Arcane magic is based on a language of sounds, symbols and motions that describe the effects they desire. A wizard could, in theory, do absolutely anything at all, provided he knew enough of the magic tongue and could speak and move indefinitely without stutter, hesitation or stopping to draw breath. Realistically, a wizard is limited to what he can communicate within the span of a couple of dozen seconds, and exactly what magical terms are known to various wizards around the world varies wildly (there is a vast difference in power between a wizard who has to describe the force of his spell as "one plus one plus one" and a wizard who knows the arcane term for "three"). Chemical reactions and physical forces are more easily described than each individual cell of a living creature, meaning that arcane magic is hilariously ill-suited to creating illusions, summoning creatures or otherwise creating complex visual effects.

Explosions, blasts of energy, obstacles made of pure force and such are staples of wizard-dom, but controlling just where they detonate and how powerfully is a precise and difficult science - not only that, but uneven ground or the press of bodies can easily make certain gestures impossible, making arcane magic extremely impractical for personal combat. To counteract this, aspiring battlemages tend to craft wands and amulets and such, containing half-finished spells in symbol form, which can be completed with relatively simple words or gestures, often ones related to targeting the spell (these are not enchanted items, which are considerably rarer and more difficult to make). Wizards also remain unrivaled in the fields of magical study and research, and frequently turn out to know more about other forms of magic than the practitioners themselves!

What defines a wizard's power is his intellect, his physical fitness (good lungs for incantations, agility for acrobatic gestures), and of course his knowledge of the magical language. Wizardry only becomes more powerful with practise, so wizards tend to use magic as often as they can in their everyday lives. Magic is incredibly complicated, however, so wizards choose arbitrary specializations to represent which aspects of arcanery they are most familiar with: biological transmutation, physical forces, light manipulation, and a million other classifications.

Divine magic is granted by the gods, or so the clerics claim. Wizarding communities generally seem to support this claim, and to the average citizen, denying the existence of gods is roughly considered as rational and socially acceptable as we modern folk would be denying the holocaust. Unlike a wizard, a priest needs only his voice and his devotion to call upon the power of his god. Also unlike a wizard, a priest is shit out of luck if his patron (or some related saint) does not deign to intervene on his behalf. The gods are myriad, and the one you choose may respond to a wide range of prayers depending on the situation - usually related to the god's own unknowable purposes. What priests do not have, however, is precision. Whereas a wizard with enough knowledge of the human body could perform plastic surgery with his healing spells, a priest might be able to restore a shattered ribcage with a single phrase - although the result might not be pretty. On rare occasions, priests are the subject of involuntary divine intervention in the form of portents, supernatural gifts, and even spontaneous resurrection in a few cases.

Priests are typically expected to manage themselves, and are loath to call upon divine favours unless the need is dire. In game terms, priest players will be allowed to decide for themselves whether their prayers are heard, and will be trusted not to overshadow the rest of the party. Portents, visions and such will be doled out at my discretion. What determines the power of a priest is his devotion to his god, his accomplishments in the name of that god (proselytizing, slaying hated creatures, burning the temples of enemy gods, etc), his charisma and his strength of will. Channeling the raw forces of the universe can blast a mind, and asylums are filled with the broken shells of acolytes who incurred the wrath of their divine patrons.

It should be noted that religious rules and secular law are very much separate, and the power a given church has over a given area is dependent more on the local priests' political pull and reputation than anything else. Being a priest in itself gives you no legal authority, though it may earn you the sympathy of fellow believers.

Sympathetic magic is something of an enigma, and is typically considered the domain of witches and druids. Everchanging and unpredictable, it seems to bend to laws no sane mind can comprehend. A blood-stained spiral carved into the south side of an old tree can summon a hurricane, the bones of a two-headed cat scattered in a fire can reveal the branching paths of the future. Muddy water, beholder eyes and a garbled rant can make a potion to cure near-sightedness. Every witch doctor and hedge wizard has his own brand of madness, encompassing everything from dancing naked in the moonlight to consuming hallucinogenic mushrooms to gain insight, and still... only a fool would deny their existence. Whether they are mad or brilliant, practitioners of sympathetic magic seem to have a sixth sense for what the whims of their magic require of them from day to day, and sometimes for the vagaries of other magic as well.

The main determinant of a sympathetic magic user's power is his intuition. The requirements for his spells change on a daily basis, and many require ponderous rituals in return for subtle effects. Unless he can guess them as quickly as they change, he can't do a thing. Many pick up herb-lore or woodsman skills just to get something out of all the time they spend collecting strange ingredients. Some even claim that the widely recognized chymist's guilds (chymistry being a collective term for alchemy and early chemistry) are actually hedge wizards in disguise, as their mercury-laden potions and scientific principles are baffling to many and oftentimes unreliable. In any case, the keen instincts of sympathetic magic users invariably grant them insights into things such as time, orientation, lies, and other such things, an ability that might seem like magic in itself.

The sixth sense, the second sight, visio aetherum, or whatever your particular school of thought calls it, is the ability to perceive magic in its pure state, without needing to witness its effects on the physical universe. An absolute requirement for any serious analysis of magic, wizards are expected to be able to endow themselves with witchsight before finishing their preliminary education. Wealther wizards often create - or have made for them - spectacles enchanted to allow them to perceive magic at all times. Though the cost is roughly that of a two-story house in a major city, eyepieces like these are the most common magic items in the world, and a wizard of means will typically own at least one pair. To a priest, the second sight is usually theirs for the asking, sometimes even permanently, in the case of more powerful clerics who might need such an ability. Sympathetic magic users, who probably wouldn't understand what they are looking at anyway, tend to sense magic "by the pricking of their thumbs" as it were, instinctively avoiding magical dangers they have no natural means of detecting.

Witchsight is also necessary to combat magic outside of the physical plane. A fireball can be physically resisted, of course - a sturdy shield, a good bit over cover, a well-timed dodge can all save your skin from such attacks, but a skillful sorcerer (or a priest whose patron has a particular dislike for the arcane) finds it much more effective to scatter the building blocks of a spell before it is even completed. A practitioner of magic can be utterly shut down if there is enough magical disturbance coming his way - although, as with nearly everything else, whether spell disruption is successful is a matter of skill and numbers. Even priests are susceptible to having their magic disrupted, as even though the full might of a god is to a wizard what a hurricane is to a paper fan, the cleric is limited in power by his paltry mortal mind - unless he wants to spend the rest of his life as a soulless, gibbering shell of a person.

Across the Fanged Islands, many schools of armed and unarmed combat vie for glory and wealthy patrons. So far, black powder weapons are only a distant gleam in the eye of the most accomplished chymists and engineers, and heavy cavalry will dominate the battlefield for a long time to come. Large scale battles follow the usual tactics of the late medieval era, although the use of artillery magics, flying beasts and inhumanly powerful warriors forces commanders to prepare for anything. In terms of personal combat, the humble sword remains a favourite of those who must be armed at all times, as carrying say, a halberd around in your everyday life is an inconvenience that would challenge even the most patient of warriors. Unconventional styles abound, of course, and everything from punch daggers to flying guillotines can be found in the arsenals of the eccentric. The general guideline is that it is not the weapon that makes the warrior - certain magical arms excepted.

Scholars of certain cultures claim to be able to harness an energy they refer to as ki, which is supposedly the basis of all truly skilled warriors' prowess. This philosophy has taken hold in certain areas of the Fanged Isles as well, where warriors meditate under waterfalls and balance on thin poles in order to become better warriors, somehow. Those who prefer actually training and participating in combat to improve their skill usually scoff at these methods and deride them as pure fantasy. The truth has not been confirmed, but since these communities survive at all, they must be doing something right.

Enchanted items are rare, but not unheard of. More powerful items are exponentially rarer, but many nobles pride themselves on owning swords that never need sharpening, armour that maintains a bright silver sheen and throws off dirt and blood, and other such trinkets. Blades that are sharper than blades can be, bows that never run out of arrows, silk garments as resilient as steel - these are the things that are found in the hands of generals and warlords. The mightiest man-made artifacts are usually found in the hands of kings and emperors, and otherwise usually in the treasure hoards of kings and emperors. These are the flaming swords that cleave through steel like butter, the protective rings that turn aside blows long before they hit and so on.

When a magical creature, such as a dragon or a lich dies, its flesh still contains magical power, in a far purer and more refined form than that wizards draw from the air. Techniques have been developed, through lengthy and difficult rituals, to draw that power from the flesh and use it to imbue items with magical properties. The process is incredibly wasteful, requiring creatures of immense potency to create even basic magical gear, and even great artisan-mages often fail their task completely.

Divine magical items are a different matter. Sometimes, a truly devout warrior will simply notice his blade cutting swifter, holding a better edge, or developing other qualities through the battles he experiences. A wizard might detect divine magic about the weapon and take note, but others will rarely notice, or even regard it as a figment of the warrior's imagination. None of that matters to the true believer, of course, as he knows his god is with him.

1) All Characters are Created Equal
I see many role playing characters that are blatant attempts at overpowering the rest of the party, generally so that the player can boss everyone around and never worry about losing a fight. Do not make a character with a bunch of questionable immunities or abusable powers. Unless you're deliberately making a weak character - which you certainly may - everyone in the party should be equally powerful in a fight. As a rough guideline, you (including all your gear, magic and pets) versus a mob of 30 peasants (with spears and crossbows) should be an even fight, whether you are a swordsman or a mage.

Your characters are very powerful compared to the average person, but you are not the greatest in the world (or you'd be archwizard of your own college, rather than watching the king's back), and you can certainly still die. You are not living legends, and going toe-to-toe with a full-grown dragon is not recommended. The strongest among you may be able to out-wrestle an ogre if you set your mind to it, however. On the other hand, you still have some room to grow.

2) Exercise Self-Restraint
I've left the setting deliberately vague, so you have the opportunity to define what sort of fantastic races might be commonly found around the Fanged Islands. However, I implore you to ask yourself, before choosing something exotic, why your character needs to be this outlandish race? How does it affect his personality and habits? How does it enrich the setting or the campaign? If it's just window dressing to a character that's just a human with a different hat, consider playing something less outlandish. I definitely do not want a party where not a single member can enter a town unnoticed. No uranium golems.

3) Be Excellent to Each Other
Brooding loners that never interact with anyone have no place in a party, and nobody likes a haughty jerk - both of these popular archetypes should be avoided, unless you're certain that you can use them to enhance everyone's enjoyment. Not only that, but you should be certain that you can convince me that you can play them without being a detriment to the game, and that is a herculean task indeed! If I think a character is just going to turn the game into a campaign-sized stare-off or one long sneering contest, I won't accept them.

Name:
Race:
Position: (Your official rank and function at court, as well as your skills and abilties. Be sure to know more than just fighting - your learning may be as superhuman as your combat prowess!)
Appearance: (Text only, please. Bright colours offend my crotchety old sensibilities)
Personality: (Include something about how the bugger relates to other people, as well)
Backstory: (Include some notable achievements and explain how you ended up at court - especially if you're a filthy lowborn peasant. Those of you with a background in glory-making will probably also have friends in high places. Mention some places, if not your friends.)
Notable Possessions: Was your sword commissioned from a legendary swordsmith for the price of a small castle? Put it down here. Go easy on the magical gear, though - that stuff is supposed to be rare, it doesn't increase your overall power, and having it severely reduces the fun of looting it later on.

Name: Voltos Obnarion Unglestrabben dai Gazébor, Captain of the good ship Almalexia, Privateer in the Service of His Majesty Erasmus of Altranor, Merchant, Poet, Adventurer, Philosopher

Race: Human

Position: Court favorite, naval mercenary in direct service to the King. Nominally a "vice-admiral" of Altranor, though he holds no formal command.

Appearance: Dark skinned, with a shaved head, a knotted goatee and light grey eyes. Of somewhat average height and build. Clothing ranges from the unremarkable to the extravagant, depending on the situation and his mood. Usually wears a red buccaneer's coat and a captain's hat complete with a large white feather.

Personality: Flamboyant, vain, reckless, eccentric. Some consider Captain Gazébor a genius, most consider him insane. King Erasmus found him useful and terribly interesting. His irreverence towards those in authority, insatiable appetite for alcohol, and flamboyant- often deeply bizarre- sense of humor certainly give the impression of a border-line unhinged personality, as does his habit of talking aloud to the god of death, Uln, of whom he is a devout worshiper. He has a working knowledge of a wide range of languages and is incredibly well read, at least for a pirate.

While not a particularly brutal or bloodthirsty man, Gazébor is capable of committing acts of great ruthlessness and even treachery, and can be relied upon to look after his own interests above all else. Despite his extravagance and affectations, he is a sly operator whose audacity, wiles, charm and luck are his main assets. Curiosity and aversion to boredom are his driving motivations.

Backstory:

Captain Voltos dai Gazébor is the 37th son of Immoche the Silver, the late, great Grand Theoskrator of the Varyon Confederacy, a coastal empire in the jungles of Ghan, half a world away from the Fanged Isles.

Like many of the superfluous children of the upper castes, young Voltos was farmed out to the military, and spent his youth training to be a commander in the Theoskrator's Holy Armada. Bored by the military life, but a talented (if reckless) commander, Gazébor took a major part in several notable actions, distinguishing himself in the Battle of the Broken Coast against the mage-lords of Xos, and in the terrible Crimson War, which shook the Varyon Confederacy to its foundations and ended with the assassination of Gazébor's father in a coup.

Knowing the new regime would kill him when it had the chance, Gazébor fled with his command ship and crew to the distant port of New Gapos, where he was quickly engaged by local potentates and crime rings as a privateer and smuggler, and earned a prodigious amount of gold.

It is rumored that upon his father's death, Gazébor was in command of a large portion of the Holy Armada, and could have sailed back to Valen, capital of the Confederacy, and attempt to seize the throne for his brother. Instead, he chose a life of freedom, crime and adventure. So began a legendary career.

Tales of Gazébor's exploits are innumerable, and given the good captain's incredible capacity for dissembling, probably mostly false. It's said he's raided the Dictator of Alseo's famed Treasure Hulks, burned the fleet of his father's murderer as it sat in harbor, outdrank a mudtroll on a bet, sold his soul to the death-god Uln in return for immortality, debated philosophy with the Archmagister of Xos, slain krakens, leviathans, sea serpents, world-crabs, and every other monster known to stalk the seas, traded with water-demons, seduced the Witch-Queen of the Uttermost North, and... well, depending on the port you find yourself in, you may hear any number of stories.

The nature of Gazébor's relationship with the late King is murky. It is known that the captain is a frequent visitor in the Court whenever his travels bring him to the Fanged Isles, and that Erasmus and his Majesty's closest servants have engaged the captain's services as a smuggler, privateer, and even unofficial emissary on many occasions. Additionally, it seems the King greatly enjoyed the company of the legendary pirate, and Gazébor was a frequent participant in royal binge-drinking sessions.

Situation at the start of the RP

Gazebor is likely introducing himself to someone of importance in the attacking army and attempting to bribe them/offering his services/doing something in an attempt to save his own skin.

Notable Possessions & Abilities:

A cutlass and dagger pair of high quality, forged by the legendary swordsmiths of distant Ul-Razed, where Gazébor won them in a game of dice with the satrap of New Gapos.

The Almalexia, a custom galley that has sailed the length and breadth of the Fanged Isles- and well beyond it's sheltered seas and bays! The crew of the Lex is a colorful assortment of adventurers, sellswords, scum and villainy collected from ports across the world, and includes a variety of exotic races. Well armed, and with a good-sized hold, the Lex has served as everything from a merchant ship to pirate raider to a ship of the line in battle.

A pendant with a wooden carving of the Eye of Uln, the god of the underworld in many pantheons, though not widely known or worshiped on the Fanged Isles. Gazébor is a devotee of Uln.

A breastplate in the fashion of a Varyon Naval Commander.

A captain's hat with an enormous feather.

An inordinate number of knives, for throwing, stabbing, cutting ropes and throats, etc.

An inordinate number of flasks.

A spyglass.

A pipe and packet of tarrac root. Tarrac root is a mild stimulant (and mild hallucinogen).

A trained raven, named Crusty, usually found perched on the captain's shoulder or hat.

A small shipboard library. Gazébor is an avid reader and has even published some politico-philosophical treatises and poetry.

Agaron Ramarys

Race: Renoxian

The Renoxians are a war-like people who are located to the far west of Altranor. Surrounded by tribes of other race and origins, the Renoxian people have only known war throughout their history. Their lives consist of surviving raids and skirmishers, as well as participating in brutal fighting for the right to the natural resources in their region. Renoxians are taller then humans, standing on average to be 6'4. They are quicker on their feet then most humans due to their lithe, slender build. A special talent of the race is their ability to see very well in the dark - an advantage they have had over the other warring races as they will usually set up ambushes or initiate fights during night time. The Renoxians have a longer life span than humans and reach their peak at 40 years, usually dying of old age at 110. They worship night and the moon, and it is their belief that all important events in a man's life, such as marriage, funerals, or promotions should happen during night, when these events are witnessed by the moon's ethereal shine.

Age: 45

Position: "First Sword of the Royal Guard" "Military Adviser" "Field Commander"
As Agaron is one of King Erasmus's most trusted soldiers, his main position in court is commander of the royal guard. However, due to his expertise in warfare, he is often present in war meetings, and is sometimes ordered to take a field with a battalion or division of soldiers - as per the High General's instructions.

Appearance: Agaron is an example of a Renoxian in his prime. The gray skin is prominent in his features, a dusky tint to his whole complexion. Agaron has almond shaped eyes, slanted slightly, as well as pupils which are slightly more narrow and and elongated, almost cat like, but not as drastically different from human eyes. He has a prominent and chiseled chin, but no facial hair grows on the Renoxian face, possibly a mutation of the skin color/tint. Agaron possesses the rare hazel eyes of his species, which in contrast are usually brown. He has long white hair, which is often tied in a ponytail of his clan's fashion. Braids fall down from his temples, adorned with fetishes he has collected over the span of his life. The Renoxian stands at 6'6, but has a lithe, narrow shouldered build.

Picture just to get an idea of his skin color and facial structure, disregard the armor.



Personality: Agaron, deep down, is a soldier. He tries to avoid any political intrigue or scheming, but it was always hard to do so in Altranor's court. A stoic ally of King Erasmus, he usually took the king's side in political affairs, and treated the other bickering politics with scorn. His loyalty and affection for the king knows no bounds, and he became a close friend of many of his best advisers and court authorities.

The warrior culture of his people is greatly embedded into his personaltiy. Proud to a fault, he will take offense at any insult or ridicule of his job or duties. A frequent trait in the long living Renoxians, the grudges that Agaron can harbor can last quite a while. There are are signs of naivety and ignorance in Agaron's knowledge about the more complicated layers of the world. He dislikes magic greatly, and believes that it is a 'cheater's' path to winning a fight or conflict. He is a firm believer of getting your hands dirty, and looking your opponent in the eyes when you kill him.

At the same time, Agaron's clan mentality tends to cloud his understanding of positions and ranks. Although he has learned to obey those of higher position then him, he believes in being able to have a drink or share bred with the common soldier or villager. The Renoxian loves his alcohol, and could be often found in reputable inns and the less charming taverns.

Agaron likes to resort to cynical, dark humor, which is probably a consequence of all his years on the field.

Backstory: Agaron was born into clan Ramarys and raised during very troubled times for the Renoxians. The fighting between the other tribes escalated an all time high, and alliances were beginning to be formed to bring the dusk skinned race to extinction. Raised from a young age to be warriors, Renoxian youth experienced first hand combat by their fifteenth year, and it was rare for one to outlive his twenty fifth name sake during those times. It is only on the eighteenth birth day that the Renoxian people would choose a first name for the warrior or soldier. The times were so desperate, and their population dwindled down so much, that individuals who made it to their thirties were then revered as elders and veterans. Agaron, shocking everybody with his combat prowess and expertise on the field, received the name "Agaron" meaning aga (blood) and ron (warrior). He survived well into his thirties, and was appointed as the Dusksword of his people.

To Agaron's dismay, his tactics, strategy, and experience did little to stop the death of his soldiers and people. With a surprising move, the three tribal nations surrounding Renoxia signed a pact to obliterate Agaron's people, and split the region three-way. Outnumbered twenty to one, and after a year of withstanding the attacks and retaliating as they could, Renoxia was facing it's doom. Agaron was witnessing the extermination of his people, under his own command and oversight, and no advantage in their physical prowess or guerrilla warfare tactics could stop the tide of enemies.

With no other choice, Agaron Ramarys travelled to Altranor in order to ask King Erasmus for assistance. Swallowing the infamous pride of Renoxians, Agaron made a case in front of the court about the fell position of his people to the west and requested help. Erasmus agreed to send an official party of his soldiers to issue an edict to the alliance of tribes to stop their invasion of Renoxian property. Thinking it was a foolish and pointless decision, one which none of the tribes would listen to, Agaron stormed out of Altranor and made back for his home land - where he was expecting to make a final stand.

Agaron was proved right as the tribes completely disregarded the orders of King Erasmus, and they continued their relentless push through Renoxian villages and settlements, killing everyone with even a hint of Renoxian blood.

The Dusksword banded together what was left of his army, and decided to make a last, desperate stand on a hill top overlooking their main settlement. As the battle was initiated, the tribes began to suffer heavy casualties, but they were swarming over the Renoxians with their sheer numbers. It was when the tide of barbaric tribal soldiers was nearly overrunning the Renoxians that King Erasmus, with his royal army, swept in from the east and hit the tribes in their flank. Confused, trapped, and shocked from the heavy cavalry that charged into them, the tribal alliance army was destroyed. Erasmus, furious at his orders being ignored, and with a new found respect of the Renoxian people - who had lasted so long against such exponential numbers of enemies, swept through these tribes regions and bestowed those lands upon Renoxia.

Agaron, believing that his people owed their lives to Erasmus, told the king that his people would give him anything he wanted, for as long as they lived on this world. Erasmus smiled at this notion, and told Agaron that there is only one thing he would like from Renoxia.

"I need a person like you, Agaron, in my court. Train my soldiers, be my military advisor, and protect me from any knives aiming at my back, that is all I ask of you..."

With a military leader no longer needed in Renoxia, Agaron resigned from his title of Dusksword and passed it on to one of the women in his clan, who knew better then him what it was to raise cattle, farm crops, and how to make sure their land prospers in this time of peace. He followed Erasmus back to Altranor, where he began serving as the First Sword of the Royal Guard, and became a close friend of Erasmus's throughout the years.

Notable Possessions: Renoxian weaponry varies greatly, but there is one weapon that Agaron clan favors more then others: a slightly curved scimitar blade, the Khad'ur.
Usually this blade is the length of your regular long-sword, but about three quarters down the blade it becomes double edged. The blade requires speed and precision, and employs the slashing of important arteries or organs with the tip of the sword in between ripostes and blocks. It can be wielded one handed, or two handed, but it is not usable with a shield due to the mobility needed.

Otherwise Agaron tends to wear light leather armor or chain, but his duties on the field sometimes, as well as the 'head-on' fighting style that many kingdoms tend to employee, has brought him to wear heavy armor during certain times, and put down his Khad'ur in favor of a long sword and shield.

Skills/abilities: Agaron was bred and raised in war, and has fought in countless amount of battles and engagements. His skill with the Khad'ur is second to none among his people, and that is a very impressive boast considering the martial abilities of his species. Quick and agile, and possessing impressive strength, Agaron is a menace on the battlefield.

Name: The Princess Lin'Lise Vexerfell of Vol'kariz

Race: 1/2 lorenvolk, 1/2 vaelie (Credit and thanks to my good friend who allowed me to use one of her races for half of this character)

Age: 33

Position: Wife of the deceased Prince Alfred, A Court Healer and Alchemist

*Vaelie 'Magics'- Vaelie 'magics' are not really magic but are poorly understood even by the vaelie themselves. The vaelie naturally produce compounds that can cause various effects on humanoid beings. The most common two that are produced are, a soporific compound which makes those exposed to it feel drowsy, and an 'aphrodisiac' compound that has predictable effects on those exposed to it, however there are others that can cause almost any emotion. All of these compounds can be released at will and in varying quantities depending on the desired effect. The more of the compound is released, the more potent the effect, similarly the longer one is exposed the more the effect will grow. These are typically subtle and best used that way to slowly alter the mood and creep up on someone, if released in a massive amount the sudden impact and mood change will be more noticeable and can sometimes alert the person in question that they are being manipulated." As Lin'Lise is only half vaelie her natural compounds are both weaker and less long lasting than a pure vaelie. Further by virtue of her thinner blood she does not produce as large of an amount of the compounds and where a true vaelie would rarely run low it is easy for her to deplete her stores of them." The two hidden spines can also be used to inject pure forms of these compounds into something directly which causes an immediate and much harder to shake off effect, it is also extremely obvious though.

*Lorenvolk Traits- Lin'Lise's muscles and skeleton are built differently than a humans, this manifests itself in her being much stronger than a normal human and also in her bones being much more difficult to break. She does not appear physically imposing aside from her height, which makes her strength a great surprise to those who do not know of it already. This also accounts for her inhuman weight. Important, because of her weight and the density of her body she really cannot swim. Notably due to the fact that she is not particularly physically fit, while she is strong she doesn't have great endurance or stamina, also she has the brute force but little skill in using it since she pursued mental rather than physical arts.

*Healing Magic/Chymistry- Lin'Lise is very skilled at healing magic. Her mother taught her many things and she augmented her learning after arriving in the kingdom. She knows a large number of words relating to the interior of the body and curing internal injuries that were unknown to the kingdom before she arrived. She can heal injuries that many would write of or not even realize existed because the only damage was beneath the surface rather than visible. Lin'Lise is also skilled at creating magical droughts and potions that can heal or cause other temporary effects. Her skills at this however are less impressive than her healing however.

*Miscellaneous- Lin'Lise is a gifted seamstress, quite skilled in the culinary arts, passable at chess, an avid if slow reader, and is at least familiar with political intrigue thanks to the lessons on the ancient wars between lorenvolk kingdoms in Vryndar.

Appearance: Lin'Lise Vexerfell of Vol'Kariz is an anomaly in the Fanged Isles for neither the lorenvolk in their ancient splendor nor the vaelie in their seductive and sinister mannerisms dwell in these lands. Her appearance is the result of the mingling of two strains of inhuman blood and she at least views herself as the best of both worlds, and while few exist in these lands who have seen either one of the lorenvolk or one of the vaelie most agree with her statements. Lin'Lise is taller than most humans, male and female alike at roughly 8 feet in height as a direct product of the lorenvolk blood that flows through her veins. Her hair is long and pure gold in color, seeming almost to be made from the metal and shining brilliantly in even dim light. She typically wears it long down her neck and back however there are two braided portions that hang down to either side of her face and serve to frame it. Her skin has a soft silver hue and like her hair actively shines to a degree in strong enough light. Her eyes are large pools of molten gold that capture and draw the eyes of any who look upon her face. Some have said they are enchanting but whether this is true or not is uncertain. Despite this however there are elements that mar the perfect appearance that her vaelie blood tries to produce. Her nose is overly long and could be described as hooked, and her eyes while beautiful pools of molten gold are slightly uneven, the left one being a bit higher than the other. This asymmetry applies to most of her face with the left side being slightly higher than the right. Her face is also broader than ideal by the standards of humans and it can appear that her skin is a bit stretched over it at times. Her mouth differs from a human in the presence of a second set of teeth that are capable of retracting and descending at will, when descended they cover her more humanoid teeth from the front and are wickedly pointed and sharp. Her mouth is also like the rest of her face uneven, with the left side ending higher than the right.

Her body appears to be lithe and thin and to lack particularly large amounts of muscle which is deceptive. Due to her thinness and lack of obvious large deposits of body fat she is a bit of a scarecrow when one combines those traits with her height. Further due to some unfortunate elements of mixing vaelie and lorenvolk blood Lin'Lise has inherited the lorenvolk sensitivity to sunlight at the same time as she inherited the vaelie skin. She sunburns easily and this often results in her skin peeling and blistering along with turning a peculiar purplish red color where the burns are by virtue of her natural coloration. She weighs approximately 600 pounds, another example of how her appearance is deceptive. There are narrow slits on the undersides of her arms right where the wrist joins the arm and hand together. From these slits a pair of hollow bone spines can emerge and strike rapidly before vanishing again, these spines can inject several toxins.

Lin'Lise is most commonly seen clad in garments made in styles that she claims come from her homeland across the vast ocean to the north. Diaphanous threads and woven cloth streamers bedeck arms and back of her clothing, and a runic script that she has never disclosed the meaning of is also commonly found woven into the fabrics. Most of her clothing is made from overlapping wrappings of silks and other fine fabrics that somehow manage to hold together and not fall apart. Her clothing also as a general rule attempts to play up her features. In truth her clothing is a bastardized mixture of the high fashion of the Court in Vol'Kariz and traditional vaelie attire, considering the patterns and styles were constructed by memory and she has not seen either since she was around 14 years old it is understandable that it is not completely accurate.

Also Lin'Lise speaks the language of the kingdom with a unique and noticeable accent that she has never been able to get rid of.

Personality:
Lin'Lise Vexerfell is a person who is accredited with kindness and who appears to genuinely care about people in general. However the truth is less pleasant. In reality she has a deep rooted disdain for most of humanity with the exception of a few notable individuals. The other emotion that she generally feels towards humankind is pity, though it is a pity that is rooted in the previously mentioned disdain. She pities them because they are so lowly and do not realize how pathetic they truly are and it is this pity that leads her to the actions that many see as being rooted in kindness. Her willingness to teach her healing arts and to practice them seemingly selflessly to save human lives stem from this pity at the state in which the lesser creatures exist, and also from the fact that she believed the trade of her secrets of the healing art for acceptance into the court was a worthwhile exchange.

She has always been something of an optimist, believing there is a way to spin almost any situation to her advantage, which is manifested in her natural response to adversity or conflict. She is not someone who thinks to use brute force to solve her problems. Rather her natural tendency is to attempt to talk her way out of situations or to use her natural gifts to manipulate the emotions and desires of those involved to produce an outcome favorable to her. It is a matter of personal pride to her though that she has managed to navigate many situations without actually using her powers all the time. Since up until now this practice had worked out pretty well for her it is rather ingrained. Lin'Lise is also not violently inclined, she had little interest in combat or tactics which her father tried to force upon her. She prefered instead the more subtle arts and the healing that her mother's teachings offered. She is strong and her strength comes as a shock but she is not mentally nor physically trained for combat.

She did have genuine feelings for her late husband and for her daughter, though even those feelings were a bit warped due to her inhuman nature. Her daughter was valued as her lineage and an insurance of her own position at the court since her daughter meant that her blood now flowed in the royal lines of the kingdom, and yes there was a bit of maternal love there as well. Her late husband was one of the few humans that she actually cared about as the man had been one who unlike the others had welcomed her initially even before she had shown the healing magic. Lin'Lise felt that she owed him greatly for this and she did find him both mildly attractive and useful. These elements together led to a fondness for him that he and others mistook for love. She also admired the old king Erasmus, for he reminded her in a way of her own father. He had vision and power with the potential to unite a realm that had long been divided. For this she respected him, and he was one of very few humans that were viewed with something other than disdain mild or otherwise.

Her desire for vengeance stems from a combination of several motivations. Firstly her father taught her never to ignore a serious slight, that any damage must always be re-payed in kind if one is not to appear weak and while she does not hold to this in all things in this case she does. Secondly she did actually feel something that passed for 'love' for both her late husband and her daughter and the death of ones who she loved sparked a desire for vengeance. Thirdly her position has been actively destroyed, she has in one fell swoop gone from being a figure of the highest nobility to a nobody, something her ego can't tolerate.

Lin'Lise worships Maev'Sil'Vien, the sole goddess of the lorenvolk in the far north. She has never been forcible or attempted to convert others to her faith, it simply remains quietly hers.

Backstory: Lin'Lise Vexerfell's story begins very far from the Fanged Isles and their many feuding kingdoms. In fact her story also predates her own birth for to truly understand where she came from an explanation of the circumstances that produced such a blasphemous hybrid as an offspring of vaelie and lorenvolk must be provided. Far to the north, beyond a vast ocean lies the frozen land of Vyrndar. Vyrndar is an ancient land, ruled over by a race of near giants known as the lorenvolk, beings who believe themselves destined to rule by virtue of being supposed descendants of the goddess Maev'Sil'Vien. There in a land of ice and snow, a land where few others could survive these beings raised great fortresses and cities carved into mountains and glaciers alike. There these beings fought endless wars and feuds against each other for thousands of years until at last for the first time a ruler rose to unite them.

The High King of Vol'Kariz brought low the other lorenvolk kingdoms, destroying those who did not submit and welcoming those who did into the fold. It was after this man had united the lorenvolk that his hunger for more became apparent. Ships were built and dispatched across the waters, seeking lands to pillage and plunder. Riches flowed back into Vyrndar and the High King was pleased, but the greatest prize was yet to come. Several years after the raids began one of the vessels, the greatest that had been built and the one that had ventured farthest from the land of Vyrndar returned bearing something that the lorenvolk had not seen before. Humans and other lesser races were common as slaves and servants, especially in those days when the raiding would constantly produce new crops, but even among the slaves from distant lands none knew what this being that had been brought back was.

The prize had been a woman whose beauty was said to have been beyond the ability of words to express and those who had brought this alien (as in unknown or strange) woman back had a story to tell. They had sailed so far south that it had become nearly unbearable, the heat became near intolerable, the sunlight more intense and hateful, storms with a violence unknown had whipped the boat about, provisions began to run low, and some had talked over turning back, or making for a land that had already been discovered where pillage and provisions could surely be obtained. But just before they would have turned back another land was glimpsed in the distance and they made for it. For nearly a week they scoured the coastline, searching for a settlement before at least they found one. The constant presence of the jungle on the coastline had diminished and there they found a settlement.

The Lorenvolk raiders descended upon the town like the looters and pillagers that they were and in the face of a surprise assault by giants the human defenders were routed and many were taken prisoner. But the most interesting prize came from the center of the town, a strange temple stood there and the beings who occupied it were strange beautiful creatures with skin and hair like precious metals. Surprisingly unlike the humans these creatures had fought and only one had been taken alive, a woman who the raiders brought back along with the other slaves.

When the High King saw this woman he was well pleased and claimed her for his own. From this union of monsters, of giants, and those who treat human like cattle would come Lin'Lise. Her mother, the woman whose beauty had so captivated the High King slowly manipulated him, the tricks of vaelie 'magic' bending his will subtly over time even as she outwardly was nothing more than a slave. Several years after she had been brought before the High King, he enthralled by her charms and at her will forsook his previous wife, and wed her to the uproar and dissent of his nobles and the lesser kings he had subjugated.

Lin'Lise was born within a year of the official union and she was proclaimed Lin'Lise Vexerfell, Princess of Vol'Kariz and Vyrndar. Her early years saw her treated like the princess she was proclaimed to be, her mother's 'magics' holding her father in line and she believed herself to be loved. She was raised in luxury and never wanted for anything, the finest historians taught her of the ancient wars and history of Vyndar, the finest warriors attempted to teach her how to fight though they were never very successful, her father taught her statecraft, and from her mother Lin'Lise learned of the other half of her heritage. The poisons and potions, secret spells, cocktails that could alter minds and bend wills, and even a few less subtle tricks, these she learned from her mother.

For years it appeared to be her father's plan that Lin'Lise would be wedded to one of the lesser kings in Vyrndar and used to shore up the shaky network of fear and domination that allowed the High King to hold his power. But things began to change. Her father became more and more disappointed in her lack of interest in the traditions of Vyrndarian glory. She only once accompanied him on one of the great raids and had been clearly miserable and ill spirited the entire time, and her participation had only been brought about by a direct order from her father. This lack of interest, along with her lack of fighting skill, and her non-confrontational demeanor, led to doubts about her ability to inherit as High Queen even if she was wed to another figure out power, which in turn led to the relationship her father had with her turning colder.

As a girl on the cusp of reaching young adulthood Lin'Lise did not understand what was happening, she simply saw the signs, the growing coldness with which her father treated her, even her mother slowly began to become more distant as she grew older and began to develop. She felt the changes but had no idea of how to deal with it. Her mother had early on impressed upon her that she was never to use her gifts to manipulate her father likely in fear that the two might cancel each other out and free the High King from her spell. As such she did not even have her gifts to turn to in an attempt to regain the lost affection.

Despite the fact that things had grown colder she was still the only heir at the time and as such she was still treated as one. However that was soon to change. When Lin'Lise was 11 years old her mother conceived again and in time bore another child, the one a son, a male heir to the throne of Vyrndar. The coldness only grew after this point, though Lin'Lise was surprised when a new element was added to her education, it was the first sign of interest that had been taken in her by her father in a long while. This new element was language lessons in a tongue that Lin'Lise found incredibly difficult to learn and that she at first could not see the point of. This tongue was not spoken in Vyrndar, why as the elder child of the High King was she being forced to learn it?

There was an inkling in the back of her mind of what it might mean, but she suppressed such thoughts and refused to let them form. Ultimately though her suspicions that she had buried proved to be correct. When her brother was 3 years old and so was deemed unlikely to suddenly take ill and die Lin'Lise was informed of her fate. In accordance with negotiations that had apparently been going on for the last several years she was going to be betrothed to the son of a monarch in a realm to the distant south. She had no interest in this, having no desire to leave the land that she had been born and raised in to venture south to an alien kingdom and this betrayal by her parents was painful. She felt a deep sense of loss which was only magnified by the way her protests were met with a slap from her mother and thinly veiled disdain for her lack of appreciation of the opportunity.

She was sent south on a great ship, accompanied by guards and a retinue to ensure that she reached the kingdom of Altrantor successfully. On the voyage south she experienced many things, anger and pain at the betrayal, and a sense that she had lost the only home she had ever known. But even in the hurt of betrayal she drew on the teachings that her mother and father, but particularly her mother had given her. "A vaelie," her mother had said "is never without tools. I rose from servitude and bondage to become a Queen. You bare the gifts of your heritage as well." And she embraced those teachings, if her parents had no need for her in Vyrndar then she would make a new place for herself by any means necessary in this new world.

Her resolution and determination lasted all of five minutes after she had disembarked from the boat. Even as the people of the city of Altrantor gaped at the escort of giants and the foreign girl who had been brought, she was overwhelmed by the city. The stench, the clamor, the seething mass of pitiful humanity. Her initial impression of the city was one of overwhelmed disgust. It was not to say that Vol'Kariz had been particularly clean, or quiet, but to her the land she had been sent to seemed horrible. The presentation of her to the court in Altrantor went poorly. The lorenvolk in her escort could barely hide their scorn at the humans and this created tension. It also did not help that they did not fit particularly well into the human buildings.

When it was over Lin'Lise was left alone in a foreign land, among creatures that she had been raised to believe were little more than cattle. Perhaps the one positive was that the prince whom she was to marry had been fascinated by her during the presentation and took interest in the girl who he was to marry in time. She had not expected kindness from a human, humans were to be looked down and pitied, not to be the ones who pitied you. Normally she would have reacted the entreaties of friendship and compassion from a human with scorn, but at that moment when she was alone, struggling under the weight of what she perceived to be a grievous plight, her normal response of scorn and disdain did not come, instead she simply accepted the compassion and for that, aid in a time when she felt betrayed and alone that fondness began to grow.

While she was never treated anything but cordially by the courtiers and servants in the palace even as a young woman there were still threads of rumor and jokes made about her, the 'northern barbarian princess.' She resented this, that humans belittled her great people and whispered insults behind her back, but as she could not do anything about it then she kept silent, showing instead a facade of friendliness and interest, acting as if she had never heard any of it. As she was a guest of the royal family she had access to the library and resources with which she could pursue her studies, and much of her time was spent there, laboriously reading magical texts and piecing what her mother had taught her together with the magical knowledge in the kingdom. She was an endless nuisance for the wizard Nykerius as she would always be pestering him with questions.

As she grew she was patient, waiting for opportunities even as she nurtured the growing relationship with her betrothed who she pumped for all the information she could about the kingdom. And eventually an opportunity presented itself, an acquaintance of the king, a famed explorer who had ventured to a jungle infested land in the south had returned ill. None of the court's healing mages or masters of chymistry could heal him. But Lin'Lise's mother had come from those lands and among the words of healing magic that she had been taught was one that named this ailment, one that could bring it to bear and allow it to be purged.

She offered to help and while they were reluctant an extremely concentrated release of her compounds swayed them just enough to allow her the chance, and to the surprise of everyone there she spoke words that none of the healers had known that checked the disease and purged it. It had not been the smoothest recitation, or the most masterful casting but it had shown potential and revealed new knowledge. It also opened the door like she had hoped allowing her to no longer just be viewed as that foreign princess from the land of savage giants. Lin'Lise was praised for what she had done and the healing mages clamored for her to share the words that she knew. She shared them gladly and openly, adding to the medical knowledge of the kingdom. While she had not wanted to sacrifice this knowledge she knew bet that it would be a chip that would allow her to be truly embraced by the court and that would make her less of an outsider. She was correct.

Following the healing several of the court healers took her under their wings, teaching her more of the healing words and helping her hone her actual spellcasting ability, something that was rusty from relative disuse. She was a fast learner and progressed rapidly, within a few years she was considered a healer in her own right. This was near her 22 birthday, roughly the same time that after 8 years in the kingdom of Altrantor as a guest of the royal family her betrothal to the prince Alfred finally culminated in marriage. This was a moment when Lin'Lise felt truly happy, while her emotions are not quite human the securing of the connection to the royal family, the achievement of a position of importance, and the affection she received combined to produce a very humanesque state of pleasure.

She had cultivated an image of benevolence and kindness, trying to distance herself in the minds of people from what they considered to be the savage giants of the north and after the marriage was consummated she continued in this endeavor. It was the act that she would play and it was the path by which she would survive and prosper.She made herself available to the sick and infirm of the city, even those who could not pay for healing and her supposed compassion was known throughout Altrantor.

Approximately two years ago she conceived and gave birth to a child of her own, a daughter who she named Vel'Lis, she insisted upon a name of her own choosing and with a few gentles nudges from her compounds the prince Alfred went along with it. Lin'Lise cared for that child as she had cared for nothing else in the world, it was more than just the fondness that a hopeful intrigued prince had mistaken for genuine love, it was love certainly, though not quite in the human way. Regardless she doted on her daughter making plans for the future and seeing the myriad ways that this child would serve to advance both her own interests and ultimately how the child herself would be advanced.

But the future that she had planned for was not to be. When the war first broke out she was confident that Altrantor would prevail. After all it was ruled by one of the few humans that she admired and respected, a gifted king who would surely smash the invasion in the way that her father had smashed uprisings back in Vyrndar. But the war did not go well, the armies of Altrantor were beaten and pushed aside as the enemy advanced. Fearing for herself, her child and to some extent her husband as well she counselled him that they should flee but this advice was not taken and he insisted that Altrantor would still prevail.

And by the time he came to his senses and realized what she had it was too late and the city was surrounded. When the city was breached she was with the other healers trying to stem the tide of sickness and death, to keep as many soldiers as possible up and fighting. With the breach she feared for her daughter and excused herself from the gathering of healers and moving as quickly as she could for the nursery where Vel'Lis was looked after. Despite her frantic efforts to make it there, several soldiers of the enemy forces had made it there first with their orders to kill off all blood relatives of the king and royal house.

Lin'Lise entered the room just in time to see the blade descend to strike down and kill her daughter. Horror filled her at the sight and for the first time she truly understood the killing rage that was so common among her father's people. The one being in the world who she had really loved was dead and she reacted instinctively with violence and strength that were shocking. She does not actually remember how the soldiers died only that the next thing she knew she was coated in blood and holding the bloodsoaked corpse of her daughter in her hands, feeling a strange numbness and pain both at war inside of her. It was there, before the window of the nursery while she cradled her dead daughter's corpse in shock that she saw Erasmus plummet down past the window.

Friends in High Places: Lin'Lise despite having become accepted and a member of the court did not have the most friends, while she was generally well liked and appreciated by the people she was still a foreigner and as a result not all were willing to open up to her. Most of her contacts were the other members of the court healing staff who she had worked with for years. Her other influential friends were people like the King who is now deceased. However there are many commoners whose lives she saved by virtue of treating any who came to her for medical help regardless of the ability to pay and while they don't have much influence even a peasant offering shelter and food for the night at the right time out of gratitude can be important.

Notable Possessions:
A set of several wands: Due to the nature of healing being very complicated and requiring many words to achieve effects Lin'Lise has had a set of wands made that each hold pieces of commonly used healing spells. There is one that contains the words that mend bones, another for boosting the immune system for dealing with common diseases, ect. For truly complicated healing procedures she has to assess the situation and craft a specific recitation of words to fix the problem but for basic and simple procedures her set of wands is highly useful at enabling rapid healing.

Mriswring 'Dagger': Mriswring, the magic defying metal only found in the land of Vyrndar to the far north cannot be touched by magic. No magic can ensorcell this blade, no magical barrier can stop it, ect. It does not give any protection to its wielder and this immunity to magic only applies to the metal itself. Lin'Lise has what would be a dagger to one of the Lorenvolk, which makes it more akin to a human short sword. While she is not very skilled in the use of the sword, (despite attempts by her father to teach her) having a blade which magic cannot interact with can be useful.

Name: Taula Ungeirtytär
Race: Drungr
The second most populous among the archipelago's myriad of inhabitants and an apparent offshoot of humanity, many unflattering theories circulate as to the origins of their sharp teeth, lengthy tongues and swart, sloe-black complexions. Nourished by the inhuman density of form and animal-like dynamism that flows through them they are naturally gifted soldiers and huntsmen. Tales of their bestial might and short tempers may often be exaggerated, but one would be wise not to test the limits of either.
Age: Presumably late-thirties to mid-forties
Position: Master of the Hunt and 'Thahlin' to the King.
Appearance: Strength ebbs through her like a river from its headwaters, each rippling formation beneath her dark skin rising and curving as a plethora of living testimonies to her physical prowess, every inch equal parts warrior and woman. She stares at the world as if looking through it, an intense clarity of purpose reflected in her beryl eyes; flecks of green pitted beneath an oft crinkled brow. She is not young and she is not an ideal beauty, to be likened to and admired as a finely crafted sword rather than delicate flower. Her firm flesh and hard angles holding all the wild, reckless allure of an unpenned tiger; quietly intimidating as they avow of constant danger.

Wide cheeks and a strong jaw form the foundation of her thinly furrowed face much in the same way her rectangular, nearly rubenesque figure serves to understate a bust almost subsumed by underlying pectorals. As if following suite closely cropped curls cling to the contour of her scar nicked scalp like a darkly hued sea of sow tails, trimmed to a tight fade about her temples. A small gap and off center smile add character to the pointed teeth her thin lipped mouth conceals whilst a cluttering of glyphs along each arm and shoulder quite literally brand her as an Estengauk.

Likewise she does not attire herself as lavishly as other ladies of the court--bedizened in the sort of sleeveless jerkin, loose rough spun slacks and sturdy boots most commonly associated with isolated homesteaders. Only the sparing use of simple bead work and stark embroidery that the ensemble bears would ever draw a second glance, the mainstays of Drungr craftsmanship.

Personality: Taula is very much a product of the bitter, war embroiled borderlands that huddle close to the splendor of Altranor, honed by the harsh cold and subsistence living or her native Eskengauk. With a matter-of-fact mentality, strange customs and 'unwomanly' demeanor she is by all accounts the square peg that has forced its way into the circle of her adoptive country's upper echelon.

Characterized as much by this as her nigh-religious adherence to a code of personal conduct that demands favors and slights be returned in kind her honor demands thundering, bloody vengeance for the life of the king. Come low hell or high heaven she will see this done.

Personal Relationships: On a personal note, though united by their shared loyalty to the late king and in general mindful of her elders Taula dislikes court wizard Nykerius as a matter of principle. There is friction, and while she does not doubt his power she does hold his magics in open contempt as the tools of a coward. To the old man's credit however he has at least managed to have her admit it to be a useful tool, a near superhuman feat that speaks volumes of his skill as a debater.

As estranged 'wife' to the late king Erasmus Taula knew the Lady Protector long before she inherited the title and as such is one of the few people that still remembers 'the smiling death' as the little girl whom threw a tantrum because she wasn't allowed to sit on the throne. She respected and understood Galene's motivations but never approved of the way she believed Riven was coddled as a child, attributing Riven's upbringing to why she finds lifelong obligation and constant murder disagreeable. Something of a nagging aunt Taula scolds her even as an adult, though often concerning matters more martial than mundane. A popular favorite is reminding her that wielding two swords is not faster than simply using a single weapon of more practical length.

Backstory: Twenty years to the day Taula was tithed to King Erasmus as a show of the neighboring Koen of Eskengauk's goodwill; the gifting of relatives a long held tradition that strengthens and extends the 'great chain' that is one's bloodline. A foreign tradition decidedly less vogue in the more enlightened kingdom of Altranor, where vassals or wards are much preferred over the sudden consignment of a slave-wife.

To the king's credit and queen's ire a suitable position was quickly found for this outrageous woman, one that would keep her blessedly distant from his royal personage without the need to rebuke the offered peace and promise of trade such a gesture had inferred. As huntmaster her duties would see her to all corners of the realm, organizing militias and heading townsfolk as they route out the lesser beasts and monsters ever-present amidst outlying settlements.

Such was the plan but to the surprise of nearly no one the steely eyed Taula opted to instead put her skills as an Ormrammr--a beastseeker--on display. Proceeding with only the barest of retinues she struck out for months at a time only to return with ever more outlandish tales and the grisly trophies that affirmed them; overstepping the demands of her position time and time again as she'd risk life and limb in pursuit of increasingly dangerous creatures. By the time she became a figure of minor folk legend it was impossible to tell which recountings of her deeds were fiction from those that were mere exaggerations, though rumor persists it to be the gods' honest truth she once bit the throat from a warg.

During the fateful attack on the capital Taula found herself at the royal mews just as the defenders were overtaken. Amid the panicked horses, burning stables and onrush of attackers she made little headway towards the King's sanctum. As castle Antranor fell to to Bernard of Ghant so too did its lord fall from the very symbol of his power, dashed against a sty at the foot of his highest tower. Determined to see this outrage repaid Taula sets several steeds aflame and effects her escape amid the confusion the burning beasts sow within the enemy ranks.

Possessions and Abilities:

Along each arm and shoulder extends her Kynneskr--kine scar--a series of ritual burns that tell the 'good parts' of her lifetale and strengthen the 'great chain' of her bloodline. Estengauk belief holds that in the afterlife one joins hands with their ancestors as they make the long journey to Ysgarven and that the weak in life are weak in death and unable to make the arduous trek. One's Kynneskr must be strong to resist the weight of the envious dead left gripping at the heels of those bound for Ysgarven.

As an Ormrammr she is practiced in a form a martial trance that claims to endow its practitioners with the aspects of mighty beasts. To see this done she keeps a cloak of cured brumesnake scale close at hand, empowering herself when need should arise with the shouting of beots and consumption of dubious mushrooms. Warriors such as herself enter battle weaponless as the creatures they seek to emulate and move to quickly overwhelm and overpower their foes with sheer ferocity.

The simple tools of skinning, hide work and woodcraft that just as easily lend themselves to being implements of murder.

*Phenomenally strong and large of stature, and not merely with other women as the measure. So far from the gender norm in land of the late-king Erasmus is this that she can't help but cut a frighteningly intimidating figure. She far from unaware of this.

*As Master of the Hunt and having held a similar position in her native lands she is well versed in the stalking, hunting, avoidance and most importantly cooking and consumption of uncommon creatures.

*Having spent more time outside city walls than within them she is not only acclimated to the harshest extremes of weather but keen to pick up on the hidden pathways and easily overlooked dangers others would overlook.

*She is only literate in regards to the glyphs used in Estengauk and as such unable to read much of anything the group is likely to find in the kingdom of Altranor.

*Has the habit of arguing with animals, most commonly dogs and horses. Usually during their handling and grooming. .

Name: Lady Protector Riven "The Smiling Death" Koralia

Race: Human, specifically Southern Altranorian

Gender: Female

Age: 29 years old

Appearance: Anyone with eyes can see Riven possesses several distinctive features of the Koralia bloodline. Like the first Altranorian Royal Protector, Macarius Koralia, she has black hair and rarely lets it grow beyond her jawline. Ignoring the current trend among Altranor's nobles, the Lady Protector keeps her bangs short so they don't distract her in the heat of battle. Riven's fair skin and dark hair create a striking contrast, one the Koralia family is known for, though her bright green eyes are just as noticeable. They almost always seem to shine with barely restrained joy and are part of the reason why Riven is called the “The Smiling Death.” Titles and nicknames aside, Riven's heart-shaped visage is rounded out by large ears, a button nose marked by freckles, and full lips. A slender neck leads down to a pair of strong, if slightly bowed, shoulders, and Riven tends to look shorter than her actual height of 5’8”. The Royal Protector’s arms are toned and end in dexterous, flexible hands. Despite the numerous taproom stories about her “assets,” Riven’s bust and rear are both small and she prefers them that way. Her flat stomach gives way to admittedly wide hips, an unwelcome gift from her mother's side of the family. Lastly, the Lady Protector’s legs are muscular and strong, which allows her to perform acrobatic feats many fighters cannot. Surprisingly, Riven has remarkably dainty feet.

Normally, the Lady Protector can be seen wearing a tight-fitting suit of black-dyed leather armor, which was given to her by the Alagos leatherworkers’ guild. This suit includes a beautifully crafted chestpiece, leggings, thigh high boots, bracers, gloves and a gorget. Riven also wears a chain mail belt around her narrow waist, and she usually has dozens of pouches hanging from it. Gold pieces, vials containing unspeakable substances, and the occasional beaker filled with Altranorian whiskey can all be found in these bags. Riven's twin gladiums, curved iron blades her mother gave her as thirteenth name day gifts, can be found dangling from her hips as well. The Lady Protector often wears a hooded gray cloak made of wool, which is thick enough to absorb lighter or glancing attacks. Arrows, direct sword or knife attacks, and similar assaults can punch through this garment with ease. Riven tends to wear loose-fitting silk shirts, her leggings, and boots when she’s not battling King Erasmus' foes.

Position and Abilities: Royal Protector-The position of Royal Protector is only a few hundred years old. One of King Erasmus VI's ancestors, the quick-witted Erasmus the Second, was responsible for the creation of this prestigious and burdensome title. Why did he do this? Because King Erasmus II, also known as Erasmus the Wise, knew that not only are the Fanged Isles dangerous but he'd also inherited one of the most successful kingdoms in the archipelago's history. The eyes of Soven, Thandonia, and countless others were on him now, searching for any weaknesses they might exploit so they could claim his lands for themselves. Erasmus the Wise knew and anticipated there would be countless attempts on his life. It only made sense to always have a highly-trained and devoted man or woman at his side to defend him if the royal bodyguards fell in battle.

The only problem was the elderly king didn't know of anyone who would willingly shoulder this incredible responsibility. He also wasn't entirely certain who he could trust.

For a few years, Erasmus the Wise thought on this matter until he found his kingdom embroiled in a colossal battle against the forces of Warlord Baldric of Soven. This conflict would come to be known as the Battle of Warspear since it was fought at the foot of the Warspear Mountains. As the battle between the Altranorian army and the Soveni soldiers raged, King Erasmus II felt uncomfortably vulnerable despite the reassuring presence of his royal bodyguards all around him. If there was ever a time to appoint the first Royal Protector it was now, and the king did have a candidate in mind. And so, less than a mile from the front lines, King Erasmus II took a small cadre of soldiers as well as his childhood companion Lord Theron Invidia of the Iron Keep to a secluded glade. This is where the monarch intended to conduct a brief ceremony to appoint his dear friend as the First Lord Protector of Altranor. Before Erasmus the Second could open his mouth, however, Lord Invidia drew his castle-forged blade and lunged towards the man he'd grown up with. Several of the footmen joined the betrayer in his assault, which took the king's bodyguards completely by surprise. Chaos erupted in the thicket as the Altranorian loyalists fought against the traitors in hopes of saving their liege lord.

When the dust settled, only one soldier stood between the fear-stricken Erasmus the Wise and his treacherous countrymen. The royal bodyguards lay dead or dying while most of the traitors had sustained only minor injuries. This valiant footman's name was Macarius Koralia, the lowborn son of a blacksmith from the small town of Redstone Village in southern Altranor. He also happened to be one of Lord Invidia's indentured servants. Armed with his father's spear and clad in a rusting chainmail hauberk, Macarius was a pitiful sight yet he didn't waver as the remaining traitors prepared to finish their task. Smiling like the viper he was, Lord Invidia led the charge against Macarius and his terrified liege lord. The battle was over in moments. In the end, Macarius and King Erasmus the Second survived the attack thanks to the fearless peasant's determination and skill.

Realizing he'd found his Royal Protector at last, a grateful Erasmus the Wise was stunned when Macarius initially refused to accept the honor. "I've slain Lord Invidia, my master and a man with noble blood in his veins," Macarius lamented, fearing to meet the king's eyes, "I deserve no honors, sire. I am as much a traitor as these men I've killed today. Do with me as you see fit." The second king of Altranor calmly reassured Macarius he'd done a great service to his kingdom and his king before offering him the position of Royal Protector once more. The peasant accepted. In addition, the Altranorian king gave Macarius the lands and titles the treacherous Lord Invidia held when he was still among the living. Suddenly, Macarius, a peasant from the Taladar Swamps, not only took ownership of the Iron Keep but also became the ruler of Redstone Village, his birthplace located less than a day's journey from the keep itself. With his newly appointed Royal Protector at his side, King Erasmus the Second won the Battle of Warspear and scattered Warlord Baldric's forces to the four winds. He also sent a small contingent of battle-hardened soldiers to help Macarius drive Lord Invidia's supporters out of Redstone Village and the surrounding areas. Since the Battle of Warspear there has always been a Royal Protector and each one has done his or her best to live up to Macarius' legacy. Many have succeeded while others have failed.

At any rate, the talents and skills needed to protect a king aren't easy to learn. Starting with Lycus Koralia and his descendants, the Koralia family has developed a grueling training regimen to prepare the next individual who stands to inherit the title of Royal Protector. Courtly etiquette, reading and writing in all the major languages of the isles, and at least a basic understanding of chymistry are included in this extensive curriculum. There's also a great deal of combat training, including some basic hand-to-hand fighting techniques, though how this part of a Royal Protector's education proceeds depends on the individual. While Macarius always preferred to wade into the thick of battle with his pike, Brutus Koralia was one of the most feared archers in Altranor before his fall from grace. Each member of the Koralia bloodline feels drawn to a particular style of fighting, and this determines what weapons they train with starting at age thirteen. Obviously, Riven was most comfortable wielding two blades at once, a complicated art in its own right, and she's become quite good at it.

Besides their choice of weapon, each Lord and Lady Protector's individual attributes are taken into account during their education. Riven is a slender, yet wiry, woman and she's not as physically capable as the larger, more muscular warriors found throughout the Fanged Isles. She's been trained in stealth and acrobatic techniques to compensate for this so she can kill enemies as quickly as possible. The swifter an enemy falls the less chance they have of successfully landing a crippling blow. Keeping this in mind, Riven prefers to remove as many enemies from the battlefield as possible before exposing herself to any remaining adversaries. It's a time-consuming strategy, and one that tests the Third Lady Protector's limited patience, but it has worked flawlessly for her. There's also a great deal of mental conditioning involved in what is probably one of the most comprehensive training regimens in the history of Altranor. Defending and obeying the king at all costs are the two primary goals every Royal Protector keeps at the forefront of their minds. Ensuring his happiness and that of his family is less important, though it's still essential. A happy monarch is less likely to make mistakes then one who is constantly displeased or upset. Unfortunately, being able to cope with the constant presence of death is one part of Riven's schooling she never quite completed. Her mother, Galene, was planning to personally help her daughter overcome this issue at some point in the future. Sadly, her death at the hands of several bandit clans kept this from ever happening. Ultimately, what it means to be a Royal Protector can be summed up by a common saying amongst the Koralia family's members. "You don't inherit the title of Royal Protector. You must become the Royal Protector."

Basic Chymistry-Her inability to cook aside, Riven is a competent, if somewhat unoriginal, chymist. Vials, mystical and mundane reagents, and various herbs are all familiar objects to the Lady Protector. While she doesn't possess any magical abilities, Riven can still make a variety of simple potions and poisons, though her options are further limited by her inexperience. Still, the Royal Protector enjoys the process and methodology involved with brewing serums and elixirs. Two of her favorite potions to make are cat's eye serums, which allow the drinker to see in the dark for a brief period of time, and numbing drafts. A numbing draft can be used as a temporary pain-killer so a wounded companion can keep fighting despite debilitating injuries. At least until the potions' effects wear off. As far as poisons are concerned, however, magebane is Riven's favored toxin, and her swords are often dripping with this sticky purple substance. It is, after all, her only dependable way of removing enemy spellcasters from battle. This potent concoction causes the victim to become paralyzed for roughly ten minutes, which is plenty of time for the Lady Protector or one of her allies to slay the afflicted mage. Also, goblin's kiss is a simple yet useful mixture that causes the target to become uncontrollably itchy. It's difficult to focus on the sword slicing towards your head when it feels like a swarm of angry ants is skittering all over you, biting every inch of flesh with reckless abandon. In short, Riven can create some helpful and potentially lethal mixtures, though she lacks the knowledge and capabilities of a more experience chymist.

Connections-Over the course of their respective terms as Royal Protector, Riven and her father formed a vast network of contacts, spies, and informants spanning several islands across the archipelago. From the bustling halls of Castle Altranor to the fishing villages of the Elatha Atoll, it's rare to find a place where the Royal Protector's eyes and ears aren't present in some form or another. It's amazing how focused and thorough people become after you promise them a few gold coins in exchange for whatever they find. Innkeepers, merchants, whores, artists and gods only know who else all belong to the ranks of the Koralia family's "rats." Their dedication to the continuation of King Erasmus the Indomitable's rule would be touching if it wasn't motivated by greed. On the other hand, many courtiers are well aware of how close the current Royal Protector is to their liege lord. It's certainly worth tolerating, or pretending to tolerate, someone who isn't from noble stock if it means she might put in a good word with the realm's ruler. Needless to say, this immense web of individuals also allows the Royal Protector to obtain anything the king might need at a moment's notice. Does King Erasmus VI want a new helm crafted for his duel with a rival warlord in three days' time? The Koralias know an Altranorian smith who'd love nothing more than to take on this difficult task. Protecting and obeying the king are only two parts of what it means to be a true Royal Protector. Keeping your charge happy might not seem important yet it's part of the reason why the Koralia bloodline has maintained their grip on the title of Royal Protector for so long.

Miscellaneous-Can read and write in over ten different languages, has written two awful collections of poetry under the pseudonym Albrecht the Annoying, possesses a powerful sense of smell, something of a connoisseur when it comes to alcohol and tends to ruin any food she attempts to cook

Personality: Riven is a curious individual. She dislikes her role as Lady Protector yet fully understands her family's identity is completely bound to this two-hundred year old title. The Koralia bloodline was granted status far beyond their humble roots because of Macarius' dedication to King Erasmus II. Now, the entire family has a reputation for being loyal, steadfast, and dedicated to preserving the monarchy on Altranor even if it costs them their lives. How could anyone turn their back on such a legacy? Riven knows this yet the obligation to uphold the honor of the Koralia name weighs heavily on her at times. While she's certainly determined to do everything in her power to protect King Erasmus the Sixth, the Lady Protector has never been entirely comfortable with the act of taking another person's life. Riven knows it's an essential part of defending her charge, not to mention an important part of living in the barely tamed wilderness of Altranor, yet no amount of rationalization or combat training has alleviated her profound sense of discomfort. Ironically, the Third Lady Protector isn't just good at killing people, she's great at it. During a peasant uprising in the Taladar Swamps, "The Smiling Death" infiltrated a heavily fortified tower occupied by no less than twenty enemies and butchered them all in a little under two hours. It was a bloodbath. Despite her impressive fighting abilities, Riven often struggles with the ramifications of killing another person, though she certainly understands the concept of murder as a necessity. If someone threatens to harm her or the man she's bound to protect then death is the only response. Riven doesn't have to like it, however.

Whenever she prepares for battle, the Royal Protector becomes fixated on completing the task at hand as swiftly and efficiently as possible. This often gets Riven into trouble because she can't adapt to rapidly changing conditions without a major shift in thinking. When you're focused on the ultimate goal and nothing else then it becomes harder to cope with unexpected obstacles. Curiously, the Third Lady Protector of Altranor also has a bizarre tendency to make ribald and often indecent jokes while fighting for her life. Serfs who've witnessed her in combat have even gone so far as to claim Riven sings during battle. While this isn't necessarily unusual, the woman's song choices always seem more appropriate for a seedy brothel than life-or-death conflict. Thus, the commonfolk of Altranor have taken to calling the Royal Protector "The Smiling Death," and mothers often scare their children into obedience with tales of a pale woman with a ghastly smirk on her face. This fearsome reputation has also spread beyond Altranor, and it's safe to say Riven Koralia is one of the most easily recognizable members of King Erasmus' court.

While the thought of a laughing madwoman cutting throats with two iron blades might fill the hearts of Riven's enemies with fear, the truth behind her behavior is much less intimidating. Without her songs and jests, Riven would never be able to cope with the constant, chilling presence of death in her life. The look of terror, the mindless, animal fear, in a man's eyes when you shove a sword into his chest makes her feel like something less than human. Riven understands death better than most yet she derives no pleasure from it. In fact, one might even think she was afraid of it.

On the other hand, Riven is a warm, friendly, and headstrong young woman when she's not gutting people like fish at a market stall. While she rarely seeks the company of others, with a few exceptions, the Lady Protector almost never turns away new drinking partners or fellow members of the royal court. It might take her awhile to warm up to people, but once Riven is comfortable enough around someone then her loyalty knows no bounds. Of course, she's always on the lookout for people who think they can influence the king by befriending his guardian. The Royal Protector has little patience for sycophants and idiots. With both dear friends and strangers alike, however, Riven often displays an earthy, almost vulgar attitude when she's not confined by the demands of courtly etiquette. Her vocabulary is remarkably colorful for a woman who spends most of her time watching over Altranor's king. Perhaps the one group of people Riven always treats with something almost like begrudging respect are mages. After all, it's rather difficult for even the most skilled and competent warriors to kill someone who can shoot bolts of lightning from their hands or call down pillars of magical flame. Riven normally doesn't go out of her way to give mages a reason to dislike her for this very reason.

At any rate, Riven certainly enjoys meeting new people, even if she doesn't always show it, and having new experiences. This doesn't mean she won't leap at the chance to have a few private moments alone. Being the Royal Protector doesn't allow for much privacy so Riven always takes advantage of those precious moments when she's not needed. She uses this time to relax or write poetry, though more often than not there's alcohol involved. During these rare and sacred times, the only people the Lady Protector will tolerate having around are Taula, the royal Master of the Hunter, and King Erasmus himself. And it's not just because he's her liege lord. The monarch and his defender certainly didn't take to each other initially, but their relationship has changed over the last seven years into one of the strongest and deepest friendships Riven has ever had. They constantly challenge each other while providing support when it's needed yet their behavior is nothing but professional. Peasants love to gossip and a bawdy story about the Lady Protector and the king is something they'd be talking about for years to come. Riven obviously has needs just like anyone, but she isn't about to try anything with the man who has become her best friend. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to the queen or her children.

In the end, the Third Lady Protector of Altranor is an impatient, focused, and strong-willed woman who wants to see what life has in store for her beyond Altranor. Unfortunately, Riven swore an oath to protect her king until her dying breath, and she isn't the type of person to break such a vow. So, she makes the best of a bad situation by cussing like a drunken sailor and focusing on nothing more than the task at hand.

Backstory: Riven was born on a stormy night to the Fourth Lord Protector of Altranor, Agathon Koralia, and his wife, Galene Koralia-Petrides. As the wind and rain battered the crumbling walls of the Iron Keep, the green-eyed child wailed loudly as if she was trying to overpower the howling gale outside. Or perhaps it was a lament because she somehow knew what fate had in store for the Koralia family. Either way, Agathon departed from the Iron Keep and Redstone Village a few days after his daughter was born. He was destined for Altranor's capital where a fleet was preparing to launch against an encroaching armada of Soveni warships. While the forces of King Erasmus the Sixth emerged victorious in the end, the Lord Protector was lost at some point during a boarding action against the Soveni flagship, the Sea Blade. Riven remembers almost nothing about her father with the exception of a pair of piercing green eyes. Just like hers. A few days later, Galene traveled to Altranor's capital city and offered her services to her late husband's liege lord. While he was initially hesitant to allow someone not of the Koralia bloodline to assume the title of Royal Protector, the king and Agathon had discussed this possibility at length over the past few years. A king without his Royal Protector was a king at risk.

Thus, Galene became the Second Lady Protector of Altranor and the first Royal Protector who wasn't born a Koralia.

During this time, Galene often brought Riven to court with her as part of the improved training regimen she was developing. Whenever her mother was away serving her king, however, Argon Petrides, Galene's older brother, educated his niece to the best of his abilities. As a veteran of several conflicts, Argon knew a great deal about battle and combat, which he passed on to Riven. By the time Riven was twenty-two years old, she could handle her twin gladiums with relative ease and dance around her uncle with all the grace of a river flowing around a stone. She was ready to see the world beyond the Iron Keep's massive walls. Regrettably, Riven's opportunity to begin her duties as Royal Protector came only a few days after her twenty second name day celebration ended. A coalition of bandits, led by former Dion's Dogs mercenaries, came together with the sole purpose of slaying Galene the Widow. She'd become far too much of a nuisance to ignore, leading Altranorian soldiers against known bandit encampments and disrupting their operations around the capital. During a routine patrol outside of the city walls, Galene was killed and her murderers escaped into the surrounding forest. Without warning, Riven Koralia became the Third Lady Protector of Altranor.

Once she traveled to the capital to accept her appointment, Riven begged King Erasmus the Sixth to give her leave to hunt down the men who killed her mother. This is perhaps the only time she ever begged for something in her life. Graciously, the king allowed it with the stipulation that she take a contingent of soldiers with her. Losing another Royal Protector wasn't going to do anyone any good. Within a few weeks, the marauding bandits were dead and Riven's thirst for vengeance was sated. Adjusting to life back in the capital was difficult for Riven, and her initially troublesome relationship with her charge didn't help matters much. Both Erasmus the Sixth and his protector were strong-willed, which meant arguments sprang up almost constantly. In the end, however, Erasmus was king and Riven eventually came to realize the man was far more insightful than she gave him credit for. Over the course of the next seven years, the twosome grew accustomed to each other and actually became dear friends. Just as her relationship with the king developed so too did Riven's reputation. Battles such as Lord Decimus' Folly, the Battle of Eurotas Mere, and the Sons of Altranor peasant revolt gave the newest Royal Protector a chance to show what someone who'd gone through a lifetime of training was capable of. While she constantly struggled with the deaths she inflicted, Riven had to admit her skill in battle was a useful tool to ensure the king's enemies knew she wasn't to be trifled with.

Shortly after her twenty-ninth name day, King Erasmus the Indomitable asked her for a favor. He wanted to start negotiating with Warlord Lennart Virtanen of Tyr to see if he was open to allying with Altranor. The small, prosperous island of Tyr was located almost equidistant between Altranor and the island of Soven, which meant it could provide an excellent vantage point to spy on the rival island's activities. Besides, Lennart's sons had been slain by Soveni soldiers in a naval battle several years ago so he had no love for Queen Evangeline's people. Negotiations were only supposed to take a few weeks since the king had been in contact with Warlord Virtanen for some time. Bidding farewell to her friends and reminding the royal bodyguards to stay vigilant, Riven left for Tyr to speak with Warlord Virtanen. She received a royal welcome upon arriving on Tyr's verdant shores and everything seemed to be going apace. Yet, for some reason, Riven sensed something wasn't quite right. Why did the warlord claim he needed more time to think about allying with Altranor? Hadn't Erasmus told her he was eager to join forces with anyone who hated the people of Soven as much as he did? Why was he being so hesitant? It was almost as if Warlord Virtanen was purposefully trying to keep Riven preoccupied.

A few days after Riven's arrival, a messenger from Altranor arrived bearing news of a massive army advancing on Altranor's capital city. Without even speaking to Warlord Virtanen the Royal Protector boarded the next ship home and paid the captain a ridiculous amount of coin to sail as swiftly as he dared. She arrived in the capital city almost an hour after the castle's walls were breached. Sneaking and occasionally fighting her way through men wearing the colors of Soven, Thandonia, and Ghant, the Lady Protector managed to reach the foot of Castle Altranor's highest tower. That's when King Erasmus the Sixth's body plummeted out of the window and crashed into a nearby pigsty. Now, Riven has become the second Royal Protector to fail in her appointed task and there's only one thing she wants. Vengeance.

Notable Possessions: Two iron gladiums, a beginner's chymistry kit including beakers, vials, and various reagents, almost one hundred gold pieces scattered throughout her pouches, a ceramic badge marked with the king's personal crest and an old whetstone

Former Royal Protectors: -Macarius Koralia: First Lord Protector of Altranor and progenitor of the Koralia family, given both the settlement of Redstone Village and the Iron Keep as a reward for saving King Erasmus the Second's life, died during the Battle of the Silver Marches, the Koralia family's heraldry is a white spear on a red field in memory of Macarius' courage, one of Riven's favorite oaths is "Macarius' fucking spear!"

-Brutus Koralia: Second Lord Protector of Altranor and Macarius' younger brother, reviled for being the first Royal Protector to fail to protect his charge, died moments after King Ampelius the First was butchered by members of the Dion's Dogs mercenary company

-Charmion Koralia: First Lady Protector of Altranor and Brutus' eldest daughter, obsessed with regaining the honor the Koralia family lost after King Ampelius' death, not only strengthened the defenses of the Iron Keep but also had an earthen wall built around Redstone Village, often referred to as Charmion the Repentant, provided King Erasmus III with a constant source of inspiration before she drank from a poisoned chalice intended for her charge

-Lycus Koralia: Third Lord Protector of Altranor and Charmion's son, probably the most easily overlooked member of the Koralia family since he accomplished little during his time as Royal Protector, created the first draft of the extensive training regimen used by all subsequent Royal Protectors, died protecting King Erasmus the Fourth and his children from a group of Soveni assassins

-Agathon Koralia: Fourth Lord Protector of Altranor and Lycus' only child, known for being the first member of the Koralia family to suggest having people outside the bloodline take on the Royal Protector's duties, believed there should always be someone ready to take on the task of protecting Altranor's king, served both the ailing King Erasmus the Fifth and his son, died during a brutal naval conflict between Altranor's forces and the Soveni armada

-Galene Koralia-Petrides: Second Lady Protector of Altranor and wife of Agathon, called Galene the Widow since she assumed the role of Royal Protector following her husband's death, spent a great deal of time learning how to be a better guardian than those who came before her, substantially improved the training system created by Lycus Koralia, devoted to King Erasmus the Sixth, Galene was slain by a coalition of several bandit clans during a routine patrol outside of Altranor's capital

-Riven Koralia Third Lady Protector of Altranor and daughter of Agathon and Galene, current Royal Protector, called "The Smiling Death" due to her habit of singing or joking while fighting, a close friend of King Erasmus the Sixth, achieved notoriety during conflicts such as Lord Decimus' Folly, the Battle of the Eurotas Mere, and the Sons of Altranor revolt

Name: Sir
Age: 12
Species: Anan – A long-lived(up to 30 years) subspecies of canid, said to be a feral remnant of the giants’ dogs that shrank to fit their island homes. NB: it hasn’t yet been proven that giants exist or have dogs to suit their size. They have an excellent ability to find living prey even in dense thicket, and the third eye suggests a connection to foresight or time.*If taken in as pups, they make surprisingly tractable companions and can be taught to understand the rudiments of our language. Owners of these beasts have occasionally reported seeing and sensing things they had not noticed before when touching them, but the phenomena has yet to be fully explained.** Members of the feral population are considered to be dangerous pests and often driven off or killed, and have become relatively rare. Those that are tamed, however, can become a valuable resource in keeping other wild predators away from livestock.

*Really, the third eye just gives them better visual focus up close. They do, however, have a different way of seeing the world, air and all gases are black, while living matter shines bright silver and other solids gradually diminish to greys.
**They can pass on their own observations of the world around them, and rudimentary visual cues, through touch.

Position: Sir is mainly a glorified pet. He was also, however, meant as a secondary line of defense for the king, in case the walls and guards weren’t enough.

Skills and Abilities:
He knows how to fight by instinct and training, but has never actually needed to, except once or twice against other beasts, and so is not entirely ill-prepared to take a well armoured and well-armed fighter head on, but he’s not exactly experienced. He is a very good hunter, however, and often went out with the king whenever the time could be spared. His senses of smell and hearing are well above average, at least compared to a human’s, and his ability to spot hidden, unmoving, prey is slightly above average for most other canines. He’s also got endurance, strength and durability on his side. And can jump over 30’ horizontally, and 15’ vertically with a running start. He can keep up a 12 km/h trot for hours and sprint at ~80km/h for a short time. With better conditioning, he might increase these measurements a little.

Appearance:
Sir most closely resembles a wolf or dog in appearance. He stands 6’ at the shoulder and 11’ from nose to rump. Weighing ~300lbs, he is slightly overweight. Standing, he has a straight back and slight shoulder hump of muscle, with thick legs and huge paws. He looks heavy when he moves, with a loose gait and, broad chest and shoulders, and fur you could lose a hand in. His skull alone measures nearly two feet long, with a broad muzzle, black nose and loose jowls. Its width is designed to accommodate the third eye, set just above the ordinary pairing, in the middle of his forehead. They are brown. His ears, slightly rounded at the tip, are oversized and erect. They are extremely useful for reading his mood. His teeth and vocalisations are the usual canid set.

His fur is uniformly thick across most of his body, being thinnest around his face and paws. The longer hair is coarse and slightly waterproof, while the underfur is both softer and denser. Sir’s colouring is predominantly russet, black and cream. He has a black mask covering his face from nose to cheeks that lightens to reddish-brown around his paired eyes and then continues to his ears. The black also goes a short ways down his throat before fading into grey and then cream. It colours the rims of his ears and draws a line down his spine and halfway down his tail. His ruff and flanks are whorled with a mixture of black and russet, with the red tinge being stronger. Reddish-brown also covers the backs of his ears and the very tip of his tail. The rest: stomach, legs, middle of the tail and throat, are all creamy white.

There are a few scars hiding under his fur, and several nicks and scratches on his muzzle and lips. His ears are well notched and chewed on and his tail is a little crooked.

Personality:
Generally mild mannered and affable, Sir’s method of interacting with the world is a mixture of curiousity, caution and eager attentiveness. He’s never been treated poorly or left uncared for, and he’s perfectly comfortable within walls as without. Though, admittedly, his large size can sometimes make maneuvering inside challenging. So, thus far, he’s learned mainly about the things he likes. People, warmth, food, play, hunting… And very little about what he doesn’t like. Fire hurts, so do sharp things, and scaring horses is not a good idea, neither is leaving his tail in a doorway. He learns through experience, and, as such, cannot easily understand a concept through theory alone, though he can extrapolate from similar experiences. For example, the first time he encountered fire, he did not know it would hurt. Now he does, and he usually expects that if something feels hot, prolonged contact with it will also hurt. He is also an observant creature, and so, does not need it to be his experience, though, as ever, seeing and understanding can be two very different things. He’s a fast learner though, and has a surprisingly good memory.

He is a social animal who enjoys the company of others, most particularly those he has come to view as pack and friend. As a daily part of the late-king’s retinue, the foremost important person in his life was the king, and after him, his family. When he is not near the king or his children, he is more fretful and less difficult to manage, but he will recognise others of the king’s court and seek interaction with them if the better choice is unavailable. As the king is now dead, and all his family, Sir has little other choice. He has lived with humans and those others in the court almost as long as he was alive, and can read them almost as easily as he can read the body language of another Anan. He can gauge friendly intention from harmful, read another’s mood and sense when tension is too thick to break. He has learned, and continues to actively listen to, much of the language used around him, and though connections are still at a rudimentary level he has ascertained the difference in tone between an order, a suggestion and an uncertain command.

This is important to him because, while usually calm and tractable, he is not above testing his limits, and, as he is just into his prime, he is feeling more confident in what he knows and what he can do and judging for himself whether or not he should do something. If someone he trusts gives an order, he is liable to obey immediately, if they offer a suggestion, he can conclude what they like or do not like him to do. If they scold him, he can learn from that too. But if someone entreats him, or tries coaxing, he will trust them less and test them more. Sir knows he is a big animal, he knows he is not as fragile as those he lives with, and he knows that this frightens some of them. Mostly, he will avoid those people, but he also knows that uncertainty and fear can be turned to his advantage if he does not like the situation with nothing more than a little posturing. It is natural, for him, to fall back on warning and threat in those instances, and to lie with his body language to gain the upper hand.

He knows to be observant, and to understand consequence, but he has not yet fully grasped the difference between thinking ahead and acting to avoid trouble, and thinking ahead to know the trouble your actions will cause. Mostly, this means he’ll try not to do anything others seem to think troublesome and that he’s still relatively straightforward to deal with. If he does not like someone, he will carefully observe them and grow snappish the closer they come. If he does not mind a person, he will mostly ignore them. The same if he thinks a person unimportant. If he likes someone, he will go out of his way to be friendly. Most familiar faces are somewhere between like and don’t care about, and most unfamiliar faces he merely distrusts until he’s been introduced. Sometimes, however, he can take an instant dislike to someone and not change his tune for anything. This can be as simple as because their laugh hurts his ears or as reasonable as because they are in the wrong area.

Sir is not easily frightened, though he can be provoked to greater caution; pain and the actions of those around him are good deterrents for impetuousness. He is also, however, not easily provoked into anger, and acts violent usually only when protecting himself or others, or believing he’s protecting them, and when hunting. But while he is predictable, he is also still an animal. If people do not respect his space, he won’t respect theirs and two way communication can be difficult. He is patient, but only to a point, and the more frustrated he gets, or anyone else gets, the less kindly he’ll respond as time goes on.

Backstory:
Sir was born in a large den beside a river town, near a heavy bridge that served as a central trading hub. Of course, this meant little to him or his siblings save that there was often noise well into the night. His mother and father paid slightly more attention to it however, as they were fed from the scraps it turned out and kept nearby to chase away vermin and the larger scavengers that could threaten the lives of livestock and traders alike. The whole town pitched in to look after them, though they were rather more self-sufficient than less. It paid to keep them happy and nearby, and full, so that they didn’t become scavengers themselves.

For the first two months of his life, all he knew was the faint silver sheen of the dirt around him and the brighter light of his littermates and the way his mother’s warmth and milk made him sleepy. But they did not stay in the den for long, and almost the same day his mother coaxed them out for the first time, the townsfolk sent the butcher to gather the pups so they could raise them the rest of the way themselves. The butcher being the one who had the most contact with the pair. His mother and father were still half feral, but if they accustomed the pups to human contact, they could sell them for further profit. And that is exactly what they did.

He and his two siblings spent the rest of the year playing in a fenced yard, eating, growing and putting up with daily visits from children and learning about the world. They were not completely removed from their mother’s care, as she could easily get over the fence where they could not. But she never tried to get them out as it seemed safe enough and she had nowhere else to take them. It was in that yard that Sir first learned to understand the tone of human language, and the differences between their strength and his. Even a pup could bite hard enough to break a human’s skin. And it was his own mother who disciplined him for that mistake when the child began to wail. He learned to be patient with pulled ears and a pinched tail, and how to tell a human to stop without going too far himself.

He also learned that humans were the source of his food as much as his mother was, and that when they asked something of him, he should try to do it. Often, during that first year, he’d go through every action he knew how to do, from running over to sitting, lying down, licking their face and knocking them over until they managed to show him what was wanted. They didn’t like that, and he figured out that patiently admitting his confusion by simply standing there and tilting his head could win him their favour, and the answer, far faster than trying to figure it out for himself.

At the end of the year, before he was fully grown, Sir and his siblings were put in a cage and fed drugged meat to get them asleep and docile. The cage was set on a boat and sent down the river to a larger market set up just beneath the king’s castle, where they were to be sold to the highest bidder. His sister was bought for the pitfights. His brother for a farming hamlet that needed the extra protection, and Sir was bought for a young lord who was pleased with his new pet for all of five minutes, before moving on to other things. His father was a travelling dignitary, there to attempt drawing out concessions from King Erasmus. He’d bought the pup in the hopes of keeping his son happy.

The man’s wife did not appreciate the gesture, and in a very calm fit of rage when the young pup ruined a dress worth more than he was, she picked the animal up by the scruff of his neck and brought him before the queen with a gracious smile. She gifted the Anan to her, claiming it to be a loyal companion and well worth royalty, hoping that she might forgive her for appearing so rudely before her in less than fine clothing with the gift. The queen, wise enough in the ways of both young boys and young dogs, accepted the gift with a smile, and promptly dumped the Anan into the care of the kennelmaster with the charge that he should make something of the beast.

The man, who knew what he’d been given, and didn’t really want the pup near his own hounds, spoke with the Captain of the Guard, who spoke with the chamberlain, who spoke with the king, who came down to the kennels to see this beast for himself. Sir was on his best behaviour, having fully realised he’d done something wrong, and won the king over with a well-timed whine and tail wag. It was agreed that if he could be trained as a guard dog, of which the kennelmaster was in no doubt, then the king would keep him nearby thereafter.

And so, Sir’s real training began.

The kennelmaster taught him how to behave indoors, and stay calm near crowds. He showed Sir where to get food, and inadvertently how to charm the cook, and ensured that he visited the king as often as possible, so they might be accustomed to each other. He was quite happy with the Anan’s treatment of the royal family when he was introduced to the children, and the queen even deigned to give him a pat on the head. Working with the guards, he was also taught that, sometimes, attacking a human was allowed. But also, that they could be harder to bite than usual and had sharp sticks that hurt. A lot. He had to learn how best to disable such an opponent and how to ignore any fear of being hurt himself that he might feel in the process. Mostly, he figured out that attacking from the back is a much better method than attacking from the front. He learned the basic commands that most household dogs should know, sit, stay, come, heel, down(that was an important one) and even fetch. But he also learned guard, hold and how to threaten when the king set his hand just so on his neck.

He was taught to listen only to the king and queen, and also, to think for himself. Although, that was a side effect of being rewarded when he did his job well.

When he reached his full growth and what the kennelmaster thought was his full potential, he was presented to the king and has been at the man’s side since. Or, at the very least, outside the door. The queen doesn’t like him in her bedchamber, and it was her forceful expression of that fact that broke his tail when she slammed the door on it. Sir still tucks his tail in whenever he has to go through or sit near doors now.

He has stopped two assassins since, leaving one dead and crippling the next, but has been of more use acting threatening in the courtroom than actively doing anything dangerous. And was always just as happy to doze under the weight of a grandson or daughter when they came to distract their grandfather as settle his chin on his master’s knee or go running beside his horse beyond the castle. He learned who was and wasn’t trusted by the king, and was well settled into King Erasmus’ routines when the sudden tension grew around them. He didn’t understand why, winter was usually the quiet period, when his humans didn’t want to go outside. But now he has learned that some humans do not care about the weather, and now they are inside while he is outside.

Sir did fight when the soldiers bulled their way through the castle, but the king’s last command was to guard the children. He kept them all in one room, and guarded the door. He was struck more than once across his face and chest, and killed more than one man, and might have kept them safe until others could arrive to get them out, but he had not remembered the other door, and the enemy found it first. He turned at their cries and saw most already dead. So, he picked up the nearest and ran, forcing his way through the press of strange soldiers as he searched for the king. He did not find him, but he did make it outside the castle walls with his burden, and dug himself and the child a snow den, where he curled around her and tried to keep her warm, licking his wounds and hers. But she bled out while he recovered.

Now he only wants to return to find his master, or any other he knows, and if they are strong enough, chase the invaders out of his home.

Notable Possessions: He’s got a few cow’s thighbones and hooves cached about the place, but has carefully kept them outside the castle since being sternly reprimanded for making the king’s royal bedchambers stink to high heaven by saving a whole leg for later under the bed and then being unable to reach it…
He also has a solid iron collar with the king’s sigil on it. It’s only a collar, though it is meant to protect his neck and throat in a fight.

Name: Nykerius “The Stormsinger” of Crevasse.
Race: Human.
Age: 67.
Position: Court wizard and advisor of the King.
Appearance: Dignified, bespectacled, greybearded, Nykerius is the model image of an aging sorcerer. His eyes are a brilliant shade of emerald, still sharp as ever, betraying his intelligence and keen awareness, but they are his only feature that has not aged. His shoulder-length hair is as grey as the aforementioned beard and his face is lined and weathered. With the aid of a walking cane to compensate for a slight limp, Nykerius reaches slightly over six feet at his full height. He dresses in surprisingly plain (but decidedly well-made) robes for someone of his station, preferring to understate his appearance. His presence carries weight, however, and his deep voice and piercing gaze demand respect from all but the most ignorant of curs.
Personality: The Stormsinger is a well-mannered, calm and occassionally humorous old man who has made peace with the fact that he is well beyond his prime. Bravado has made place for wisdom and where he used to lead armies with gusto, he now advises and counsels in gentle tones. Nykerius is a firm believer in giving everyone a chance, and treats friend and foe alike with courtesy and respect (though he may be more inclined to kill the latter – politely, of course). As such, he is quick to be friendly and many people throughout the kingdom of Altranor consider him their friend. Nykerius is a private person, however, and few people truly know him as well as they think they do, and he has no true close friends. He detests senseless violence, cruelty and rudeness. He quietly worships a god of magic called Sotharis, the patron of sorcerous scholars.
Backstory: Nykerius is of relatively high birth. He was born the eldest son of the Lord of Crevasse, the ruling noble of a prosperous port city not far from the capital of Altranor. The Lord of Crevasse was an accomplished military commander in his time, and Nykerius was expected to be no different. He was taught the art of warfare and tactical command from a young age. Nykerius never complained about this education, though he made it no secret to his father that he desired different knowledge altogether... the knowledge of arcane magic. His father was not an unkind man, and Nykerius was allowed to learn magic as well.

As a young adult, Nykerius attended a prestigious college in the capital of Altranor along with many of the other brightest minds of his generation. His prodigious intelligence and quick grasp of spellcraft did not go unnoticed, nor did his cunning and tactical command. Immediately following graduation, Nykerius became an officer in the Altranorian army, simultaneously a commander and a battlemage – one of the few to hold such a post. He was beloved by the men and well-liked by his commanders. He very rarely indulged in personal combat, instead preferring to lead and direct from the backlines, where he could work his particular brand of magic. His soldiers found themselves fighting in perfect conditions, while their various enemies crawled out of mud-stained camps, half-swept away by rainstorms the night before the battle.

His crowning achievement came near the end of his military career; the resounding victory that earned him the title of the Stormsinger. It was a pitched naval battle between Altranorian forces and the corsair fleet of a rival warlord. All throughout the night, Nykerius sang, his voice carrying far across miraculously still waters. Blankets of fog were coaxed out the darkness to cloak the ships of Altranor and confuse the corsair fleet. Then he sang to the sea, like a man slowly stirring his cup of tea with a spoon before drinking it. He sang to the wind and the clouds, forces that gathered above the corsair fleet, looming and dark. The sea became restless, waves beating against the wooden hulls of the Stormsinger's foes. The wind howled and whistled, blasting unwanted winds into sails that sent the ships twisting and turning, crashing into each other. And then with a final piece of magic, a carefully crafted verse, the sea opened up like the mouth of the abyssal sea-god Maelrawn. A great maelstrom swalloed the enemy warlord's flagship whole as lighting struck masts and decks. In this chaos, this legendary storm, Nykerius withdrew the cloaking fog and his fleet utterly crushed the enemy corsairs.

This feat of magic was widely celebrated throughout Altranor and Nykerius was immortalized as the Stormsinger, one of the great commanders that would go down in history. He retired from military service not long after, returning to the capital of Altranor to teach at the very same prestigious college he received his own education, instead of returning home to take up the mantle of the Lord of Crevasse. Instead, Nykerius's younger brother, Ezekyle, became head of the family and lord of the port city, an arrangement that was made amicably between all parties -- except the elderly Lord of Crevasse himself. The old man died still upset with Nykerius for what he saw as abandoning his post, and he never condoned Ezekyle as Lord of Crevasse. Nykerius, torn between duty and his own desires, returned to Crevasse to reluctantly become the port city's Lord. Ezekyle, however, did not agree. He had been promised the position, he argued, and claimed it was unfair that it was now taken from him. The truth was that Ezekyle desired power and wanted to escape from the shadow cast by the great Stormsinger. The two brothers argued vehemently but the situation remained unresolved when their father passed away. The port city needed its new Lord, now, and there was no time left to argue. Ezekyle seized the chance, claimed his title and had Nykerius deported from the city. Unwilling to fight his own brother and greatly saddened by his actions, Nykerius returned to the capital.

The rift between the two brothers did not heal for a long time. Nykerius settled at the college as a teacher and severed all ties with his family back in Crevasse. He influenced and educated two decades of bright minds while continuing his studies of meteorological magic, which remained his area of expertise. It was during this time that he became something of a friend to the royal family; Nykerius mentored a younger cousin of the king Erasmus himself. When the young man graduated, Nykerius was invited to attend the private feast in the king's court, and it was during this festive evening that Nykerius and Erasmus became friends. Four years later, Nykerius, now age 50, decided to also retire from teaching. He settled by the king's side as court wizard at Erasmus's own request. When news of this reached Ezekyle, he feared for his position. Now that Nykerius had the king's ear, surely there would be repercussions Ezekyle's actions? But months passed and no such repercussions came. Nykerius never spoke ill of his brother and he assured anyone who asked that they were on good terms. The next time Ezekyle traveled to the capital for an audience with the king, the two brothers came face to face for the first time in decades. They reconciled on the spot, and Nykerius spent the next 17 years of his life frequently traveling to Crevasse as often as his duties as court wizard and king's advisor would allow, quickly becoming the favorite uncle of Ezekyle's children. Nykerius himself never married and remained childless.

Until the fateful day that the Yellow Raven and his allies attacked Altranor. The Green Crow assaulted Crevasse while Bernard of Ghant's army marched on the capital, preventing the port city from sending reinforcements to the king's aid. Ezekyle fought valiantly, but he never had his older brother's knack for warfare and the port city fell. The Lord of Crevasse and his entire family were executed. When word of this reached Nykerius, he almost lost his senses and wanted to ride for Crevasse immediately, but it was too late. The Yellow Raven's army was there. Nykerius would have slain Bernard of Ghant, or died trying, if the man had been there, but he didn't even bother to show up. When king Erasmus fell from the tower, Nykerius knew it was all over, and hid. His own family killed and the entire royal family slain, he knew that he had one last duty left in life -- to avenge them all.

Notable Possessions: The Stormsinger's spectacles are inscribed with a simple shocking lightning spell for personal defense, and his walking cane doubles as a wind-caller. Other notable possessions include a veritable library of magical tomes, now probably lost & ransacked by the Yellow Raven's army, and a respectable sum of money.

Name: Roderick de Walden
Race: Human
Position: Court Sage, warlock, adviser and agent to the late King Erasmus.

Appearance: Roderick is a fierce looking man in his early 40's, with an unruly shock of black hair, greying at the edges, and an unkempt beard. He has a tanned and weathered face with somewhat gaunt features, with a thin, prominent nose and pale blue eyes. He is tall and lean, with a surprising wiry strength born more of leverage and tone than any amount of muscle mass. His hands are large and callused, with twisted nails, and a fine network of scars runs up the length of his arms.

Whilst at court he usually wears finely cut plain dark robes with an embroidered cloak, though he is often seen leaving the castle in the garb of a woodsman or hunter; sturdy boots and leggings, a plain tunic and boiled leather jerkin. He is rarely without his bandoleer - a leather strap across his chest, supporting many pouches and containers for his miscellaneous spell components. Two long knives, as much for self defence as ceremonial work, hang from the lower end of the bandoleer.

Rumours abound of him in even stranger outfits; such as the skin and skull of a stag, complete with antlers, a rude smock woven out of vines and grasses, or one one occasion, a simple loincloth and a mass of intricate black and red tattoos. However he dresses when away from the castle, whilst at Court he is always at least vaguely presentable, even if there may be a mysterious stain on the edge of his cloak, or a smudge of dirt on his hands or face.

Personality: Some deep part of Roderick will always be the feral child they dragged out of the wild woods all those years ago; hissing, spitting and clawing at those trying to drag him to civilisation. Years of etiquette lessons from his adopted father slash mentor, the previous Court Sage, have mellowed him slightly, though he still enjoys a reputation as a wild man. This is due only in part to his position as resident warlock and expert on sympathetic magic, which is looked down upon by some as a barbaric throwback which has no rightful place in civilisation.

Roderick has always worn his heart on his sleeve. He is impulsive at times, with a strong reliance on his intuition and gut reaction to a situation, a befits a warlock. He is intensely loyal to his friends, as well as the King and Court, who make up the only family he has ever known. He revels in his mysteriousness, as it sets him apart from the more mundane day-to-day aspects of castle business, in which he has little interest. Stubborn and hot-tempered at times, Roderick can be boisterous but genuinely cares about those close to him, turning his rage and skills against those that cross him, his friends or the King.

He has a wary respect for arcane magic users, even if has no patience for that kind or amount of book learning himself. He has a certain admiration for the specific, repeatable results they can achieve, though he considers the whole thing overly complicated and showy compared to his deeper, far more instinctive, seat-of-the-britches art.

Backstory: There hasn't always been a Court Sage of Altranor; the position comes and goes, falling into and out of fashion with different monarchs as times and needs change over the years. Sometimes there isn't anyone qualified and willing to take on the job; seeing as many witches and warlocks shun most trappings of society for a simpler existence. Some Sages have been simple scholarly advisers to the King, whilst others like Roderick have been elbows deep in the practice of witchcraft and the King's hand in matters pertaining to the darker arts.

It was some thirty odd years ago that Francis Calen, the previous Court Sage, was on an expedition to the outlying island of Travenor in search of certain rare spell components. Shortly after arriving he began to hear tales of a beast-boy, a feral creature that lived in the wild woods, only emerging to raid homesteads and steal food. Beset by villagers asking for his aid, and spurred on by his own intuition, Calen agreed to help. Performing a ritual on a piece of hair left behind, Calen was able to lead a small group to the creatures lair, deep in the forest. After setting a trap and waiting for it to return, they were surprised to find the creature was a boy – covered in blood and worse, feral from years alone in the vicious and unforgiving forest.

The village, somewhat understandably, was less than keen to take back the boy that had been plaguing them for months – but was able to shed some light on his identity; Roderick, the son of a family that had been killed in a bandit attack some years before. Everyone had assumed at the time that he'd been taken as a slave or the body had been dragged off by bandits. Eventually Calen announced he would take the boy with him when he returned to the capital, figuring he could drop Roderick off at a temple or orphanage. Gaining his trust with patience and gifts of food, the two departed the island.

Somehow Calen never got around to dropping the boy off, and Roderick fell into something of a routine, following Calen around on his day-to-day duties and later formally becoming his apprentice. Not that it was all smooth sailing; there were many awkward questions about Calen's new charge, and it was a while before Roderick was half-civilised, clambering over the castle walls, hunting birds and getting into fights. Slowly Roderick started to mellow, turning his attention to his studies with Calen, learning all he could about sympathetic magic and witchcraft.

A decade after first Roderick first arrived at the castle, Francis Calen went on a mission for the King and disappeared. After a month of anxious waiting, word came back that his body had been found with his throat cut. Consumed by grief and rage, Roderick packed his bags and departed the castle that morning, seeking revenge. He knew Calen's last mission had been to investigate claims of a dark coven operating out of the northern mountains and rode that way with haste, without bothering to consult with anyone.

Letting his grief and rage guide him, Roderick slashed his own arm, drawing forth his blood and mixing it with rare herbs and crushed crystal from Calen's room, adding a lock of his departed mentor's hair. Painting a vicious sigil on the side of the mountain, screaming forth his rage, summoning a unnatural storm and fog that descended on the range, cutting it off from the outside range. Hunting the coven through the driving wind and rain, Roderick managed to separate them and hunt them down separately, exacting bloody revenge. When the storm finally abated witnesses describe Roderick stumbling out of the mountains, half dead from exposure and exhaustion. It took him some weeks to recover before he was ready to make the trip back to the capital.

Presenting himself to the King, Roderick prepared himself for come what may, having made peace with any consequences when he set out all those weeks ago. He was unsure of what would happen to him now, but King Erasmus named him the new Court Sage in his mentor's place and extracted an oath of fealty. Roderick has served the King faithfully ever since, acting as his adviser to occult matters, reading portents and trying to divine the future, and acting as his agent and emissary when dealing with witches and warlocks. Roderick would spend a lot of time in the field through out his career, acting as a forward scout in wild areas, dealing with dark covens and malicious presences, and occasionally acting as magical support to mundane troops, though this was a rare occurrence.

Notable Possessions:
A sight of witchsight glasses passed down through the office of Court Sage, and inherited by Roderick when he assumed the mantle. They are very valuable and rarely used outside of the castle, as he is obviously afraid to break or lose them in his more rough-and-tumble style of practice.

A sizable collection of rare ingredients and spell components gathered over the years, ranging from rare herbs and flowers, special minerals and crystals to hallucinogenic mushrooms and unusual items and talismans.

His bandoleer of spell components and twin ceremonial daggers

Name: Charles VII Beradon
Race: Human
Position: High general.
Appearance: Rugged is the first word that comes to mind when describing Charles; the hard jaw line, stubble, scars tissue build up on scar tissue as a network of old injuries still left their mark. While standing at a mere 5'8", his sheer bulky width of muscle giving the impression of being able to rip horse in half - With his determined piecing brown eyes giving the suggestion that he might actually do such a thing if required.

Personality: Charles had never been a pleasant man to be around, and with the fall of Altranor, this hadn't improved in the slightest. Punctual, to the point, and a severe dislike of incompetence or time wasting. Able to go from calm and calculating to a ferocious rage in a matter of seconds, many a spy or general had been psychically assaulted after an incorrect remark or failure to succeed. The personal nature of the defeat had also entertained a bitterness, a repressed sense of failure, turning the unlikable man even less so.

Backstory: The Beradon's had always been a military family. Generation after generation of sergeants, generals and advisors to the crown. Where ever you found a Beradon, you also found a solider willing to do whatever it took for the kingdom, laying down the sacrifice of blood, and reaping the rewards of such actions. Near any victory of Altranor, there was always a Beradon nearby.

Things had been no different for Charles, given a sword and rigorous training in both the physical and mental painting in the art of war, learning from fighters present in the daytime, while studying the marks of generals past at night, and as family tradition entailed enlisting as soon as of age. During the campaign to the north Charles showed himself to be as ferocious a fighting force as any Beradon was expected to be. But his mind soon bloomed into his greatest weapon, accumulating into the battle of straightsburg where 200 men lead by Charles managed to stave off the advance of two thousand as the forests themselves were said to move to his aid.

After such a victory the promotions an military feats continued. Never showing a hesitance or stumble as he danced mentally around every opponent with ease. Until Ghant that was. It had been a feeling brought on slowly, a sick sinking as the realization of coming up against someone who was finally his equal, or possibly even greater. Charles had been used to being the only person thinking outside of the box, but now every dance, every action he made, returned and greater opposite reaction. He destroyed their supply lines, they poisoned the waters. He countered with priests and they sent in the necromancers, slowly but surely approaching the destruction of everything his family had worked for over generations.

Notable Possessions: Crownbearer: An old hardened sword, battered and chipped as the kingdom it defended, yet still as sharp and swift as the day it had been made. Legend said that it had been forged by the first king himself, passed down generation to generation between the Beradon's

Name: Archbishop Saig Heroldi, AKA Father Heroldi, Holy Crusader Heroldi
Race: Human
Age: 39
Position:
“Archbishop and Grand Master of the Churches of Kelquai”
“Military and Religious Advisor”

Appearance:
You would think of the Archbishop being this powerful, broad shouldered man who could pierce through a line of enemy soldiers and fight like a beast of the wild… Your assumptions would be partially true, yet a few details lack. When confronted with the man himself, he does not have that thick chest and large arms. He was rather an average sized of a hard-working farmer of the land, no taller than five feet six inches and weighing no more than one hundred forty pounds. Don’t let this fool you. He might not look like a strong man, but his has a lot more nerve than you think. It can be seen in his deep blue hooded eyes as they stare into the windows of your soul.

His fair complexion isn’t any different from those of the Duchy, but he bears the deep black hair that is generally uncommon from those lands that vary between light brown and dirty blond. Saig typically keeps it relatively short, no longer than two inches long. His Greek nose and fallen lips completely his somewhat attractive features, although most would turn away once the notice the three large scars running across his face… Small traces of his time in the holy army of Kelquai and the King.

The Archbishop is rarely seen outside of his saintly robes of his church; a long sleeved white robes bordered blackwith the symbol of Kelquai (A christian cross fitted on top a up curved crescent). The only other time is in time of combat and war, which he bores his full suite of splint mail with a chainmail hauberk underneath. A dirty white tabard of the Church usually covers the splint mail, but not in all cases.

Personality:
Stubborn as a mule and head-strong, it takes very little for Archbishop to intervene in discussions in a rude, provocative matter. He will not take any kind of shit from anyone but the King and a few people of the royal court. Even if he is a down to earth man, his way of speaking what he wants is brutish and direct at best, insulting and condescending at worst. He represents his goddess with pride, showing conviction and determination in his actions and his opinions. The Archbishop is not scarred of being wrong and will shut up when proven wrong, but he will put up a fight when he knows he is right. He also lacks a sense of humor and generally isn’t going to be “nice” and “polite” with even the most mundane things.

The only times you will see him with a kind, welcoming smile is when he is within the churches of his goddess, in which he seems to change to someone else entirely. Respectful and generous, he joins in prayer the people come in and takes a little bit of time to talk with the people. He is not present in the churches as much anymore, but when he is, he turns into a kind priest of his people.

Backstory: WIP

Notable Possessions: WIP

Name: Darrick Grannd

Age: 23
Race: Human
Position: Assistant Cartographer

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Skills and Abilities: Darrick has been trained in a mix of scholarly, wilderness survival, and combat skills.

Mapmaking: Darrick has been practicing the art of mapmaking and transcribing since the day he could hold a quill. Equal parts drawing and literacy, when making a good map one must consider distance, elevation, and consistency. Not only must one have good spatial visualization but they must be able to empathise how those viewing will react to what they have presented in order to relay information effectively. This is Darrick’s most exceptional skill, though to him it seems rather unexceptional given his experience with it and his father always being better than him. This skill has a side effect of making quite the sketch artist.

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Swordplay: Darrick is trained and fairly skilled in swordplay having been trained personally by a skilled knight. He wasn’t a true squire, but he understands all the subtitles of knightly combat from maintenance and equipment of heavy armor to lanceplay. While he was never a fan of how plated armor constricted his movement, he enjoyed practicing swordplay with his mentor. As a result of his enthusiasm and his mentor’s skill at teaching he has become quite capable with a longsword, though he is not famed for his mastery of the weapon.

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Wilderness Survival: Having spent much of his time out on excursions and surveying missions with his father, Darrick is quite capable of surviving in the wilderness provided he starts with adequate equipment. More of a traveler than a wilderness master, he is the type to travel in the company of a horse and a sturdy pack and would have a hard time living off the land for an over extended period of time. Most of his prowess comes from his ability to read the landscape, when you know how the mountains flow it becomes easy to locate a river before you even see it.

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Trap Sense: More of an inherited disposition and a skill, Darrick seems to instinctively know when there are traps about. He would likely be hard pressed to actually locate or disarm them, but when it happens it is as through his blood curdles to tell him “this place is dangerous, be wary”.

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Appearance: Darrick is over rather average height, slightly under six feet. He has a muscular build fitting one of regular exercise and practiced swordplay but does not wield a greathammer and is therefore not on bodybuilder status. His face has rather youthful features, being more smooth than chiseled. However, his recently filled in short beard gives him a more mature look than if he were clean shaven. His nose has a slight tilt to it midway down from when he broke it climbing a tree during his childhood. His hair and eyes are both a dark, muddy brown. He keeps the hair on his head short and out of the way. It has a naturally starchiness to it and does not lie flat easily.

Darrick normally wears drab and durable clothing customary to his position. He is a fan of leather or cloth, but he feels comfortable enough often wears a chainmail short sleeve under his cloak, which he favors with a hood. He has the ability and training to don heavier, plate armor but dislikes it’s restricting nature and has little to no actual combat experience in it. He often wears leather gloves rather than not and always has a simple looking longsword in a simple looking sheathe at his hip. He also wears a Misericorde sheathed inside his right boot.

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Personality: Darrick has been a historically cheery fellow when you get to know him him. From his upbringing, he has been a bit isolated from his peers which has gotten him rather used to being alone. Though this has led him to cherish those few friends he has. He much prefers the company of people to sitting alone around a campfire. It may take a while for him to openly initiate conversation with someone who he is not familiar, but he is quick to trust those who take an interest in communicating with him.

Darrick enjoys swordplay greatly, but rather dislikes actual battle. When we trains with people or has friendly sparring matches he enjoys the challenge and competitive nature of the combat. In real life or death battles he has mostly fought against hostile hill people and bandits who were largely untrained in personal combat. He has killed only six, not counting feral beasts. His counting of those he has killed speaks to his belief of the seriousness and finality of life or death combat, something his mentor hammered into him from an early age.

Darrick, like most of his Grannd ancestors has a natural exploitative and inquisitive nature about him. From learning a new subject of seeing a new area, he genuinely enjoys and actively seeks out new experiences without fear of change. He’s not one to feel comfortable in a cushy unsurprising lifestyle and has a natural wonderlust about his personality. That said, this can sometimes manifest as a rushed overconfidence which is so often present in those his age. He sees this in himself, helped by his father and mentor to notice it, and considers it as a flaw. So when he notices himself rushing things he often tries to slow down and take another look at the situation.

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Backstory: The office of Head Cartographer and Surveyor has been one high regard but low nobility in Altranor since the kingdom’s inception. Although customarily passed down by birth, the position is never guaranteed and more than once the family controlling the position has been usurped by a particularly skilled or ambitious individual. Darrick’s father, Jeron, was the third of his line to hold the position.

Jeron’s grandfather was somewhat of an adventurer and wayfarer. He was passionate in creating maps, something that he was also quite skilled at. The man’s predecessors,Jeron included, have continued in the traveler’s method. Favoring exploring and traveling, updating and creating, to transcribing or collaborating other’s works.

Jeron was not close to Darrick's mother. The man was rather solitary when it came to other women. Though the man had desires, he never fell in love with anyone. Neither was he subject to any family marriages. When the mother of his child died in childbirth, the man was just over thirty and did not grieve for long.

Darrick’s early childhood was spent in the capital. Jeron abandoned his travels during the boy’s infancy, soon after the boy could walk and talk the man resumed his travels. Normally his father would spend nearly two thirds of every year out on excursions for his courtly position. In these early years, the Head Cartographer left his son in the care of a knight of low nobility, Eddrick, who was perpetually garrisoned in the capital. The knight had been a friend of Jeron since their early childhood and took good care of the young boy.

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Eddrick was the fourth son of family that owned a small patch of land just outside the capital. Never destined for lordship, the man was squired early and had spent most of his life in the capital garrison. He was a noble and kind man, skilled in combat, but of little ambition. The highest rank he ever achieved was that of training fresh militia recruits. The man seemed to have a natural empathy which lent itself well to teaching others.

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Darrick started out as a rather quiet little child. He would spend much of the day working on his penmanship, sketching, and transcription. The exercises were given by his father, and Darrick took them to heart. The boy would work laboriously for just to hear the man’s praise when he returned home from the long excursions. Though over time the boy began to see his father’s praise as more and more shallow. Eventually his interests turned to other pursuits.

Exploration was apparently in his blood. Darrick had lost his passion for the stuffy office work of a mapmaker, he seemed to naturally gravitate toward the position he was likely to inherit. The boy began to go on excursions of his own, now spending most of his days in the streets or forests near the capital. He had always had relatively free reign over his free time. Eddrick could only keep a cursory watch over the boy, inbetwixt his daily duties. Young Darrick walked about the castle freely and innocently. All the while he mapped out the areas in his head and sometimes even on paper.

After a few minor courtly Faux Pas, it became apparent that Darrick would need closer supervision. It was pointed out that the boy was now old enough to easily hold a sword, so Eddrick took the boy under his wing as an unofficial squire. Darrick now spent his days under Eddrick’s supervision, training in the art of swordplay and horseriding. Though he still spent his nights sketching and practicing his necessary scholarly skills.

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When Darrick grew into middle adolescence, his father began to take the young man with him on most of his trips. Darrick began to learn the more subtle skills of his father’s trade, the ones that made the man stand out enough to be considered Head Cartographer of the kingdom of Altranor. He learned how the land was naturally shaped, how to survive and navigate in the wilderness, and how to read what the landscape had to say. Darrick was also introduced for the first time the lesser known duties of Head Cartographer and Surveyor, locating treasure.

It was a bit of a court secret the Head Cartographer and Surveyor had, since the appointment of Jeron’s grandfather, been given an ulterior objective to just making and updating the kingdom’s maps. The Head Cartographer was also expected to locate ruins, caves, and otherwize hidden places which might hold valuable or magical artifacts.

Not exactly a treasure hunter, the Head Cartographer would make special denotations and relay the locations of these hidden places to the king. The king would then decided to either send an expedition or simply sell the information to interested parties. Treasure hunting and ruin spoiling was a dangerous business and not really suited to the low manpower or solo traveling which the Head Cartographer enjoyed. However, that didn’t stop the Grannd from occasionally poking their nose inside a particularly interesting location and coming out with a pretty trinket or new scar.

And so went Darrick’s life as the now Assistant Cartographer. When he was at the capital he trained with Eddrick and practiced his studies. When his father took him on excursions, he learned from the ageing man the tricks of the family trade. He even began to grow into a closer, friendly relationship with his father after having been estranged from the man for much of his childhood. This life carried on rather smoothly, although he had a short rebellious phase near the end of his adolescence as most young men of that age do.

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Darrick and his father were both present at the sacking of the capital. The king had suspended their regular duties when foreign troops began to set foot on Altranorean soil. Instead Jeron assisted the king and his generals, giving his insight toward the conditions of the land and other warlike matters which related to his expertise.

When the castle was stormed, Darrick’s father made the decision to stay with the king and guard his liege. The Head Cartrographer he ordered Darrick to attempt and meet of with some of the fleeing royal family and Eddrick. When Jeron handed Darrick the family sword, the father felt as though he knew this would be their last meeting. Darrick felt more optimistic, believing his father and the king would somehow make it out and they would join up later. The young man had never been to war, never truly experienced such a dire situation. As the soldier drove his sword through Jeron’s gut, he wished he had said more to his son before their parting.

When Darrick arrived at the secret passage there was no sign of the fleeing royal family members or Eddrick. He used his memory and knowledge of the castle layout to avoid capture. When he determined the fate of his father and the king, he vowed revenge.

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Notable Possessions:

The Grannd Family Sword “Blinder”: At first glance, Blinder seems like an unremarkable weapon. A simple longsword, the hilt is a flat rectangle the handle wrapped in brown leather, and the pommel no more designed than a small egg shape. Upon closer inspection the quality of the blade is obvious. The edge is smooth and devoid of cracks or nicks. The steel has a soft tarnish and slight surface scratching but no real flaws to speak of. When a trained fighter holds the weapon in their hands will immediately notice an exceptional balance. Those that examine these features would have no doubt that the sword is quite valuable.

However, if they were to run their hand over the blade, they would also notice a slight unnatural warmth to the blade. From this a learned individual can easily deduce that this is no ordinary sword but an enchanted blade. Which sends the value of the weapon from high to exceptional.

Though the specific enhancement is unknown, the knowledge of it’s effects have been passed down through the Grannd family for four generations since the sword was discovered in a far flung ruin by Darrick’s ancestor. The blade was originally housed in a more flamboyant hilt and handle the blade itself was the only part of the sword which had any magical properties and has since been re-hilted.

Beyond its lack of apparent deterioration, the Blade has a strange and useful magical power. It is from this power that the weapon derives it’s name. When wielding the weapon, if one knows of the power and desires to use it the weapon briefly seems to flash with a blinding light to all those but the one holding it. There is no vocal incantation or special action the wielder must take, they must merely wish or desire Blinder to flash and it will.

The flash blinds those who have unobstructed vision of the weapon’s blade and will cause them to be unable to see for roughly a second and a half. Though in a fight that is quite enough time to deliver a deadly blow, especially if your opponent is surprised and blinded.

The wielder needs to use Blinder’s power sparingly, as it can not be used in rapid succession. The general rule is that you will likely only be able to use the power once per fight unless the fight is exceptionally long. This is especially important since the wielder has no queues that the magic of the blade has worked beyond the actions of those around him. One of Darrick’s ancestors once counted how long it took for the blade to recover, it was around five minutes.

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A Magic Ring: Darrick wears a silvery metal ring which holds some manner of enchantment. When kissed the ring emits the voice of lady singing in a language unknown to the Grannd family. This ring was found by his grandfather and passed to him by his father during his childhood. It has kept him company many nights throughout his life, especially as a young child when his father was far away. The songs length and tone change according to mimic the mood of the one that kissed the ring.

Backstory:
Born second son of a Duke, Saig was raised into a highly prestigious family. They were also highly religious, attending church every half-a-moon. It was to think that they believed her Holiness Kelquai brought them the favors they needed, rewarding them for their hard work. To the others Duchies around, it was clear that it wasn’t the case as they true “favor” from the Kelquai is them working very hard and staying devoted to their work. Most were miners in these regions, living through harsh conditions of work, but never backing down from it. It was the reason their Duchy was so strong, so united.

Saig had been sent, by demand of his father, to join the ranks of the holy warriors of Kelquai. It was a separate army of the royal army, but served the purpose of the King and her Holiness Kelquai. They were odd bunch of faithful soldiers who took command under priests and inquisitors, not commanders and officers as usual. It is said that it was because of these leading mean and their gift of Kelquai’s blessings that made these warriors unbreakable in combat and feared by the enemies of the King. These men were mainly sent where it was said to have sacred grounds, so that they could either purify the area or profane it. In either case, other than the blessings of Her Holiness and religious zeal, they were not any different than other soldiers.

Saig participated in a particular Crusades in the northern islands of the Fanged Isle. The first was the Siege of Keep Krul-Kith, defended by savage orcs and ogres. These creatures of brute strength and stubborn will did not want to be under the king’s commands and so, have not been spared the brutal assault of both the Holy warriors of Kelquai and the section of the royal army of Erasmus the indomitable. The battle lasted hours trying to take the keep, many of the men died, although the holy warriors seemed to be driven and pushed to fight by their leaders to fight passed their normal limits. Victory ensued after hundreds were wasted near and outside the walls from both sides, but the Officer of the Royal army Tezkoth was able to change the grimy flag of the barbarians to the royal Flag of his Majesty King Erasmus.

A few months after these events, the Holy warriors of Kelquai were sent in with the royal army once more to fight a threat that was attacking the Duchy near the western borders of the Kingdom. These men were sent of reinforce the walls of Duchy main city Silverfalls, an elven society who joined the King a few years ago. They didn’t have the manpower to push off some elven rebels who wanted to take back the lands of their ancestors. Severely outnumbered, the army of her Holiness Kelquai and the Royal army of Erasmus came forth to push back the threat. This is where the word of Holy Crusader Heroldi had started… The advancing army of rebel elves was beating back the reinforcements and the morales were breaking in the ranks of both armies… The standard bearer had fallen with many of the officers and the inquisitors, leaving the army trembling in their positions. The retreat order was to be called, to leave the capital of the Duchy, but Saig, seeing that they could win if the men would just keep pushing until reinforcement came once more, had taken the standard that was dropped and raised it high, shouting out his demands in a new-found, resounding voice, as if a divine presence was speaking with him.

“YOU SHALL NOT BACK AWAY FROM THE FIELD! YOU FIGHT UNTIL YOUR LAST BREATH IS TAKEN FROM THE STEEL OF YOUR ENEMIES! WITH THE BLESSINGS OF KELQUAI AND HIS MAJETSY THE KING, YOU SHALL DESTROY THESE HERETICS AND REBELS. MAKE THEM TREMBLE UNDER YOUR MIGHT!”

This roar seemed to echo through the ranks, a second wind coming to many of the soldiers… And they fought on with a new conviction. Most do not understand how this had all happened, but the men were able to hold off until a section of the neighboring Duchy came from the flank and completely pushed back the rebels. It was only when the threat disappeared that many of the soldiers who had fought with the royal army and the holy army fell to the ground, either dead or completely exhausted to the point of unconsciousness… When they found Saig, he was lying beside his dead foes and allies, but with the standard standing.

That day was remembered to be one were the blessing of Kelquai was said to be felt by even those who did not worship or believe in her faith. Many questioned if it was simply the words of Saig driven the men to fight or if he called on her holiness to push these men to their limits before they died. In any case, it was a successful defense… And this “miracle” was heard by the King and all of the Bishops of the churches. After Saig had rested and recovered from the violent attack, he was given the rank of Archbishop, as they believed he carried the true will of Kelquai and would display it within the communities that prayed her Holiness. Of course, he was also given the right to coordinate the Holy Army in the name of the King and her Holiness.

The years followed with a few more crusades, where the same conviction and might of the “miracle” was shown… Not to the same degree, but still impressive. He had the charisma and determination of a true warrior and knew well that loses were necessary in order to win. This view had caught the attention of the King once more, but this time, was asked to present himself at the castle of the King himself. It was to say, it was a great honor.

Saig had presented himself in his holy robes and with some elite members of the Church and the Holy Army. Saig, as the others who presented themselves, bowed down as they should. The King stood up and came forth. Saig did not raise his head, staying bowed.

- You have quite a reputation of leading men into their deaths for victory, serving me and your Goddess.
- I do what is necessary for your Royal Majesty and her Holiness.
- Well, I also hear you have lead men into situations where you should have died, yet lived.
- I inspire the courage of the men on the field with the blessings of her Holiness and the mighty feats of your Royal Majesty. Soldiers only need a reason and hope for their inner flame to break free.

Theking took a pause, looking down upon him and then back away to his throne.

“With what I have heard and with your great victories, I ask you to join my Court.”

It was no surprise that Saig did raise his head, more out of shock of the request than anything else. The Archbishop had accepted the request and since then, has been by the king’s side. Now, he fights both with the King and in the name of the king. It was then Saig saw how he accomplished his feats. His Court were a band of competent men and women and it proved that the man surrounded himself with people of great resolve. This only heightened the respect the Archbishop had for the king.

Some months ago, Roderick began foretelling dire portents of doom and disaster. Disturbed, but determined to learn as much as he could, Roderick set about scouring the nearby forests and towns for rare spell components. The forthright warlock had never had much luck with divination, but that didn't stop him from trying as he cast knucklebones, performed auguries, and conducted a ceremony which involved hallucinogenic mushrooms and him dancing in his skin under the full moon on the castle roof, an act which caused no small amount of rumor in the Court and earned him a mild rebuke from the King. Ultimately though, his efforts were unsuccessful.

When they received news of the invasion, all of Roderick's portents became painfully clear, as is often the case with prophecy. Changing tack, Roderick left the capital with the Royal Army in order to help in the attempt to slow or stave off the invading armies. He acted as an advanced scout and magical support to the regular troops; blessing friendly troops, cursing enemy ones and running interference with opposing spellcasters. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, the Royal Army was routed. Roderick fled back towards the capital, hoping to join in the last ditch defense of the capital and buy the King enough time to escape. Unfortunately he arrived only moments before the besieging armies.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Roderick slipped into the castle, using the back corridors and and a secret passage he remembered from his time as a wild youth. His plan was to collect the King and any members of the Royal Court and somehow try to spirit them out of the city - he hadn't quite that far ahead yet. However, it seems he was doomed to fail thrice over, as just as he neared the base of the King's castle, sticking carefully to the shadows as not to be seen, the King plummeted from the topr of the tower, crashing through the roof of the pigsty in a final, humiliating insult to the man Roderick had known and respected all his life. With that final disaster, everything Roderick had ever known came crashing down around him.