Name: Hagok Tor'vuul, affectionately named "Jeff" by his closest friend. (Pronounced with a kind of gagging sound at the "g" and a whistle through the last syllable. "Jeff" is pronounced normally.)

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Race: Beastman (Satyr-esque with a Satanic Ram's head instead of a human head.)

Weapons: A massive black lance that is easily replaced and repainted each time it is damaged or destroyed in battle. The monolithic weapon is fitted with carefully carved, rune-etched cold-iron hardware designed to slay daemonic creatures and banish greater daemons and their hosts on contact. It also serves as a platform to display his pennant; a black triangular field with a silver fist in the middle of a gold pentagram. A shashka, a heavy steel mattock, a very simple, inelegant miséricorde, and a large fighting knife round out his arsenal. While he typically doesn't do battle with the mattock, it is a more than capable weapon, and he has no qualms about using it as such. His knives, on the other hand, are his go-to weapons when not mounted and fighting from lizard-back. His sword is typically reserved for fighting in the thick of battle while he remains mounted.

Equipment: Travels in chainmail hauberk beneath a heavy leather vest, with a quilted calico-and-wool undershirt to provide some extra protection. Matching leather vambraces protect his forearms, but he refuses to wear gloves, citing the same reason he refuses to wear pants. However he has never actually explained to anyone the reason he refuses to wear pants, beyond the obvious, but even that hasn't been stated. A black wool cloak rests on his shoulders, generally swept back out of the way, rendering it mostly useless, save as another platform to display his personal heraldry. The clasp of his cloak is almost always hidden in the folds of his bloodstained coyote-and-black shemagh. A ridiculously thick, double-wrapped swordbelt holds his collection of weaponry, as well as whatever other trinkets he currently believes are worth hanging onto.

Inventory: His lance, sabre, mattock, knives, cloak, and scarf, with a bundle of sundry survival supplies and extra clothes tied tightly to the back of his loyal steed.

Appearance: Standing at just over six feet in height, he's an incredibly muscular man, at least where parts of him are actually human. However the parts of him that aren't human still display remarkable strength. His goat lower half is covered in thick mottled black hair, and his hooves, shod in cold-iron, glint violently when people care to notice. His human torso possesses a kind of cut-from-stone appearance, which most attribute to the fact that he is just as likely to be a daemon as he is to be anything else. Charming is certainly not a word one would use to describe him, however he claims otherwise, joking that, were the person to simply stare deep enough into his alarmingly yellow eyes, they might see just how charming he is. Most do not understand that this is a joke. The ram's head sitting atop his incredibly strong shoulders is the very definition of daemonic, matching every description of a satanic symbol. He even sports the scars of daemonic battles, notably a wicked gash vertically across his right eye, the scar starting on his forehead, and running down over his cheekbone. Similarly, his left horn was severed at a quarter of the way down from the tip. It has since been spitefully resharpened, along with his right horn, though it remains so far intact, spiralling out horizontally and unbalancing his head thanks to his damaged horn. His steadfast refusal to do anything about it seems to indicate that he does not altogether disagree with his unpleasant image. Flesh-rending fangs can even be tucked away inside his ruminant jaws. Adding to his evil appearance is his large collection of tattoos that he has no problem showing off upon request.

Background: The earliest memory that he possesses, is a massive hammer being swung down upon his skull. Unfortunately, he can no longer visualize the face of the man performing the act, but remains convinced he could recognize the offender if presented with him. After that, he woke up in a citadel, a massive, square place. Everything chiselled straight out of a mountain, and cut perfectly square. It was a very bastion of order, and home to a collection of knights. These men of war helped the beastman get back on his feet, and provided him with much-needed training in the art of Chivalry. The only other beastman among their ranks was even kind enough to take the amnesiac under his wing, re-naming the warrior and doing his best to aid the beginnings of the goat-man's quest. Before he finally departed for the world, the order named him Knight Errant of the Order of Cold Iron, and presented him with his own heraldry to bear with him. From there he went questing, unsure if he even cared to progress through the ranks, but grateful for their aid. The only thing he was truly sure about, was that he would have to find the man who thought it imprudent to slay him. Whoever they were, he would be sure to correct their mistake as permanently as possible. His first task, as a knight errant, was to find a steed. An act easily accomplished amongst the mountains he found himself in. The mountain "lizards" were plentiful, and large enough and strong to bear a knight and all his gear. When properly trained, they could even be savage battle companions. Their greatest strength, however, had to be their warm-blooded nature. Technically, it meant they weren't lizards, but the knight wasn't about to argue with one about it. Indeed, after taming one, and training it to aid him in battle, no one else was willing to argue with the beast about what it was, either. It was a noble steed, and a vicious fighter, that was all that mattered.

Personality: Being a wanderer and more than happy on his own, he is often seen as a bit of a loose cannon, especially considering his appearance. However the cavalier is actually a perfectly co-operative sort, if a bit unyielding in his beliefs. Those who take the time to get to know him, usually people rescued by his endeavours, find the daemonic goat-man to be a bright, cheerful sort, if a bit slow at times. Certainly not the evil most picture when they see a daemonic creature riding toward them on an equally strange steed tamed in far-off mountains. He does have a rather antagonistic habit of cutting out the hearts of his enemies and holding them aloft while calling out "Hail Kha-Beleth!" in a rather disturbing, high-pitched voice(think South Park's Christmas Critters). Depending on his company, his mood, and the people he'd slain, he is also known to take bites of the harvested hearts, or even consume the entire thing.

Job: Wanderer, Cavalier, and Knight Errant. Perfectly happy as a Mercenary when times are tough.

Skills: Martial Weapon Proficiency, Small Weapon Proficiency, Light, Medium, and Heavy Armour Proficiency, Dual Weapon Proficiency, Light and Medium Shield Proficiency, Survival Proficiency, Riding Mastery.

Traits: Strong, Inspiring, Focused, Determined.

Magic: None.

Talent: Brilliant Tactical Mind

Strengths: Strong, focused, tenacious, can incite terror with a glance, a force to be reckoned with from lizard-back

Weaknesses: Stubborn, uncomprehending of the arcane, appears rather horrifying to potential friends, less talented on his own two feet. (Less, as in relatively. He's not fucking paralysed or some shit.)

Theme: Amon Amarth - Live for the Kill

Character Sheet HappyNisa ______________________________ Name: Lethia Avalyn Ashwezir Age: 17 Gender: Female Race: Hume Weapons: None really, but she has a small knife in her satchel. Equipment: A cloak that is a bit too small, a short dress with underneath trousers. She has no boots but her feet are covered in bandages and she wears socks over them. Inventory: A lantern with candle and a satchel. Her satchel is precious to her as her name is sown inside it and her only clue to who she might be. In her satchel she has: a small bag with some coins, a drinking bag with alcohol of some sorts, a piece of rope, some left-over bandages, an apple and a small knife. Appearance: Lethia has grey eyes and her hair is a dull blonde. She’s covered in bruises, scars and wounds of which she has no recollection getting them. Her cloak is a dark brown while the rest of her attire is in a dreary gray. Her satchel is made of a smooth leather. Background: Lethia found herself in the middle of the wilderness without any memory nor clothes. She was wrapped up in bandages and her body hurt all over. The only thing in her possession was a satchel of a soft leather. It was roughly tied around her waist. Inside she found a drinking bottle, a bit of rope and a scroll with inside a map. Thirsty as she was she took a big gulp of the liquid inside the bottle. As soon as she tasted it, she spit it out again. The alcohol was too disgusting for her to drink. Miserably she looked around her, looking for a clue as to where she was. She spotted a road and tried to get up to reach it when the pain hit her. Distraught she looked at the bandages again, finally understanding that she was injured. Like a snake crawling around her skin the panic hit her. She opened her mouth wide open and started shaking uncontrollable. No sound escaped her lips, no tears left her eyes. She just sat there until rain started to fall on top of her and her panic washed away. She opened up the satchel and found the map. Not even one town rang a bell. After staring at the unknown towns and roads for what looked like hours she threw the useless thing away. Out of pure frustration she walked the torturing distance to the road. There she found a tumbled carriage and two humes. They were both staring at the raining sky with unseeing eyes. The female’s clothing were torn but right next to her was another satchel. One that looked a scary lot like the one she had around her waist. She collapsed next to the woman’s body and laid there in between the bodies until the pain subsided again. She reached for the woman’s satchel and found a piece of cheese and dried out bread. Her stomach rumbled but the idea of eating made her nauseous. She put the food in her own satchel and emptied the other satchel. It was empty except for a knife. She then noticed the name stitched inside the satchel: Guinevere Lilian Ashwezir. She looked at her own satchel and on a closer inspection she read Lethia Avalyn Ashwezir. Dumbstruck she looked at the woman and then at the man. Lethia realized she had lost a familymember, possibly her mother. Yet the woman didn’t look familiar, she couldn’t remember anything about her. The simple fact that she couldn’t even remember the woman lying dead in the dirt before her brought her to tears. Crawling she went to the side of the road and started digging holes for the two dead people behind her. Inflicting pain upon herself while doing so, because she found she deserved it. How could she not remember them? How could she not remember herself? She allowed herself to take the man’s socks and put them around her hurt feet and the cloak of the woman to keep herself warm, but she didn’t take anything else. Silently she buried the two people then collapsed next to it. The next time she woke up she was in a strangers bed. Her bandages had been refreshed and an elder woman was dipping her face with a cold cloth. “Don’t move too much, you’re very hurt.”, she said to Lethia before she called out for her husband. The husband entered the room and Lethia felt panic she didn’t understand. The elder lady however pushed her husband out immediately. She took Lethia in her arms and started humming lullabies until the panic subsided. “I’m so sorry, child. I didn’t realize that looking at a man might frighten you. Oh, the horrors you must have been in!” Lethia remembered none of the horrors, but was glad for the soothing words of the lady. “Where are my manners? My name’s Kioni Hazenfell, me and my husband found you next to... We found you and treated your wounds. What’s your name?” Lethia opened her mouth and shut it when she realized that she wasn’t going to produce any sound. Instead she pointed at the satchel at her bed end. Kioni brought it to her and Lethia pointed at her name inside it. “Lethia Ashwizer? Nice to make your acquaintance. Are you hungry?” Apparently Kioni decided that she was and she went off to get some food. For a couple of weeks she rested at the Hazenfell’s house. She had only gotten a few panic attacks and Kioni was always ready to sooth her. Her husband Elric came and tried to talk to her, trying to get answers about what had happened. When he realized Lethia couldn’t speak nor remember, he let her be and started talking about himself and Kioni. Lethia felt at home and the Hazenfells both seemed to accept her in their house. Until their harvest got ruined by thieves. Neither ever said a word about making her leave, but Lethia felt it was time to go even though she hadn’t fully healed yet. She left in the night leaving a note to express her gratitude, taking only the clothes they had given her, her own satchel, her father’s socks, her mother’s cloak and one of the many lanterns the household possessed. Later on she started stealing to come by: a necklace here, some money there. People never gave her a second glance which really helped her improve on her stealing skills. Whenever she got the chance she took something from someone. Whatever she stole, she’d trade later for something she actually needed. Only her lantern, her satchel, her socks and cloak, where things she never traded around as those were precious reminders. Nowadays she’s still roaming around stealing whenever needed, going unnoticed without effort. Days go by in which she feels like ending it all, so she might be with her unknown memories, but until this day she’s still floundering around, injuries and depressions and all. Personality: Lethia appears to be the rather unfazed about the world around her, but can have spontaneous panic attacks. It’s not like she’s antisocial but her being unable to communicate made her stop seeking out other people. Though she doesn’t know how to speak, she does know how to steal unnoticed. Unable to withhold those urges to steal, she is what you could call a kleptomaniac. This is however born out of her need to steal to survive. Her abilities to survive are however greatly tested by her own depressions and clumsiness. Job: Thief Skills: Stealing, moving around without being noticed. Traits: Fast, quiet, easily distracted, kleptomaniac, clumsy (especially in social circumstances) Magic: Shapeshifting (untrained, slightly unpredicatable) Talent: Being almost impossibly silent. Theme: I never know what to do with these... If you find a nice fitting song for her go add it... else well she’s soundless.. why should she have musical theme? Let the silence be her theme... :p ______________________________

Name: Aruk Si-Rak Age: 19 Gender: Male Race: Valorfellan Argonian Weapons: Iron Halberd, worn after many battles but still reliable and strong. Equipment: Iron Cuirass, Hide loincloth, light iron greaves, leather boots, leather bracers, golden crescent amulet, potion belt, leather backpack. Inventory: Survival Supplies, Hatchet, Healing Potions x3, Food Rations x5, Hide Waterskin, Coinpurse, Journal, Charcoal, Iron Dagger, Appearance: Standing slightly shorter than other Valorfellan Argonians his age, Aruk's scale colour is black mixed with crimson, especially over his face to give a 'bloody face' effect. He is relatively fit, having a slightly muscular build and athletic body. His head is adorned with spikes and horns that aren't curved, and his eyes are a fierce amber brown. He usually wears an iron cuirass, but wears hide tapered like long loincloth and wears leather boots and bracers. Around his neck is a gold crescent amulet on a steel chain he always wears, and Aruk always has his iron halberd close to him wherever he goes. Background: Aruk Si-Rak grew up in the nomadic life all Valorfellan Argonians know. His father was one of the many warriors that protected Akethari, and his mother was a huntress. Beside Aruk was his twin brother, Taluk. Each day wasn't to be wasted, Aruk was taught, and each day he and his brother were put to work from an early age, learning the hardship they would have to face to grow stronger. Years go on as the city of Akethari moved across the dunes of the Southern Deserts, and Aruk and Taluk begin to take on more tasks. They both becomes apprentices to their father, and Aruk begins to practice with his weapon of choice, the Halberd, whilst Taluk practiced with the Spear. Eventually, after years of rigorous tasks, exercise and training, the twin brothers are disciplined and broken into strong warriors. But instead of staying with the city, Aruk struck out on his own and left for the wide world, becoming a travelling mercenery. He left behind his family without a goodbye. But Aruk still keeps his memories of his family with him. A gold crescent amulet that was one half of the moon amulet he and his brother shared, given by their parents. It was only 2 months since he left his people that he met a Seraveen named Crystal. The Dominion had conquered half of south Euraiya, and he had been ambushed by a Dominion patrol. Crystal found Aruk after he had slaughtered the genocidal patrol, mortally wounded and close to death in the Grimmvale forests. She saved him, and formed a close bond with the Argonian. They both shared a passion for wanderlust, and together became a sort of dynamic duo. Crystal needed someone to protect her from beasts and people's unaware footsteps, and Aruk was indebted to her for saving his life. Ever since then, the two have wandered out of and into the wartorn lands, helping whoever was in need and sometimes even for free. Now the two find themselves in Grimmvale as the rumoured Tiberius Azklan begins his campaign to free the Empire. Personality: Quiet, but not shy, Aruk is hard to make conversation with, but he is fiercely loyal to those he deems worthy of his loyalty. He makes friends through comradeship most of the time, but seldom makes them through normal means. He can enjoy a good laugh occasionally, but takes his job seriously when it comes to working for others. Job: Mercenary Skills: Survival Skills, Advanced Combat Training, Halberd Training, Armour and Weapon Repair Traits: Strong, Swift, Skilled, Experienced, Disciplined, Honourable, Merciful Magic: None. Talent: -- Si-Rak Crescent : Aruk wields his Halberd in a certain way, and has been inspired by the Crescent Shape. His own special Si-Rak Crescent is a sudden swipe with his halberd that is so subtle and swift that it leaves a glimmer that forms the shape of a Crescent Moon. Apart from looking shiny, the Si-Rak Crescent is useful for sweeping enemies out of Aruk's path, and can kill foes wearing inadequate armor to save them from the axehead. Strengths: His discipline and honour as an Akethari Warrior, Aruk will spare a foe more often than not. He is a skilled warrior, and years of training and plenty of time facing real foes have hardened his skills In battle. In combat, his halberd is just as much his strength as it is his weakness, as he puts all his trust in the one weapon. Weaknesses: His discipline and honour as an Akethari Warrior, Aruk will spare a foe more often than not. It is also his closeness and sentimentality at heart that makes Crystal, and anyone else that he calls friend, his weakness. In combat, his halberd is just as much his strength as it is his weakness, as he puts all his trust in the one weapon. Quote: "Hold close, little one! This beast will be a challenge!" Theme: Final Fantasy XII - Jahara, Land of the Garif (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzdIgRZ_34g)

Name: Crystal Age: ??? Gender: Female Race: Grimmvale Seraveen Weapons: Her Flask. Or rather whatever she might be concocting inside it. Equipment: No Armor, only a leafy coat. Inventory: Nothing else. Just her flask. Aruk is the one who carries anything in their relationship. Appearance: Small as shown by her size, covered from thigh to her neck in a leafy coat that changes with the seasons. She is constantly carrying some potion or another in her arms. She has 6 leafy wings that she can use to hover in the air for a small while, before she has to settle on someone's shoulder or on the ground again. She Has a childish voice but doesn't like it when people don't take her seriously. Background: Crystal is a smaller Seraveen that has been around for a very long time. Asking her age probably won't get you a straight answer but you might be able to guess if she mentions things about her past, which she does tend to mention. She was born in Enthero but was struck by wanderlust, so she left to make her own way in the world, exploring and "helping" people with her potions, sometimes if they wanted too or not. During one of her more recent episodes of being helpful she might have accidentally helped some evil guys wipe out a village or five, but it wasn't her fault since she didn't know what the potions she was making were going to be used for. She's made a lot more friends and sometimes they'll even try the potions she makes with whatever's lying around willingly! Personality: Crystal is caring and kind, usually making helpful potions or using the odd bit of actual magic to help someone in need, though she likes to experiment she only does it with consent and tends to try not to kill people with her potions, but sometimes they just keel over. That tends to bug her but she just goes out and makes more friends, although the last ones she made left her a bit miffed about putting her in a prison, though she's still gregarious and friendly to people around her. Job: Alchemist Skills: Alchemy, Healing, Herblore Traits: Small, Gregarious, Clever, Helpful, Creative. Magic: Enough Healing and Nature Magic to get by. Talent: -- Keen Herblore :Crystal has a keen eye for all alchemical reagents that grow in the wild, and is also very knowledgeable of everything and anything they do, and more importantly, if they are safe to consume. Strengths: Being Small. Weaknesses: Being Small. Quote: "I wonder what this will do! Heehee!" Theme: Rikku's Theme (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-tKGc8YAys) AFTERNOTE: All credits go to Crystal for the original character from Descendents of the New World