As something of a rite of passage, before heading to Essia, it is common for fledgling adventurers to visit the Stone of Nine (in a small grove a few miles outside of Oakheim, if'n ya don't recall) to both pay their respects and immerse themselves in the very ideals (whatever those are to the individual) of adventurin'! Fate connives in interesting ways, when the Gods are absent or busy playing at their own devices. It is here, gathered around the Stone that we first view OUR HEROES (that's you. yeah, you! oh! and probably me, too!) as they pay their respects and reflect on the journey yet undertaken. Unbound by familiarity or companionship, these strangers stand with a great distance between them; soon to be united by the machinations of Fate its self.

Reality is ever attempting to right the wrongs within it, to restore a semblance of balance to the worlds it contains. These strangers are the instruments of Fate, yet to be tuned. With silent steps, a hooded figure arrives and places a pair small offerings at the base of the Stone (as is customary for those who wish to pay respects). A tiny thing, the first, wrapped in nothing but paper; the barest edge revealed. A bone fragment, jagged and yellowed, peering out; wordlessly enticing these gathered strangers to gaze upon it. Beside it a translucent shard, silver mist swirling lazily within. Before these strangers have been placed the beginnings of discord and suffering...but also the essence of hope.

The stranger flees as quickly as they had come, giving no glimpse of their face (wonder who that could be...), leaving the choice before the fledglings; already knowing the tune they will play and the chaotic steps that follow their raucous melody.

Fate, the stranger knows, is a predictable force...

Name: Invari Lashe

Race: Beastkin {Bovine} (i like beastkin, ok?! shut up!)

Title: None, yet, officially...and she can't think of one for herself (there are just soooo many possibilities!)

Age: 16

Appearance: Invari tends to draw glances due to her tremendous stature and "endowments". As a Bovine-type Beastkin, it is only reasonable that she would be possessed of ludicrously large breasts; though this still tends to draw glances from the more "mundane minded" folk of Kallore. She is undeniably large in all aspects, towering over most other mortals she encounters, standing at just under seven feet tall (more if ya include the slight rise of her ears). Being thick of limb and somewhat more slender about the waist, she does cut a certain form of feminine figure; though this is often overshadowed by the sheer expanse of her shoulders, size of her hands and cloven hooves. She once possessed a tail.

Her face is wide, somewhat rounded and possessed of slightly larger than normal features; eyes and mouth being veritably large, even for one of her race. Invari's skintone is somewhere just on the edge of being deep and honeyesque. She keeps her hair cut relatively short, small curls lingering just below her cheek; light brown, matching the liquid pools of her eyes. A somewhat flattened, broad nose sits above labrose lips, completing her, as said, rather broad features.

Invari adores gold, wearing heavy hoops through the base of her ears and one smaller through the side of her right nostril. Her attire is often plain, in comparison to most, with simple tones; and even though she tends to change clothing regularly, it is the bits of armor she wears that draws the eye from it. Golden, too, in coloration, but battered and bereft of any real shine; she wears gauntlets, greaves (altered to allow a bit of room for her hooves and a few inches above them) and a heavy collar about her neck. These are a gift from her mother, and she cherishes them greatly. She carries a heavy mace at her side (pretty ugly thing, honestly) and a tower shield on her back.

Personality: Invari Lashe has never been quick witted, nor particularly mindful of the world that surrounds her. However, this does not necessarily make her the 'slow' Beastkin that she appears the be on the surface. Invari takes her time in most things, thinking slowly and acting quickly; though, under pressure she tends to be at a loss and looks to others for directions...barring this she often reacts instinctively, relying on a 'fight or flight' mentality. She is reasonably pleasant and unerringly honest, though the nuances of sarcasm or subtlety are occasionally lost on her.

She is proud, to the end, of herself and all the things she's done and seen (though, admittedly, that's not a whole lot!) and strives to be a great warrior; hoping to earn huge piles of gold to make a comfy life for herself, the hard way. Invari has no head for Magic and is impressed by even the most simple of spells, but tends to be intensely curious about the functions of such things; be they actual spells or enchanted items. Invari enjoys meeting new people and making friends, though she can be fairly naive when it comes to the thoughts and feelings of others. Loyalty is something she prizes greatly and seeks to give to others, along with a shoulder to lean on. Despite her good nature and intentions...Invari can be greedy and impulsive where material goods are involved; perhaps even petulant, from time to time.

Affiliation: None, as of yet!

Abilities: Being particularly strong and quick. Hitting things with other things.

History: : One of Invari's earliest memories is of treacherous travel, fleeing from the Drasilian southlands with her family; fleeing flames and fangs in the arms of her mother, crying out in fear...only to be silenced with a gentle touch upon her brow. Smoke rose and screams filled the air, roars of pain and defiance as some turned to face the pack of Monsters that hounded them. She remembers glimpsing the back of her father's hulking form, an arm outstretched behind him, urging the others onward. The rest became a blur; cacophonic noise and the ground lingering just beneath her swinging feet...fear still caught in her throat...her mother's labored breathing.

Having fled the more immediate dangers of Drasil, Invari and her mother (Manishare) found their way into the Attenian heartland...to the bustling city of Yivishiin, where they would make a modest home. Time passed and those painful memories fled, along with thoughts of fear. While Manishare was a protective, even overbearing woman, Invari would often slip away to do as she pleased; roaming the streets with other displaced Beastkin, or Human urchins (when they felt it appropriate to employ her already impressive muscle) making what mischief she could, or simply lazing about. It was on those streets that she first entered combat, rather than simply hearing of it.

Manishare made due for herself and her daughter by unloading crates that came in from caravans, making certain that neither she nor Invari had to suffer discomfort while in the city. When at home, she would often demand Invari's attention; recounting more pleasant stories of the past, or telling her legends about adventurers. This is where the overbearing mother made her grievous mistake. Invari was instantly enthralled, after hearing these tales; much to Manishare's chagrin. Arguments were had, tears were shed...and forbiddances made.

Yet, on the day committed to the remembrance of her birth (twelve, was she, at the time) ; Invari's mother presented her with several pieces of armor. They were not golden, truly, but that did not matter to the girl...what mattered is how the light glinted from their surface, how her face was reflected in it; distorted by the bends and small waves that danced across the armor. She was in love. There was nothing in the world that could part her from the adventurer's path.

Since then, she has parted ways with her mother (though it took her nearly two and a half years to gather the heart to do so) and made her way into Drasil; returning to the land of her birth a stranger...with only a mace at her side, a shield on her back, armor around her neck, arms and legs and a considerable amount of strength. She wandered nigh aimlessly; until being informed of the bureaucratic nature of becoming a recognized and Ranked adventurer within Drasil.

Only recently has Invari come to Oakheim, stopping to pay her respects at the Stone of Nine before beginning her journey to Essia.

Name: Youngest Brother

Race: Beastkin [Goat]

Title: "A title? What use is a title? Can a title fill an empty belly?"

Age: 15

Appearance: Youngest Brother's Beastkin heritage is shockingly underplayed, and from a distance it would be difficult to tell the difference between this slim, five-foot tall boy and a normal human. Only at a breadth of a few meters will an observer be floored by just how wrong they were. Two slim, sharp yellow eyes with a long rectangular pupil each send a sharp glare from beneath a mass of matted white locks. A slight overbite, with thin lips and a somewhat triangular shaped face perfectly compliment the two horns, hastily and shoddily ground into nubs, that adorn his furrowed brow. Just below sit a couple of thick, angular eyebrows. His ears are long and extend horizontally from the sides of head, just above where a human would have them, and a fuzzy tuft of white hair grows from the tip of each. A dusting of pale, scraggly hair grows from his chin and neck.

The hair travels down his neck and thick, bristling chestnut fur adorns his chest. His arms, short and centipede-like in their thinness, are also coated in a similar white and chestnut spotted fur. Only his palms are hair-free. His legs, equally thin and stiff, look like perfectly normal human legs. If one were to see his feet, which is a rare occurrence since Youngest Brother keeps them well hidden, they would see an awkwardly shaped cleft foot with only two large, knotted toes. This gives the boy a slow, deliberate gait that reeks of a calm and collected arrogance.

The robes he wears are simple and tan in color, with an oversized studded leather belt draped over his hips and waist, loaded down with several small pouches. A thick, musky odor of grass and medicine waft from these bulging pouches. Two silver bangles adorn his wrists, and a pair of sturdy leather boots conceal his oddly shaped feet and shins. A simple brown bandana is tied around his neck, covering the chest fur, and matches the body-engulfing backpack that he wears. His weapon of choice, if you can call it that, is a knotted black-wood shillelagh used as walking stick that is only slightly shorter than the boy himself.

Personality: Aloof, arrogant, and clever to a fault, Youngest Brother gives off the aura of an unruly teenager, and shallow observations will only buffer this claim. This is both a sham and not a sham. Deeply, this beastkin youth is a quick thinker and shrouded in layer after layer of personal defenses. He is slow to feel anything in any direction, and does his best to remain socially moderate and one step ahead of his peers. If you think you know him, then you only know what he wants you to know. Youngest Brother is independent and ambitious, and his confidence comes from ability before anything else.

He is quick to point out the flaws in others, but only in that he respects other people but not necessarily their feelings. If he likes you, you'll likely bear the brunt of his scorn, and if he doesn't like you, you'll be lucky to escape his unnaturally persistent wrath. Youngest Brother will stubbornly stick to his convictions regardless of their validity, and has a willpower that vastly surpasses his small stature.

He has a soft-spot for delicious foods, but will eat just about anything and everything, and is even capable of surviving on stones and roots. Never waste food in front of him if you want to stay on his good side. Youngest Brother carries a profound phobia of bridges and can't stand water or the rain.

Affiliation: Three Brothers Adventuring Group - Retired

Abilities: Unlike other beastkin, although not entirely unheard of, Youngest Brother is an exceptionally powerful True Mage. Powerful, but not necessarily skilled in his application thereof. He is a dual element mage of a deeply intertwined Fire and Wind element, which results in an exceptionally unruly and explosive magic that focuses on absolute annihilation. This magic is just as dangerous to his allies as his enemies, and only with careful timing and placement can it be used to its fullest potential. To this end, Youngest Brother focuses on having an unparalleled combat sense, preferring to control the battlefield from the back by cutting off escape routes and mopping up uncoordinated groups over directly attacking.

Unfortunately, his Throe is one of aggression, the Fire and Wind elements constantly egging one another on and causing him to grow increasingly brash the more he uses his magic. At the moment, he can safely use his magic twice before the fury begins to cloud his mind, and he becomes much more unwieldy and unreliable. Needless to say, Youngest Brother is adamantly unwilling to approach this state.

Youngest Brother is physically slight and considered quite weak by beastkin standards, though he is still stronger and sturdier than the average human boy. His biggest weakness is speed, and his slow and deliberate movements, hampered by his habit of getting caught up in his own thoughts and calculations, means his defense is next to nil. Although one might find it difficult to approach him due to his powerful attacking capabilities, if they're able to dodge his magic even once, he will find himself completely unable to protect himself.

In addition to his combat abilities, Youngest Brother is a somewhat accomplished layman apothecary, and is familiar in both the use of medicines and poisons.

History: Youngest Brother, as you might guess, is the youngest of three brothers. His Eldest Brother was a powerful and respected Beastkin warrior, a sturdy and skilled buck of some renown. His Second Brother, following in Eldest Brother's footsteps, was also a somewhat talented warrior. Only Youngest Brother was unsuited to be a warrior, and this caused something of inferiority complex to sprout in his young heart. It was this disparity that lead to his currently arrogant attitude, desperately latching onto his talents and striving to prove himself useful to the wandering trio. He focused on using his sharp mind to become a tactician and advisor to his warrior brothers, helping them overcome difficult challenges that brute force alone could not solve.

Wandering for months, food supplies long since spent, nothing within sight to eat, the three found themselves desperate for respite from their hunger. In front of them a rickety, wooden, unruly kind of bridge, stretched across a raging river too great for Youngest Brother or Second Brother to ford. Even Eldest Brother would be unable to bring anything but himself across. Of course, what challenge could a simple bridge present to these three valiant beastkin? Simply put, a monster. Not a particularly terrifying monster, but a strong and difficult to handle Troll. On the other side of the bridge? Salvation. A forest, no doubt bountiful with food.

A simple problem, Youngest Brother thought. If Eldest Brother or Second Brother fought the troll, the bridge would no doubt collapse, and there would be no more hope of crossing. Trolls are stupid, but not so stupid as to leave such an advantageous spot from which to ambush and feast on unwary travelers. Youngest Brother would convince the Troll that he was selling out his brothers, trading his own life for theirs. Second Brother would do the same, selling out his Eldest Brother for passage. As for Eldest Brother, what threat could this troll possibly present to him? Even if the bridge collapsed, he could still manage to cross somehow. It was a perfect plan, or so thought Youngest Brother.

The result. Only Youngest Brother ended up crossing the bridge that day. His brothers were never to be seen again. A deeply guarded secret, masking an even deeper scar on the youth's heart. All that is known was that Youngest Brother survived the event and gained a powerful boon in the form of his explosively powerful True Magic. His goal? Perhaps he is looking for his long lost brothers, perhaps he is trying to live up to their memory by becoming a famous adventurer himself? Perhaps he is just running from something? Only Youngest Brother knows, and he is far from willing to share his experiences.

Uninterestedly standing before the Stone of Nine, Youngest Brother is merely taking in the local culture before making his way into the wild unknown.

Name: Freya "Wait For It" Holton

Title: "titles are like titties; you earn them though great deeds" (none; refuses to title herself)

Race: Human

Age: 18

Appearance: Freya stands under average height for a human, at about 5 foot even on a good day, her frame lean and slim, built perfectly for the rougish life she leads. Finding her skin to be a level of white that is not helpful to sneaking, she's taken to lounging about in the sun, bringing her skin to a golden tan, a small scar interrupting her right eyebrow and another small scar on her left arm staying her natural shade (She's dissapointed in how yellow she looks). Her hair can be described as a dull shade of "dead field mouse" blonde, ashy and just brown enough to look brown in normal light, but blonde in direct sunlight. She keeps her shoulder length hair tied back in a high pony tail, several locks on the sides of her head, just before her ears, refusing to stay in. When roughed up, her longer bangs also free themselves from being tucked in, long enough to, if she's breathing hard enough, enter her nose obnoxiously. She's determined to grow them out long enough that they'll stay in her pony tail, after having found that constantly cutting them really, really annoyed her.

When it comes to facial shape, hers is more heart-shaped than anything, with sharp features. Her nose, having been broken once before, has a slight rise in the middle, light freckles dotting it. Her lips are asymmetrical, one side pointier than the other, her bottom lip a little too thick to be thin, but a little too thin to be big. Greyish blue irises sit in her round eyes (which happen to be the softest thing about her), a darker blue circle around where her irises meet the whites of her eyes, and her pupil. They're probably her favorite part about her face, and the girliest as well.

Her typical attire is cloth and leather- cloth pants, with kneepads and leather patches on her hips and calves, leather boots, loosely scrunched around her mid-calf, a long sleeved cloth blouse under a leather vest with steel boning (that she specifically refuses to admit is technically a corset with pockets), several various belts with bags across her chest and waist, and when it's colder, her thicker, knee-length cloak. All of her clothing is either dark brown leather or various shades of black; most are blue based, though her cloak seems to be, as it fades out with wear, a red-based black. This upsets her.
She keeps four silver studs in her ears at all times- three on her right ear, and one in her left. Other jewelry comes and goes, though she's been considering getting a sleeve of thicker armor for her left arm for when she's not sneaking around. On her hips are two knives- the left one more wicked looking than the right, a survivalist type blade, and her right more akin to a bowie knife.

(I will draw her eventually, do not worry HUMAN)

Personality: Freya, at first glance, has a napoleon complex. A fiery girl, she threatens to fight anyone who is rude to her, though she rarely means it. She's hot-headed, with a fuse shorter than she is, and, when livid, occasionally forgets to think; but, when that fuse isn't lit, she at least tries to think things through- especially if she's trying to be sneaky, or pulling a heist. Her humor is either sarcastic and snarky, to absolutely dumb, with no in-between, depending on who she's with and how well her relationship is with them. She will often joke about doing things she literally can't do, like throwing a much larger person across the room. Typically, she's all bark and no bite- though, if pushed, she can indeed sting.

She finds it easy to forget those who she rarely meets and those who she only meets once or briefly, though, those that she hangs around leave their mark on her. She keeps her friends close, despite how little she shows it. They become almost extensions of her- like family- and an act against one of them is considered, at least by her, as an act against her. She would risk life and limb for them, even, so long as she knew they'd do the same for her.

At a young age, she took the saying "go hard or go home" to heart. It's ingrained in almost everything she does- fighting, eating, sleeping- even her interest is an all or nothing affair. If you can capture it, you won't be able to escape it until she bores herself with whatever you've done, or got, to get her. When she's excited, she's extremely excited, when she's bored, she's really bored. Some call it the "tinker bell effect", but the few that've said it within Freya's hearing range ended up drugged, stripped, and tied up on the roof of the tavern they were in. Do not make short jokes, unless you are indeed close enough with her that she feels she can interchangeably use dumb jokes and sarcasm.

When not caring about others and not bothered, Freya is typically lax. Her threats are obviously jokes, and when she's not actively adventuring or on a quest, she's likely to be loafing about or drinking. Sometimes, sleeping,too, or practicing her thieving skills (taking and returning items, unless she knows someone to be a dick). She likes to do what feels good to her, and tends to follow what feels right. Honesty is a rarity from her, but if she, or others, are not to come to harm from being truthful, and if it feels right to her, she'll do her best to be so.

Also, when presented with someone 6 foot 2 or taller, she will have at least a thought about riding on their shoulders. If the tall person is friendly and conditions are right, she may attempt to climb them.

((TL;DR: short people are angrier b/c they are closer to hell. This one is, somewhere deep deep down, at least a kind of good person despite that, especially to friends. also, GO HARD OR GO HOME))

Affiliation: to those with good humor, drinks, and adventures (none)

Abilities: She refuses to use her magic, except in dire situations. When she does, typically she ends up teleporting an item about thirty feet away- anything between handcuffs, to a large axe has been witnessed, landing anywhere from in a wall, on the floor, or right above a threat. She has no control where it goes, and very little control of what's teleported.

When forced to tap into her magic, Freya feels exceedingly small and empty; generally, like absolute, worthless, abhorrent shit. She shows the effects of the blast to her ego for a while after casting- and she dislikes it to the point where she would rather risk bleeding out and dismantle a bear trap by hand with no tools rather than open it with a spell. As such, she is unpracticed with her spellcraft, treating it as if she was poorly suited for casting and mentioning it to nobody. If it's witnessed, she denies that it happened, no matter what damning evidence there is.

Magic aside, She's excellent at sneaking. If she were to be in an RPG class, she'd be a rogue- fast but light hits, great sneaking, lock picking dirty fighting moves, and sticky hands. Her pick-pocketing and shoplifting skills aren't all that great, however, she's too short most of the time to "stab a bitch in the eye" and takes time to bring someone down, and taking big blows aren't exactly her specialty.

((TL;DR: snekky, fights dirty, refuses to use the one spell she knows unless about to die b/c feels bad, bro))

History: Freya is, in all respects, just a common human, with a common history among adventurers. She came from a small family of farmers- the middle child of three kids- from southern Drasil. Her parents presented two options to the girl when she had begun to adventure around their farmlands- either be raised a lady, or a farmer. She initially decided to try being raised a lady, but, found staying indoors boring, books to cause her to sneeze, and skirts to be irritating. She tried being a farmer, then, but found the work too hard, the mornings too early, and the smell... unpleasant. But at night, during both attempts to be a lady and a farmer, she would sneak out, adventuring around the village and wilds around, with just a knife at her side in case something happened. By the time she realized she fit neither role presented to her, she was 17, nearly 18, and, grabbing two of the working knives from the shed, and her farming gear, she had set off for an undetermined destination under the the darkness of a new moon, seeking the life of an adventurer. Her family never knew she left, until the morning. She could hear the hell they were raising when they found her missing from over the hills she crossed.

She got side tracked on the way, performing small tasks in the villages she landed at, upgrading her gear and improving the two knives she left with, until her journeys brought her to Oakheim, to deliver a package to someone at the Stone of nine. Being ever the kind to be early and wait, she head out before she should have, to scout out a nice resting place.