Race:
Gemminite
Age:
18
Element(s):
Fire
Height:
5'2"

Bio:
If you believed that most if not all Gemminites were naught but some peace-loving, air-headed fools then Atallia is the living argument against that. Born in the north to the Faeron clan, she was taught from a young age that living under the boot of the Drakken was a nefarious business - they could either remain passive and wait until the boot stomped down or they could push back. Her family were one of the few in the whole nation that argued for the latter. After losing a sister to the Drakken, her father imbued within her that the continuation of the Drakken's very existence was a mockery to the Earth.

Despite those rather serious lessons and the pressures of raising a daughter who was very clearly beautiful, her parents were good to her and gave her freedom to explore the world around her. It could have been the fire flowing through her but it seemed that from the outset, she was a flighty little thing with no regards for danger or rules. It landed her in more trouble than it was worth but she had quite a bit of fun annoying neighbours and numerous townsfolk.

As she grew, Atallia didn't really change. Granted, she garnered a bit more attention from the males --a harsh curse that she remained unaware of-- and although she was a little more likely to wear a dress, you could almost always expect her to be causing a ruckus. Her ascent to womanhood was grateful, at best, but instead of just echoing the dying embers of rebellion, she became a soaring ember - something that the Gemminites could stand behind. Quick-witted and armed with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood, very little people could hold up an argument against her. Like a roaring flame, she was unpredictable and answered to no one. No one, that is, until the Drakken guards came calling.

Talli had heard the stories like any Gemminite child of how the Drakken came and took their brides from the beautiful swathes of Gemminite youth. She had heard the stories of the Huron families and how girls suffered a life of abuse that was only ceased upon pregnancy. And the Zagmars, who became known as the "Defilers" for the fact that their brides went through horrors of catastrophic levels and more often than not, bucked under the pressure. Naturally, she didn't credit herself with much in terms of beauty but she was enough to warrant being chosen to become a bride. Strangely, as she was taken, she didn't fight or argue - this was an opportunity for her. Her intent was abnormal. She was going to show her people that they should not fear the Drakkens; she was going to have them hesitate the next time they picked their wives and there was no way in Hell she was going to destroy some light-hearted fellow.

She would find the best of them and tear him a new one.

Other:
Atallia has a tattoo of a dragon upon her left shoulder. The origins of said tattoo will probably be explained IC.
Her eyes are a gold colour but they've been known to light to a powerful red when she's particularly angry.
Isn't the strongest in terms of magic but has enough cunning and tactical genius to use it where it counts.

Race:
Drakken
Age:
146
Element(s):
Fire
Wind
Height:
6'7"

Bio:
It was said that the Drakken throne had been built on the bones of thousands of their enemies, sacrificed to the Old Gods when the wicked thing was formed. Rynek would have been envious of his brother who was destined to sit atop it if it wasn't for the fact that Rynek had already made his peace with the dead - it was the living he craved. There's an art to killing that can't be ignored. The thick stench of death that airs the nose, the screams of dying men that enlightens the ears, the weight of a blood-drenched blade that has all cower before you and the pleasure of taking a whore straight after killing; devine. Of course, if whores are in short supply, men nearly always have wives and daughters.

It's the job of the king to rule and the job of his brothers to issue his justice with blood and steel. Rynek himself was a weak thing at birth, a shame to his family. Thankfully, he wasn't slaughtered as his true powers revealed themselves only a few short years later. The boy was a vicious bastard with little to no care of others and his fighting displayed a cunning that outweighed that of even the harshest of Drakken fighters. He didn't have an ounce of honour but by damn was he a fine killer. His people were heavy things, capable of fighting with weapons that were nearly half their size but Rynek preferred the eloquent dance of the sword.

Trained for a couple of years by Wilheim the Black, considered the strongest Drakken in existence, Rynek was slowly moulded into a well-oiled killing machine with no regard who fell in front of his blade as long as someone did. Over the decades as he has fought and defended the throne of his brother, he has diverged away from the typical fighting styles of the Drakken and adopted styles from the far east - styles that his brothers couldn't even begin to perceive. Abandoning his bastard sword, he had a curved blade forged and took up training in increasing his speed exponentially using his powers.

Every man has fell before him all except for one - his mentor Wilheim the Black. Being the only man to ever land a hit on the legendary warrior, Rynek has been placed as the second strongest Drakkan alive and is just as dreaded by his enemies. Despite his... psychopathic tendencies, his anger and lust for battle can quickly fade if he finds a pretty enough girl. Of course, she has to keep things entertaining or it typically won't end well for her.

As of now, Rynek is only returning from a long trek to the South to crush a king who thought that he could harass their southern borders. The war was long with well over five years of absence from the Prince.

Other:
Was rumoured to have urged his father to obliterate the Gemminite nation after hearing of the beauty of a princess there.
One of the few Drakkens with a sense of humour - although a brutal one at that.

Race:
Drakken

Age:
73

Element(s):
Water
Earth

Height:
5'8"

Bio:
All throughout the history of Drakka, there has been one defining factor - the strong will live and the weak shall perish. The small, the puny and the insignificant have no place in the Drakken machine. Their's is an early death to avoid shame. However, there will always be an exception. In Drakka, the strong live but the weak also live if the strong wish to protect them. It was only inevitable, then, that it was the strongest who chose to protect the weakest.

There's a story told to Geminite children in hushed voices in the quiet darkness of nightfall but it's uncertain on whether it intends to inspire fear or hope. There was once a great, horned warrior, proud and bitter. His way was of the blade and any who faced him met a cruel fate. He was a wicked man but his strength was such that total power was his. As the years went by, the power darkened the man until he became nothing more than a wraith, inflicting torment upon the weak and innocent. He married and bore two sons but still he darkened. Killing could no longer satisfy him - there was no sport in slaughtering the weak who could put up not a shred of resistance. So he called his men to his side and abandoned his home to find an enemy truly worth killing, an enemy worthy of his might. He found his enemy but what he found was something greater than he could have possibly imagined. They were camped close to the Gem capital and seeking the cover of an Inn for the night, the great warrior found a young Gem woman. Her hair was the colour of blood and fire danced in the green of her eyes. In that moment, the darkness collapsed and his icy heart was thawed.

He promised her the sun and the moon and gave her both - his days he would spend with her, hearing her sing and dance. His nights would be a passionate gift and they would be trapped in one another's arms. So blissfully unaware was he, that he forgot about his young family back home. Eventually, the young Gem fell heavy with child and the great warrior was called back to his homeland to answer warcries from the South. He became lost in his war but even he could see that he was no longer the same - he lacked desire to kill and his heart wandered back to his secret bride and child. Little did the great warrior know that his secret had already spread amongst the court. His wife, furious and sick with envy, summoned the Gem to the court at once. Such was her anger that she charged the girl with treason and stealing her own husband away from her. Before the warrior could stop her, she took his hunting blade and split the girl from end to end. In a pool of her own blood, she died smiling, her hands locked with the tiny hands of another, too young to even have her horns.

And, as it was, the darkness crept back into his heart and he sealed it once and all for love was no use for a bitter world that only knew pain and woe. His wife, giddy with bloodlust, raised her blade at the child next but the warrior was fast. His strike sent her reeling and in silent anger, he had the child guarded. She was a monument to his weakness, a reminder of his pain. She was his punishment from the Gods for believing that there was something more than death. In the first few nights, he found himself at her bedside, knife in-hand. He wanted nothing more than to end her, to forget what he had done, to cover his weakness but he could never quite do it.

And so, she grew, the bane of those around her. Her father could only see her mother in her and ashamed of his weakness and sin, he cast her aside. His response was of violence, a wicked upbringing that was better suited for the likes of her brothers. Her stepmother hated her with a passion that burned white-hot, her weapons were words, sharp and twisted. Her brothers weren't much better either. She was the runt, the weak thing that didn't even deserve their time. They kept her shielded, however, under orders from her father. The younger brother liked hurting people and given his royal burden, he hurt people that hurt her. He never really liked her and she was terrified of him but he wouldn't let anyone cross her or his family name.

Despite this, she survived. Changed greatly, of course, but survived nonetheless. Meek and timid, she was no true Drakken princess nor was she a legitimate child of the king. Her name was for her position - the lowest of the low, a bastard.

The great warrior aged and bittered, his heart growing darker by the day. Violence could be beat into any child, he insisted, but anytime she raised a blade she was all-but uselesss. Eventually, he gave up, they all gave up and she was forgotten. She was a pretty young thing and the occassional suitor who reckoned his chances offered to take her from the warrior but each one was declined. The suitors forgot about her too and by maturity, she almost became a myth. Never seen by the public and locked away from those in better positions, she was only spoken about in tales and stories. Stories that were told with quiet voices - there weren't pleasant endings for those who spoke about where the little bastard came from.

Eventually, the warrior deemed that she was useless to him and she had to find her own way in the world. Not knowing a single thing about the culture and society of those around her, she sought the help of the only person to ever help her. Her brother had gotten crazier since she saw him last but despite this, he insisted that she attend the collection of Geminite brides with him. Too meek and unknowing, she agreed.

Other:
(input here)

Race:
Drakken
Age:
88
Element(s):
Fire and Earth
Height:
6’4”

Bio:
Sia was the only daughter, and the middle child, of thirteen children. Her father, a Drakken general quite successful in the campaigns against the south, naturally had several Gemminite wives and several more slaves. So Sia grew up surrounded by her half-brothers. It wasn’t a loving home but she made the most of it. The whole time she was growing up she saw how her father and brothers mistreated the women who made and kept their home.

As the family was growing up, naturally all the siblings trained in martial arts, blade combat, and ranged weaponry. Sia was as good as her brothers in accuracy, slightly less good in brute force, and a good deal better in agility, endurance, and speed exercises.

One day, when she was twenty years old, she watched two of her elder brothers harassing one of the slave women. One of the younger ones, still quite attractive. They were trying to force the girl to do something she clearly did not want to do; she tried to resist but they overpowered her. Sia stepped in at that point, challenging her brothers. They told her to mind her manners. She told them to remember that the woman they were so brutally mistreating was the mother of one of their brothers. Her eldest brother slapped her; in a fit of rage she drew her dagger and rammed it into his heart. He was dead instantly.

Her family exiled her, naturally. Threw her out, disowned her. She vanished off the map for almost four decades; they figured she’d died or gone off in shame. What they certainly did not expect was for an armed, armored Sia, carrying the decomposing head of one of the great Southern war generals, and leading about 100 chained slaves, to come knocking on the front gates and demand entry.

The slaves were a gift to her fifth brother, whom had inherited the household (as several of her brothers had killed each other in the years that she was gone). Naturally, with her sudden, unexplained rise to military glory, she demanded to be reinstated as a member of the family.

Over the next few years, unfortunate… accidents met her older brothers as they went off to wage war. Currently she is the head of an almost-empty household, as the elder half of her household is deceased, and the younger half is off waging war to gain glory.

And Sia? She’s mostly bored, stuck at home waiting. She needs something to entertain her. So she finally decided to call in her military victories and come claim a bride or two.