Kuro is tall, with a lean body and only light musculature, possessing cords rather than bunches of muscle. His layered clothing and small personal armory of equipment lends his a deceitfully broad appearance, but when divested of his garments his overall frame is somewhat smaller than is typical. His manner of clothing includes a dark overcoat worn over an unassuming gray cloth shirt and trousers, along with a bandoleer of small pouches slung down from his right shoulder - all worn over ringmail padded with leather, only just visible above the neckline for his shirt.

Kuro's skin is the color of wheat sullied by ash, somewhat pallid and unclean in appearance. His face is slightly gaunt and drawn, with generally rounded edges with a thin mouth and nose. His somewhat protruded eyes are a dull and empty shade of orange, and their lids have a softer definition than normal, which serves as the only physical evidence of Kuro's distant heritage. He is clean-shaven, with his dark hair cut close to the point of either balding or faint stubble.

Ineffable Grace: More than two decades of battlefield and survival experience has gifted Kuro with a general, almost preternaturally heightened awareness of his surroundings. His vision and hearing are much sharper than average, and he has an uncanny sense that allows him to detect unseen foes and threats. Evading Kuro is difficult, catching him by surprise is a trial.

Scale Tipper: Kuro has built his career upon entirely unfair, one-sided fights stacked grossly in his own favor. Kuro uses and does whatever works, questionable ethics and honor be damned - his idea of a 'fair fight' is one where he grinds the enemy into dust effortlessly, and he goes out of his way to stack the deck in his favor with any and every sort of underhanded tactic and ploy. Anything is acceptable, in order to secure victory.

Tactical Guile: Kuro is experienced in leading soldiers and warriors into combat, making the best possible use of their skills, equipment, positioning, and maneuverability. This skill is limited to relatively small groups - Kuro is most effective when leading ambushes, guerrilla strikes, or planning for skirmishes. His competence as a commander in other realms of battle is untested.

Silent Steps: Kuro is well aware of the value of stealth upon the battlefield. He can walk and run silently, and knows how to make good use of his surroundings for concealment purposes.

Dwarven Machinations: Kuro is familiar with the construction and design of a large number of Dwarven weapons. He can clean, disassemble, reassemble, maintain, and even build nearly any kind of Dwarven mechanical weapon (or any device intended for battlefield use). This expertise does not extend to other forms of Dwarven artifice.

Kuro was born in the year 1139, shortly before the death of King Lysteria, to a blacksmith who lived along the Southern borders of the Northern Empire, situated at the base of the local mountain chain. When the succession crisis start, the small township Kuro grew up in was largely isolated from the bloodshed due to its low strategic value and position. For the first few years of his life, Kuro led a largely carefree and peaceful existence under the lax tutelage of his father in preparation for an eventual apprenticeship in the nearby Dwarven steading, as the township and the blacksmith in particular had historically - and unusually - good relations with the population of natives.

Kuro's days of peace were not to last however. Although the township itself was of faint importance, the Dwarven Steading was attacked and raided by forces from a neighboring state, covetous of their mechanisms and devices. They seized and sacked the township afterwards as a matter of course, taking every boy old enough to be of use but young enough not to stir up trouble and forcibly conscripting them. Kuro, along with many of his peers, were brutally beaten and threatened in the process of their reeducation for a year before they were assembled into a levy attached to a skirmishing force. Forced to act as a screen for a vanguard's unsuccessful charge during an assault on a small village, Kuro was trapped beneath a slain horse and was summarily pressed into service by the victorious defenders when they discovered him. Thus did Kuro's next years and early adolescence play out, with him being traded back and forth between militias, surviving each battle due to serendipity and his quickly learning how to stay out of the worst part of every fight. Always seen as just old enough to be useful, and just young enough to be reconscripted, Kuro soon determined that eventually he would wind up in the hands of a force that would decide he was too much of a risk to keep. He stole weapons and armor from his would-be allies and fled, approaching and joining the next militia he found as a free-rider mercenary.

During Kuro's adolescence he managed to survive and make a small reputation for himself as a sell-sword, attached to militias and even large professional armies as part of their mercenary cohorts. However, he made little effort to discriminate between sides and was eventually ostracized, declared a turncoat and threatened with summary execution should he continue. Searching for a means of living, for a time he traveled with a caravan of Dwarven Merchants. During his tenure with them, he learned a great deal in regards to the mechanisms and operation of Dwarven mechanical weapons, particularly their crossbows, from which most of his familiarity with Dwarven armaments is derived. Eventually the caravan was raided by highwaymen, who killed all of the merchants and most of their guards save for Kuro, who had sensed that the battle was fated to end poorly and fled after taking a moment to pilfer a pair of crossbows from the caravan.

By this time the Dwarven populaces of the North had become highly suspicious of Humans due to the frequency of attacks by independent states upon their fortress and caravans, and Kuro had difficulty finding work with any of them. Starving and desperate, he was forced to resort to banditry. For some time he operated alone along sideroads, having no compunction with killing his victims if he had to and barely managing to subsist off of the meager fare they carried. Looking for safer and more reliable ways, he joined up with a larger group of organized highwaymen who specialized in targeting convoys and carriages along more frequented roads. At this time Kuro was exposed to a number of personalities who served as role-models and mentors of sorts, although they inevitably parted ways in time. Eventually the band was broken during a failed attack on a particularly large convoy, and the few survivors rallied around Kuro who, by that time, had become one of the band's senior members despite his young age.

It was at this time when Kuro became known as Blackguard Kuro, leading his small band of cutthroats in meticulously planned and carefully organized raids on watchtowers, courier outposts, inns, and stables. They made great and effective use of traps such as pitfalls and weighted nets, along with fire. For a time, the fractuous state of the Northern lands allowed Kuro and his band to operated with near impunity, as no local force was both organized and swift enough to chase down and corner his group before they had fled to some other state with their spoils. However, the year was 164, and King Jaython of Arden had just begun to reunite the shattered Northern lands. Kuro started to have to deal with increased vigilance, and more thorough manhunts - with retreat to neighboring states not part of the expanding influence of the Ironmount Throne becoming increasingly difficult. Eventually, Kuro even had to begin to deal with a group of particularly relentless questors who had been tasked to specifically hunt him and his band of cutthroats down and eliminate them. For years, Kuro managed to slip through their fingers - until one night in 1167 when they managed to catch up. In a surprise attack, they slaughtered Kuro's band, with him barely escaping alive and fleeing South, to the lands of Lord Starly.

Kuro joined with the Company of Wolves then, due largely to an interest to escape the pursuit of the questors as well as a new and convenient means of surviving. As a professional mercenary organization with few scruples, his ostracism from the forces of the Northern Realms proved to be no obstacle to his enlistment. The squad he joined moved far too quickly for the questors, and his years of service precluded any further criminal activities on his part (at least, no criminal activities not sanctioned by Lord Starly). Eventually, the questors dropped their pursuit, assuming that the notorious Blackguard Kuro would no longer be plaguing the southern outposts of the Northern Lands - Kuro, for his part, has no apparent ambitions either within or without the company and is seemingly content to serve.

Kuro is, in a word, pragmatic. Forced for more than two decades to resort to any means necessary just to subsist, his morality is most generously described as flexible and his methods most politely described as broad. Kuro is a man who will do anything -absolutely anything- just to survive and, by extension, to secure victory.

A stoic man by nature, he is economical and succinct in all things. Blunt and to the point, he will only ever say precisely what he means to say. He can and will deceive others, but he will not spare their feelings or sensibilities in the process. Highly goal and work oriented, Kuro has very little patience for idle words and behavior.

Despite his brevity and seeming lack of social grace, Kuro has a deeply integral sense of camaraderie with those he knows, at least up to a point. If he thinks that a life can be saved by sacrificing his own, he will do so - but also, notably, ONLY if he also thinks the life he saves can then lead his side to victory. Kuro will abandon his allies without any remorse if he thinks their battle is a lost cause or that their death is imminent in either case. It would be most accurate to say he is deeply sympathetic to soldiers of fortune and mercenaries, whose troubles and hardships he is intimately familiar with.

Kuro, as described previously, is economical - and efficient. He has learned many lessons from his decades of experiences. Never tolerate standoffs. Never draw a weapon without intent. Hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Trust but verify. Avoid battles you have no stake in. Never do anything for free. He ascribes to these lessons almost religiously, and expects everyone else to do so as well, becoming extremely irritated and even angry if they should behave in a contrary - and to him, idiotic - fashion. He has maimed people in the past simply for drawing their swords in order to show off, by way of example.

This further manifests in his professional decorum and behavior. Kuro is highly methodical, meticulous, and thorough, taking great pains to plan ahead for what he can. He follows through on his promises (when possible), always investigates possible leads, prepares in advance for all eventualities, and never assumes anything he does not known to be true.

Kuro is distrustful of both religion and magic, the former reminding him too much of his experiences as a child soldier and the latter striking him as too unreliable on the battlefield. He has a deep respect for the craftswork of Dwarves.

Tribal Mountebank: One of the more violent cutthroats that Kuro had a brief association with during his days as a highwayman. Later joined The Company of Wolves around the same time as Kuro, and is one of the infamous few to have been expelled from their ranks due to his unacceptable behavior.

Andromache: A Northern Warlord of an independent state in the North whom he served under in the capacity of a mercenary for a time. Although their association was brief, Kuro learned a great deal from Andromache just by watching her, and still partly idolizes her to this day.

Chalarensis: A powerful spellcaster, and the leader of the Highway gang that Kuro joined as a man. Served as a mentor figure to Kuro for several years before the battle that led to the group disbanding. Currently presumed dead.

To Be Added.

Triala knows she'll never have the luxury of blending in with the crowd. Her lackluster control over her magical abilities, long ears, and blood red hair make it impossible for the she-elf to hide effectively. In fact, ancient elven legends claim those born with red hair are beloved by Angharad the Crimson King, the wrathful deity of flame, blacksmiths, and courage. They aren't hard to spot, and many elves believe these blessed souls possess unusual talents. Unfortunately for Triala, this last part of the legends is completely true. A few weeks after her sixtieth name day, the elven girl destroyed the estate of her master, High Lord Ulster Howe, with a barely controlled eruption of pyromantic fury. Due to her emotional state at the time and limited experience with the Will, Triala also managed to set the right side of her face on fire. The teal flames ravaged the elf's visage for several agonizing seconds before she quelled them.

Now, a little less than fifteen years later, the right side of Triala's face is a mass of hideous scar tissue with a single, cat-like amber eye hiding amidst the pink flesh. While many people cannot see beyond this horrific injury, those with stronger stomachs might be able to catch a glimpse of how lovely the she-elf used to be. While Triala was never the prettiest girl in the Realms, her heart-shaped face, bright eyes, and prominent cheekbones still radiate the same otherworldly beauty found in all elves. Sadly, life has a tendency to destroy beautiful things as the years march on. Luckily, Triala's red hair has grown long enough that she can use it as a curtain to conceal her wounds. The elf also has a button-like nose surrounded by freckles, which are quite visible thanks to her pale skin.

Due to spending most of her life as a household servant, Triala's 5'7" frame is soft and lacks the toughness found in the Company of the Wolf's battle-hardened veterans. She has narrow, bowed shoulders that encourage slouching and moderately toned arms, a testament to many hours spent washing the floors of the Howe Estate. Triala's slender hands are delicate, almost fragile-looking, and she's missing the littlest finger on her right hand. An ample bust, prominent beer belly, and wide hips give the elven woman a buxom, if unhealthy-looking, physique. Triala isn't the most physically capable or agile member of the Company, but she doesn't mind her curvaceous figure. It's actually helped her on more than a few occasions. Long legs and dainty feet complete the picture of a woman who wouldn't look out of place in an alehouse or brothel.

Thankfully, she found the Company of the Wolf first.

When it comes to her attire, Triala's race and mystical abilities typically force her to dress as conservatively as possible. In truth, she would much rather be ignored than draw attention to herself. The elf normally wears long-sleeved tunics made of linen or, if she wants to impress someone, silk dyed in various shades of green or brown. Occasionally, she'll wear a leather jerkin over her tunic, though this is mostly to keep herself safe amidst the chaos of battle. The elf's lower half is normally shrouded in black-dyed calfskin leggings and boots. Triala is also rarely seen without her oilcloth wineskin, knapsack, and quarterstaff. Every now and again, usually when the Captain or one of her senior officers deems it necessary, Triala will don a ridiculous blue robe of crushed velvet with the constellations stitched on it in white thread. This garment, which was "liberated" from a mummer's troupe after the Battle over Silver Lake, also has a staggering amount of golden scroll-work along the edges. Triala refers to this as her "magicky outfit." It makes her look like a sorceress from a children's story.

Quiet. Obnoxious. Aloof. Compassionate. Triala Veclis is an elf of contradictions, and she sees little point in trying to change. She is who she is. For example, the red-haired mage can be warm, amusing, and attentive around people she knows and cares about. Osric "The Mad Mage" Weaver knows he can always confide in his apprentice, because she wouldn't dream of betraying the trust of the few Company members she considers friends. This small circle of individuals has become a family of sorts to the young elf, and she'd do almost anything for them. On the other hand, newcomers and strangers often believe Triala to be uncaring, cold, and outright rude. And she certainly can be at times. Especially on those rare occasions when she allows her mind to wander the old, painful roads of her past.

Her childhood as a servant in the Howe family's mansion has created a burning hatred and resentment towards mankind within her that persists to this day. Thankfully, as she's matured and grown older, the she-elf has started to realize the merits of letting someone's actions speak for them. After all, Triala knows she undoubtedly killed innocent people when she unleashed her pyromantic abilities and razed the Howe Estate. She still feels incredibly guilty about this incident and has worked diligently to master her mystical talents.

Nevertheless, the mage rarely goes out of her way to treat a human with anything approaching common decency. Unless she has to or the individual in question might be useful to her.

Regardless, the past lays heavily on Triala's shoulders, and she often lapses into grim, miserable silences. She can usually bring herself out of these moods by drinking or spending coin on finery, but these remedies don't always work. The elf's amber eyes are constantly drawn to the south as if she's trying to see how her mother is faring. Obviously, displaying this kind of behavior in a company of sellswords would make Triala an easy target for mockery and derision. So, she compensates by drowning herself in alcohol, making jokes, and cursing like a sailor on shore-leave. Whenever she's given an assignment, however, all unproductive and inefficient behavior stops immediately. Her task consumes her, and she throws herself into her work with an almost worrisome intensity. Triala also has a tendency to become furious and upset whenever someone suggests deviating from the orders she's been given. The she-elf is determined but decidedly inflexible. Strict adherence to her superior officers' commands provides comfort in the crucible of war, but the mere thought of improvisation is enough to send Triala into a screaming fit.

In the end, much of Triala's behavior is a facade to hide the deep-rooted insecurities buried within her. She is incredibly sensitive about her burned face, and her mood can change from pleasant to enraged in the blink of an eye. The she-elf is also an adolescent on the brink of adulthood, and she has no idea what her future holds. The Company of the Wolf gives her life meaning, and it may even grant her the resources she needs to rescue her mother from High Lord Howe one day. Beyond that, however, the young elven woman acts competent and crass in hopes of disguising how uncertain she is about what her purpose is.

Triala Veclis was born in the spring of 1097 IC to Selune Veclis-Arathan, an elven serving woman working for the Howes of Estermont. The Kingdom of Estermont, also known as the "Kingdom of Plenty," was a small southern nation in the midst of an unprecedented period of prosperity. And the Howe family was largely responsible for this peaceful and fruitful time. By swearing oaths of fealty to the fledgling Vorstagian Empire in his youth, High Lord Wilcott Howe guaranteed his family and territory would be protected in the event of a major conflict. Why try to fight the Empire when the idea of a unified Continent under Vorstagian rule was so much more appealing?

Unfortunately for Triala and her mother, they were elves. This golden age didn't affect them overly much. While the high lord and his wife were kind to their servants, the majority of the elves' time was spent cooking, cleaning the estate, and attending to the needs of their masters. Since both of them were household servants, Selune was permitted to teach her daughter how to read and write, though Triala never fully grasped these vital skills.

Day after day passed in a pleasant, if somewhat arduous, haze for the young elf as she learned her place in the Howe Estate and the world at large. How much clover honey does the high lord like in his tea? Can you fetch High Lady Catriona's red silk robe from her boudoir? When was the last time you and the other servants mucked out the stables? These were the questions Triala's life revolved around, though she did manage to enjoy herself on occasion. The Howe family's stable master, a handsome elf named Ingmir Shadras, insisted on teaching Triala how to ride a horse, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover she was a natural. No matter how often her mother scolded her for coming into the house smelling of horses, the fiery-haired child always found her way back outside for another lesson with Ingmir.

Everything in Triala's life was simple and predictable, an endless list of chores and tasks, until the winter of 1137 IC. There were troubling whispers concerning King Lysteria's health coming from the north, and imperial emissaries were being sent throughout the southlands to affirm the loyalty of the Vorstagian Empire's vassals. The forty-year old Triala, along with several other elven attendants, were ordered to prepared and serve a sumptuous dinner to the high lord and his important guests. Something went wrong almost immediately. One of the younger elves emerged from the kitchen too early with the first course, which consisted of stuffed eggs and beryl prawns, and forced the rest of the servants to do the same. Presentation was everything in the house of the High Lord of Estermont. After the youth in question was chastened back in the kitchen, an older elf named Myranda Tavellan suggested it might be wise to serve the suckling pig now. If they waited too long then the high lord would undoubtedly punish them for making his guests wait. Of course, if they didn't let the initial course digest then nobody would eat much of the main course. The argument grew increasingly heated until, in a fit of anger, Triala somehow caused Myranda's wispy gray hair to catch on fire.

The flames were the color of a cloudless summer sky.

Luckily for Triala, Myranda was a mage of some skill, and she discretely used her own gifts to quell the hungry flames. Humorously, the time the elves spent bickering and trying not to scream when Myranda's hair started burning meant the imperial emissaries were practically drooling when the suckling pig came out. The dinner was a success, but this night would be a turning point in Triala's life. Myranda, after promising Triala all was well and she wasn't hurt, brought the younger elf to her mother and took Selune into the next room. The two elves discussed what had transpired in the kitchen for several hours until they reached a decision. Starting the next day, Myranda would begin teaching Triala about the Will. Both Selune and Myranda knew if the elven child's abilities were discovered then she'd be sent to the human-dominated Mysterium Lodge in southern Estermont. The lodge had a well-deserved reputation as a haven for greedy, racist, and incompetent mages with little understanding of their abilities. If Triala was sent there she'd die within the month.

To avoid this fate, Myranda began taking Triala with her during her nightly excursions into the nearby Wrenlock Forest. Once they were safely hidden beneath the shadowy boughs, the older elf would instruct her new pupil in the ways of the Will, the otherworldly force that allowed mages to cast spells and perform miracles. Unfortunately, Myranda's talent revolved around the manipulation of plants while Triala felt more of a kinship with fire. There was only so much the withered elven woman could teach her young friend, though most of her lessons were about control as opposed to actual use of the Will. The two grew close over the years, and Myranda became something of a surrogate grandma to Triala. Selune was immensely relieved. She'd already lost her husband, and the thought of losing her daughter was too much to bear. Still, if Myranda could hide her own mystical powers for so long then she could surely teach Triala to do the same. Everything would be fine.

In 1152 IC, everything changed as the Wars in the South ended and the Empire claimed the southlands once and for all.

Estermont didn't contribute many soldiers to the cause, but High Lord Wilcott ensured the Vorstagian forces never wanted for essential supplies. In addition, he sent a small cadre of soldiers led by his twenty-year old son, Ulster Howe, to assist his allies during the conflict. Ulster Howe had always been a quiet, unassuming boy, but his first taste of real battle twisted him in ways his father couldn't have possibly foreseen. When he returned home, the lad had transformed into a man of violence, passion, and a complete lack of respect for anyone he considered beneath him. Regrettably, this included his father, who'd taken ill earlier that same year and become bed-ridden.

After a valiant struggle, High Lord Wilcott Howe died of the damp lung in the fall of 1152 IC, and Ulster was declared the new High Lord of Estermont. His mother would act as his advisor and confidante. This signaled a major shift in the way the Howe Estate was run. Suddenly, elves were beaten for the slightest mistakes and treated like animals by their once benevolent masters. Filled with sorrow over her husband's death and perhaps recoiling at what her son had turned into, High Lady Catriona Howe-Maddox passed away during the dismal winter of 1153. Without his mother to curb his base impulses, Ulster Howe earned the nickname "The Grim" fairly quickly, and his reputation as a cruel, drunken monster of a man spread throughout the kingdom.

Only his devotion to the Vorstagian Empire kept him from being usurped or replaced as High Lord of Estermont.

Regrettably, the situation worsened in 1154 when the high lord decided to take a late night walk through the Howe Estate's renowned rose garden. During his stroll, Ulster spotted Myranda and Triala running off into the Wrenlock Forest to continue practicing with the Will. He sent several guards to bring the elves to him, thinking they were trying to run away, but his soldiers brought back dire news. The older elven woman was showing her younger companion some magical cantrip or spell. Horrified and enraged, the high lord sent Myranda to the Mysterium Lodge the next day and beat Triala senseless for keeping this secret from him. He demanded to know if she also possessed the gift of magic. Through tears and a broken nose, the red-haired elven girl swore she didn't, and the young nobleman decided to let her remain at the estate.

After all, he was having sex with her mother on an almost nightly basis. The last thing he wanted was for Selune, his favorite elven doxy, to start blubbering because he'd sent her daughter away.

With Myranda gone and her mother known throughout the estate as the "high lord's whore," Triala longed to escape from the Howe Estate. She marveled at how many opportunities she'd had with Myranda to simply vanish into the Wrenlock Forest. Of course, she hadn't because the older elf wouldn't have been able to keep up, and the idea of leaving her mother behind was repulsive to her. The resentment and fear she felt towards High Lord Howe came to a head in 1157 when Ingmir, Triala's friend and tutor in the art of horseback riding, approached his master and told him the truth. Triala did, in fact, have the Will. Furious and inebriated beyond rational thought, the aristocrat ordered his guards to bring Triala to the kitchen while he fetched Selune. When the two elves were in the room together, the High Lord of Estermont began beating Selune with a truncheon while shouting at Triala for being a "pointy-eared monster" and a "lying, thieving elven bitch!" Horrified and barely in control of her emotions, Triala let loose. Everything Myranda had taught her about control vanished in the blink of an eye.

The resulting explosion of pyromantic magic engulfed the kitchen and nearly killed the young elf. Only the presence of several torches in the room allowed Triala to survive this colossal expenditure of mystical energy. She did, however, set the right side of her face ablaze. Screaming in pain and barely cognizant, the elven girl fled through one of the side doors and raced towards the forest where she'd once practiced magic with Myranda. She only looked back once and saw the high lord, with her mother in tow, sending a dozen guards after her while the rest began trying to douse the fire. Triala quelled the flames scalding her face and ran until her legs gave out. Weeping in pain and terror, the elven girl decided her only hope of escaping her master was to try and leave the kingdom. Perhaps she could head north? There was a village called Last Hope a few days to the south of the border between the southlands and the northern kingdoms. It seemed like as good a destination as any.

Triala barely survived the long journey northwards, but she finally reached Last Hope after nearly two weeks of walking and living off the land to the best of her abilities. Outside of the ramshackle settlement, the she-elf saw a standard that would alter the course of her life: a simple black field with a running dire wolf on it. The Company of the Wolf was looking for recruits in the area since there were rumors of a new war starting in the north. In light of her desperate circumstances, Trial wondered if she should join, but she kept seeing the expressions of horror and disgust on the faces of those she'd met on the road. Her scarred face was too revolting. Who would be willing to tolerate an elf with no combat experience and a visage only a mother could love?

The trembling elf turned to walk away...only to run into an older member of the Company, Osric Weaver. The man immediately sensed this dirty creature's connection to the Will, and he told her she wasn't going anywhere. Triala was too weak to fight him. He dragged her over to the recruiter and helped her sign her name. The mage promptly declared that she would be his greatest pupil ever. She would be the one the "Mad Mage" would teach all his secrets to. The recruiting officer simply rolled his eyes and told Osric to take his pet into the encampment to await further instructions from the Captain. The mage complied and, with a hearty chuckle, led his new student into a life that would reshape her both literally and metaphorically. The next fifteen years were some of the best and worst of Triala's life thus far. Her new teacher taught her how to use her abilities in ways Myranda had never discussed, and he even bought her a quarterstaff and dagger.

"You can never know too many ways to kill a man," Osric always said. Triala took him at his word.

The Wars in the North began in the year 1162, and the Company of the Wolf fought for whatever side was willing to pay them the most coin. Gold flowed like a wondrous, clinking river through their encampment as they prospered off the chaos engulfing the Continent. For the first time in her life, Triala knew what it was like to have money of her own to spend. And spend it she did. When she wasn't buying clothes or alcohol, the elven woman bought the most expensive meals she could afford and even purchased an old Vorstagian Charger from a horse merchant after the Battle of the Celebron Fields. The scrawny, starving wretch Osric found on the streets of Last Hope blossomed and grew into a plump, money-hungry elf with a taste for the finer things in life. She even managed to become Osric's new apprentice. However, this doesn't mean Triala forgot about her mother and her old master, the High Lord of Estermont. Even during the Company's time serving Lord Van of Starly, she kept one ear to the ground in hopes of hearing something that would tell her what was happening in Estermont. Triala had long ago come to the conclusion that she might be able to save up enough coin to hire the Company to help her exact revenge on High Lord Ulster Howe. They might even be able to save her mother.

Now that she was making a decent amount of coin, this idea became more and more solid in the elf's thoughts. In 1168 IC, the seventy one year old elf decided to make this her purpose. She's squirreled away nearly two hundred golden pieces thus far, though it's a start. In 1172 IC, however, Lord Van's kingdom fell to the Vorstagian Empire and the Company of the Wolf has now been ordered to travel to the imperial capital to meet with the emperor. Although Triala's grip on her pyromancy is better than ever, and she's survived numerous battles alongside her companions, the she-elf is more than a little nervous about returning to the southlands. For now, she's content with keeping quiet and staying close to Osric. If worse comes to worse, Triala plans to abandon the Company at the first sign of danger to herself. It's hard to rescue anyone when you're dead.