Well, we've got a bunch of sign-ups, but, as always, late sign-ups are not only accepted, but encouraged. So you can get your profile, here's a link to the sign-up topic Sign-ups

My profile, for the character I'm going to play right now is:

Name: Azraefel
Age: Undetermined. Physically mid-twenties
Gender: Male
Species: Half-angel (Elf-angel)
Physical description: A little over medium-height, somewhere in-between stocky and slender, pleasant-faced, but not exactly handsome... Dark blue eyes, floppy light hair, gray-feathered wings, and pointed elf ears. Has scars over much of his body, as a result of xenophobia. Wears homespun peasant clothes: tunic, leggings, and boots. Has pierced ears and wears a headband.
Personality: Started off cheerful, if slightly neurotic, but grew despondent over the hatred and violence directed at him. Is still rather neurotic, and tries his best to hide his species, for fear of someone actually killing him.
Weapons: An elven dagger he found in his dead surrogate fathers home. Has some talent with the long bow, but doesn't often have ebough arrows to use one.
Other: Was found by a hunting party of half-angels just outside of elf territory. They debated over killing the baby and sparing him, but were shouted down by their leader. He said he saw potential in the child, and took him in as his own. He began training Azraefel when he was old enough, but was killed soon after by a mob of humans. The young Azraefel moved with the clan, learning how to fight slowly, though he hated to. When he was older, he learned of the tournament, and of all the hope being placed on him. He still doesn't want to, but he knows he has to fight.

And now, we start.


Azraefel
~~~~~~
I leaned back farther into my cloak as I listened to the humans talk. I had managed to enter this particularly grim and seedy pub by hiding my wings under a cloak, and my ears under my headband. A little bit of grime on my skin, and I looked human enough. They were always so interesting to listen to... I had never told the others, for fear they would tell me to stop. But the acceptance humans seemed to have for each other was wonderful. I just couldn't believe it was humans who had killed Azrael, my foster father. Most of the ones here were grim-faced drunks, but they seemed to enjoy themselves. Something half-angels were afraid to do...

"You understand what I'm saying, right? Those halfsie bastards are tearing society apart. We're different species... we shouldn't be able to intermix," a soot-coated man was saying. "We should kill all of them at birth. Exposing them doesn't work... some tribe just comes along and saves the little bastard. Then it grows up and makes trouble for us."
"Well... incubae are another thing, right? Your woman thinks it's you, until she gives birth to a demon," a younger man spoke up.
"Then kill the demon. It's even worse with those angels... they say they don't have sex, but all our women are pregnant with their spawn. It ain't natural."
"And you think it's bad when it happens to your woman," an old man added. "Wait until it happens to your daughter. Your beautiful only daughter, your pride and joy, and then you come home and find her nursing a little bit of half-angel scum. Hey, you, boy!"
My eyes widened. The man was actually talking to me!
"Boy, think of it. If it was your darling little sister, what would you do?"
I blinked in confusion.
"I'd... uh..." desperately I tried to think of a human answer. "Kill the damn thing, for her own good. And it's own good. Half-angels aren't natural."
"Good answer!" the sooty man crowed. "Buy the lad a drink!"
They were all coming over to me... I smiled slightly with disbelief. They were accepting me...
"Hey, boy, what's your name?"
Azraefel was too much a half-angel name.
"Fel," I said quickly. "Fel Rae."
"Well, get Fel a drink, someone. Haven't you been here before, kid?"
I nodded in a daze as someone put a pint of ale in front of me.
"So, you ever run into a halfsie before?"
"Um... no sir, I haven't."
"If you do, Fel, remember this. They're harder than hell to kill. Most of us can get a scar on them, but their blood is deep down. Hard to reach. That's why we have hunters. They know how to get them... and get them dead. About 50 years ago, a bunch of half-angels lived outside this village... I was just a kid then, but I remember the hunter. He was a huge man, wearing a necklace made out of bone and feathers from 'em. And he carried some kind of weapon... to this day, we don't know what it was. But we caught a hunting party... and we got their leader. A big half-angel, human mix. Black hair all the way down to here," the man gestured towards his knees. "And earrings all the way up, like a man from Cabrach. And a dragon, carved right into his arm. He must have lived hundreds of years and killed hundreds of humans. And the hunter just cut him down, like he was nothing. But the look on that half-angels face... he just looked at the hunter, with that huge staff thing sticking all the way through him, he just looked at him and said 'At least my son lives. And he'll save us all...'. And then the hunter pulled it up, and he was dead. Cut from stomach to throat," the man smiled. "Good story, isn't it, lad?"
Azrael... my eyes filled with tears, despite my best effort to keep them back.
"What's the matter, lad? Don't tell me you feel sorry for the half-angel bastard."
"Azrael..." I whispered. I couldn't stop myself. He had died with such faith in me. He had called me his son...
"That's a half-angel name... boy, how do you know that name?" the man's voice had become much less friendly.
"You killed him," I choked out. "You all killed my father!"
The men all jumped back.
"Sguelaiche!" one man swore in his native tongue. "He's one of them!"
I glared at them all, tears streaming down my face.
"He never hurt anyone... never a human... never even a fallen. And you killed him!" Slowly, I drew my knife. "And you can join him in death!"