Name: Syrena Sinclair
Age: 16
Class: Mage
Weapons: Arma Infernum (Equivalent of Arcfire)

Fighting Style: Carefully thought out magic from a distance. She can fight close range but doesn't like to because it increases the odds that she may seriously injure or disfigure someone. She tries to make sure that she disables people only and never goes for the kill. When it's not related to her magic Syrena isn't afraid to fight dirty. As a farm girl she learned to defend herself from the local village boys and doesn't harbor any reserves about hitting people where it hurts most.

Personality: The thing most people say about Syrena is that she's sweet. She's young compared to everyone else among the Reclaimers and doesn't quite fit in with the crowd. She bright, knowing how to read and write despite growing up a farm girl. She's good at taking in details and has a knack for planning but has a bad habit of deferring to others in a group. She tends to spend a lot of time by herself but is fairly good company when among friends. She does better communicating with those she knows one on one. Syrena tends to not think about consequences to seriously and acts much more out of instinct. She believes anything is possible and doesn't follow instructions very easily. Syrena avoids being confrontational with people at all costs and only has a few things that she will really put up a fight in defense against. She is very good at deducing what needs to be done but has a lot of trouble communicating with other people. She is capable of laying thoughts out very clearly they tend to get all jumbled when she's trying to tell others. Action is her forte and she tends to fold when presented with social situations. She's rather shy and has a mild stutter when talking to others.

History: Syrena grew up in an outlying village in the Kingdom of Bravura. Her father was a book binder and while the village wasn't exactly an epicenter of scholarly works he found steady employment repairing historical and religious volumes at the local monastery. On occasion he would also repair damaged tomes for travelling mages that passed through the area. It was a rare and respected skill to be able to rebind a tome without harming its ability to channel magic.

Syrena never knew her mother. Her father, Edmund, a kind man and a good storyteller, often told tales of how her mother was a princess of a neighboring kingdom and some day she would return and sweep Syrena off to her castle. As a child Syrena loved these stories but as she got older she started to hear far more likely ones from the other villagers. How her mother was a traveling merchant and after spending one night with Edmund had departed. Nine months later Edmund had found Syrena abandoned on his doorstep with a note that wished him and the child a good life and apologized that she could not be a part of it.

When Syrena was young Edmund would often take her to the local monastery when he was mending their books. While her father was busy a kindly old monk named Brother Malachi taught her to read and write. She spend hours in the library reading different books, some true, some fiction and some legend. She read about nobility and adventure and such things that young children often hear stories of.

When she grew older her and the other village children would go exploring. Their town was not far from a forest and some truly spectacular ruins. Syrena was always the one to climb higher than anyone else or go just a little too far into the ruins. This is how she eventually got into trouble.

There was a part of the ruins that scared the other kids, that not one of them dared to enter. It was one of the only structures still complete and whole. Inside was dark and wind whistled threw the stones. The other children cowered at the entrance but whether it was from bravery or stupidity Syrena refused to be intimidated by the darkness.

She traveled deep inside where she disturbed a number of bats that came flocking at her violently. In panic Syrena stepped back and tripped down a flight of stone steps. She cracked her head at the bottom and felt no more.

When she awoke Syrena wasn't sure where she was. She felt around blindly until she saw a strange light far in distance. Thinking it to be daylight and an exit Syrena made her way towards it. As she got closer she discovered it wasn't sunlight at all but a brilliant glowing gem. Not knowing any better Syrena reached out her hand and touched it's surface.

There was a roar of sound, like a great beast bellowing and flames were expelled from the gems directed straight for Syrena. Terrified Syrena threw up her hands to protect herself and in that moment it was like something inside her awakened. Blue fire shot from Syrena's hand in direct opposition to the flames of the gem. The wild blue fire burned out the other flames and the light of the gem leaving Syrena once again in darkness.

Syrena managed to make her way out and when she told her father what had happened it was clear he was frightened. He told her never to mention this to anyone and in future to avoid touching strange objects. Several days later the harvest season arrived and all the children were called to work alongside the adults to bring in that years crops. When the work was done the village had their annual Harvest Dance.

The Harvest Dance was always fun. After a full year the town gathered to blow off steam and celebrate their hard work. Syrena's father played the fiddle like a demon and it was always enjoyable to dance to his raucous beats. During the dance Syrena heard one of the children insulting her father, calling him a layabout because though he was a craftman and a genius with his hands, an injury sustained a few months before Syrena was left to him had crippled him with a severe limp that stopped him from being able to help during the harvest season.

Angry that anyone would insult her father she turned to look at him. "What did you say?" she demanded. Knowing who she was and apparently not caring the boy responded. "Your father's a layabout and good for nothing deadbeat. You got something to say about it?" Syrena hit him. He hit her back. Farming communities in this area tending to lack any sort of rule concerning hitting girls.

Syrena grabbed his arm not sure exactly what she was going to do when her hand suddenly felt hot and blue flames burst from her fingers. She let go of the boy immediately. Even she could see his arm was disturbingly burned. The music came to a grinding halt as everyone turned to stare. Syrena's father limped off the little musician's platform and said "We better go."

He took her to the monastery, for the next several days she stayed there. Early in the morning her father would come and lock himself in his workshop with Brother Malachi. Almost a week past before he showed her what they'd been working on. It was a tome but like none she'd ever seen before. It bore inscriptions and symbols on the cover that she identified with fire tomes she'd seen her father work on but the cover was a brilliant blue. He told her it was a one of a kind tome called Arma Infernum. Brother Malachi had helped him to create it. The book was designed not only to channel magic but also to contain it so Syrena would never hurt anyone again.

It became clear very quickly that Syrena was no long welcome in the village. So Brother Malachi allowed her to live at the monastery. There were other monks there but they mostly kept to themselves. Now that she was aware of the fire within her blood Syrena could feel it raging within her, just below the skin searching for a way to burst out. Syrena became reclusive and shy not wanting to go near people she might hurt. When she grew angry or frightened her flames would attempt to escape and the symbols on Arma Infernum would begin to glow. Syrena knew about the possibility that the tome wouldn't be able to control her fire if she became too out of the control.

Brother Malachi taught her mediation techniques to help keep her powers under control but on occasion when she felt it so fiercely within her Syrena would go to an isolated area in the wilderness where nothing was flammable and just let the flames rage. Nearly a year after she came to live at the monastery her father told her that he had appealed on her behalf to the Bravura royal family and they had agreed to let her apprentice the kingdom's Arch Mage. He would teach her how to control her powers. She was at the palace for two months before being assigned to the Reclaimers.

Rationale: Syrena was accepted by the Bravura royal family to apprentice with one of there highest ranking mages. When the Basileus ordered the Reclaimers formed the Arch Mage had taken seriously ill being almost sixty years old. Syrena was deployed in his place.

Appearance:


She has long blond hair that she ties in a ponytail or braid when doing something physical but when in a social situation she prefers to have it in her eyes. She's not that tall only being about 5'6". She's quick on her feet and lithe in build. She's had no formal training in thievery but she moves like she has. Silent feet and quick movements. She can climb nearly anything. Her skin is fair and her eyes are silver. Though when she is in distress and her magic starts to grow unstable her eyes glow a brilliant blue and sometimes her veins.

Unless a special occupation calls for something else Serena traditionally wears cloths like the ones she grew up in. Farm cloths. A simple brown dress with a loose skirt and short sleeves and work boots.

Since coming to court Syrena also wears a forest green mages cloak over top of this.

Name: Marcus Ambrosias
Age: 36
Class: Priest (Technically a Monk but there's not much difference)

Weapons: Blackwood Staff, Mend Crystal, Warp Crystal, Sleep Crystal, Aurora Tome (essentially a Divine Tome except lighter and has a page from a Nosferatu Tome placed in the center as a reminder), Keeps Sleep Crystal on a chain around his neck. As long as another stone isn't in his staff he can use it like this. In most cases he uses his Sleep Crystal to put those suffering into a deep sleep to save them suffering, whether they be dying or healing.

Fighting Style: Marcus is a pacifist. He follows his orders teachings very closely and only resorts to violence in dire circumstances. He believes violence to be necessary but his view of when it is called for is far narrower than most other peoples. When forced to fight Marcus is more than capable. Trained by his master in staff fighting and martial arts Marcus’s fighting style dictates that his opponent be taken down in the cleanest and most efficient means possible. Causing the least permanent damage and pain while still removing the target as a threat. Marcus uses his Blackwood staff as a weapon and while it may not be effective on armored foes is more than capable of taking out most other units. Of course this is always a last resort when the alternatives would cost lives.

Personality: Despite his history Marcus is neither sullen nor withdrawn. He is actually a fairly social person who enjoys the company of others. It is not uncommon for him to be seen throwing back a tankard of ale with a couple of friends. He is under most circumstances calm and patient and tries to do his best to give anyone who might need him his time. He avoids talking about his past at all costs. Not violently or obviously but he has a rather slick way of deflecting questions regarding who he was before the monastery. Despite not being capable of channeling dark magic anymore Marcus still possesses a vast store of knowledge regarding its rituals and practices. He tries to make everyone else a priority over himself especially in battle. He has a tendency to go in deeper than is wise for someone who compared to the others lacks battle skills if someone is in danger and needs healing. He always has a Warp Crystal on hand in case someone needs to be pulls out of a situation. One of the only things that causes Marcus to lose his cool is seeing dark magic applied in an amoral fashion and magic related to dragons.

History: Marcus grew up in the dry lands of Panoply. He was an only child and he never knew his father. His mother Gwendolyn came from old money and was head of a very successful mining operation. As one of Panoply’s only vastly available resources those that could capitalize effectively on it became very rich. As well as shipping gravel and stone to various cities for construction Gwendolyn’s operation also uncovered vast stores of gens which could be refined and used for magical purposes or sold, sometimes both. Because of his mother’s occupation Marcus is very familiar with navigating underground structures.

Gwendolyn was not an easy woman to live with. She one of a very small sect that worshiped the Black Dragon Medeus. Her studies and worship taught Gwendolyn how to master a number of different types of dark magic which she insisted that Marcus also learn whether he wanted to or not.

When Marcus was sixteen years old he ran away from home. He was tired of the lifestyle his mother was forcing on him, tired of being groomed to take over the family business and tired having magic forced down his throat (metaphorically speaking).

Marcus didn’t take much with him, some cloths, a bit of gold and one of his mother’s copies of Nosferatu, life stealing magic. Marcus then traveled, wandering the lands. He never wanted for a place to sleep. Sometimes he took mercenary jobs to raise quick cash but mostly he held the threat of Nosferatu over people’s heads. Threatening to steal years from their lives if he wasn’t given what he wanted. This didn’t of course always work and Marcus often found himself sleeping in the wilderness.

Power has a way of attracting the power hungry. It wasn’t long before Marcus had a small band of other dark mages or people wanting to learn dark magic. They were all teenagers, including Marcus there were six in all.

Three years they were together. They became something of a legend. They took what they wanted from people and didn’t care about the consequences. People started referring to them as the Black Dragon Guard because whenever they raided someone Marcus always wore a cloak he’d stolen from his mother which was emblazoned with the symbol of Medeus.

There was a certain piece of magic that the group was particularly fond of. They would sedate one of their number then use a very specialized version of Goetia magic to summon a spirit of the dead to possess that person. While they were unconscious and strengthened by the spirit the rest of the group would take turns feeding on them with Nosferatu. The harm at least short term from doing this was minimal and it provided everyone with an indescribable high.

As anyone could guess however it went wrong. The group performed the rituals just as they always had. Preparing the host, summoning the spirit but this time something was different. When the group started to use Nosferatu they didn’t gain energy and that high from the spirit but instead the spirit started to feed on the magic turning it back on them. It took the strength of the entire group to dispel the spirit and send it back to the underworld but in the process the one the spirit had possessed was killed.

It was like each member of the Black Dragon Guard had woken up. As though the last three years were some sort of dream and now they were faced with the harsh cruel reality of what they had done. The group continued for another month but soon enough it fell apart. Marcus parted from the others shortly thereafter.

While he’d traveled Marcus had felt invincible, he had power and the willingness to use it and it seemed he could do anything he pleased, no guilt, no consequences. This feeling shattered completely once he realized that it was his fault, he had killed one of his closest friends.

Marcus wandered for the next three months. Going from place to place like a zombie. He slept, he ate, he walked but he seemed to feel nothing, as though the entire world was dead around him.

After three months he stumbled upon a monastery. Hungry, he knocked on their doors to beg for food. The one who opened the door was an old man, the high priest. He was a skilled healer both of the mind and the body. He offered Marcus a place to stay for the night and in the end they talked for hours about morality and consequence and atonement.

When the next morning came Marcus begged the high priest to let him join there order. To teach him how to repair lives the way he’d torn them to pieces before. Tentatively the High Priest agreed.

Over the next 17 years or so the High Priest taught Marcus meditation and reflection. He showed him different ways to look at the world and he taught him the art of healing. Slowly over the years Marcus learned how to repair people instead of destroy them and as he learned to heal slowly he lost the ability to channel the dark magicks his mother had trained him in. (This can effectively be considered a class change).

At the monastery Marcus was also taught martial arts and staff combat with emphasis on the fact that being able to fight was meant to reduce the necessity of it. Present day Marcus is trying to become skilled in the use of Light Magic hoping that once and for all it can purge the darkness from his soul. Though he carries the magic tome Aurora everywhere he can only use it to make small flashes of light that last seconds and have little effect on anything. (This foreshadows a class promotion to something that uses staves and tomes). His tome is special in that it has a page from his mother’s Nosferatu bound into the center of it. He can’t actually use the magic on the page but the black magic scrawled in angry spiked runes reminds him why he trains and must continue to do so.

Rationale: To make sure the Reclaimers where prepared for whatever might happen the Basileus requested that monasteries send in a healer to provide support in battle, tend to the wounded afterwards, perform burial rights should it be necessary and give the soldier's morale and spiritual support which sometimes becomes lost in war. Marcus agreed to go with the Reclaimers out of a real eagerness to help and also in the hope that the mages among the Reclaimers might be able to teach him how to properly channel light magic.

Appearance:
Marcus shaves his head as is customary for his order. He has a prominent nose and chin and dark blue eyes that in the right light almost look black. Traditionally he wears his monk’s robes which while easy to move in conceal his figure almost completely. Underneath the robes Marcus is well muscled and he wears orange loose fitting cloths that traditionally were worn during sparring practice. His skin is pale as he spends a lot of time within the monastery.