is the ultimate tool to bring the world into the Tenth Heaven. Some would call this innocence, the mind of an unscarred young girl, but she would call herself hopeful, optimistic. Even in a land like Muertia, where hope and happiness is often crushed at the end of a skeletal arm.





Anoura is a Fontéan, although she doesn’t know it. Her father was a cleric, a devout follower of the Ten Holies and particularly Thaddeus himself. A missionary of sorts, he would often travel around the Human world to spread the word of Thaddeus. He believed his mission was vital in the coming of the Tenth Kingdom, bringing Heaven to his world and securing it in peaceful eternity. When he found a wife in the Priesthood of Xenophon, the God of Confidence, his missionary work was put on hold. They settled down somewhat, tried to start a family. They were largely unsuccessful for many years and it deterred the couple from their sedentary life. Her father convinced her mother to make a journey with him, a Mission to the land of Muertia where he might spread the word of the Ten Holies. It was quite a surprise then, once the decision had been made, that his wife became with child.

Anoura’s parents saw this as a sign, that the Ten Holies approved of their continued mission to spread the words. A number of months later, they had gathered the funding to charter a ship from the Seat of Fonté, where they lived, across the seas to Muertia. It was a long journey, but the gift of Anoura’s life graced them on their way. They say the Waters of the Gulf of Gabriola were still on the day the Mission arrived, a handful of clerics and priests who spread across the nation to find their own flocks. Anoura, but a swaddled babe, and her parents, rode across the swamp and mountains to a community known as Eagle’s Claw. Sat on the foot of a mountain that shared the community’s name, the Muertians here were used to the word of the Ten Holies. There was once a Priest in the village, a number of years back. Muertian born he had taken up the mantle of the Holies, before he had been felled in combat against a Necromancer. The Necromancer had escaped, but not before looting the chapel the community had built and burning much of it to the ground. Undeterred by this defilement of sacred ground, Anoura’s parents saw to rebuilding the chapel. They became the soul of the community, and the cute little red headed girl, but a year old when the chapel was put back into action, was beloved by them all.

Yet, as is the case with many of these touching stories. Not all was to last, for in the dawn of her second year upon the world – her life would end before it began. It was dusk when an ominous fog rolled into the village. Muertians are rattled by such phenomenon, for a good reason. The village was smothered, their lights dimmed by the unnatural weather. They armed themselves, prepared for what may come. They lit their signal fire, which would be taken up by neighbouring villages and summon the Blackguard. But that day Eagle’s Claw was quite far from the nearest Blackguard outing, help would not come in time. Shambling corpses and rotten fiends that had been siphoned from cemeteries in the region for years descended upon the town. Sprinting Ghouls and Corpse Eaters followed their cousins into the village. The villagers fought valiantly, backed by the holy powers of Aura’s parents. They made gains against the undead forces, and in doing so drew the ire of their master. The Necromancer, having sensed the holy powers of the Clerics that had come to the region, had been drawn to yet again sack the town in person. The Undead begun to fight yet more ferociously, wounding and dragging away villagers right from their barricades. Their screams could be heard within the fog, followed by a flash of deep green light. For every villager that fell, the Undead seemed to only fight harder – and the villagers began losing ground. Then he appeared. Bathed in the blood of his sacrifices, green demonic energy swirling about his body, he struck the village on fire. With his bare hands he batted the villagers aside, tearing their heads from their bodies with a bloodlust that shocked the villagers into a full on route. They hid in their chapel, broken and tended by the Clerics as the undead battered on their door.

Anoura, a young child who had no idea what was happening, merely cried out in fear. Yet nobody came, for nobody could be spared to console the young child. They hid her in the belfry, alone and in the dark. She didn’t witness what happened below, she didn’t even remember what happened that night. As the Necromancer broke through the chapel’s doors and long dead relatives tore apart their own families, Anoura’s parents fell. They were sacrificed, drained of their holy powers and given to dark entities that few can fathom. It is unclear why Anoura survived that massacre, why the Necromancer passed over the young girl. Perhaps he merely didn’t find her, but as the wall of fog withdrew from the village and with it went the Necromancer and his small army – along with some new recruits – Anoura was the only thing left alive. The Blackguard arrived, and passed over the village like a flock of birds. They saw they were too late, drew those bodies who hadn’t been claimed by the Necromancer or had been too broken in combat to one side and burned them. But they did not find the girl. It was three days later, while the young girl crept about the chapel looking for her parents – or food – that she was discovered. They were farmers from the surrounding area, a man and wife. In truth they had come to loot the village, or what had been left behind from the Blackguard. They came with nothing and left with a young girl and a book.

They had known of the Clerics, in truth they had been well-respected members of their flock. Devout people, they had given a hand in building the Chapel that was now empty. They recognised the young girl, but having no children of their own – and seemingly being unable to have them – they adopted the girl. They kept her first name, which she responded to readily, but she would bare the second name of her adopted family. She grew up loved, treasured as a delicate flower that had escaped the trampling stampede. She was never told of her birth parents, nor did she remember the day they died. All she had of her old life was the book her parents had found with her, the book of the Ten Holies. It was a sheltered life, as the community had been decimated in the attack. She knew few other children, and only from visits to other farmsteads with her parents for trade. She would play alone, fighting the world outside her farm with sticks and rocks. Year after year, very little changed, except becoming more useful around the farm. But for every year nothing changed, the young woman that Anoura became looked out to the world with a wanderlust. A trait, her adoptive parents admit, she inherited from her parents with her red hair.