Age: 79

Race: Elf

Gender: Female

Appearance: Similar to the picture, Rowena has long, light blonde (almost white) hair that ends just between her shoulder blades. It is slightly curly and typically pulled back in a loose, low ponytail. She has soft, almond shaped and honey colored eyes and a tattoo across each eye-- not an uncommon sight in elven culture. Also characteristic to elves, she has fair skin and sharp features that most would consider gracefully beautiful. She stands at a height of 5'11".

She wears a heavy gray-blue cloak with slits cut to accommodate her long, pointed ears. She wears light armor adorned with feathers, a gray-blue skirt, and thigh-high greaves along with a pair of sturdy, but form fitting boots. Her body is lithe and athletic-- resembling that of a healthy human woman in her early twenties.

Theme Song:

Nature: All work and no play; Rowena is a good-humored, gregarious, and spirited goofball trapped within the body of an apprentice with too many responsibilities to be anything but a nervous wreck. With the weight of her life's mission on her shoulders, she finds very little time to satisfy her unquenchable thirst for fun. Maturity came hard and fast when the war came crashing down around her at the tender age of 19. She works hard to keep her inner wants and desires under wraps, however. There are more pressing matters at hand, and-- in her selfless mind-- if her sacrifices can truly save humanity, it will have all been worth it.

Backstory: Rowena is technically a half elf-- although this description holds little to no meaning. Elven blood, at least according to the elves, is the strongest of all races. It cannot be diluted. Rowena was born to her elven mother, Patience, and human father, Henry Mulligan. Henry tragically passed away during a pre-war attack on Vevian by a group of orcs in spite of her mother's wishes for him to stay with her. This was during the time that the elves were desperately trying to warn King Antony of the impending threat. As he had for years, however, he tried to ease their worries with assurances that the army would be made 'a bit' stronger and the walls be built 'a bit' higher.

She grew up with her mother in the northern forests, deciding at a young age that she wished to join the elven guard in honor of her human father, who had been a soldier for King Antony. Rowena valued the ability to protect those who were closest to her and trained hard. Shortly after the war began and the elves went into hiding, however, her mother perished in a horrible accident that Rowena was unable to prevent.

A kind sage from her tribe took her in and made her his apprentice. She has been by his side ever since. For years she has studied various topics from weapons training and herbology to magic and legend. With the Time of Awakening at hand, she has traveled to Jeorva with her master. Disguised as humans, they are to meet with the chosen seven and begin their quest to end the reign of their evil rulers once and for all....

Goal(s): Rowena wishes to do everything within her power to see the seven elementos succeed. These are the desires she clings to. In reality, however, Rowena possesses a burning desire to travel the world and learn more about human customs. They have always intrigued her, but such a frivolous dream mustn't be pursued-- her duty comes first and, as far as she's considered, is her one and only dream for now.

Inventory:

--A longsword
-- A dagger
-- A brown leather satchel
-----water canteen
-----a journal
-----pen and ink
-----wooden brush
-----a change of clothes
-----a bottle of mysterious black powder

Name: Brande Ashbell, "The Vagabond Prince."

Element: Fire/Heat

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Appearance: Standing at 6'2", with broad, powerful shoulders and an equally powerful gait, Brande Ashbell has spent his life working towards what he perceives to be his profession's perfection. He is toned, but not particularly muscular, and light on his feet: his physique is tailored for quick combat, after all. His features are bold and angular, his cheekbones defined and his jaw pointed, and the same is true of his hair: a finely trimmed, blonde ducktail beard-and-moustache, tailored to a point, and a head of flaxen hair, combed meticulously back. His eyes are cool, and grey, a familial trait for which the Ashbell family were named.

In terms of outfit, Brande wears a banded, tanned leather cuirass, and a pair of complimentary leather wrist braces, over a black ruffled shirt.
A set of similar leather grieves compliment the ensemble, as does a sterling, silver rapier, which hangs from his belt. His pants are made of a light, baggy material to enable quick lunging movements. When travelling, he conceals most of this beneath a long, black cloak which he binds with a long, copper-coloured thread. On its hind, outlined in silver, a sword faces downwards, its tip piercing an eight-pointed star.

Theme Song:


Nature: Brande is a force of nature, consumed by an obsession to meet and duel his perfect match, driven by his lifelong commitment to live by the sword, and die by the sword. Like his father before him, all Brande aspires to is the final, perfect fight. If you defeat him, his loyalty is yours... if.
He is the eternal showman, and like the element he's come to serve as avatar of, this beautiful flourish is part of what makes him dangerous: a combination of skill and recklessness.
Outside of combat, he's sharp-tongued but good-spirited, and once his loyalty is earned it's banked for life. He's a very friendly, very jovial man... until you draw your sword. In which case, "Are you feelin' lucky, amico?"

Backstory: Brande Ashbell is the son of Fiam Ashbell, who in turn was the son of Aviur Ashbell, one of the last knights to lose his life at Xaviar.
The Ashbells have a grand legacy, of fighting (and tragically, often perishing), in stupendous battles. For as long as their name has been floating around Coake- since the first of them arrived, from a distant, Mediterranean climate- the Ashbells have always been known for their military service, and their ferocity with a blade.
It is a long lived family, proud and- before darkness swept over the land- large. But most of them perished in the war, fighting to the last breath... most of the survivors were only children at the time, and many of them didn't start families. His father was the last Ashbell father

The Ashbell lineage dies with Brande.

But, at least, he will go out with style! Brande is distilled from a long history of swordsmen, all of different styles and disciplines. His father was a saberist, and his grandfather a student of the twin gladius. And Brande among them, a flamboyant disciple of the rapier, as- rarely enough- was his mother before him. The Ashbell were once famous for their massive collection of familial blades, and Esmeralda Ashbell was famous for having married her way into them, when she disarmed Fiam in an honour-based duel and stole his sword and heart in a single parry.
How Brande longs to see that collection again, and his mother along with it.

Brande is a travelling swordsman. Despite his family's past wealth and prowess, he's a rolling stone, and not by choice.
Once, he'd been a wealthy youth, without a care in the world: he'd lived on the family estate, Serifina Heights, an expansive series of luscious courtyards and beautiful, antiquated architecture. It was there his father had taught him the way of the sword. It was an ancient rite of passage, starting when he was seven. To become an Ashbell man, you must pick an Ashbell weapon.
"Pick any blade from my armoury: as an Ashbell, you'll eventually be proficient in them all."

Serifina Heights is gone, now. A burnt ruin that still smoulders lightly in the hotter months. It had been South of Jeorvo, East of the Wisdom Mountains.
For fifty years, his father recounted, no element of darkness had ever stepped foot on Ashbell ground: it was as though they'd been granted clemency.
Five decades, untouched.

It was destroyed in a night. To this day, Brande doesn't know why: but one night mid-Summer, an army garrison descended from The Wisdom Mountains, and decided that Serifina Heights would be their bounty. The Ashbells and their staff, of course, raised arm against them: and had it been a fair sword fight, they might even have won. But when have goblins and orcs ever played fair?
The main chateau had already caught fire before Brande's father had realised he'd never stood a chance. In the final moments before the whole estate went up in flames, Brande was told to run, with only is mother's sword at his side.

Brande never stopped running.

Eleven years have passed, since that day, and the ruins of Serifina Heights are still there. Brande has visited them many times over the years. To meditate, to train. But he hasn't let his past dampen his spirit. Like his father and grandfather before him, his passion is the blade, and with said blade he's still steadily carving his way towards vengeance, and pursuing the glorious final fight his father was denied.
With his family gone, his estate destroyed and his wealth seized, Brande lives his life walking the land, now. Sharpening his skills, and pursuing the fabled "perfect opponent", the battle of his life.
So ill is his fortune, but so unbreakable is his spirit, the people he's passed have even given him a title: The Vagabond Prince.

Over the years, however, Brande's more "classical" approach to sword-fighting has changed, substantially. It as seven years ago, whilst he was camping out under the stars and among the ruins of his old home, that he discovered he had a startling gift.
He'd not long turned seventeen, and had been searching for any remainder of the old sword gallery left un-pillaged: hoping to find even a scrap of his once mighty inheritance. The search was fruitless.
He'd slept very strangely, that night. Most of the details of the dream escape him to this day, but from it he recalls a sudden, deep, agonising heat that had overtaken his body in the night, as though a fire had been struck within.

When he awoke, at first he was startled. But then, a strange peacefulness followed, as the soothing night's breeze assured him all was well. He found he felt a strange kinship with his dwindling campfire, fueled by the burnt beams of his childhood manor. Absentmindedly, dazed still from his vivid imaginings, he'd reached to prod the ashes with his sword: only to find that when he drew the blade back, the fire came with it.

Brande was an elementos. Brande controlled fire.

That was the night he christened his blade, in his mother's name: Esmeralda, the flamelash.
From then on, he took this as a sign that he was to persevere. His inheritance was not a collection of old swords, but instead a weapon all of his own, a flaming point with which to run the unjust through.
Brande has since made it his duty to use his power to the best means he can imagine: finding his perfect opponent. With Esmeralda in hand, he has trekked the land in search of swordsmen who can best him, all the time refining his technique, finely tuning his flaming-sword assault. All the while, dreaming of bigger opponents, better.
Before, he had sought to be the avenging angel of his family: but now he has the flaming blade to play the part, his aspirations have grown. He now wishes to cleave through evil at large, and put his skills to the ultimate test.

Recently, he had another dream, in the same spot he'd learned of his powers, beckoning him Northwards. He left as quickly as he could. Deep down, he knew. This is first step towards his destiny.

Goal(s): To become the greatest swordsman the Ashbell line has ever produced, and carve his way through the forces of evil with his flaming blade, Esmeralda, until he's fought his fated, perfect opponent.

Inventory:

• One rapier, Esmeralda the Flamelash. When he's near a source of fire, he draws it to this sword's blade.
• A tinder box
• A set of matches
• Handful of cigars (he might be broke, but his tastes are still rich!)
• A shaving kit, complete with straight razor
• One waterskin, slung from the belt
• A messengers bag

Text Colour: Grapefruit (#DC381F)

Name: Leon Alabaster

Element: Light/Teleportation

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Appearance: Leon's toned muscles and uniformly-tanned skin belie his exceptionally violent past. He stands tall at around 6'5'', and has brown, curly hair. Leon generally wears non-restrictive clothing, but will not hesitate to wear heavy armor for protection's sake. Leon enjoys wearing nothing but his loincloth and, on colder days, a toga. A general lack of warm, protective clothing does very little to boost his mood, but he has learned to grit his teeth and bear with such discomfort.

Theme Song: This is NOT optional.

Nature: Leon is a warrior with a fiery-hot heart. While he assumes the worst in nearly everyone, he holds a soft spot in his heart for the unfortunate. To anyone who reminds him of his past, Leon will gladly lay down his life for them. When infuriated or stirred to move, Leon strikes with unnecessary force and nothing else. When relaxed, Leon is a heavy drinker and a hard joker. If compelled to heal or defend anyone, Leon acts with the utmost professionalism, and lashes out at any distractions.


Backstory: Born on the streets of the great city of Periset, Leon never knew his father. His mother, a born slave, had very little time to care for him, forcing Leon to grow up by his own experiences.



Goal(s): Leon hopes to find a safe, comfortable job that allows him to actually help people for a change. Failing that, he hopes to build a reputation bloody enough to discourage others from trying to attack him. With a dangerous combination of healing skills and obscene physical strength, Leon feels he has an excellent head start on both of these goals.

Inventory:

• One white loincloth.
• One hempen robe.
• A pair of leather buskins.
• A dirty, gray toga.
• A thick leather scabbard.
• A large leather satchel.
• A flint shaving razor and a dog-hair shaving brush.
• Eight torches, dipped in pitch.
• A well-maintained bronze gladius.
• Two heavily-used caestūs, worn only in combat.
• Five days' rations.
• Twenty gold coins, stored in a separate pouch
• A brass necklace, a gift from the Fight Pits' crier.
• A bar of lye soap and a dirt-scraping brush.
• A small container of cheap wine, brewed by Branwen himself.

Element: Darkness

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Appearance: Built like a great oak, Jorak stands at 6’ even and seems to still have an inch or so left to grow. Though not overly muscular, he’s clearly trained to define his body from a young age. He’s been described as older than he looks thanks to his relatively sharp featured face; his blue-grey eyes have been described as harsh or steely at times. His auburn hair is surprisingly long, shoulder-length, though it’s kept out of his eyes by a purple headband.

His outfit consists of a short sleeved shirt, secured at the waist with a leather sash, long pants, and simple boots. Colors vary from dull green to faded brown, showing the clothes have been well-worn. His forearms are wrapped constantly in cloth, secured at the wrists by a pair of purple armbands. Of note is also the plain purple tabard he wears, its color still vibrant. Though not quite as useful as a cloak, it’s still heavy enough to provide some warmth and comfort. He's donned a thick travel cloak for the journey.

Dagger and hatchet hang from Jorak's belt, while quiver and unstrung bow are on his back.

Theme Song: Virus by Max Legend

Nature: A quiet but confident youth, Jorak isn’t the most individualistic person. Though quick-witted and observant, he still looks to his elders for guidance and orders given how he was raised. He can come up with a plan of action, but waits on those in charge to give the go-ahead first. Admirable and desired qualities for a young guard or soldier, but perhaps a bit crippling in what’s to come.

Tenacious to a fault, he has improved such that it could be called a virtue rather than vice. As long as the task is legitimate, Jorak will strive to see it through to the end. At the same time, he isn’t stubborn, so it’s easy enough to have him direct his efforts elsewhere. Naturally, he’ll express frustration and discontent if his efforts are for naught, but ultimately he follows directions.

He gets along well with most sorts given Jorak doesn’t really give others trouble and isn’t easily bothered. He respects both intelligence and actual deeds, understanding both are important in their own rights. Naturally leans towards those that are more brainy given it’s what he would consider his weakness.

Backstory: Lorcrove. A small town located north of Jeorvo past forests and mountains. It is situated near the edge of a twisted forest covered in heavy mist at all times in the year. Twisted silhouettes stalk the treeline and occasionally venture forth to terrorize the population. Ghastly screeches and wails pierce the night sky every full moon, filling the sleep of many with night terrors. Why for all this do people still stay? During the day, when the sun shines bright and drives back the unsettling fog. The land is bountiful and harvests are rich. Brave men and women man the makeshift walls, built from the wood from the “cursed” forest itself.

Jorak’s father was one of the respected militiamen. A veteran of more than a fair share of battles and expeditions. By the time Jorak had been born he no longer manned the walls or patrolled as often. Age, but mostly old injures, had taken their toll and left him unfit for the strenuous nature of active duty. His father remained involved with the guard though as a trainer for new recruits. Thus, it was only in the evenings that Jorak saw his father. His mother managed to raise him while maintaining her profession as a baker.

From a young age, Jorak remembered the forest was never scary to him. He slept soundly through the nights of a full moon, and seemed to gaze at the shrouded treeline with interest and curiosity rather than fear. It wasn’t much later that he began to accompany his father to the training grounds. At first he simply watched the recruits drill and train, but in short order he had his own drills and training to fulfill. It was quite harsh, but he was a child and impressionable. That his father seemed genuinely happy and impressed that he followed through was enough for Jorak to continue and persevere.

At 14 Jorak finally understood what monsters plagued the town. Manned at the wall when a silhouette loomed at the edges of the treeline, the bell tolled an alarm for Lorcrove. As if set off by the booming noise, the creature swept out of the fog covered forest. Only it brought the fog with it, swirling around its body and hiding its appearance. As arrows were loosed, the projectiles disappeared within the shroud of fog that hid the creature. Only shrieks of pain that sent chills up his spine showed that the creature was harmed. What had to be dozens of arrows and the shrouded monster still put up a fight against the spears that met it at the gate. Yet fall it did and to his surprise, the fog drifted back to the forest and left nothing but clean arrows behind.

“They already see you clearly enough. These are so your comrades will never miss you, even if the fog descends upon the town.” With those words his father gifted him the purple-colored accessories Jorak still keeps to this day. Though he has stood guard on the walls many times, he is still too young to venture forth from the protection of the walls and towards the forest to strike back at the monsters that would prey on the townsfolk. With recent events, it seems unlikely that he will either.

Since his last birthday just a few days ago, his dreams have been unchanging and constant. Visions of a journey far south from home to a grand town where he would meet with others. A task that culminated at the castle where the root of evil had taken hold and spread far and wide. He tried to ignore it, but night after night it returned. It is not the only oddity either. When he jolted awake from the vivid dream… though it felt more than just that, Jorak found a pitch black dagger in his grip. He dropped it like some venomous snake and the weapon splattered against his bedsheets like ink on parchment. Well… if the ink moved like it was alive and disappeared into the shadows cast by the moonlight from his window.

Goal(s): Nothing grand at the moment and simply hopes to live up to his father’s expectations. Curious of the dreams he has had since his birthday and the strange abilities that seem to have come with it.

Inventory

• Short bow & Quiver (20 Broad heads)
• Hatchet
• Dagger
• Waterskin
• Belt Pouch (Bow strings, coins)
• Travel Pack (Extra clothes, fire starters, bundle of rope, rations; wooden bowl, spoon, and plate.)

Name: Audra Hesten

Element: Wind/Weather

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Appearance: *Picture to come* Two things immediately draw your eye when you see Audra: (1) her deep red hair and (2) her small, boyish build (5'1"). Her skin is very pale, despite working outside daily (a mystery to the Hesten family, and oftentimes yet another point of ridicule), but her grey/green eyes only stand out even more strikingly because of this. Her mood can be measured by the color of her eyes, as when she is content and happy they favor a greener shade, but when she is angry they turn grey to match her inner emotional storm. Because she is usually out in the orchards with her brothers, Audra usually ends up wearing their hand-me-down work shirts and pants, which only end up hanging pitifully on her thin frame, despite her mother's efforts to tailor them smaller. She wears her hair down and free as much as she can (which reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades), but will wear it in a braid to keep it out of the way as she goes about her work.

Theme Song: Still being determined, but it'll be great. Fear not!

Nature: Audra has a spunky, fiery nature to match her red hair. She speaks her mind and is a passionate, adventurous soul. She feels semi-obsessively driven to prove herself, to prove that she can do things just as well or better than everyone else. She is also mischievous and will likely not pass up an opportunity for a good prank. She has a short temper and holds grudges. While she likes to be the center of attention, she really does make an incredibly loyal friend.

Backstory: Audra hails from the farmlands of Diedremere, where she and her family make their living off of the fruit orchards that had passed through the seemingly innumerable family generations. Every Hesten was expected to work that very land until they no longer lived, according to ancient tradition. Audra, however, was never satisfied to be tied down by this tradition. Her family have often felt exasperated with her dreams of leaving to live a life of adventure, a notion which seems pointless and frankly unimaginable to them. Her 5 older brothers (Audra had arrived as a surprise to her family 10 years after the youngest boy) would tease her as they all worked together tending the orchards, enjoying the fiery, indignant responses from their only sister. Audra was oftentimes overlooked outside of these moments of ridicule, however, for many reasons. Her small body was much weaker and slower than her brothers, causing them to generally just do things themselves rather than wait for her. This, however, would spark her competitive and stubborn spirit, and she would try to keep up and do things herself, no matter the cost to her.

Despite these things, Audra loved her family deeply, but just wanted to be able to have them see her as their equal. They basically only saw her as helpful when they needed someone to climb to the top of the trees to grab the high and hidden fruit there. This Audra loved to do, as she loved the feeling of being high up and feeling the wind blow through her hair and through the treetops. To her, it felt as if every breeze whispered to her of better things, and it became her inner symbol of the freedom she so desperately sought. Oftentimes when Audra felt like being alone, that is where she would go: to the treetops to imagine the wind telling her of the adventure and freedom that lay far beyond the orchards.

And oh the stories the wind told.

They told her of leaving the farm, of really making herself into something amazing. She didn't even have what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go clearly defined in her mind - those details weren't as important as seeing the amazement and pride in her family member's faces as they saw what she had accomplished all on her own. This is what fueled Audra in her passion to be different and show them all what she could do, always feeling a sense of encouragement with every passing breeze. Her family, however, did not see her ambitions in this light. They thought her a foolish young girl and figured this "phase" would pass as maturity settled. Little did they know of Audra's plans now that she was just about to have her 17th birthday: to gather a few of her belongings and leave with the wind to her back to live her dreams....whatever that meant. She supposed she'd figure out the specifics on the way.

Goal(s): Audra dreams of becoming wealthy and powerful, leaving her family's farm far behind her. She longs to be able to prove herself to her family, blowing them away with her grand achievements.

Inventory: *Will update shortly

Name: Petra Ducrat

Element: Earth/Stone

Age: 18 years of age

Gender: Female

Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=1ZLV7g1ILvI

Nature/Appearance: Petra is a sturdy young woman who knows the meaning of hard work. You wouldn’t guess by her curvy, feminine figure but beneath the usual dark pants and over-sized shirts she is normally wearing, her body holds a surprising amount of strength and power.

She normally ties her shoulder length nut brown hair back into an unkempt bun to keep it out of her eyes. Her mud brown eyes are normally intent and focused on the task in front of her. Her determination can be seen through her strong frame in her 5'8 body. Most people who see her assume she wouldn’t understand “adult work” but little do they know that she gained that comprehension at a very young age.

Backstory: Petra was born and raised in Diedremere where her family had resided for several generations. Her father and brother kept food on the table, quite literally, with their hunting skills and by selling the extra meat to the local butcher. Petra would spend the day with her mother, feeding the miners who worked so diligently from dusk to dawn. She had always enjoyed hearing the stories the miners shared, barely allowing them to finish their story before shooting another question their way.

Petra couldn’t quite describe why she felt so drawn to the miners and their stories but aside from her family, that was the only strong bond she had in her life. The clearest and closest bond she had was the one she shared with her twin brother. These two were practically inseparable and would occasionally tease their parents by dressing like the other. Their identical freckles and bright smiles were the outward features that reflected their playful spirits. They would occasionally display their playful nature by running around by the base of the mountain and seeing how far the other could climb. Little did they know, how much they were playing with fate.

On the day of her and her brother’s birthday, the Ducat family deciding to climb the mountain near their home to celebrate the birth of these two special children. As Petra and her family set off for the mountain, she couldn’t help shake this eerie feeling she had simmering in her chest. The skies were clear and the breeze was light so she hiked alongside her family, up the mountain to where they would have their picnic. The day was as close to perfect as it possibly could have been….until they began their trek home.

They were coming around the final pass before the descent into their village when the mountain began to shift beneath them. Her father immediately shielded his family by stretching his arms over them. He encompassed them in his protective stance when the boulders began falling. They rolled right past them at first but then began to get dangerously close. Soon the world went black.

By the time Petra came to her senses, the villagers had already rushed to the rock slide and pulled her from the aftermath. As she awoke, she stood up shakily staggering over to her brother and gently squeezed his hand. “Kellan, we made it. Where’s papa and mama?” Kellan gave no response so she tried again. Horrified by the reality that was beginning to sneak in, she shook her brother’s shoulders only to find that no matter how hard she tried, Kellan was not going to wake up.

She felt like the earth was angry with her for ignoring the warning it so graciously gave. Well, she would show the earth just how “grateful” she was. At the young age of 14, Petra became the youngest mining worker in the village. She would angrily thrust her pick ax into the rough earth and envision her hard work as a way to gain vengeance on the murderous earth. Her once playful nature was stifled and replaced with a dark hatred fueled by the desire to lash back on the one thing that took what mattered to her most.

She blamed the mountain for taking her family from her and leaving her all alone. Oddly enough, the only place she didn’t feel alone was in the mines. As she continued to grow in strength and beauty, she took notice of a strange attachment she felt to the environment around her. She felt strongest when covered in the dust from mining the stones and the grainy sand beneath her.

Petra celebrated each birthday in the darkest caves that ran beneath the mountain. She used to imagine the ceiling caving in and her being helpless to escape. As she would lie there on the cold, hard ground, she felt like her family was sitting around her, celebrating like they did on the day of the tragedy. But something was different this year. Petra didn’t see anything special about her 17th birthday but as she placed her rough palms faced down on the earth, she was shocked to feel a pulse running the cave and throughout the surrounding area. She felt each shift of the stones as feet crunched them beneath their boots.

Shocked by this odd vision of sorts, she retracted her hands, stood up, and immediately left the cave. Determined to not experience that abnormal circumstance again, she vowed not return to the caves for several weeks. As the days dragged on, she found herself become sluggish and having hazy thoughts. She could not pinpoint the source of her discomfort but continued living her life outside of the mines.

When the moon had passed through a full cycle, Petra finally decided it was time to return to the caves. She was transfixed by this feeling she had upon returning to her work in the mines. It almost felt like an embrace from mother earth herself. From that point on, Petra returned to the caves every night to find out why she felt so drawn to the stones and soil around her. She imagined the quiet conversations she would have with the living earth as she meditated each night, palms facing down, their separate heartbeats becoming one.

Goal: Petra wants to continue learning more about her abilities by discovering why she has this connection to the earth and what exactly that means to her. She also wants to find out if she is the only one with these capabilities.

Inventory:
• Pick ax
• Serrated blade knife
• Water pouch

Elise stands an average height of five feet and three inches, adorning black raven hair and blue, almost piercing, eyes. At first, her curves and manner of walk is both telling and confusing, giving off femininity as well as confidence and purpose. Despite some parts of her personality, she is rather fit and toned, giving way to lean muscles and a noticeable grace to her steps. It's also note-worthy that most of her skin is free from scars regardless of her profession, but if one looks close enough, you can see the faintest of lines all across her body.

As far as clothing goes, when she is branding her sword and expecting trouble, she wears custom tailored adventuring gear. It sports some very light plates, several pockets for survival equipment, and a small chain mail between layers of cloth on her torso. This gives her more protection than leather armor while still offering about the same amount of mobility. Outside of this, she often wears simple shirts, skirts, or short dresses, showing off her more feminine side.


Elise is a peculiar individual. While it isn't hard to peg her down as an introvert and passive type of personality, at the same time she boasts a rather solid confidence and strive for adventure. This can only mean that something is consistently driving her forward, despite the wants and needs to simply curl next to a fire with a good book. Indeed, she is intelligent in her own way that manifests in unusual ways of thinking and planning and yet has the discipline to put herself on the line to accomplish her goals.

Besides this, she is a friendly sort of person, despite some quirks that are hard to truly pinpoint. She has learned to become more social and has no issues approaching others if she needs to. Most would describe her aura as gentle and determined, refusing to be anyone but herself whether others approve or not. Lastly, she is by far a romantic at heart, however her past life has given her a pessimistic view on anything ever happening.


Born in Jeorva to a scholarly mother and father who had raped her. Elise's childhood was never what you'd call easy, despite having a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and food on her plate. One could have all the material possessions needed to live and still be starved of love and affection, and this is exactly what the young girl had to endure for most of her life. Her mother only did as much as she needed to keep the girl alive, otherwise hiding away in her study of stars, disgusted by the sight of her own daughter - a constant reminder of what happened. This resulted in giving the girl low confidence and paired with her natural introverted nature, she had the hardest time even making friends when she was little. Instead, she turned inwards and buried herself in tales of legends and myths.

The consistent barrage of attacks to the kingdom as a whole only made it easier for the young girl to daydream and fantasize about doing something - anything to stop people from hurting. In her naive youth, she thought perhaps this would help her mother from hurting and finally earn her love, but it wasn't long before she learned better. Still, she had an unusual talent for having a good heart and still kept a hold of her dreams to help the lands one day.

As she grew into a young teenager, she began to find herself in the library more than she did at home, often studying the elven prophecies that had been recorded. She had become one of the few to believe in something better than this miserable life of death and hate and for that, she was also scorned and cast aside by most others. This was an especially hard time in her life as she fought against the society norm of women and men being together, instead finding herself increasingly attracted to other women. Still, she pressed on towards her goal in spite of these drawbacks.

Eventually she decided it best to learn how to fight, figuring the best way to help everyone was to try and decipher where the elves had gone and find out what she could about the prophecies. It took her much longer than she had hoped for though, most scoffing at a young girl wanting to wield blades, but she eventually ran into a blade master who saw that spark of determination in her eyes - it also helped that the blade master was a woman herself.

For the next several years, Elise spent every moment under her mentorship and every other moment researching clues to the possible whereabouts of the elves, sadly to little avail. Still her mentor taught her six days a week, not demanding one ounce of gold but instead every ounce of her resolve, simply content with the idea that another woman would be able to defend herself and others at the disapproval of men. It took years and the student and teacher even hit a rough patch, in where Elise admitted some amount of feelings for her mentor only to be rejected. None-the-less, Elise had won over one of the most renown swordsman in the lands either by chance or fate and took every advantage she could of the time spent.

During her twenty-second year, her master finally sat her down and explained that there was nothing else to teach. Elise needed to go out into the world and only then could her skill improve, but meeting each obstacle with knowledge and adaptability. Luckily, despite her status as a woman, her skill surpassed most knights and this gave her the opportunity to enroll herself in many contracts; being a mercenary, part of a fighter's guild, and adventurer. She had finally reached the goal she set herself up as a child so many years ago - now the only thing she needed to do was find the elves and seek out answers.


The first is obvious, in that she wishes to find the elves and their prophecies in hopes that she can find more information. Beyond this, she wants to stop the evil that is happening across the lands, bringing some measure of peace back to the people. Lastly, a lofty goal in her mind, she wants to find love.

Inventory
• Masterwork Short Sword
• Custom made adventurer outfit
• Tinderbox
• Parchment & Quill
• Some non-adventuring shirts, skirts, and dresses
• Waterskin
• Rope
• Grappling Hook
• Hunting Knife

Age: 23

Race: Human, with a bit of human blood mixed in on his mother's side. Some call him a snake.

Gender: Male

Appearance:
As a man from the higher classes of the world, Sir Isaac carries himself with pride, standing at his full height of 6'2" with no slouch in his posture. His wavy, prematurely greyed hair is kept neat yet long, with the bangs kept to the sides to frame his facial features. His paler-than-normal complexion emphasize his piercing golden eyes, which reflect his lust for power and wealth. His dainty, pointed nose and thin lips belie his noble heritage.

Also speaking of his noble heritage are his clothes. Sewn of fine silks and linings by one of the finest tailors in Coake, the dark colors of his outfit contrast beautifully with his skin and hair. His coat is decorated with golden lining and embroidery, removing any doubt of Isaac's supposed standing among the classes of Coake. The dark grey silken robe worn beneath that merely serves to hide whether he is wearing the muffled chainmail he uses for protection on excursions. Finally, his black trousers are tucked neatly into his tall and tough black leather boots, which are lined with golden silks themselves.



Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=zUJPBw9TV8Q

Nature:
Sir Isaac is every bit the shrewd businessman that a black market salesman needs to be. He is known throughout the "underworld" for his reliability and skill. He has a rebellious streak, which is what led him to his current profession. Some may find his matter-of-fact, all-business manner when working to be cold or even abrasive, though to him he's merely being "detached". Those who have gotten onto his bad side find he is quick to take up his trusty spear. However...

A few mannerisms remain from the days of his high-class upbringing. He conducts himself with an air of elegance that makes him stand out from those outside the inner district. Those lucky enough to be on good terms with him find he's quite the pacifist, as he frequently moans about times he is forced to use force. So long as he's given the respect he believes he deserves, he is happy to return the favor.

Backstory:
Sir Isaac was born to a wealthy noble family in the city of Jeorvo. His family spared no expense in his education, sending him to the college in Jeorva as soon as he was old enough to attend. There he learned a great many truths of the world, though none were as valuable in his mind as those he learned in alchemical classes. Something just seemed to click for him, and both he and his teachers were startled by his aptitude for the subject. The professors were certain that Isaac had a bright future ahead of him.

However, the future was not so kind. During Sir Isaac's fourteenth year of life, disaster struck the Dorovich clan. Like the other wealthy families of Jeorvo, Sir Isaac's parents decided to move the family's home from Jeorvo to Frel while Sir Isaac studied at college. During the journey, they were accosted by a group bandits that quickly disposed of the hired bodyguards and Sir Isaac's parents, then looted their fortune from the caravan. When Sir Isaac received the news, he was stricken; his whole life had been shattered in a nightmare of brutality. His professors offered to let him study for a year free, but Sir Isaac chose to head home and see what he could salvage of his family's wealth.

When he arrived in his home he found it being burglarized. Isaac, then a man of pure scholarship, had no way to defend himself from their blades nor stop them from taking what they wanted. Thus, he uttered four words that changed his life forever: "Let me join you." The group, surprised, took him in when he told his story. It turned out that the group was part of a crime syndicate which ran a sort of black market in the city, procuring valuables and contraband for their clients. They taught him the ins and outs of the job from the ground up, taking him with them as they stole everything from jewels to rare animal eggs. At age 16 the merchant he procured goods for began to teach him the skills needed for fencing them on the black market proper, such as finding clients, setting up trade locations, and negotiation tactics.

By age 21, Sir Isaac had a booming business in the black market, handling both the procurement and sale of goods himself. He had built a strong name for himself with his service guarantee and results. Only one of his orders ever went unfulfilled, and that due to special circumstances. A client approached him and requested a peculiar stone and a number of research journals find their way out of the possession of an old man deep in the third district and into the client's hands. Sir Isaac agreed (after more than doubling the client's price) and began his work as normal.

In the old man's home, things quickly became paranormal. The old man was bedridden when Sir Isaac arrived and held the stone in his hands. After a short conversation, the man requested that Sir Isaac destroy the stone and protect the research from thieves, not realizing why Sir Isaac had visited, then promptly died of old age. Upon reading the research, Sir Isaac decided that it would be far more valuable to do as the man had requested, destroying the stone and keeping the research. He justified the action through his client's mistake: the client attempted to short-change Sir Isaac, resulting in the black market itself voiding the transaction and silencing the client.

Contained within the journals was a plethora of information on alchemy. The knowledge contained in the pages was far beyond anything he'd learned at the college in Jeorva. By incorporating them into his alchemical front business, he began to turn enough profit to lessen his black market dealings. He does, however, maintain a positive and mutually beneficial relationship with the black market that spared his life and helped him find his new calling: to rebuild his family's greatness.

Goal(s): As a former member of the nobility, Sir Isaac seeks only to find his way back into the upper echelons of society. He intends to reach this end by whatever means he finds necessary, up to and including dethroning a king or two. Of course, as a businessman, he would greatly prefer negotiation over the use of force.

Inventory:

• Alchemical Supplies
  
  
  
  • Mortar and Pestle
  • Glass Jars w/ Labels
  • Apron, Gloves, and Eye Shield
  • A supply of alchemical ingredients
  • Tinderbox
  • Research Journals
• Spear (Bei)
• Muffled Chainmail
• An assortment of pre-prepared poisons and antidotes

Randall (A Pseudonym) , real name Reeve Artimus

Age: 20-something. He lost track of his birthdays years ago so doesn’t rightfully know how old he is.

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Appearance: Standing at an unimpressive 5’07”, Randall is none-the-less covered in strong, lean muscles he had earned from years of scaling the cityscape and surviving brawls in the streets. He has a few faint scars across his body; torso, legs, arms, and back that aren’t as impressive as the long pronounced scar going from his left ear down to his collarbone. All were painful, but informative, lessons in what not to do in a fight. He has a short reddish-brown beard, kept short by infrequent shavings, that continues uninterrupted up his sideburns and blends in with a short-cut black hairstyle with longer and greased back hair at the top, giving Randall and appearance reminiscent of a heron, especially when one considers his hawk-beak of a nose.

While his looks can be described as roguishly handsome, after a fashion, years of endured malnutrition and hardship show on his face in hard creases and distrustful eyes. Now, while undoubtedly more healthy and confident with a better diet. He is adorned with a well-worn thigh-length overcoat, covering a blue surcoat and grey button-up shirt beneath. His sleeves are concealed beneath a pair of hardened leather bracers, adorned with an aesthetically pleasing set of engravings. Black leather boots and trousers round out his attire, along with a waist belt where a numerous pouches are situated.

Theme Song:



Nature: Thrust into a life of hardship and just trying to survive day to day when he was only 13 years old, Randall spent the remainder of his teenage years on the street, blending into the city and observing its people to make ends meet. Shrewd and capable of remarkable violence when necessary, Randall will avoid fights where possible unless he is absolutely certain that course of action would be beneficial, preferring intimidation and guile over brutality. Seeing himself as slighted by society as a whole, Randall is resentful towards the nobles and lords, and thinks nothing of taking their belongings or stealing their food.

He isn’t heartless, however, and now he has established himself a steady network of contacts and found steady work doing illicit dealings for pay, including spying, Randall has not been hungry for some time and can afford to keep himself clothed and sheltered. He will often share his extra spoils with the needy, especially the urchins that live on the street. He wishes to see a more equal society where the poor are cared for and the rich didn’t sit on their endless wealth like dragons, but he is a realist and knows that some dreams won’t come true. For now, he is content to be a thorn in the side of the wealthy while he continues to search for the answers he desperately has sought for over a decade.

On a personal level, Randall can be charming and polite, and for those who earn his respect, you would be hard-pressed to find a more loyal friend. He has a soft spot for dogs and has a “pet” crow called Gruff that he befriended by sharing his meager rations with over the years. It often stays around, just out of reach, but sometimes will perch upon his shoulder. So far, he has been unsuccessful teaching the crow to repeat words, although Randall has discovered the bird will caw a word remarkably similar to the word “ass” when someone with an aggressive disposition draws near.

Backstory: Born to a wealthy family of siege engineers, Randall was born as Reeve Artimus and lived a life of relative comfort in the opulent city of Frel. His father and older brother, Trent and Maxwell respectively, had carried on the Artimus family tradition since before Randall was born. He only has vague memories of his mother, whom his father spoke of in pained and irreverent tones; Randall would later piece together that she had an affair with some textile merchant and left Trent and her sons behind as a condition of going to live with this merchant. Randall has only seldom wondered about her, deciding quickly that a real mother wouldn’t abandon her children for the promise of more wealth.

The family’s estate had numerous workers bringing in raw materials, working it into parts for elaborate siege equipment, and helping Trent and Maxwell build impressive rams, trebuchets, and other such weapons of war. Randall helped move light materials around, but he did not learn anything of value of the trade before the fated day where his father and brother would leave for the Dwarven Kingdoms to the North with the desire to commission new clients in the post-war world, leaving Randall behind to manage the estate.
It was an arrangement that would only last three weeks.

Knights and soldiers came in the night, torches held high, and without warning or mercy, stormed the estate and set fire to it, burning down the workshops, stables, worker housing, and the house itself. Randall had escaped, if only barely, by staying in the cover of darkness and running from the screams of men and horses burning alive. He had not made out a banner from the raiding party, but in the flickering flames, one had looked eerily similar to the old banner of King Antony. More discerningly, the raiders were not orcs and goblins, but men and dwarves. Something was amiss, and Randall fled into the forest, fearful of being discovered, but never seeing sign of the men who had destroyed his home. Not knowing what fate befell his father and brother, but suspecting it was connected to the raid, Randall set off with nothing but the clothing on his back, finding the road again and joining up with a merchant caravan headed to Joerva, who offered him clothing and food in exchange for having an extra sword hand.

After years of exile from his home, Randall, now using the familiar pseudonym, made ends meet by petty thievery, fighting in the streets with others as desperate as him for territory and spoils. Filthy, rejected, and very much angry at the world, Randall was determined not to roll over and die, and he took every scar as a hard-earned lesson, and soon, he was giving more than he was receiving. His fortunes had changed after securing a small paring knife from a butcher’s stall, which he used to cut purses and steal coin and gems from unaware passerby’s. Having some form of income, Randall was soon able to semi-regularly feed himself and bathe, and eventually afford new clothing. This new, cleaner Randall was able to approach people without arousing suspicion. This led to the most lucrative trade of all; information.

Randall was an excellent climber, and his hearing was second-to-none. Able to eavesdrop and tail people discretely, using the same skills he had used as a pickpocket and thief, Randall began to find dirt on rather important people and in the seedy taverns around Joerva, he had earned himself a reputation in the underground as a man who could get things no other could. His only restriction was he would not ply his skills against the poor; to do so would be akin to betraying family he knew all too well.

Upon his 17th birthday (not that he was aware this was the case; he had long since lost track of dates), Randall had made an interesting and at the time terrifying discovery. While up in the attic that had served as his base of operations for the past several months, several aggressive and unfamiliar voices came from below the floor, and he pieced together enough that they had figured out that he was taking refuge in the home. Unarmed and fearing for his life, Randall clutched his fist tightly and wished for more than anything to have a knife in his hand.

After a few tense moments, Randall grew panicked as he felt a creeping sensation like a wave of insects crawling down his wrists, and inside his fist, something solid emerged. He went to throw it away from him reflexively, but his grip was too tight; but the object caught his eye; a knife, not unlike the short dagger that he used to cut purses had formed in his hand, taking on a strangely ethereal and unreal quality, but being as solid as any blade he had wielded before. Fascinated and no longer as fearful of the goings on downstairs, Randall waited until the danger abated and he placed the dagger down, and to his surprise and fascination, it dissolved into the shadows, as if it was never there. Randall moved forward with a new purpose and power. It was hard to pin a crime on someone if they did not have the knife.

Deciding to leave Joerva for Joervo after his close-call with what he assumed were the authorities, Randall continued his trade there, building a secondary network and finding new clients who had need of his skills. He has remained there since, looking for information about his family’s fate. One day, while tailing a rather wealthy lady accompanying a count, a voice shook his consciousness, imploring him to return to Joerva. Started, Randall took a few moments to compose himself before feeling the draw of the call; he had encountered some rather strange things over his life, but this was the first time he had been telepathically hijacked. Knowing it better to find out what awaited him in Joerva than to ignore the summons, the man set course for the city he had fled for years, apprehensive of what he would find.

Goal(s): To find out the fate of his father and brother, to create a fairer society for the poor. Everything else is secondary to him, although he had yet to be approached with something of the magnitude of the summoning of the Elementos.

Inventory:
-Coin purse
-Fine leather gloves, used when thieving.
-A water flask
-A shaving razor
-A bag of seed for Gruff
-Assorted gems and riches, used mainly for bribes.

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