WIP
Name: Viktra Var Blackeye
Age: Unknown
Race: Human
Appearance:



Few have looked upon his skeletal pale features or into his ember dark eyes, even fewer have lived the days to speak of it. Viktra is taller than most and sickly slender, with wide shoulders to drape his long grey robe over. He wears many rings of varying type and design, decorating his stick-like fingers.

He has a thin smile that beams as a snakes does before its kill, though his teeth are dull and chipped in places. His long white hair hangs as corpses do from poles, limply, often swaying in his movements. His steps incur a deep and dark mist, and his breath is said to be as cold as tundra winds and as grey as his minions.

Description: Evil personified some say, others argue he is merely a front of something larger, possessed by powers most foul. All that is definite is that he was the necromancer that raised the seven fields, and that he is that same necromancer now, playing as puppeteer to the undead and his followers.

Background: The apprentice of a lowly magician, Viktra sought more, hunger and greed devoured him until he became damned to search the lands for an ancient power, one that would give him the rush of dominance he lusted for. It is said he once had a large and apparently gentle family, all workers of the fields. What became of them, no one knows.

WIP
Name: Captain Xeol Whitestem
Age: 67
Race: Elf
Appearance:



Xeol is of average height and build, with strangely small hands for his size. He has long grey blonde hair tied in a high ponytail and some stray strands occupy his forehead and cheeks. His eyes are blue and his complexion soft. He often wears barkweave armour or a linked garb, a wooden snake crown is also common upon his head. His right ear is pierced twice with gold loops and his left once with a hanging silver leaf.

Description: Xeol is captain of the northern front, he holds the border with Fallion with his men, and has done for 17 years. He is fast tempered and fast thinking, an asset that has led to a reputation for vicious efficiency

He gets a nervous twitch in his right pinky when he gets angry, he is an expert tracker and duelist as well a minor spellborn, granting him some weak magical abilities.

Background: Xeol comes from the northern states, the snow topped peaks and iced pines are is home. His father was a royal guard in the 7th age, his mother a council member. The whitestems are known for magical abilities, although Xeol was never sent to the Elder Lake for any kind of training. He stepped his way slowly up the Elven ranks until he found himself being offered the leadership of the third sheild.

Such a large responsibility was not for Xeol, who preferred the subtler aspects of war. Instead he opted to become the Captain of the north, protector of the wall. He used to stop travellers and merchants at the high gates, but now all he does is shoot down the dead and occasionally give refuge to fleeing humans.

Name: Weurg Stonefoot
Age:26
Race: Mountain Orc

Appearance:



Weurg is a behemoth among his race, occasionally mocked by other Orcs for his troll-like stature and slow way of speaking. Behind his lumbering ways, however, is an intelligent and cunning leader. This cunning can be seen in the green tint of his eyes, in the slight grovelling smirk he wears in war and in the slow methodical way he pushes his greasy brown locks from his face before ripping the flesh from a fresh kill.

He has abnormally large feet, which he boasts are stronger than black rock, feet he frequently uses to crush the skulls of his enemies. Aside from these technicalities Weurg appears to be an Orc, only a few heads taller.

Description: The leader of the third largest Orc pack in Fallion, Weurg is a blood thirsty creature that preys on human convoys and towns plus the occasional bandit camp. He occasionally rides atop a red wolf, if not you will hear his thudding steps before you see him. Not much else can be said about him, aside from the fact that he is set in his ways. Set like stone.

Background: Like all mountain Orcs, Weurg was born into the cold and bloody slopes of the Northern Ridges, forced to fight for life and future. His parents and siblings dead to the Grey Tide as it moved across Fallion and inevitably the Orcish territory too, he himself tool to the comparably luxurious woods of the human lands.

There he found other Orcs, and through might and hidden brains, he has risen in power. He holds his own Orc fort in the northern forests, Stonehide. Heavy fortified and populated, it is not wise to approach its black walls.

Name: Ares
Age: N/A
Race: Warforged
As eons pass, stone, steel and man will wither and fade from existence, bound by the law eternal entropy. Alas, memory is no exception to that rule.

Not much remains in the old machine’s mind of the times long forgotten, but glimpses and flashes, and faces long gone. Before the Grey Tide, before Fallion, in times withered and gone him and his kind stood guard. Perhaps he was human once? A warrior that fell and was brought back as a machine? None are alive to answer that question. Only a word etched into his arm: Ares. So that was to be his name.

He remembers battles, the rush of air as his comrades and he formed the tip of the spear – clearing the way for their mortal allies. He remembers great victories filled with glory and the weight of corpses on his back he carried home from devastating losses. But most of all he remembers his town.

Ah yes, the town he guarded from the high steps of the Precept’s academy. The smiling faces of children that would dance about him as he would tell the stories of his long adventures. Their laughter as he easily lifted them into the air. Yes, what better way to retire than as guard in a small, peaceful town?
He was telling them a story of how he once fell off a ship and had to walk along the bottom to the shore, when the Precept called him inside. Some maintenance had to be done on the old joints. Kids tugged at him, pleading to continue the tale, but Precept’s orders are absolute. He remembers promising them to continue tomorrow, and then heading inside. And then he remembers waking up… alone, in a ruin, surrounded by thieves.
A thousand years had passed.
What was this place?
Who were these men?
The Precept?
The kids?...
Were these memories real? Were they truly his? Only one way to answer that - he had to continue his tale…

Appearance:



Ares is a 7ft tall 600 pound metal humanoid, built of steel, stone and materials beyond his knowledge. He once wore the garbs of an ancient city guard, but they turned to dust the moment he started moving. The only things he has with himself are those he took from the thieves that woke him: An old dusty cloak, a blacksmith’s hammer, a rusty sword broken in half and a shattered lantern filled with oil.

Personality: Ares might not remember who he was, but he is a warrior through and through. His outlook on life is seemingly naïve by Fallion standards: Evil never prevails for Justice and Honour will be his sword and shield to protect the innocent. He will not allow injustice to pass in any form and will leap into danger to save the innocent without a single moment’s hesitation, often falling prey to tricks and being taken advantage of by less than scrupulous individuals. He is a man of few words and tends to speak in slightly disjointed sentences, perhaps due to the damage to his memory; however that doesn’t mean he won’t join in an attempt to sing a cheerful song to raise the spirits of those around him. Even if he will most likely fail at it spectacularly. His dedication and determination are beyond words, though it must be said – so is his stubbornness. Ares is decidedly a man of a different era but, perhaps, that is exactly what these dark times need the most.

Skills:
Being a warforged comes with its own benefits: Ares is virtually invulnerable to light physical damage such as daggers, slashing strikes from swords or arrows. However a skilled swordsman or archer could exploit the gaps in his natural armour to deal massive damage or disable him. Heavy blows from blunt weapons can still break his limbs however, and armour piercing weapons such as crossbows and spiked mauls will punch through his metal skin, with the exception of his skull. He has two crystals inside him – one in his chest and one in his head. Destroying the chest crystal will render him immobile – while destroying the one in his head will kill him for good. Thankfully a solid steel skull makes that a difficult task to achieve.

As a warforged he cannot be healed, and any injuries dealt to him must be repaired by a highly skilled blacksmith, which could prove to be troublesome in the world of Fallion. Furthermore he is very vulnerable to elemental magic, electricity in particular will knock him out almost instantly.

As a veteran frontline warrior with the strength of a tank he is an extremely formidable close quarters fighter, particularly adept at using a warhammer and shield. However Warforged’s three clumsy fingers make feats of dexterity next to impossible – as such even tasks like shooting a bow or throwing a knife are beyond him. He’s an exclusively close combat fighter so your best bet would be to fight him from a distance. Plus his metal constitution and extreme weight make shoddy bridges and water his natural enemies.