Cerylia Selwyn || Twenty Seven || Hume

Class:
Warrior

Origin:
Tormin

Weapon:
Rapier

Magic:
A Simple Fire Spell

Personality:
Cerylia is a harsh woman whose piercing rapier is second only to the piercing blows given by her words. She has little time for the lazy or the sluggish and possesses a rather short fuse when it comes to getting aggravated or else annoyed. Cerylia is quite blunt, which is often mistaken for being rude, but there's a difference, in her mind anyway, between someone being crude and insulting and one who doesn't see the point in mincing words. Someone who is struggling or lagging behind isn't going to improve by someone patting them on the back and saying "you can do it" but someone telling them their faults, harsh tone of voice or otherwise, is going to get results one way or another.

Those that know her, be it personally or by reputation, long for the day when she removes the rod wedged firmly somewhere unpleasant and becomes much more...accepting, but that day might never come. Her method of dealing with others serves her own purpose and goals, and if others cannot keep up then the fault is theirs.



Loyalty:
Imperial Empire

Rank:
Instructor, Elite Training Group Alpha

History:
Though she hails from Tormin, Cerylia never considered it much of a home and often felt isolated in the magical attuned land. While others her age were casting spells and learning others, Cerylia never had much luck with the arcane pursuits, only barely getting a fire going after considerable effort. Cerylia's answer was to focus on more martial efforts. It became a bit more troublesome as anyone she challenged to a duel in order to perfect her technique would either decline or attack with magic, which made for an incredibly awkward experience for both parties.

Her grandfather, whom she lived with, served as an independent trader, travelling between Tormin and Avenase frequently. On one of his trips Cerylia wanted to come along with the little white lie of wanting to learn the routes in case she wanted to continue the merchant trade. Avenase proved to be a much better fit for the girl, not from its geography or anything of the sort, but because of its martial prowess. During her grandfather's month-long stay in the main city, Cerylia scoped out the militia and was eager to go through at the lowest level in order to increase her ability and knowledge.

She stayed behind, her grandfather supporting her decision though it took a fair bit of convincing on Cerylia's end, and enlisted. Cerylia's reputation as a duelist and a stickler for rules, regulations, and the merits of hard work spread as she rose from a simple recruit to her current position. Because of the opportunity afforded to her by the Imperial Empire and their military, her loyalty is with their ruler even as his sights are set on the place of her birth. Tormin was where she was born. Avenase is her home.

Race:
Human (Male)

Age:
25

Class:
Lancer

Origin:
Avenase (Defector)

Weapon:
Barbed Spear

Magic:
Blizzard, Thunder

Personality:
Nitire spent a good majority of his early adulthood in the military of Avenase, and knows how to follow orders and march in line with the rest of the pack. However, he is above all compassionate and empathetic, which led to his ultimate decision to leave his homeland and desert the army in favor of the RSG. This decision still tugs at his heartstrings, dreading the day he stumbles upon family or friend on the battlefield as an enemy and traitor. In his mind though, he'd rather die a traitor then a villain. Once he realized he was fighting for nothing more than a tyrant and a devil, he bided his time until events transpired that secured his defection.

Not one to bow out of a fight, Nitire is passionate to a fault as he fervently defends his stance on any matter often to the point of personal conflict. He believes strongly in the warrior's code, and will do nothing to tarnish his honor more then it already has been. With his spear and his body, he vows to see the tyranny end and revel in the peace left in the ruins of it's downfall.

Loyalty:
Tormin

Rank:
(TBD)

History:

Born to a simple merchant family, Nitire grew bored of his place in life and often set out to find ways to liven his dull existence. First, he played the rebel during his school years, finding himself at ends with teachers and other officials as he constant roused 'excitement' in all manner and forms. These years saw him involved in several brawls with other students, often suspended and nearly expelled all together. However, the day his father passed, Nitire took time to mellow and reflect on this event. Now a bastard at the age of 16, he began to make an effort to reform himself as he strove to better his grades and create a better name for himself. Needless to say, it was rough since most teachers and officials had grown to despise the young man. Despite all this, he graduated and moved onward to military service- a staple for young men in the country of Avenase. So with that, he bid farewell to his mother as he set off for a glorious future as a man of war.

As with every new recruit, his initial time was a struggle as he tried to fight his rebellious nature and conform to his superiors. However, this mentality didn't last long as he found himself beaten and 'disciplined' to the point of a nearly broken psyche. Quietly he began to gather up the broken fragments and mold them -although coerced- into a perfect soldier. If your commander said to jump, he asked how high? If you were ordered take a new recruit and 'enlighten' him to how the squad worked, he did it. This went on for man years as Nitire merely acted as a vessel for the armies will... That until he was forced out of his daze to the true nature of his superiors.

It was supposed to be a simple engagement; a small skirmish on the border with an underwhelming retinue. Despite this information, the captain of his platoon gathered an overwhelming number of soldiers and began the march to the field of battle. Sure enough, fighting ensued as the forces clashed. Nitire was tasked with assaulting the enemies rear with an ambush designed to lure the enemy into overextending. Once again, Nitire did not question this as he took his spear and awaited with the others of the assault squad. Just like clockwork, a small squad acting as a diversion lured the Tormin forces further into Avenasian territory. With a rallying cry, Nitire and his brothers struck a decisive blow against the enemy- who by this point has suffered numerous casualties and eventually surrendered. All the soldiers were rounded up and locked away at camp, left there for questioning with the promise of freedom... Or so Nitire was told.

"Next." The burly mountain of a man spoke, wiping his blade clean of the freshly spilt blood that now stained his metal and the grass beneath him. As a couple of soldier stepped forward to haul away the freshly disposed corpse, another was led before the towering man and forced to his knees. Nitire watched on in horror as one after one the men were dispatched without mercy or consideration- even if they provided valuable intel.

"This isn't war! This is nothing more than a slaughter!" Nitire protested, his old rebellious and passionate tendencies begining to reawaken.

"Shut up, you insubordinate fool! One more outburst and I'll see you in chains along with the other dogs!" His commander retorted, followed by a heavy backhand that threatened to topple the younger and smaller male. It was at this point, Nitire had his revalation and began plotting his future actions.

Fast forward a few weeks later, and once again they were in the midst of conflict. Set to be part of the assault squad once more, he intentionally set himself at the back of the column. Once the signal was given to attack, the man rounded and began to flee towards the border. It was a heart pounding experience, having to duck in and out of cover as he continued to try and evade any possible pursuers. Luckily enough, the venture wasn't met with any more turmoil as his eyes fell upon a lone harbor and a boat departing soon for the landmass. Using the last of the funds he had on his person, he 'paid' (bribed) the captain to allow his passage aboard the ship to the opposing nation in this conflict.

He didn't know what else to do... Or rather, he wasn't sure. He had heard stories of the nation of Tormin and it's leaders. 'A nation fighting for peace?' A thought that played out in his head the entire trip across the sea. After seeing the brutal and often evil nature of his commanders in the Avenasian army, he began to entertain the idea of fighting against those who oppressed him and the many others during his time there... More so, he began to envision fighting for a noble purpose. It was then he made up his mind, committing to the idea of surrendering to the Tormin army and volunteering to enlist. He knew there was a chance he'd simply be detained; possibly even deported back to his homeland, but he'd have to try.

Once the boat made landfall, he found his way to nearest city and surrendered himself to the local guard/militia. At this point, his fate was in the hands of the RSG.