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Name: Reece
Title: Silver Wraith
Nicknames: Reecey, Reecey-pie
Age: Looks to be 18-20, believes himself to be about 440, actually a little over 1000.
Race: Avian
Class: Illusionist 
Origin: Krizar
Eyes: Silver-Blue
Hair: Silver-Blue, Semi-translucent, soft and downy, straight and medium length.
Skin: Pale, almost white and distinctly blue-veined.
Markings: A tiny upside down silver triangle below his left eye.
Height: 6'3"
Weight: very light
Marital Status: Single
Alignment: Nuetral/Good - Lawful
Clan: The Fold.


Appearance: Reece is physically thin and apparently frail. His wings are silver-blue in colour like his hair and are semi-translucent. This combined with his extremely pale skin mean that when in moonlight he seems somewhat like a wraith, an ephemeral phantasm which should be blown away like a dream when you awake. Which suits him just fine as it is easier to defend yourself against someone that underestimates you.

General: Reece has a strong mind and is a powerful illusionist despite having very little in the way of solid magical strength. His illusions are sometimes so perfect that inanimate objects are actually affected by them.

When in battle Reece rarely enjoys himself but he wields illusions to great effect, there is almost nothing which he does which is not in some way tied to illusion. This does not in any way hinder him though, having sometimes even ensnared other illusionists in his mental webs.

However, despite this preference for illusion he does know how to wield normal magic, the only thing which truly holds him back is the great amount of energy required to have the same desired effect.

Reece is also telepathic and has the unique ability to determine a person's feelings and race from their thought patterns. He can't just read their minds but this little perk has saved him from many surprise attacks which would have inevitably resulted in debilitating injuries.


  • Reece wears a sleeveless woven-silver robe with The Fold insignia emblazoned on the left side of the chest. This is Fold-issue blessed-armour which by virtue of its enchantments has modified itself to suit him.
  • He wears a silver ring on the ring finger of each hand.
  • He wears a silver bracelet on each wrist.
  • He wears a silver armlet on the upper section of both arms.
  • He has a silver circlet which he wears on his head.
  • He wears white, runic leggings and soft boots. These will be replaced with woven silver versions when he has the money to acquire the silver and pay for its crafting.


Very little is known of his past by any who are still alive and there is probably even less which he will actually tell you. Suffice to say he does have a history though, he's just very private about it. Fighting monsters does that to a person.

(ooc: You can not know this ICly - Always frail he developed his mind powers in an effort to force his own independence. After decades of being an invalid and frustrated by his lack of strength he went off to hunt monsters (anything which was sentient and clashed with his ideal of sentient purity) as soon as he was capable of supporting himself. However, despite his best efforts there was always more monsters to replace the ones which had fallen. Finally succumbing to the futility of it all and the haunting dreams of battlefields full of gore, he became a recluse and a pacifist, studying all forms of magic wherever he went for the better part of 3 centuries. Finally arriving in Hollwo where it seems history is set to repeat itself.)

Recent Changes/Updates/On-Going Stuff/Things…

  • Has allied himself to The Fold by becoming one of its members. This was partly for a measure of safety and partly so that he could lend support to the forces of light. He may be generally be a pacifist but he's seen all sides of the darkness enough to know he doesn't want it to win.
  • Recent events involving a certain 'filthy lizard' (preklek) known as Bastian have re-awoken a certain aspect of him. He has made a special case exception to take up monster-hunting once more.

Abilities, Pets and Weapons

(not all are listed, because I'm lazy >.>)


  • Reality Interaction: This ability allows Reece to, through a complicated process, directly affect reality and solid objects with magic even while still only using illusion. it is limited in its scope though.
  • Mind Flay: Reece's telepathic abilities leave him with the option to assault a person's mind directly. Flaying it with mental strokes designed to incapacitate them. He can't keep this up for long against a defence though.


None at present.


  • Book of Wisdom: His (extremely fragile) rice paper book with detailed accounts of more than a hundred forms of magic.
  • Moon Blade: A long and wickedly sharp silver poniard.
  • Ever-Deepening Sapphire-Ring: A new ring he acquired which seems to be able to store an indefinite amount of energy, something he will slowly become more able to use.

-- More are sure to follow, I’m always picking stuff up. Some of these abilities are RP use only.--


Kind, mostly peaceful, bit mischievous. Pretty much says it all.


  • Zeneth: Just because she's awesome. ^_^
  • Kasyr: For being one of the most awesome duelists I know and for actually having a sense of humour.
  • Satoshi: Blue eyes white Kitty, Kasyr's 'side-kick' ya don't get much more awesome than that.
  • Bastian: For really giving me something to do.

Contact Details

Want? Ask, I suppose. I might consider.

Awesome Duels

Reece vs Parsithius

Judges: Taeme, Jacklin, Soltinn. Jacklin is Mid.

Terms: If Pars wins Reece will never again disrespect or use sorcery upon his person without direct orders from his clan leader on pain of disaffiliation with The Fold. If Reece wins though Pars must swear on his honour never to threaten him, or disrespect his person, or bear arms against The Fold unless ordered to do so directly by his Queen.


Parsithius stands at the center of the bridge which overlooks the dead chasm that was once called Milous plains. In some effigy to his stature, the pose that the knight holds is stalwart, or even valiant to some extent because of his rigidity in stance. This however, is quickly transcended to a more relaxed state, which is hidden beneath the plates of his mithril armor, but made evident by the resonating 'click' of mail. Narrowing his eyes to more keenly pierce the nighttime air, his gaze slides over their chosen arena before fixating upon Reece's winged figure in a definite semblence of determination; both incorruptible, and absolute. The attention of the man surnamed Mediccino is completely intent on subduing his opponent. Abruptly, the breathless pause of their preamble breaks with the knight springing into action; a full-out sprint to his opponent, from a standstill beginning, no less. With the rapid succession of 'click', 'clack', 'click' as his herald to approach, the human tilts his halberd so the head of it points downward and behind him, hooking the stave between his bicep and torso until his startlingly swift gait comes to wane -or more appropriately, a slide of his knightly boots against the cobblestone surface beneath him, made feasible by the night's chilled dew. When he comes within arm's reach of the avian, he grasps the buttspike of the halberd with his other while simultaneously twirling it, so the beak of the weapon points outward. With an air of finality, wrong as it may be, the knight grimaces his face in effort as he swings the halberd around, simultaneously dislodging it from its perch for its maximum velocity; the beak, in wicked repose, is aimed to either hook, or puncture, the side of his opponent. Hit or miss, this action is followed indefinitely by a succession of two more, first being the planting of his feet against the stone for more stability, while yanking back upon his polearm. Thereafter, the knight thrusts forward, in the typical three-step maneuver of a yank-pull-stab technique, aim more or less at the enemy's stomach.

Reece stands facing the knight as the duel begins, one delicate hand resting upon his sore hip. The wind tugs at his light frame continuously, ruffling feathers, flicking hair and generally threatening the illusionists balance. In the moonlit night Reece is in his element and he hopes this will be to his advantage as the knight's charge begins. It is at this point that the slender avian puts to use one of his more tried and tested tricks. An illusion of himself, perfect to every detail is released with an exhale of breath, while Reece's true form steps back, cloaked in silence and invisibility. Silently the avian steps to the side, moving out of Parsithius' range while his simulacrum reacts accurately to the attack. Smoothly the faux Reece steps back, using all the realistic agility owed to him. This however, proves to be inadequate as the knight's blade make three separate successful strikes against the simulacrum's body, leaving bloody wounds and causing the falsity to collapse to the ground. It is in this time that the invisible illusionist moves behind Parsithius, and as the faux Reece fades he reappears, bringing his hands, and the two identical silver rings upon his fingers, together in a resounding clap. An explosion of sound and energy rips out from the avian, stored magica from within the rings released in a sudden, pulverising instant. Cobbles on the bridge are fractured into gravel by the cast-off energy but the majority is directed primarily at the knight's back, the intent clearly to do as much damage, as quickly as possible.

Parsithius had not expected such a display of sorcery prowess. As a result, his body jerks forward from the resounding clap and subsequent wave of energy, sending the knight in a tumultous fling. The sound, belied by the aftershock of his opponent's move, resonates its own clattering impact of platemail against cobblestone, and in further ill-luck the male loses grip upon his famed weapon as it skitters further from his heaped frame. No second is wasted however, and reclaiming his stand is swift; the suddenly jerk of movement from the slump of armor is made evident as it ascends, quickly re-asserting his stance, and disregarding his own disarmament for further battle. In mere moments, the male once again closes the distance between the two, his azure eyes narrowed in flashpoint scrutiny as his gauntlets clench into amicable fists. Within arm's reach, he makes his assault known, not by the predictable manner of raining punches at Reece, but rather a more unsuspected strategy; instead aiming to kick out with his shin toward in the inside of the avian's knee. The attempt is brutal, backed from the fluidity of run-turn-assault, using the momentum of his sprint to bring about his own leg in a surprisingly swift manner, feasible only after years of training and strengthing his muscles. This, yet again, is not the end of his assailment, for the knight anticipates either the briefest dodge or the crumpling of his opponent. Continuing his motion to a pirouette of sorts, the male bends his leg to protrude his own knee as he spins entirely; the limb aimed at either his stomach, or his face, depending on the other's action. Or he misses altogether, which is a definite possibility.

Reece had fought many opponents and used that trick on any number of them. This was the first time that he had witnessed an opponent recover so quickly from that particular explosive action. It is in this moment that he marvels at the knight's discipline that he misses that crucial moment which would allow him to dodge the vicious assault. Only sheer luck grants the illusionist safety from the kick at his shins but an instinctive change to a slightly more crouched stance saw the follow up kick strike not his face, or his stomach, but his chest. Pain blossoms in the avian's chest and Reece hears the distinctive sound of bones cracking as his slender frame is lifted clear off the ground and sent travelling several metres through the air. An instant of gratefulness is felt for the enchanted Fold apparel which most likely just saved his life before he strikes the bridge surface with the unpleasant sound of grinding bone and grating silver. His power, drawn as it was from himself and from that stored in his accessories, is sharpened into focus by the pain and it is this perhaps which ultimately determines the nature of his next attack. A thousand splinters of silver light erupt from his person, lethal shards of glittering energy traversing outwards in all directions, some fast, some slow, some large, some small. Some of them brush together with a sound like shattering glass and as some pass smoothly through the bridge's railing it is apparent how dangerous they are by the clean slices which they leave behind without apparent effort. Before a moment has passed these shards begin to swirl into a dense, slow-motion maelstrom, taking up the full width of the bridge as it moves with ponderous, sinister lethality towards the knight.

Parsithius has been moving, as is his nature. Not to get out of the way, but rather, to retrieve his weapon. 'Click, click, clickclickclick' is the abrupt shift from his ending poise to a swift turn and sprint, heading the opposite direction than the position of his opponent, before allowing his knightly footwear to once again slide across the slick surface of the bridge, ceasing just before the end of his halberd. In a rapid flurry of motion, the male twists and turns while simultaneously snatching up the mighty polearm, and bringing it about -only to widen his eyes at the incoming barrage of a myriad of silver needles. That gaze of azure scrutinizes its appearance in a splitsecond, before committing to a decision and initiating a prompt retaliation. In some amazement to one who would use logic in this instance, the knight is again in a dead sprint, thankful in the back of his head for a lifetime of training to delay inevitable fatigue; this time, -toward- the lethal attack. Trusting his mithril-plated armor rather than the bridge itself, he lofts his polearm horizontally above his head to protect his naked skull with the plating of his arms, gauntlets, and forearms as he barrels through it. To pass, the visibility of the human is obstructed only by the dazzling light that erupts as these shards and splinters strike his armor, sending showers of sparks in every direction like plumes of fireflies, before he erupts in a blazing glory out the other side. Still at full-sprint, his carapace of mithril sliced in a myriad of wounds, not to mention bleeding gashes covering his body in a hellish display, the male is simply too determined to let that ebb him. Upon approach of the other, Parsithius snaps both of his arms downward; the result is truly hellish -has his blade been reinforced? It's presence despite the onslought of sorcery is untarnished, and it screams a victorious wail for fatality in its arching descent, aimed to split Reece in a vertical two. Already the Outcast Knight can anticipate the sudden surge of blood to erupt, the perpetual mountain of sanguine to spray, coat, and cover their arena in grotesque conquest.

Reece rises slowly from his prone position, looking to the knight's passage through his shard storm only as he finally regains his footing. His left arm is wrapped protectively around his chest, providing support for his painful ribs while his right fumbles for his Moonblade. All the stored energy within his silver adornments is depleted and so too is much of his natural supply but he quickly realises that this more than anything is the only thing which will protect him from the knight's blade. Giving up on the blade Reece drops the silver weapon as he backpedals quickly. Whispered words escape his lips as he forms an illusion but it is not successfully finished before Parsithius reaches his position. The Halberd bites deeply into his arm as the illusionist throws himself sideways, releasing his illusion at the last possible moment. A screaming banshee construct of silver and moonlight flows from him, screeching into the air directly towards Parsithius. Though it was an illusion Reece had seen the knight fall for such trickery once already and prayed the same would happen here. In less than the time it takes to blink the banshee thing has reached Parsithius, silver claws ripping at every available opening in his armour and wailing scream seeking to disorient and confuse. Reece had not the power to sustain it for long but he suspected it would serve its purpose admirably.

Parsithius looks the fool, perhaps, but it is solely blamed on his training for combat; his halberd is moving in every attack imaginable against the illusion, this way and that, pirouetting here, twirling there, and altogether working against his limbs that silently scream in their pain from the earlier myriad of gashes. Shining? Not so much anymore, his armor coated with blood, cracked, broken, and sliced in various places; his face however, it is determined. Determined to defeat his opponent, even in the face of this sudden banshee. Just as he goes in for the kill of the thing, it vanishes -the other's power unsustained, and allowing the finale of their fight, which is two figures, staring at one another across the bridge.

VICTOR: Parsithius

Page in progress as always - Reece