Name: Pietro Machelli
Age: 30
Gender:Male
Species: Human

Background

---

Ah-HA! So you are interested in learning the tale of the marvelous Pietro Arnaldo deSanto Mordante de la Machelli! Well, it is a powerful and adventurous tale, one of chivalry, daring, and fantastic hair!

Kingdom of Origin: Nepharie

Parents: Count Fernando Machelli, Countess Maria Machelli

Backstory: The tale of the great swordmaster does not start as one would expect. No, Pietro Machelli, the legendary adventurer and swordmaster, did not start off as a poor urchin or a grief-stricken orphan, but as the lazy and untalented child of a Nephari count. Pietro was born in a town named after his family, Machelli, a small, coastal fishing village south of Port Orarius. His family took a tax from the people on their fishing exploits and also owned three large orchards, one of apples, one of oranges, and one of grapefruit. His father Fernando was wealthy and influential, a good friend of the governor of South Nepharie and an excellent businessman. The people of Machelli were industrious and lucky, as their village sat at the mouth of a river where many species of fish migrated. The town grew rich and, with it, Fernando Machelli and his house.

Pietro was not anything particularly remarkable growing up. He lived a life of luxury, spending his days lounging on his father’s yacht or reading stories. Pietro was inspired by the tales of chivalry that he found in books, especially in the Tales of the Knights of the Ram, a compendium of stories written by a Talborian scholar who followed the Knights for five years. So, Pietro decided that he wished to be a knight when he grew up. Fernando encouraged this dream, thinking that dreaming for something so noble would motivate his son to grow up well. He bought Pietro a wooden sword for his sixth birthday, and Pietro would spend hours every day training against his father’s guards. Soon, Fernando began to teach Pietro proper swordsmanship. He was not a particularly gifted swordsman, preferring to fight with a lance, but his training was enough for Pietro to learn the basics. In addition to swordplay, his father taught him use of the lance, axe, and dagger.

Though he was motivated to learn the ways of the sword, Pietro was not quite as interested in more academic pursuits. In fact, Pietro’s least favorite thing in all of his life was his tutor. Though the boy was brave and strong and loved to read, he was exceptionally bad at mathematics and history. His tutor said that he just wasn’ trying hard enough, but Pietro thought differently. In his mind, he just wasn’t cut out to be a scholar. As such, he avoided his nobility-worthy education for most of his childhood and learned relatively little besides how to read.

When Pietro turned twelve, his father’s griffon gave birth to two chicks. He gave Pietro one of them, telling him that if he raised it well, he could one day ride it wherever he pleased. Pietro raised the griffon from a very young age. When it became large enough to hold him, he began to take it on brief voyages across the countryside. He became fascinated with the archipelagos off the coast of Nepharie, and began exploring the islands, drawing maps of them and finding their hidden secrets. On one such mission, Pietro ran into a band of thieves who were hiding out in an abandoned watchtower. Slightly before he had arrived, a Nepharie battalion had begun to set up at the far side of the island. Their assignment was to capture the thieves and bring them back to Capital City. Pietro decided that he was going to join them in the raid, despite their warnings for him to go home. These were real criminals, they said, not toys for a child to play with.

Despite this, Pietro attacked the thieves’ hideout. As one would expect, he got his ass kicked near-instantly. Though his swordplay was impressive for someone his age, the brute strength of his opponents easily wore him down and he was vastly outnumbered. They beat him, stabbed him, nearly cut off his arm, and left him for dead. Had the Nepharie soldiers not saved him, he would have died. Because of his foolishness, most of the thieves were able to escape. Fernando was furious, but he knew that his son’s heart was in the right place. He realized as well that day that he could no longer give his son the training that he desired. So, he sent a letter to his cousin in Talbor, the Thane of Ferdinand, Enver. He left a few weeks later, thinking that it was a punishment of some sort. He arrived at Castle Ferdinand at the age of sixteen.

Now Thane Ferdinand, in addition to being the arbiter of his squire, was a Master Knight of the Ram. Several other knights served under him, each with one or two squires. Ferdinand himself had no squires, as his duties as thane were too important for him to be distracted. His cousin from Nepharie was convincing, however, so Thane Ferdinand decided that he would test the boy Pietro to see if he had what it took to be a knight. Upon Pietro’s arrival, Thane Ferdinand took him to a courtyard in the center of the castle, where all of the squires serving in the castle stood with their weapons. Pietro was told that if he could defeat every squire in the room using the training that his father had given him, he would become a squire himself, serving directly under Ferdinand. One by one, Pietro defeated every single one of them. As Ferdinand promised, the boy became a squire.

Pietro trained under Ferdinand for four years, learning the ways of a Knight of the Ram. He got a new tutor who begrudgingly attempted to undo the damage that the first tutor had done, learned the ways of chivalry, and learned an entirely new training regiment. Though some squires disliked him for skipping page status, those who knew him well became good friends of his. Because of his noble birth, the king of Maceron at the time, King Arnold of Jessup, took interest in the boy. He invited Thane Ferdinand and his squire to several feasts at Maceron. There, Pietro became good friends with the son of the Thane of Draco, who would one day become king.

Four years later, Pietro completed his training. He became the strongest squire of his class and was by far the best swordsman, capable of defeating even some of the knights in swordplay. He was offered knighthood, but, in the first instance in the last hundred years, he turned it down. He realized that knighthood would tie him down to Talbor, disallowing him from travelling the world. Staying in Castle Ferdinand all that time with only sparing voyages out on his trusty griffon made him miss travelling much more. So, he decided to dedicate his life to travelling Tithe, exploring the islands, making maps, and studying other styles of swordplay in hopes of becoming a true swordmaster. Thane Ferdinand, while speechless, understood the young man, and made him an honorary Exemplar of the Order.

For the last eight years, Pietro has travelled Tithe on the back of his griffon, Velpar. He has crossed swords with opponents from across the realm, from the xenophobic Valkyries of the floating isles to the vicious dragonkin of the far north. He has explored more of Tithe than any man could dream of, amassing quite a fortune while doing such. Occasionally he stops by Castle Ferdinand for a meal with his old master, and a few times a year he pays a visit to Machelli, where he tells tales of his adventures to the local youth. He is a folk legend in many places, a larger-than-life tale (which is most definitely filled with inaccuracies). Many know of his name, though few have met the swordmaster of Nepharie.

Physical Appearance

---

After all, Tithe’s greatest warrior is also the most beautiful man you will ever see! Prepare yourself!

Height: 5’9”
Weight: 140 lbs

Appearance: Pietro is a small-framed and agile man, with the build of a gymnast. He has thin, tightly-packed musculature, well-defined but not thick, just the kind that a nobleman would have. His skin is distinctly southern Nepharie, tanned like a southern Italian. He has long arms and is quite tall for a human, generally looking an inch or two down on others. His body is littered with a scar or two (this is early renaissance tech, everyone has scars) but none of them are particularly impressive. He’s generally well-kempt for a guy in the renaissance era, with manicured nails, well-combed hair, and somewhat-straight teeth. He has a long neck.

Pietro’s face is slim and gaunt, with strong cheekbones and a strong jawline. He has a somewhat pointy chin and a romanesque nose. He has hair black as night. His hair comes down to the bottom of his neck. He generally combs it out of his face, allowing it to fall down the back or to the sides. It frames his face rather well and helps to hide his rather large ears. Pietro also has a rounded black goatee which he trims quite often. His eyes are almond-shaped, and his irises are dark brown. He has thick eyebrows which are very animated, betraying his emotions quite well.

Pietro walks elegantly, with his chin up and his chest puffed out. He always looks as if he’s trying to show how much better he is than others. He speaks with an Italian accent, as all people in South Nepharie do.

Attire: Pietro dresses as a nobleman, wearing a long-sleeved white blouse, a black and brown tunic vest, a pair of tights, and a pair of brown leather boots that come up to just below his knees. The tunic is actually a jack of plates. A jack of plates is a leather jacket which has small steel plates inside of it, designed to protect Pietro from attacks while remaining lightweight. He wears a pair of brown leather gloves on his hands which come up to three quarters of the way up his forearms. The gloves contain a layer of chain mail inside of the forearms and the back of the palm, protecting Pietro from strikes to the hand. Over Pietro’s outfit he wears a short black travelling cloak which comes down to midway down his thighs. On his head, Pietro wears a wide-brimmed cavalier hat. It is made of felt and has an ostrich feather sticking out of it. A sword belt holds his rapier at his left side.

Personality:

---

I am the greatest man alive, the greatest warrior of Tithe! You’d better get used to it, because it’s not going to change anytime soon. Now how about you give me a kiss, sweetheart?

Personality: Pompous and spoiled, Pietro is a rich playboy. He’s larger than life, a hammy guy who has a massive ego. He’s got the archetypal adventurer personality. He likes playing the hero, rescuing people and then expecting a reward at the end. He’s a pretty spoiled guy. If he does something right, he expects compensation, be it through money or love. He’s quite spoiled, and complains constantly when low on food or money. He’s also quite lecherous, a lady’s man who can’t keep it in his pants. He has spent many a drune in brothels.

In general, Pietro is pretty shallow. He does heroic things because he wants recognition, not because he wants to do the right thing. He prefers the easiest course of action in a situation. If given the opportunity, he will steal other people’s credit to make himself look better. If around women, he will ham his stories up even more, adding in details and taking out allies to make himself seem more heroic. Though many of his stories are exaggerated, most of them have at least some base in fact.

Pietro’s spoiledness pales in comparison to his hubris. Pietro has a reputation to hold up, one of being the best swordmaster around. He will keep that reputation, even if it means cheating or being dishonorable. Pietro will always do the thing that makes him look best and maintains his reputation. He will not back down from a fight and will keep fighting no matter what to maintain his reputation. When his reputation is tarnished, Pietro can turn angry and violent very quickly. This has caused him to pick a lot of fights and doesn’t necessarily make him a team player.

He has become so convinced in his ability that he has a habit of calling himself “Tithe’s greatest warrior.” At times, this is a mantra that gets him through hardship. At others, it’s a reason for someone to punch him in the face. Point is, he says it way too much, to the point that it makes you wonder if he has to say it to keep himself from going insane from the pressure he puts himself under.

So why is Pietro here? Why has he been chosen for this magnificent quest? Well, not many are sure. Sure, he is skilled in combat, but there are many who are more useful when on a quest to save the world. Pietro is here because he has the capability to be a great hero, not because he is one. Pietro is a dick. He’s a self-absorbed hedonistic prick who doesn’t care about others. Perhaps if someone or something taught him how to live a better life, Tithe would be a lot safer.

Hobbies: Pietro can be found most of the time in taverns, telling stories of his grandiose adventures across Tithe. Generally, there will be a crowd of young boys and attractive girls around him, reveling in his adventures. As he works as a professional duelist, he spends a lot of time in arenas and in city squares, challenging other prizefighters. He has begun to learn how to play the lute, and carries one with him. When travelling alone, he will often mess around with it, attempting to play songs that he has heard in the past. When he was young, he was given violin lessons, but he doesn’t remember much of them and doesn’t care to try.

Skills: Pietro is an accomplished equestrian, a skilled rider of both horses and winged animals such as griffons and pegasi. He is skilled at calming domestic animals because of this. Besides that, Pietro’s skills can be summed up to “keeping himself alive”. He is a decent hunter, though his lack of dogs makes it difficult for him to take down and big prize. He is a good enough cook to be able to make food that is palatable when not in a town, a good enough navigator to not get lost too often, and a good enough firestarter to not freeze to death. he received a nobleman's education, so he knows reading, writing, a little history, and a little math, but he didn't pay much attention in lessons, so he's not particularly intelligent.

Abilities

---

Abilities: Though much of Pietro’s reputation is false, his skill with the sword is not. He is a gifted swordmaster, capable of defeating nearly any opponent. He has trained with dozens of different kinds of blades, from the single-edged curved scimitars of Ostraca to the blunt, two-handed bastard swords of the Dragonkin. His fighting style is incredibly quick, revolving around striking vulnerable spots multiple times quickly. He can adapt his fighting style to his weapon, though, and so fights more defensively with a longsword and so on. Pietro has also trained with spears, lances, and maces, though he’s only particularly good with the spear. He is an okay shot with a bow, but I wouldn’t put my life on him hitting someone with an arrow.

Pietro’s agility is unmatched, and he is fairly strong for someone his size. Though he is not trained in magic, he has consumed a tear and so is capable of a few very small acts of magic. While in Haderlock, he trained a bit in the art of illusory magic. He uses this combined with his very small amount of magical ability to cause illusory copies of his blade to blink into existence when fighting, making his strikes much less predictable. Besides this, Pietro cannot perform any magic.

Weaponry: Pietro’s primary weapon is a rapier named acus, a thin, sharp-pointed sword known to be carried by noblemen. It is a duelist’s weapon, a very thin and light blade designed for short, quick thrusts and slashes. It is very long, nearly 36 inches in length, with a fat pommel to balance out its length. The sword is ornately-decorated, with a swirl of metal protecting his hand (google rapiers). As Pietro comes from a noble family, it is a blessed sword, and so it is very hard to break (though, since it is so long and thin, it breaking is not completely impossible). In addition to this, Pietro carries a rondel, a twelve-inch steel dagger which comes down to a needle tip. Like the rapier, it is primarily used for stabbing. While in Haderlock, Pietro trained in the ways of the compound bow, the weapon of choice of the Shadow Corps. He carries a compound bow on the saddle of his griffon, though he rarely uses it in combat and prefers using it for hunting game. Finally, while in the Southern Isles, Pietro took possession of a flintlock pistol. As it is a very early pistol, it takes a long time to fire and isn’t very accurate, so Pietro only uses it in close-quarters situations. Generally, he keeps the weapon for show.

Weaknesses: Pietro is a fighter who prides himself on being lightweight and quick. Because of that, he wears a very small amount of armor. The jack of plates on his torso only really protects vital spots and, while it can take a little bit of a beating, it by no means can stop a strong swing from a sharp weapon. Pietro’s weapon is also very lightweight and is very long, so an armored opponent with a very aggressive attacking style can take on Pietro and have the upper hand.

Pietro’s biggest weakness is his hubris. He has come to see himself as the greatest warrior in Tithe, and so he can vastly underestimate his opponents. While he has thus far survived his dueling career without being mortally wounded, he has had many close calls. He has come to think of himself as invincible, and thus has an extremely aggressive attack style. Those who can capitalize on this have a better chance at defeating him.

Mount: Pietro rides a griffon, a half-bird, half lion creature. It is about the size of a horse, with long, feathered legs ending in sharp talons. Its head is shaped like that of a harpy eagle, thin and arrow-shaped with a tuft of feathers on the back. There are tail feathers on its rear. As it is a flying animal, the griffon has a pair of very large wings. When stretched, it can have near a twenty foot wingspan. It is covered in brown feathers instead of fur, and has a long yellow beak and the large, yellow eyes of a hawk. Its underside is white, giving it countershading when in the air. Pietro named this griffon Velpar, and commonly refers to it as Vel.

Velpar is a fast and agile flyer, capable of flying at 80 mph in short bursts with Pietro on its back. It can run at around sixty mph when on the ground, but cannot keep this speed up for very long. It can only fly for up to an hour before it grows tired, due to the fact that griffons generally don’t have to worry about having a person and all of their stuff on their back. Vel also requires a clear path to run down in order to gain lift, much like an airplane. It has to get a running start, so it can’t just take off from a standstill.

Other:

Name: Anna Strauss
Age: 21
Gender: female
Species: Fairfolk

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Concordius
Parents: Iro Strauss, father
Ava Strauss, mother
Weiss Strauss, sister (she’s currently fourteen)

Backstory: Anna was born on the coast of Lake Castus, the only city in Concordius and, thusly, the capital. Her father was Iro Strauss, the current Grand Servant of Concordius. Growing up, however, her father was only a servant, a travelling protector of Concordius. Her mother was an apothecary in town, known to be one of the town’s best healers. With two parents skilled in magic, Anna was bound for greatness. When she was very young, she would help her mother out gathering herbs and working in the shop. She went to one of the schools in Lake Castus, which taught reading, math, history, science, and basic magical technique.

At the age of seven, Anna was taken down to the Pool of Origin and was allowed to drink some of the divine blood there. She would spend much of the next three years of her life at the pool, watching the strange creatures that lived there and gathering strange plants to experiment with (one of these potions once turned her hair into grass for a month). Some say that her exceptional talent with magic came from her consuming extra blood during this time, more than the average amount given by the Council of Sorcerers. She wasn’t a particularly well-liked girl and tended to keep to herself. Her few friends were other brainiacs like herself, spending their times reading and searching for herbs. While other fairy children spent their time kissing under flower trees and pretending to be knights, Anna and her few friends spent their time playing magical pranks on others (those grass bombs came in handy) and experimenting with magic. Her father wasn’t around much, as servants travelled across Concordius. When her father was there, he would indulge her love of magic and show her all kinds of wonderful spells. When she graduated from school at the age of ten, her father gave her a wand, a thirteen-inch cherry wood wand that she still uses to this day.

When Anna was ten, her father was elected to be the new Grand Servant of Concordius. Her family moved to the Temple of Ma’el, and her father stopped travelling. She didn’t get to see her father for long, though, as Iro decided to send her to the Academy of Sorcery in Nepharie, a place where she could learn how to be a good sorcerer. Though she desired to see her father more, she desired to be a great witch so much that she left home and travelled there for school.

When she got to the academy in Port Orarius, she had to pick an educational path. She decided to learn water magic, as she desired to be a healer like her father. She excelled in her classes, and was in the top 10% of students in her path. At the Academy, Anna became much more popular than she was in Lake Castus. Surrounded by likeminded individuals, Anna’s social life flourished along with her academic life. She graduated primary magic school at the age of fourteen, receiving straight-As on her final examinations and being certified as a proficient water mage.

Over the summers, Anna would go back home to Lake Castus and see her family. Her family was always glad to see her. While at the temple, she would show off her new magical abilities to her father. Occasionally, she would participate in controlled wizard duels with those who she went to early school with, some of which also attended the Academy. She was a decent fighter, winning about half of the duels and in others falling by slim margins. Despite this, she showed herself to be the best apothecary amongst her age group, even when compared to potion-making students at the Academy. Her mother worked as an apothecary for the Servants now and, when home, Anna would help her.

From there, she entered a secondary school specialization program. She took the healing specialization path. Healing is the hardest path at the Academy, as healing itself is incredibly difficult. Despite the difficulty, Anna passed with flying colors. She was number one in her class, the best in the healing path at the entire school. Anna graduated at age twenty with honors and immediately travelled back to Concordius, where she wished to spend some time with her family before training to be a Servant. Before she could do this, however, her family was visited by a strange visitor with a wonderful request.

His name was Cosmas. He was a fat old satyr wizard, a sage of the Academy and the best apothecary in Tithe. He came to Anna’s home after Mirabella personally suggested the young woman to him. Cosmas was researching a new form of magic, one which utilized an ancient kind of magic known as aether, or quintessence. He called it soul weaving. He wanted Anna, a skilled healer, apothecary, and water mage, to assist him with his research. In exchange, he would teach the girl all she wished to know. Once more, Anna was given an opportunity that forced her to leave her family. She accepted, and travelled to Robore with Cosmas.

So far, she has trained under Cosmas for two years. Her magical abilities have increased dramatically, and his apothecary skills have rubbed off on her to significant degree. She has begun to unlock the secrets of soul weaving with him, and has learned much about how it works. She is one of very few soul weavers in Tithe, the first of a brand new style of magic which hopes to reform the future.

Physical Appearance:

Height: 4’8”
Weight: 78 lbs
Appearance: Anna is a small, thin girl who looks like the last time she exercised was at mommy and me pilates. For a woman in the middle ages, Anna is shockingly frail. This comes primarily from the fact that she can do normal house chores with magic and thus doesn’t need to do any of those kinds of things. While she’s certainly not slim to the point of looking malnourished (she’s quite healthy), she certainly looks like she would do more damage to herself than to you if she punched you. She has small hands with calloused palms from working with potions, as well as callouses on her feet from walking around barefoot most of the time. Her skin is a very light pink, bordering on white. In the right light, this can allow her to pass for human, though why she’d want that she’s not sure. Her wings are primarily violet, slowly transitioning into dark blue and eventually cyan at the tips.

Anna tends to walk with poor posture. She has a noticeable and partially deliberate slouch, with her chin down, her shoulders rounded, and her back loose. Her body language can be interpreted as lazy and moody. She generally sits with her legs and arms crossed and her head down. Generally she’ll be fidgeting with something small or reading. Her facial expression generally delivers sulking or boredom.

Anna has a skinny neck and a relatively small head. She has large pointed ears. Her face is heart-shaped, with a somewhat angular chin. She’s quite pretty, with soft-rounded features, high-arching eyebrows, and deep-set eyes. Her eyes are an unnaturally bright violet. She has long eyelashes and dark rims around her eyes that make them seem to glow. Anna has blonde hair that comes down to her shoulders. She keeps it long and somewhat disheveled. If she’s attending some kind of formal event, she will begrudgingly put it up in a french twist or in a bun. Her mouth is generally in a pouting frown. Anna speaks with a german accent, though so much time away from home has caused it to grow fainter.

Attire: Anna wears a simple powder blue dress made of cotton. It is long sleeved, with sleeves and a skirt made of a much lighter material to keep her cool. The dress cuts off just above her ankles, and has a violet trim. The back is dropped down farther to prevent her wings from being cramped. She has two other dresses of the same style in one of her saddlebags, one which is green and one which is grey. She wears the golden ring of a wizard who graduated from the Academy of Sorcery on her left ring finger. On her right middle finger is a silver band which has the words “Strauss” inscribed on it in cursive Faerspeake script. This is a house tradition, and every member of her lineage wears one. She wears a silver rope belt around her waist. Attached to this belt is a pouch containing some of her bombs. It’s a purple bag made of dragon hide, and the inner lining is charmed to be shock-resistant. A leather sheath for Anna’s knife is also on the belt. Anna generally walks barefoot, the way that people do in her homeland of Concordius, but when she enters cities she wears a pair of simple leather sandals. Why? Because these human cities are disgusting. Seriously, nobody cleans up after themselves?! Horse shit, sewage, and rotten food covers the damned streets! Have some dignity!

Anna carries a multi colored crepe de chine drawstring bag with her. This bag is her lifeline, containing all of her tools that she uses on a regular basis. It contains her mortar and pestle, backup bombs, six herbal bandages, a flask of magical anesthesia, a few vials, both empty and containing special potions. any fresh herbs that she finds, her money pouch, a tinder box, a small cauldron, and a magic textbook (Using some british sci-fi technology, it has made bigger on the inside). Like her bomb pouch, it is shockproof, so things don’t shake around when she walks or runs. It was a gift given to her by her mother, so she treasures it dearly

Personality:

Personality: Moody teenaged know-it-all. Because fairies live so long, they have slightly delayed emotional and physical maturities. This means that, despite the fact that Anna is in her early twenties, she acts like she’s about sixteen. She’s pretty grumpy most of the time, moody, even, and tends to act as if she wants to be left alone. She’s strongly antisocial, the kind who prefers being alone to partying.

She’s fairly simple in her desires. Anna wants to do science. She wants to explore the world and see how she can use magic in other ways. She’s got a very scientific mind, one geared towards analysis and experimentation. She can be extremely curious, sometimes dangerously so. On more than one occasion, she has blown up labs by mixing things improperly (poor professor Biggledy’s arm was never the same, even after they had it regrown). She sees no field of research as too dangerous and believes that anything can be studied, albeit with safety restrictions. Because of this, she’s always interested in learning more about magic, thus the soul weaving.

Morally, Anna is neutral good. She wants to do the right thing and help people, as she is a healer, but she doesn’t mind doing morally grey things to help people, thus her arsenal of bombs. Anna has always found her desire to be a healer contradictory, as she hates being around people but loves helping injured ones.

Anna sometimes dislikes her antisocial nature. She has very poor people skills, so she’s come to drive them away from her. Usually, she’s perfectly fine with this, but occasionally she drives away friends by acting sourly. She can become rather lonely sometimes, and in those times wishes she had better social skills.

Anna has a pretty big ego sometimes. She believes that she knows more than most people who she comes across. She tends to talk down to people who she thinks she’s smarter than, and kiss up to people who are smarter than her. Anna’s goal is to be as smart as is possible, so she will do whatever she can to learn more. This curiosity and willingness to learn can be detrimental sometimes and can cause her to place her trust in unjust people.

Hobbies: Anna spends a lot of her time reading or experimenting with different potions. She enjoys combining different ingredients and searching for rare kinds of mushrooms and herbs. As of recent, she created a serum out of mushrooms that releases sweet-smelling fumes that have a similar effect on the body to very strong marijuana. Occasionally, when she’s very bored, Anna will go someplace where she knows no one else in the group will find her, sniff some of the fumes, and get high for a few hours. She knows she shouldn’t, but goddamn it’s such a great feeling.

Skills: Anna is a gifted apothecary, a brewer of potions and such. Given the proper ingredients, she can make potions that do just about anything, from curing diseases to ridding stomach aches to making people fall in love. Her constant experimentation has made her quite good at creating different kinds of potions. She’s also learned several special enchantments from her mother, such as making a bag bigger on the inside and making chores do themselves. She’s a mean pool player. She cannot cook or sew worth a shit. This is intentional.

Abilities/Combat:

Abilities: Anna is a prodigy sorceress and apothecary. She is adept at creating potions with a variety of effects, from poisons to smoke-producing gasses to bombs. She has a decent arm for a bookworm witch and can chuck her bombs quite a distance. Apart from that, Anna is a water mage by trade. She excels at manipulating water. She can change any water in her area into different states of matter. This allows her to use water, steam, vapor, or ice in combat. She can use her ice magic to fire frozen projectiles at opponents and to freeze areas, making it hard for opponents to walk. Her vapor magic can be used to create heat shields and to obscure enemies’ visions. Her steam magic can be used in close-quarters to blast enemies with flashes of hot gas.

Anna’s liquid water magic is her most practiced form. Due to water’s high surface tension, Anna can create whips of water that become solid enough on impact that they are akin to being struck by concrete. By surrounding an opponent in a bubble of fast-moving water, she can trap them. Similarly, she can defend herself by surrounding herself with a torrent of fast-moving water. Her skills with water magic make her a competent healer, as the body is mostly made of water. She studied healing magic extensively at the Academy of Sorcery and is very good at it.

As of recent, Anna has taken to learning a new kind of magic, a kind known as soul weaving. Soul weaving is a form of magic which manipulates the life force of living things. All living things in Tithe contain life force, a spiritual energy which flows through the body and connects the mind, spirit, and body. Exactly how life force works is unknown, but what is known is that a thing with no life force is dead and adding life force to a thing causes it to be alive. Life force is the key to magic in Tithe. Magical blood amplifies the life force in a living thing and allows it to manipulate its surroundings. Soul weavers are mages which study life force and attempt to manipulate it. Necromancers do the same thing, but instead of amplifying or diminishing life force, they transfer it between the living and dead or between others and themselves.

Using soul weaving, Anna’s healing abilities become completely unmatched. Through amplifying the life force in a person, Anna can cause their body to heal at an accelerated rate, causing wounds that would normally require hours of concentrated magic and herbal bandages to heal instead heal in a matter of seconds. Anna can also use this ability to boost others’ magic by amplifying their life force, allowing them to use more powerful attacks. She herself cannot do this, however, as using soul weaving is extremely taxing and prevents her from using other magic while she does so. It also quasi-immobilizes her, preventing her from effectively fighting enemies while doing this. It is assumed that she could one day overcome this, but right now she’s far too inexperienced with the magic form to overcome its strain. In the same way, soul weaving can be used to weaken others’ magic, drain others’ strength, and to slow the healing of wounds. Anna can use this against enemies to weaken them, though the aforementioned strain of soul weaving makes it so that she cannot take down opponents solely by using it.

If Anna is really in danger, she can also externalize her own life force and use it in battle. Life force when extracted from a body manifests as glowing green light. Anna can use soul spells to blast opponents with life force. Life force blasts can burn skin and saps the strength of the target, weakening their muscles and magic and, if the blast is big enough, paralyzing them. This is an absolute last-ditch effort for Anna, as doing such can have catastrophic effects on her own health.

Weaponry: The only physical weapon which Anna carries is a small, silver knife which is used for cutting herbs. It is curved and very sharp, but Anna has no idea how to use a dagger and doesn’t intend to find out. To help with her magic, Anna carries a wand. Said wand is thirteen inches long, and is made of a deep red cherry wood. Satyr-made, it is ornately-carved, with swirls travelling up the sides of the shaft. A small orb of black glass sits on the end of the wand handle. When Anna isn’t using her magic, she uses a few different potion bombs to fight. Said bombs are about the size of an apple, and she is currently carrying two of each kind (except for Last Resort). They are as follows:

Dragon’s Breath: This is a fire bomb, an explosive charge which then spreads an oil-based fire across a small area. It contains a mixture of dragon oil, which ignites and explodes on contact with oxygen, magnesium powder, and whale oil. When the terracotta shell of the bomb breaks, the internal components ignite and explode, spraying burning oil in all directions.

Spectre’s Shroud: This potion acts as a smokescreen, obscuring an area in thick, black smoke. It contains a mixture of squid ink, powdered crow talons, Robore bomb mushroom spores, and crushed blessed quartz (quartz which grows in Concordius or Robore. It has magical properties). When the terracotta shell is shattered, the bomb releases a massive cloud of thick, black smoke that spreads across a small area in a cloud, obscuring vision and causing friend and foe to choke if it is inhaled.

Escapist’s Swain: A potion made by Anna herself, this mixture of skunk oil, rafelsia petals, psilocybin (a chemical found in some mushrooms), dandelion spores, and chlorine is possibly the most disgusting gas ever. When a pin is pulled, a timer makes a small pocket of dragon oil in the center of the bomb detonate in seven seconds. The corresponding gas is foul-smelling, causes hallucinations, and can knock a person unconscious if used on them in an enclosed room. This potion has the most widely-available ingredients of any of the others, and so Anna will be able to make many more of them later.

Last Resort: Anna only carries one of these, and, judging by its name and the rarity of its ingredients, it is used only in a last resort. Last Resort is the most powerful explosive potion in Tithe. It contains a mixture of dragon’s oil, cadmium powder, fluorine gas, sulfur, bellow saliva, death cap mushroom, quiliae oil (the oil of a flower that grows in Robore), and crushed bombardier beetles. Anna puts some iron shards in her’s as well to act as shrapnel. The softball-sized bomb is contained in a thick shell and is activated by pulling a pin. When activated, several of the chemicals in the bomb begin to mix. About ten seconds after the pin is pulled, the bellow saliva reacts with the cadmium powder and beetle oil and creates a concussive blast, breaking the shell and throwing the other reacting components into the air. Once they react with each other and oxygen, they create an explosion which is befitting of a missile. Last Resort is capable of blowing buildings made of stone to smithereens and releases gaseous chlorine trifluoride, a fluorinating agent so corrosive that it burns through things that sane people think are nonflammable, like brick and concrete. Basically, anything Last Resort hits is dead. Of course, due to the fact that you can only throw a bomb the size of a softball so far in ten seconds, it can also cause significant collateral damage.

Anna keeps one of the first three bombs in a shock-proof dragonskin pouch on her belt, and the other things in her bag. Her bag also contains herbal bandages, magical bandages which cause wounds to heal more quickly. Due to her soul weaving, these are somewhat irrelevant, but she keeps them in case she is caught in a situation where she cannot use magic to heal someone. Her bag also contains several other potions ingredients which she can use to whip up cures in a jiffy (said bag has very deep pockets). To keep up a water supply, Anna keeps a horn of spring water on her belt.

Weaknesses: Well firstly, if one were to ever get Anna into a situation where she had no weapons and was without bombs, she’d be toast. She has zero non-magical combat experience and no weapons to use. She herself is quite frail and isn’t particularly athletic. Put a sword in her hand, and she’ll probably just sit there thinking about how to disintegrate it into iron dust.

Anna is also quite dependent on her environment. If she is in a dry climate, she cannot use her water magic, and her soul weaving requires either another person to be around to defend her or for her to put her own life in danger (I’ll get to that in a bit). While Anna carries bombs and a very limited water supply, skilled mages can remove her water supply (basically just by combining it with the ground) and she has a very limited amount of bombs. If she runs out of bombs, she has to gather the ingredients for more, which, depending on where she is, could be impossible, especially if there’s no apothecary store nearby.

As far as Anna’s soul weaving goes, she is still very inexperienced with it. The weaving only works up to a distance of about twenty feet and the farther away from her the person gets, the weaker the effects. If Anna uses her own life force as an attack, she puts herself at extreme risk. You see, life force is a limited substance, one that every creature has a limited amount of. Soul weaving boosts this life force by absorbing the life force of microbes in the air into people and by making that life force more high-energy, causing it to become stronger. No matter what, a person’s life force always has a finite limit. Anna’s life force blast releases a ton of life energy from her body. Depending on how big the blast is, it could drain Anna to the point that she has little to no life force, paralyzing her or even killing her. What’s more, life force doesn’t just automatically replenish itself. It takes weeks of rest for a person to regenerate their life force, during which time using magic could potentially spell their doom. So, if Anna uses her life force attack, she could quite possibly kill herself in the process or make herself completely useless on the battlefield for weeks.

Mount: Anna rides an Andalusian horse, a breed of horse from South Nepharie. It is a smaller breed of horse designed for speed. The horse is white in color, with patches of grey on her neck and rump. She named her horse Augustus. It has a brown leather saddle with saddlebags containing survival supplies and potion ingredients. One of the saddle bags is charmed to keep ingredients cold so that they won’t spoil or wilt.

Other:

Name: Theresa ot an Bol'hjar
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Species: Human

---

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Talbor
Family: Solomon ot an Bol'hjar - father, 61
Atula ot an Bol'hjar - mother, 58
Barton ot an Bol'hjar - brother, 38
Ferris ot an Bol'hjar - brother, 36
Kenley ot an Bol'hjar - brother, 32
Haymar ot an Bol'hjar - brother, 31
Hayman ot an Bol'hjar - brother, 31
Bessa ot an Bol'hjar - sister, 29

Backstory: Ask just about anyone in Talbor what they think of King Draco, and the majority of them will say that he's an absolute bastard. Some folks, however, you can't ask, because their opinions were so strong that they decided to act on them and left the region altogether. Such is the case for Theresa's people, the Red Hairs clan. Some years ago, the last family in a long line of warriors (coincidentally all redheaded folk) decided enough was enough, packed up all their belongings, and sailed off the eastern coast of Talbor to a small but habitable forest island. There they settled down, away from the grievances of Draco's rule. And it was on this island that Theresa was born, youngest in the roster of her five brothers, and her one and only sister.

Since childhood, Theresa felt overshadowed by the men in her family. Her brothers Barton, Ferris, Kenley, and the twins Haymar and Hayman, were all exceptionally versed in practices which the Red Hairs had always taken great pride in - sword-fighting, archery, heavy lifting, rock-throwing, bare-handed brawling, chopping wood, and other such physical feats. But while Theresa's mother Atula and her older sister Bessa were content with carrying out the more menial tasks around the house, she stayed the rambunctious one. She watched her brothers and her father carefully, trained herself to the best of her abilities, and on more than one occasion went out into the wilderness alone to hunt game. But despite all the rabbits, deer, and the occasional wild boar she brought in, her brothers would always have something better. And this beat her spirit down, year after year.

At some point, Theresa decided she wouldn't have anymore of the same routine. Unwilling to spend her days in her brothers' shadows any further, when she turned eighteen, she declared she was going to travel to the mainland, see Tithe in its entirety, and live an adventurous life as an explorer, mercenary, monster hunter, or a combination of the three.

And no one stopped her.

Solomon told her, "If that's what ye want, then fine. Get ye gone." And while his response disheartened her some, Theresa steeled herself in the end. After saying her goodbyes, she took a sword, a shield, a handful of equipment and coin, and one of the family fishing boats, and finally sailed for Talbor. There, she was met with the struggles of those living under Draco's rule, and needless to say, a good number of them were in need of a helping hand. Theresa started out guarding caravans, ridding livestock of wolves, and other such small tasks. It was meager coin, but it got her going. However, the threat of Draco's unjust enforcers eventually came creeping around, and instead of having her work be put to an early end, she made her way westward to the northern section of Nepharie. There, the work became more plentiful, but at the same, more dangerous. A much greater slew of monsters was present, and Theresa often found herself outmatched. But as she began to run low on coin, she became desperate, and while her strength was still with her, she took a bounty posted in a village that was suffering from "a hulking beast stalking the town's outskirts in the night". Theresa readied herself for the worst, and while her relative inexperience was eating at her thoughts, she pressed onward to where the creature was said to dwell. But instead of her finding it, he found her.

Benedict Kaspin. The Witch Queen Grinda's man-turned-monster. Theresa wasn't maimed on sight when she wandered into his claim of land. In fact, he was more accusing and inquisitive than anything else. But after the tension began to die down, the two engaged not in an epic clash of slayer versus beast, but rather a talk of each other's lives and goals. In the end, they struck a deal. Benedict understood that Theresa desperately needed coin, and he could do with some menial assistance of his own, so they did thus - Ben gave out one bellowing roar to signal his "demise", and relinquished some of his own physical aesthetics (teeth and bits of his hide) which only took a short while to grow back. He gave it to Theresa to present as proof of her kill. Though skeptical, she went with the plan anyway, and thankfully got her payment in full. And it was at that point, a partnership was born.

Theresa and Benedict continued to travel together, playing the same trick on a handful of towns across the southern half of Tithe. He would work up a reputation as the local monster, often scrounging up different disguises to keep things from getting too suspicious, and Theresa would proceed to arrive sometime later, take up the bounty that had formed by then, and "slay" Ben. Sometimes she would need a bit more proof to pull off the faux victories, but at Ben's expense, she could always manage to come back covered in fresh blood and stripped bits of slate blue flesh, and get the money that was promised. This went on for some time until the duo decided to call it off, lest a town they'd already conned bit back at them in the long run. With plenty of coin in hand, they decided to keep working, but in a slightly different fashion.

Theresa began to take contracts for real monsters, things more aggressive than Benedict, and much more problematic for their respective victim grounds. She would boast of her abilities, over-exaggerate some, and get the locals to bet on her survival. And then she would go out to do the job, with Ben's invaluable assistance of course, claiming all the glory and coin for herself officially. In truth, they shared in the endeavors, and the rewards that came after them. No one ever found them out, as they only took the jobs they knew they could carry out in secret.

It has been nine years since Theresa left her home, and around eight since she forged her friendship with Benedict. They've amassed enough coin to live in relative comfort, but they still prefer to travel and live with the roughness of nature. Along the way, Theresa's learned a lot from her reptilian companion, and she likes to think he's learned from her as well, though it isn't as apparent. Their work has died down some in the last year or so, but something in the back of Theresa's mind has convinced her that bigger things are on the way.

Bigger than all the contracts and bounties put together.

---

Physical Appearance:

Height: 5’8”
Weight: 176 lbs
Appearance: Theresa is as the Red Hairs have always been - pale-skinned, with a head of orange strands reaching down to her upper back that she often wears down naturally. She possesses relatively average (and somewhat boyish) facial features with dim blue eyes, often close to a constant squint, and very faint freckles around her nose and cheeks. Her frame is somewhat petite, nothing most men of Tithe would consider appealing, but years of training and combative action have given her a fair level of musculature. There are a scant few scars on her arms, owing to the fact that she often keeps them bare during her excursions, but she has thankfully managed to keep her face clean of them so far.

Attire: Theresa's outfit consists of a padded, sleeveless, olive green tunic buttoned up firmly, a thick brown belt around the waist, simple beige trousers, brown leather boots, and cuffed leather gloves. She also has a slate gray, fur-mantled cloak available for when she's subject to colder weather or dirtier grounds.

---

Personality

Personality: Theresa is a mixed sort, in terms of what kind of person she is. Growing up on her family's island for most of her life did a number on her worldview. The gist of it was living simply, and not letting anyone put you down - though her lack of interacting with anyone besides her parents and siblings hampered that some. It wasn't until she made it to the mainland that her morals truly began to form. She adopted a primary sense of helping people on a regular basis, and almost always expecting a reward. Most of her deals are carried out by contract, after all. But she is not opposed to assisting someone if the task is relatively small and sudden.

As time has gone on and distance has been made, however, she's grown easier with the aspects of the many cultures and practices of Tithe. She starts off as polite and approachable to most anyone she formally meets, and she's never one to antagonize people. She is not above lying to some extent, given her work with Benedict, but she only does so with good reason. All in all, she considers herself a good person, but with a good few mercenary traits.

Hobbies: Mostly, Theresa's taking up bounties to slay monsters and quell bandit parties is all she spends her time on, alongside Benedict. But beyond that, however, she'll often give in to her appreciation for nature and scale places high up for the grandest sights. She likes to spar, though she has trouble finding a good partner, and Ben certainly doesn't fit the bill. And lastly, she enjoys finding new offensive equipment to test in battle.

Skills: Theresa wasn't trained much during her early years, but she did pick up the necessities on her own - how to survive out in the wilderness, set up campsites, skin and gut animals, so on. Over the course of her plays of harmless deceit with Benedict, she has gained some affinity for bartering, haggling, and even gambling, but she isn't anywhere near a master's level in any of those regards. Among her other skills, she knows how to cook, ride horseback, sail, fish, and maintain all of her equipment thanks to Ben's teachings. And, most importantly, her uncanny ability to hold down considerable amounts of liquor, which has won her many a game of drink.

---

Abilities/Combat

Abilities: Theresa knows no magic, and doesn't intend to learn any. She is confident in her abilities as a swordswoman, having mostly trained herself, but also taking in the teachings of others more experienced than her she has met on her travels. She knows how to use a shield properly, but oftentimes foregoes it to take a more aggressive, two-handed approach in combat. Lastly, she possesses some level of marksmanship, but is much more comfortable with a compact crossbow than the traditional bow and arrow.

Weaponry: Theresa wields four pieces of equipment, mainly. A decorated straight sword, which has been with her all the way from her origins on her family's island. It is simple, but sturdy, and is kept sharp to a fault. For a shield she uses a small parma made of wood and iron, also decorated with her family's markings. Not the toughest piece of equipment, but she appreciates its lightweight usability. She carries a crossbow for first strikes, small and capable of being operated with a single hand, though it needs to be tuned often or else it loses what little range it has. And lastly, she has a small dagger strapped on her belt at all times, in the event she is without any other means of defense in a hostile situation.

Weaknesses: Theresa is of the mundane, so she is expectedly very susceptible to magic. And while she is skilled in sword and dagger-play, she is only familiar with the two, and all other forms of melee weapons are lost on her usage of them. She has fought larger creatures before, but her preference for lighter armor and equipment means when she gets hit, she takes almost the full brunt of the strike. Thus, she is more prone to agile dodges and sidesteps, as her stamina allows.

Mount: None, though she has ridden on Ben's shoulder on the uncommon occasion that she's too tired to walk a trail with him. They joke about it.

Other: Theresa speaks with a slight accent comparable to the Celts of reality. Time away from home hasn't done too much to suppress it, but the rest of her family definitely possess much more prominent cases.

Name: Karkadin Gatoa
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Species: Dorak

---

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Dorakis
Family: Grand Patriarch Mumuruk Gatoa - father, 59
Razni Gatoa - mother, 55
Yhardan Gatoa - brother, 23
Ssihad Gatoa - brother, 23
Gina Gatoa - sister, 22
Odo Gatoa - brother, 21
Adonik Gatoa - brother, 20
Sandri Gatoa - sister, 20
Rodin Gatoa - brother, 19
Phirrah Gatoa - sister, 17

Backstory: Karkadin is the firstborn son of the Gatoa Grand Patriarchy, who have held loose rule over the desert country of Dorakis for many generations gone by. Like his many siblings, he was born in Rhamdahak, the capital burrow. His upbringing was the same as pretty much every dorak's - riding bug-back across the winding sands, raiding nests for eggs to eat, all in accompaniment of his family. Six brothers and three sisters, plus their parents, made for a lively party, indeed.

Dorak age fast and learn faster, and Karkadin was no exception. From his early years onward, he proved to be an exceptionally gifted rider and wrangler of all kinds of giant insects native to Dorakis. His father would take him and most of his siblings on excursions into nearly every reach of the land, gathering herbs, raiding nests for eggs, slaying problem creatures, and so on. Karkadin very much enjoyed these exploits, with the sun hanging over him and his family by his sides. There was, however, a sense of wanderlust brewing within him, as every now and then he would peer over the borders of Dorakis into the plains of Nepharie, or the immense forests of Concordius. He wished to see beyond the sands, one day. To travel all across Tithe.

But there was always something holding him back. Duties amidst the Grand Patriarchy, teaching his younger siblings all the basics of doraki culture, riding with his own posse of hunters and wranglers, and so on. He spent many years in Dorakis hoping to settle all his affairs and ride out into the unknown. But as he grew up, the expected happened. Mumuruk, reaching his last stretch of life, formally announced Karkadin as the next Grand Patriarch upon his passing, which would come relatively soon. Everyone knew it - the man was pushing fifty-nine.

Karkadin was indeed somewhat distressed by something he should have been fully expectant of, but there wasn't much sorrow otherwise. Mumuruk had lived a full life, raised a fine line of children he was immensely proud of, and was content to pass with no regrets. In talks amidst the family, Karkadin made clear his wishes to travel outside of Dorakis. And while this normally would have gone uncontested, Mumuruk bid his son stay for a time longer. At least until he settled into his position, which would not take long. But Karkadin was reluctant, anticipating the onset of even more duties.

A chance came in Tharnkidae, however. The recent surge of wights across all of Tithe have not done much to reach Dorakis, such frail undead being quite susceptible to the intense heat and massive wildlife. But one single wight persevered, and made its way into the expansive market, no less on a day Karkadin happened by. All present parties surrounded the meager, animate corpse, and Karkadin was the one to lean in close and hear it speak of Maceron. And that, he took as an opportunity.

Something major was on the horizon, and Karkadin decided it was the perfect interval to make his leave. He discussed the matter with his father once more, and the second time around, Mumuruk caved. He told his son if he wanted to go, he was free to go. He would hold on as long as he could and delegate matters to his closest subordinates, if this wight problem came up in a more serious manner. Nothing much on the outside is considered dangerous to the dorak, but it was never a detriment to be prepared. When all was said and done, Karkadin prepared his personal beetle mount, packed up his belongings, said his goodbyes to his family, and made for Maceron.

---

Physical Appearance:

Height: 7'2"
Weight: 236.5 lbs
Appearance: Karkadin is of the slightly less common light beige variety of dorak, with a very full head of dirty yellow tendrils that arc back into a tie, going down to his upper back. He also has a small patch of them hanging from his chin. He is of a middle ground between lean and heavy, with a good bit of muscle owing to his years of hunting and wrangling bugs in Dorakis. His claws are slightly shaved down, as he doesn't use them for digging much anymore, but they still look like they could do some damage in unarmed combat. He has some simple tattoos on his neck, chest, and arms which all have some sort of sentimentality to them (and he's always happy to regale).


Attire: Compared to most of the other races of Tithe, dorak often wear little clothing, which suits their common environment. Karkadin himself wears a bleached white waist-cloth which he bought in Tharnkidae, as normal fabrics aren't made in Dorakis. The cloth is adorned with a few baubles, remains from past bug kills and whatnot. Everything else he wears pretty much consists of bands and bracelets made from opaque, flexible webbing, and a pauldron made from the shell of a fallen beetle on his left shoulder.

---

Personality

Personality: Karkadin shares the kindness and positive outlook on life in general that most dorak exhibit, although he often carries it underneath a thin veil of seriousness, which most would probably just call a blank expression, though that's really the fault of his physiology more than anything. Karkadin loves meeting new people and experiencing what they have to offer in terms of activities and such, which is why he's so very excited to be out and about in Tithe. But when it comes time for business, he puts all his focus on the task at hand, with the same joy and fervor as when he was back in the desert, riding under the sun. He has always preferred to travel with company, but he doesn't mind it being just him and his mount.

Hobbies: In truth, Karkadin's hobbies were all just what he did normally in Dorakis, same as most everyone else. Riding, wrangling, raiding, such and such. And those activities are not all applicable anywhere else in Tithe, but there is one thing he can still do - play his summoning flute, not for any practical purpose, but purely for the music. He's gotten quite good at it over the years. All this, plus his desire to try new foods along his travels. Bugs he might find in tavern basements, for example.

Skills: Karkadin is a master at bug riding and wrangling, which is to be expected of the firstborn son of the Grand Patriarch. He commands his mount with nigh unmatched skill, the likes of which even most other dorak would greatly admire. Besides such, he is an excellent runner, climber, and jumper.

---

Abilities/Combat

Abilities: As expected, Karkadin is incapable of utilizing any magic whatsoever, as all dorak are (save for the vala). But what he does know is how to expertly wield a polearm, all the sweeps and thrusts to be expected of such a weapon's art. He has an excellent throwing arm, though his accuracy suffers at longer ranges thanks to his naturally poor eyesight. Lastly, he knows full well how to fight with his hands, though he isn't as comfortable with it.

Weaponry: Karkadin wields a spear made from two major components - the strongest and rarest wood found from the thin, bare trees creeping out of the eastern border of Dorakis, and a head made from a shell taken from a slain Abrak Skora (giant scorpion), sturdy and sharp, good for jabs and strikes alike. As well, he carries with him a pack of what could be considered bombs. In truth, they're just fleshy sacks of fluid found in the bodies of certain giant flying bugs in Dorakis. They rupture upon hard impact with a surface, releasing a small cloud of noxious gas that dissipates relatively quickly. They won't kill anyone outright, but they will leave an opponent open, coughing and gagging uncontrollably. They only work on smaller targets, and Karkadin only has about a dozen of them. After they're used up, they're gone for good.

Weaknesses: As per dorak physiology, Karkadin holds a natural aversion to water in great quantities. Rain slows him down, and snow is pretty much an impassable obstacle for him, unless he has a drink of his special, limited Turuka brew, which invigorates the body of a dorak for trips in such environments. Cold air isn't as bad, as the nightly rides under the moon in Dorakis were somewhat chilly, but he still very much prefers the heat. And lastly, he is completely incapable of swimming, as all dorak are.

Mount: The Gatoa Grand Patriarchy holds breeding control over their own species of Bertis (giant beetles), which have come to be known as the Ankro subtype. The Ankro Bertis are regarded as some of the best mounts available in Dorakis, possessing incredibly sturdy carapaces, high levels of stamina, and giant horns able to bring down even small rock formations. Karkadin rides his own Ankro Bertis named Bruk, and the creature has served him well over years of his life. His carapace is covered in decorative etchings, and his horn is adorned with scars and scratches of battles past.

Other: Nothing to note.

Name: Wizzlebee de LaShtüp
Age: 81
Gender: Male
Species: Gnome

---

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Ostraca
Family:


Backstory: LaShtüp must have been born under an odd star or something, to have differed so from his cousins. An only child among gnome households was an absurd circumstance, and to be the only child of a Ostracan noble house would be to doom him to a life of upholding standards and expectations. As would be predicted, his nose was pushed to the grindstone in regards to his formal education. The goal, as it were, would be to direct LaShtüp to the head of house and to wed a gnome gal and continue the bloodline. The actual reasoning for pressing such a matter is to be the LaShtüps' trump card. The house itself was Machiavellian and unscrupulous. They also held a close relationship to the royalty. Enhancing Wizzlebee's education to prodigious levels would allow him the skill and know-how to create awe-inspiring potions that would make history. Revolutionizing the alchemy scene would lend credit to the family and their new-found favor would put them next in line to the royal family. So ambitious this family was, Wizzlebee’s own father deceived him into drinking a tonic – or so he said, and was in fact a vial of the divine blood of Gallor, granting him great magic power, after hiring a mercenary into obtaining it by any means necessary. He payed a fortune for the blood, and would have insisted on Ma’el’s blood, were it not for the fact that the High God’s blood was often harder to find and almost always heavily contested. The next step was to stage a disaster.

Hiring mercenaries, the next part of the family plan was to have the royal family assassinated and pin it on the Nepharian military. His human-looking face would perhaps allow him to make more effective diplomacy and ally agreements with Talbor. This in turn would appoint the LaShtüp family as the new ruling bloodline and Wizzlebee would have been appointed the new royalty, and Talbor having Ostraca's back when Nepharie retaliated. Wizzlebee himself never found out about this plan, but the pressure of all the burdens and expectations placed upon him, as well as the deception his father made over the potion, became too much, and he escaped Ostraca at age 30 before ever performing such alchemical feats. As a result, the Ostracan monarchy expatriated Wizzlebee and renounced his citizenship. Without a home to go back to, Ostraca never bore witness to his future feats of alchemy and his family never got to hire the assassination that would bring the LaShtüp house to be the ruling bloodline. Never to return, and the house never bearing another child, the LaShtüp house had died off, ending a thousand years of history. Talbor never went into war with Nepharie.

Wizzlebee's path was unclear. He decided it was best for him to follow the road into Nepharie and settle the Nepharian and Ostracan rivalry the best as he could, and to become a respected member of their society. There he could perhaps set up shop in alchemy and help its poor. Over his black and gold clothing he wore a sage green toga to exemplify his new beginnings as an artisan, or skilled labor, but kept his black and gold vestments as an indication of his noble roots, since history was something that should be embraced. Regardless, the fact stood that nobody in Nepharie appeared to understand the color coded indicators of his old status and simply took him for a noble by the way he had dressed so nicely, which in itself was erroneous and became problematic when people were asking him for lower taxes.

His first experiences in Nepharie were complicated in several other regards, such as the human bartering system that was dominant in the city. For some reason, Wizzlebee just could not wrap his mind around it and ended up giving high-grade potions and elixirs for nearly free, from a few copper pieces, to a couple silver pieces, and sometimes he completely drove away customers by demanding too much. Much to his chagrin, his lack of awareness when it came to barter was taken advantage of for a period of time before a local bill was passed that kept him, and merchants and artisans like him, from being taken advantage of to such a degree. This didn't stop everyone though. Even to this day, he still struggles with the trade, but he has gotten better with it than he was before.

His skill was often credited in making potions and that much is true to be sure, but there was a lot more behind the scenes than his patrons realized. The unscrupulous house in which he was raised did a lot in order to make sure his potions were of the highest quality. Refined. Devoid of impurities. This is, of course, nearly impossible, but he has reached a small percentage of impurities in his potions. Skill was important, but so were the ingredients – and the trick was to use life around one to create a truly wondrous elixir. He was brought up without the moral constraints of “respecting the dead”. He took body parts from leftover cadavers and corpses, received deliveries from agents who had gone into the morgue and harvested body parts. The quality of potions that was occurring after was astonishing, thus leading his interest in the nature of the dead and the alchemical properties of the organs of mortal creatures. A heart was ideal if one wanted to create an exceptional healing elixir, for instance.

He got to staying in that city for quite a while built up his own reputation as that “skilled but quirky alchemist down the alley”, managing to hide that taboo secret to alchemy of his from the locals when he learned that they respected their dead, and that grave-robbing was punishable by execution. A couple years in, and somewhere between 45 and 50 years of age, he began practicing his magic some more. Sometime during those five years, he made a raw trade with some shady looking fellow for a couple of valuable potions. The item he received was an old tome, as the binding itself was starting to come apart and the pages were turning green with mildew. He was assured that the book was worth the price, and Wizzlebee naïvely believed him. What he discovered in the book was nearly illegible, a language he had never seen before. During those five years, he spent countless hours collecting other books and tomes from other cultures filled with different language, trying to cross-reference the grammar. As he began to learn, the old tome he had traded with appeared to be the root to many of these different languages such as human common, cyclopse, satyr, but did not include his own gnomish tongue. He came to identify a word that helped to explain a lot of the tome's origins: Fairfolk.

The Fairfolk were not unheard of, and they certainly exist in this day and age, but a book of such age and of such origin was absurd. An unfamiliar word came out of a phrase, “complex element”, appearing to reference to the pre-existing four as the prerequisites for this element's mastery. An unfamiliar phrase: aether, or the “quintessence”. It was described as the element that had filled life and the surrounding universe. It sounded queer to even the strange little gnome, but it was something he had to at least try. His practice in magic was already exceptional, he himself already powerful, but his abilities fell short of mastery. Wizzlebee devoted much of his magical practice to studying this supposed fifth element, despite his shortcomings in the other elements. As the tome predicted, studying the nature of life without fully understanding its container – the world it belonged in, and how it interacted with its container – would bear to be fruitless. This did not trouble Wizzlebee one bit though. He sought to break the boundaries of the container, or at least, see through aether's nature without its container being the defining or influential aspects of his study. He felt he knew enough about the other elements of nature to at least supplement his understanding of quintessence.

Thinking outside the box, like gnomes are wont to do, Wizzlebee realized he had resources in which he could study this more directly: the magical effects of potions. Half of it was science, of course, but it contained magical properties that, as Wizzlebee realized, did not actually connect with earth, fire, air or water. It had magical effects that affected life directly, and thus, responded to aether. Using rats and guinea pigs, he observed the magical effects that took place. Eventually, whether through hallucination by repetitiveness and exhaustion, or getting high off the created fumes (really, it was difficult to tell), the gnome could practically see the effects being taken place and the energy that affected his test subjects – he could see the aether. The life force. Controlling invisible energy is exceptionally difficult, this presumably goes without saying. The old book mentions only a few wizards capable of controlling aether, even fewer mastering the element. The fact that this gnome, who had hardly considered himself a master in anything, was able to touch upon this element, it brought great pride to him... but never did he share this knowledge with anyone. He doubted most people would be able to begin to understand it, but he did acknowledge the potential power the magic of aether. Letting it get into the wrong hands would be disastrous.

The first aether spell he had ever performed was leading the life forces through his body, letting it pass through him in waves with each breath, then letting it occupy his mind – the resulting effect would be the ethereal glowing of his eyes, and through his eyes, Wizzlebee could see the aether. Like wisps filling and encapsulating every life-form, keeping everything bound together. It was like seeing what made up a person's or creature's spirit. And speaking of spirits, this spell was what led to his first discovery of them. However, as it stood, communication was impossible until Wizzlebee later learned how to “read” the aether, as the energy fluctuated according to expression and behavior.

Talking to spirits had contributed greatly to his interest of the dead, and he sought to learn much from the nature of death from these spirits, as well as history. As he took his first steps into aether magics, it inspired him to take his interest in death to the next level. We're now talking about the next decade or so, 50–60 years old, so he's entering seniority and has seen his fair share of experiences. Having stepped into the realm of aether magic and his own power of gnomish enchantment, death became to appear as a subjective topic. Using his enchantment powers to create golems, vessels, and using the littlest amount of aether to supplement his power, Wizzlebee has been able to – wait for it – raise the dead. Granted, without a soul, this was mindless undead. A corpse that is simply being animated and controlled by the puppeteer's will. His power alone wouldn't work on flesh, but with aether, necromancy became the gnome's reality. His interest in death and undeath was bolstered, and so he sought to look into aether magic some more. Less to control the world around him, but to delve further into the taboo art of necromancy and learn about the cycle of life.

The following years have been quite a roller coaster. It was difficult hiding his experiments and rituals, his necromantic art. Though risky, it was found the best location was in the cellar beneath his alchemy shop, where he was best able to control who goes in and out, and he had plenty of herbs and ingredients to mask the smell. Recycling and reusing the bodies became the regular. Animating the dead also made it easier to harvest choice cuts and organs from the cadavers. The basement was filled with sage and lavender to hide the smell. At 77 years of age, Wizzlebee came into contact with a spirit that claimed to have been a noble defender of the public, and wanted to come back to enrich and impart his knowledge of the history of those of this day, and to use his power to aid those in need, and the little gnome fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He agreed to use the spirit's aether to animate a corpse. This was, of course, his first time doing so. In retrospect, using a skeleton wasn't the best idea, since then the defender couldn't go out and impart his wisdom unto others without mass panic. Not that it mattered; as it turned out, the spirit had lied. The spirit actually had belonged to his father, and Wizzlebee had gone and used his spirit to ensoul a human skeleton.

Bartleby de LaShtüp also happened to be the grand master of the LaShtüp house's plot to becoming the new royal house. Of course, now being a live skeleton, Bartleby was unable to go anywhere or do anything by himself without risking getting caught. Despite his unfathomable plotting and unruly behavior, Bartleby was indeed proud of his son's accomplishments. Why, he might have not yet made a miracle potion, but he raised the dead for goodness sake. That has to count for something.

The last couple of years have proceeded little. He raised the bar on his alchemy as he learned how to get access to more “special ingredients”, and he became more attuned to aether, though nothing close to mastery. His father, Bartleby, on the other hand, has accepted his condition and grew quite accustomed to being an undead skeleton. He often makes fun of Wizzlebee and the predicaments he finds himself in, and takes every opportunity to find a bone or skeleton pun. Hey, you gotta amuse yourself somehow when you're spending eternity in unlife. Only lately, Wizzlebee was given the opportunity to expand, to have a little hut in the middle of Talbor’s own Maceron. Perhaps Wizzlebee would hire on a young man to man the shop while Wizzlebee remained in Nepharie, maintaining the bigger shop (and even bigger secrets in its basement). So with a horse and carriage, Wizzlebee set out there with his skeletal pappy in tow underneath some of the sheets in the back of the carriage.

What they had found in Talbor once they got there was frightening, indeed, Bartleby being ironically afraid of his own kind and Wizzlebee, while fascinated, was horrified by the implications made by a giant undead army of unkillable wights.

---

Physical Appearance:

Height: 4'01"
Weight: 72
Appearance: At a daunting and considerable 4'01”, LaShtüp is something of an out-of-the-ordinary gnome, if only for a few more reasons than being an inch above the average height. Perhaps in his youth he bore a rosy-cheeked smile with a fine complexion, but as he stands today, he looks too worn down to manage more than a stroll through the woods. Not that this is an appearance he lends on, as even for his age, is surprisingly spry and energetic, but nothing like he was back when he was a young'n. His face has collected wrinkles and age has pronounced his laugh lines. His large trademark nose, a distinguished feature among gnomes aside from its beak-like curvature, has done little in the ways of following his shriveling skin and receding hairline, allowing it to stick out from his face as his most noticeable feature. One of the biggest peculiarities, howe'er, lies in his resemblance to humans. Have no doubt that he is a proud gnome, but replacing a gnome's childlike features is a bolder, and more pronounced face.

In addition, unlike most gnomes as well, LaShtüp's skin color lacks as much pigment that contributes to the gnomes' copper skin. His own skin is quite pale in comparison, but manages a similar hue if nothing else – and if there is one other thing that LaShtüp shares, it is his balding hair. It is black, slicked back with a dab of oil, and widow-peaked. Then again, that could just be dye, because there is nary a gray hair to be found on top his head. As you would expect, he is not very strong, even by gnome standards. He weighs about 95 pounds soaking wet, and is a feeble old gnome reading books as large as a human's memo pad after all. Despite his kind usually have a short and stocky build, his limbs are pretty thin. There is not a tremendous amount of meat or muscle that sits between his skin and bone, but he has a gut that many a hearty gnome would be proud of. In this respect, he isn't as thin and weak as he could be. Given how many years he's pushing, he considers himself pretty lucky. LaShtüp has long, brittle fingernails that have turned black through a particular use of magic, but nobody would ever know, because they've been painted mint green.

Attire: Our favorite gnome dresses to impress. As a first layer, black Ostracan silk vestments adorn his body, and over that, a black vest. This vest has been trimmed with gold leaf and three brass studs are on either side of his color. Three large buttons go down the center of the vest. Over this, he wears what appears to be a sage green toga, where the sinus that drapes over his left shoulder is held together by gold clasp. This particular article of clothing is what indicated him as his city's alchemist, so that he is not mistaken for any priest or sorcerer, but it does not detract from his appearance of a noble. Were it not for his short stature as a gnome in a human society, there'd be no telling what he could get away with.

He has a few accessories on his person. Like the aforementioned painted fingernails. He wears a pair of black formal silk slippers, with white cotton socks. While they ease right on and off of his feet, they are fairly secure around his ankles and is difficult for them to fall off by accident. However, it is not uncommon for him to relax with his feet free, and then, there you would find that his toenails are painted a similar color to that of his fingernails! And unlike his fingernails, his toe nails appear to be kept in good shape. He has a number of rings, many of which contain secret compartments for certain herbs or powders for emergency alchemical improvisation. He has one gold loop earring on both his ears.

---

Personality:

Personality: The eccentricity of gnomes is not lost on Wizzlebee – that is to say, he is no exception to that rule. He, during the early years of his life, had shared the race-wide suspicion that had made up a great deal of their quirkiness, but as the years had gone by, that attitude tempered. He was already unlike many gnomes as he stood, and he was aware of the global view of gnomes and this had brought forth some embarrassment. This has influenced his perception of other races a little bit as he came to realize that it was the gnomes who were considered to be the absurd, different race. This had half to do with luring him out from his homeland and to travel through the major kingdoms, eventually stopping at Nepharie, the largest kingdom, as it had exposed him to more of the world's culture than any other place, and where he got to meet the most people from all over. Since moving in, he's been regarded as generous, insightful and fun. At heart, he is a very dedicated and studious individual that doesn't stop when he sets his mind to a task.

As a gnome magi and alchemist, and all of his years of experience, there is no denying Wizzlebee's brilliance and creativity. As far as others are concerned, his most notable skill is his practice on the alchemy bench, where he develops some of the most refined potions a man has ever seen. However, his eccentric personality can distract others from that aspect of him. He is ridiculously cheerful, almost to naïve extremes. His mind-numbing optimism makes him appear almost oblivious to the world around him and to all of the issues plaguing the world or of his own situations. He comes across as a sensitive old gnome whose feelings can be easily crushed if taken the approach of pure and unadulterated evil, but otherwise, playground-esque meanness would simple inspire him to coddle you.

Further undermining his actual intelligence is his apparent inability to grasp the bartering system in Nepharie. It doesn't help that there are different languages and cultures for every race that passes through, but the dominate bartering system was such an extreme learning curve for LaShtüp compared to how it was back home at Ostraca. He is, what has to be, the worst barter in the kingdoms and has screwed himself out of so many deals without even knowing. His relationship with the locals is strange as well, as they don't seem entirely aware of the methods of gnomish flirting. Especially among the humans, specifically the men, they're not quite sure how to respond to an old gnomish man whose going on and on about how they should compare their wardrobes. The day and age of this land isn't entirely receptive to his sexuality just yet.

There does seem to be something else about the gnome, though, that sets him off from the others - an abnormality even among gnomish eccentricity. He proclaims an ethical and moral code, but there is almost something there to suggest that he doesn't entirely mean it. It could be possible that he does, and that he simply doesn't take matters of injustice or controversy very seriously, but there is an air of secrecy to him. It is something difficult to pick up, but it is there. Where he gets his ingredients from, what ingredients he actually uses, where he got his training, and how good at magic he is. He never gives a direct answer, and he seems to talk as though he knows something you don't. At his worst, LaShtüp can be full of himself, narrow-minded, and selfish.

Hobbies: As an alchemist, botany is a no-brainer. Studying plants and flowers and their alchemical properties has always been an interest. Just figuring out how life works. The study of fungi and their spores is also a topic of interest. Fashion and jewelry are staples for a luxurious life, and he knits in his spare time, although he isn't any good at it. However, here we get into dubious matters where the ethics become taboo. LaShtüp also possesses an interest in death and undeath. The inspection of corpses and fresh cadavers are made, inspiring him to consider the possibility of becoming a mortician, but figured his current position to be a better guise for his suspicious practices. This also comes into play in his wanting to figure out how life works.

Skills: An exceptional alchemist, though he sells only potions and non-lethal poisons, there is just a few recipes outside his reach. Though his skill in alchemy is not to be ignored, the power of his potions also lends credit to the ingredients he uses, often harvested from the dead in secrecy. His willingness to tread where others dare not even speak of gives him an edge in the potency of his product, as well as his flexible capability. He is also good at braiding hair. He can usually sense the motives of others, but very rarely applies the knowledge he gains to his advantage.

---

Abilities/Combat:

Abilities: Wizzlebee, in almost all circumstances, would avoid combat at any cost. He's a pacifist at heart, you see. If combat cannot be avoided, he'd more like shift the responsibility onto another while he fled for his life. Which in itself is hard for an elderly gnome to do. If there is no one around, then he could raise one or two undead from the ground and use them to cover his escape. Mindless undead will often fall over after enough distance between them and their conjurer has been made. Ensouled undead are considered intelligent undead and will remain as long their conjurer remains alive or if their body stays intact.

Despite Wizzlebee's reluctance to fight, if he really applied himself, the little old gnome would be an awe-inspiring adversary when you consider that his potions are top of the line, and remember that, despite his clumsy appearance, he is also a very skilled wizard, learning magic at the Royal School of the Arcane in Lychellon. A formidable necromancer in his own right, raising and controlling the dead with ease, and can also soul-weave, allowing him to even bond souls to bodies and communicate with them. Even without aether, he holds a degree of control over the elements that would at least put other prodigy wizards at odds with his own skill. And when you consider his penchant for aether, that alone gives him an edge since others have likely never heard of the lost fifth element. He applies this element in indirect methods, but assuming he gives it a shot, he could probably perform a good deal of damage using it as an offensive ability. If hurling a fireball as big as your own body doesn't cut it, he might imbue it with some aether to have it so that you feel as though your very soul is burning.

Weaponry: Wizzlebee has a little walking cane with a round gold head, and it is also a storage compartment for emergency alchemy. A tad too small for a staff, maybe, but it isn't beyond Wizzlebee to have enchanted it so that it would become a rather heavy wand.

Weaknesses: As an eldery little gnome, he doesn't have much physical prowess going for him. Nor can he run with ease. He'd rather avoid fighting if he can help it, and while he is powerful in his own right, most mages specialize in particular elements, and Wizzlebee he isn't actually a master in any field except maybe for alchemy. He serves instead as a flexible Jack of Trades adept in just some areas of magic. He's old and without much energy and is also allergic to eggs. Most strength potions require eggs.

Mount: Your daddy.

Other: Wizzlebee is hella gay.

Name: Kane Bounevialle
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Species: Human

---

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Talbor, Ferdinand Shire
Family:
Horace Bounevialle, Father, 50, location: Bounevialle Vineyard
Amelia Bounevialle, Mother, 45, location: Bounevialle Vineyard
Irene Bounevialle, Sister, 22, location: Unknown (traveling)

Backstory: He was born on a Talborian vineyard to a pair of farmers. They were by no means of any noble bloodline, and their ancestry can be traced down to nothing more than a couple of men and women with a patch of dirt to their name. However, the acres of land under Bounevialle's name has proliferated since those days. The Bounevialle vineyards are by no means the largest vineyards in Talbor, nor are they the most expensive. Their vineyard was just a few twelve acres or so on a small patch of fertile soil in the midst of the rocky, mountainous region. The end product was a mid-price concord grape, and was difficult to find in most breweries and taverns. When Kane became of working age, and as his father and mother were wearing down, he'd spend most of his days tending the vineyard and harvesting the grapes. This often brought him home with hands bloodied by the thorns and littering them with scars and calluses. While the Bounevialle family were considered what was essentially middle-class, they were still too short on money, and especially too short on time to invest in Kane's education.

Kane has a sister six years younger than he, and with her birth brought on the early stages of Kane's protective nature. When he'd come home from laboring a long day in the vineyard, he'd watch over his sister while his parents went off into the market. He'd cook her and himself some supper, often a potato and carrot stew, with small chunks of meat floating about in the broth. It was nothing fancy, but it was easy to please a toddler as long as you assured them it was something tasty. They never had grapes available though. What couldn't be locked up in a barrel was taken to market to sell. Almost always there was a buyer, and on those super rare occasions that there were grapes leftover, there wasn't much left that could be put into a crepe, but there were almost always some blueberries to put in that could supplement the lack of grape filling.

In between those years and the day he left home, he'd find himself fighting bullies that were harassing his sister. It almost seemed like every other week – it didn't matter how outmatched he was, Kane always fought them. An angry big brother who spent his days working on farms was usually enough to at least chase those kids away.

Years pass, and at the age of 13, Kane brought up the prospect of becoming a knight. Not just any knight however, but a Knight of the Ram, in direct service to the country. His parents agreed to his requests, of course. It was a noble calling, and Kane's sister was old enough to help with farm work. In fact, looking up to Kane all her life had inspired her to help him pick grapes even when she was little. The thorns never scared her off. Kane had walked off to the Talbor capital of Maceron a couple miles off and stopped the castle barracks front door. They had initially turned down his request to enter as a squire, as he was already far over the age of 8 and was ineligible to become a page - a whopping 5 years late - but he didn't so much as walk five feet away. Not wanting to walk home as a failure, he stayed there. He'd ask again and again, every time the door opened. It was a “no” every single time. Kane still remained there, and squatted in that spot for two days without anything to eat or drink. At that point, Kane was desperate and resorted to begging. When the head of the order, Sir Fallon, found a starving boy groveling near the steps, he took him in and fed him. Gave him water. A bed for a night or two. Then he turned him back loose.

Kane repeated the process. This time, he was out there for three days, asking to be made a squire. It was less easy to sympathize with an illiterate farmboy the second time around when he starts begging. Sir Fallon resigned and permitted the boy to walk into the barracks. After his recuperation, he'd begin his days as a squire where he will first be educated and then he will perform his duties in his services for the the Knights of the Ram.

His days as a squire were not easy. He first had to receive an education if he were to become of such a noble order, and he crunched hours day in and day out taking in as much as he could. He learned how to read and to write, he learned arithmetic, some science and chemistry, and of course, extensive lessons in history and the finer arts, such as dance. It was expected of a noble knight, as strange as it was. It took a while in all of that, but with hard devotion, he got it all done in three years, putting to rest all doubts amongst the order that there'd be no hope for a teenager that didn't even know how to read yet. At sixteen, his real chores were only beginning.

As an arming squire, he was appointed to a knight and was required to perform all duties and services the knight requested. His knight's name was Sir Raleigh Cruz. A simple if not humble man, and surprisingly modest for a noble. This duty involved taking care of the knight's horses and his armor, dressing the knight in his armor, running chores and messages, waiting the knight's table, guarding him as he slept, and even accompanying his knight to the battlefield. There hardly seemed to be more time for anything else, but amidst all that, he was expected to train in the use of weapons, including marksmanship, exercise to develop their bodies, climbing, athletic, and swimming skills, and horsemanship. He was also required to learn the code of chivalry and rules of heraldry if he were to become a knight. It was also his duty to enter the social life of the castle and learn: courtly etiquette, jousting, music, and dancing.

All of this had a huge impact on Kane's discipline and triggered him to form rigid schedules that left little to no time for himself. At the end of these hard and trying days, when he would stay awake to watch his knight's sleeping hide, he'd write letters. Given the amount of time available to him, he'd write slowly and carefully, allowing him the time to pick out the best words possible and write in the best and neatest way possible. He'd begin writing letters to his little sister. Letters that she'd never read because the family wasn't literate. Still, every night he would do this, writing a letter for his sister, finish it, and then stare at the end product for a while and sigh before he puts it away in his strongbox. There are countless letters in his box, and it has gotten to the point where Kane's handwriting is among the finest and neatest in the castle.

Martial training was something Kane thoroughly enjoyed whenever his knight would allow him to spend the day training instead of accompanying him, but it was exceptionally harder than anything he ever had to do on the farm. With the thin mountain air, he often found himself on the verge of unconsciousness. Amidst that, he learned how to use swords and shields, he learned how to carry his armor and how to wear it properly, he even learned crossbow shooting. Though it was one of the more difficult skills for him to learn, proper aim was still important to learn as a knight. During his spar sessions with the other squires, often using dulled swords or wooden swords, he found himself best suited when both were using only longswords. Contrary to popular belief, these fights did not last very long. It doesn't take a long time for someone to land a hit on the other person, and in the case of sparring circles, the squire who won the match must get into position as the next squire in line entered the circle comes in to replace the loser. Among the squires, Kane landed in the top fifteen percentile for martial skill.

There was also the thinking side of military training. The squires had to practice tactics and strategy extensively if they were going to be any more useful than disposable fodder. While a steadfast and protective fellow, and by no means a slouch in the physical department, Kane truly shined in the area of tactics and strategy, and it was where his introverted nature functioned at its best. He wasn't a prodigy among his peers, but what he did have over the others was his determination to succeed and his devotion to the cause of knighthood. He developed a strategy in one of the board games, inspired by a type of polearm, like that of a corseque, or ranseur, or even a spetum – a triple spearhead. It was similar to that of a spearhead assault. The problem with spearheading an assault is that is leaves a risk for being taken advantage of and being flanked. With the triple spearhead, it takes advantage of that risk, and eliminates flanking enemy units, and also acts as two smaller spearheads on either side, further separating the hostile army.

Kane's first experience with political corruption was when he first witnessed a noble accepting a bribe from a hunter so that they may poach in excess. Kane called the nobleman out on it, but being a lowly squire, and being older than the others, he was not taken seriously and immediately dismissed under threat of expulsion. Later, testing results came out.

Among the squires, Kane landed in the top ten percentile for strategy.

Top twenty percentile for history.

He, however, suspiciously did not make it into the top twenty percentile for comprehension of the code of chivalry and courtly behavior. It was outrageous to him! To consider all the years he has spent devoting himself to chivalry and acting accordingly amidst the goofing and playing of the other squires. His serious disposition offered contention to dissenters. An explanation was later provided to him that his earlier accusation made against a court noble after alleged corruption via acceptance of bribery – and that, for Kane to maintain favor with the court, his superiors were forced to remove Kane's score from the board regardless of the truth. Kane begrudgingly followed his knight's word.

His squire training and duties were supposed to last seven years, as it does for all squires. Considering how he crunched years of education that was supposed to be learned as a young page in three years, and started his training and duties at age 16, this would mean he wouldn't become a knight until he was 23 years old, 2 years after some of his class had already become Knights of the Ram. He would have to take the test late. At the age of 19, three years into his training, a castle watch guard sounded the alarming signaling for an impending bandit raid on a Talbor-controlled settlement nearby. All of the guardsman and even the Knights of the Ram were awakened in the dead of night to prepare. The raiding party was still a bit far off and provided time for planning. However, with most of the real strategists off abroad, there was none in the immediate vicinity that could think clearly just minutes after being awoken. As Kane was strapping Sir Cruz's armor on, he pitched his idea: the triple-spearhead. There were objections to using an untested tactic, of course, but Kane continued. The present Knights of the Ram would lead the initial charge and spearhead the raiding party, as they were the most skilled and experienced and could fend off the majority of bandits and outlaws. The following two waves would follow, consisting of soldiers and guardsmen, and would cover the knights' flank and assault two other sections of the party.

There were still some dissent among the present party, but with no time to waste, a couple of the knighthood agreed to his strategy and thereby pulled the support from the remaining soldiers.

After the defense relocated outside the gate and swiftly raced across the countryside to give the village their aid, they got into position. Kane was mounted on Sir Cruz's horse along with him, riding right behind, armed with a spear. Here, his equestrian skills were tested. Mounted on the horse's flanks, holding a spear, right behind Sir Cruz who bore a sword and shield. The shield gave cover to both him and and Kane, and the sword to eliminate close threats. He and the Knights of the Ram, along with their squires, led the charge, with their relief force on standby and prepared to follow in pursuit. As soon as the knights broke through the raiders' charge, the relief force began their own charge. The Knights of the Ram, the undefeated Talborian cavalry, pierced into the heart of the enemy raiding party and plowed through all that stood in their way. Before they had a chance to come around and swallow them in a flank, the second wave of soldiers cut down the barbarians while their backs were turned. It has later been referred to unofficially as the hurricane tactic, where a devastating wave would sweep in, and the enemy would falsely consider that the back line was a defense - the space in between was the eye of the storm - and then another wave traps them.

In the following battle, Kane had shed his fair share of blood, and ended a couple of lives by his own hand. Not a single Knight of the Ram had perished, and there were but two casualties among the soldiers. Kane's tactic had caught the enemy off guard, resulting in eight decimations of the raiding party and the total unconditional surrender of the remaining attackers – a decisive victory.

A ceremony the next day celebrated the bravery and skill of the Knights of the Ram and the Maceron guard. Kane received an honorable mention and, as a reward for his bravery and instrumentality to defeating the enemy with minimal casualties, was permitted to ascend into knighthood early. Shaving two years off his years as a squire, he'd be a Knight of the Ram along with any other passing squires.

Between this point and his knighting was a terrifying time for Kane. The latest tournament to decide who would be king was settled, leaving Vladimir of Draco in power. The last two years of Kane's squire hood had him watch Vladimir issuing invasions on the neighboring nation of Ignion. Kane did not want to be used as a weapon in senseless war. In addition, he watched Maceron grow into an increasingly filthy city as industry began booming. He used this to bolster his resolve and eventually bring change to his nation.

Two years later, he was knighted as a Knight of the Ram as Sir Bouenevialle by nobility themselves. Most knights were knighted and serve either a lord or a king, but in Kane’s case, a lady. He was knighted by Lady Debbens and was to protect their land, and as a full-fledged knight of the order, he himself was now considered of noble blood. Quickly sending royal servants to the Bounevialle vineyard to help his family and to give his little sister an education that she wouldn’t have otherwise received. There is, suffice to say, a little more Bounevialle wine on the tavern shelves, but it was still a rather rare kind of wine when you compare it to the likes of the cheap Chardonnay or the finer, more expensive wines. While the day of his knighthood was a day of celebration, his true hardships were only beginning.

They had, in fact, begun that day. They used his knighting ceremony as an opportunity to assassinate King Vladimir of Draco. He had no love for the man, maybe Kane was even ashamed to admit he was grateful - but it was no way to settle things. War activity stopped as the kingdom scrambled to decide the successor. It was revealed to Kane that House Forton committed foul play. Now Kane had two houses to be suspicious of. When Kane attended the tournament, he immediately smelled cheating from House Draco. Kane knew the people of Talbor well, and the Orc working for Victor of Draco was not from around here. Unfortunately... Kane didn't stand a chance in standing up to such a powerful house. He'd be found dead the next day.

As expected, Victor of Draco won, and Kane already did not like him. The boy was too vengeful, he executed the assassin as part of his coronation, it seemed. Following his majesty's coronation, the Knights were immediately put to work. Still Kane suspected he was merely keeping the Knights busy - too busy, that they might overlook or fail to investigate whatever this Boy King had in mind.

Work started the next morning, bright and early. He was deployed along the Talborian border to assess the conditions of the nearby forts, and to assist in whatever way he could. With the Ignion in the north, fresh after war, Kane often engaged in border control, usually with only one or two guards to accompany him. Most of the trouble was the occasional skirmish of bandits, brigands, and outlaws. With the many hard years of training, the martial skill of wild men looked to be child’s play. This was often his job, patrolling the border, escorting trade caravans, and escorting nobles, ambassadors, and diplomats. Staving off highwaymen and assassins alike, it felt as though the childhood nightmares of mean men on the countryside had been turned upside down, as they were but small babes wielding toys in comparison to him. The longer he remained a knight, the less important he felt his role, as his duties were summed down to be a glorified bodyguard. Even in the presence of nobility, standing amongst the court in official business, he didn’t quite feel like he was serving the common people as he expected to be.

These were just small missions. As a newly inducted Knight of the Ram, and with less time of training than the other squires, they were still testing Kane’s reliability. His flawless execution of his appointed tasks assured his superiors of his skill. The missions he took up were gradually bore greater and greater risks and higher reward. The tasks themselves, more prestigious. As a knight, another part of his duties was to administer justice. Missions included personal requests from his lord and barons, and on rare occasions, on king's orders. During peacetime, this often involved plundering bandit camps, rescuing hostages, or investigating kidnappings. This also meant patrolling around the crime-ridden capital of Maceron itself, with a blue and gold tabard dressing his armor, on top of a high horse. This in particular he was especially recognized for, as he did not only just subdue perpetrators - as many knights and guards did not due whether out of apathy or laziness - but also took those shifts as an opportunity to engage with the people. He took their pleas upon himself, whether it was talking down a lord from raising a poor family’s land tax, or paying a broke farmer’s debt off with his own wealth. From settling disputes, tackling pickpockets, to escorting nobles and engaging in battle or honorable combat, Kane was respected by the people he served. He was the only one that defended them even against other guards and knights… a risky action in itself.

During this time, a number of suspicious happenings had come up, such as the untimely death of Lord Forton. Most suspiciously, the investigation was closed in favor of death by disease, or "natural causes", but no official record was actually released. Kane knew that the new king bore a grudge against the Forton house - to make matters worse, the successor to house Forton was a Draco sympathizer. Lord Jessup had the worst crop yield in his history, while Kane's own family's vineyard flourished. The Debbens manor burned, the Lord killed, and Kane's own Lady, Lady Debbens, fell ill and became paralyzed from the waist down.

All of Victors opponents were being eliminated. Kane swore he would do something to right this country and bring it back to the days of King Arnold.

He became a Justiciar Knight in due time at the end of his first year as a knight. He was given a plot of land, and due to his inclination to remain in the barracks, forwarded that grant to the Bounevialle family, expanding their vineyards. He took on a page, named John March.

Despite his preference to not get involved, he took part in tournaments to maintain and hone his skills. These tournaments were often international, and Kane was one of the few Knights of the Ram to take part in then. As a particularly trained and undefeated noble cavalry, as was expected of his order, his mere presence was enough to unnerve his competitors. Having won each of his matches - as mere soldiers and regular knights were mildly challenging at best - he took his winnings and invested them in public affairs in Maceron. Of his many opponents, that most challenging had to have been a king’s knight from central Nepharie, a senior glacial knight from the Northlands, and a peculiar camel-mounted orc from Jikari - though the challenge of the latter likely had much to do with his height advantage of sitting on a camel’s hump. It made jousting with him… interesting, to say the least. His experiences in tournaments provides him with insight in dealing with different kinds of obstacles, and has helped him learn to be adaptable.

He had trained John March for many years during following his initial assignment, and went as far as allowing the young page join him in his missions, despite what dangers awaited them.

On the seventh and final year of John being a page, one of the biggest events Kane's career as a knight was another, yet very different, and much more sensitive hostage situation: rescuing one of the barons. The cause of the event was unclear, but what was certain was that they were holed up in an abandoned fort and demanded two hundred thousand drunes, which in itself would damage a huge chunk of the country’s coffers. So it was a decision between agreeing to their demands, or risking the life of a baron, which in itself would reflect badly on him and of the rest of the knighthood - in the long run, it would damage the welfare of the people. It challenged Kane’s stance of not compromising with outlaws. Kane was nothing if not honest, but in a circumstance such as this, there were perhaps people that did not deserve his honesty. With that conclusion, Kane formulated a strategy that’d show the world that Talbor does not compromise and that its people are not to be trifled with.

Through courier, it was established that it was a one-sided negotiation. They were not interested in dead-drops, debts, foreign currency, or anything of the sort. Cold, hard reons are to be delivered in person or the baron gets a scarlet neck tie. The business was to be made inside the fort. The fort overlooks the jigsaw river by about twenty feet at the base of the main tower. Kane agreed to their terms and brought a caravan carrying sacks upon sacks filled with reons, escorted by only himself and two guardsmen. As a show of faith, he appeared without his armor; just his boots, jerkin, and jodhpurs. There was his sword, of course, as it was customary for any noble or knight to carry it with him anywhere, but it was tied to his sheath with a strap of leather. After carrying the sacks of gold into the fort himself, and the guardsmen inconspicuously leaving the field in which the abandoned fort stood, going back into the forest some distance away. The bandits weighed the reons with a scale - it matched what they had expected from the ransom, according to their math. They returned the baron, who fled outside and mounted the horse provided to him.

With Kane and the baron riding away in the caravan at full speed, the baron couldn’t help but point out a peculiar smoke pillar rising from the forest. The sound of several wooden clunks followed, and with a sharp whistle, a giant, flaming, tar-coated boulder flew from the forest at great distance. Unyielding, Kane rode the baron and himself through the field, and the projectile had struck the tower at perfect trajectory with an explosion of dust, rubble, and fire behind him. With the caravan penetrating the treeline, they stopped at the side of the road and took a detour through the forest where Kane had met up with the two guards he was with before, and his page, John. With them, a giant trebuchet, already reloaded with another boulder coated in gooey, black tar, and a torch in John March's hands.

“How’s our aim, sir?” One of them said smugly.

“Perfect.” Kane assured. “One shot was all it took. But while you’re at it… destroy whatever is left of the fort. We don’t need it anymore.”

“Yes sir.”

Another launch, and the fort walls went crumbling down. Another few and all that would remain is a pile of gravel. Kane and the baron returned to the caravan where he will return him to safety. Thus goes the story of one of the most successful critical-risk missions ever completed. In one fell swoop, a Knight of the Ram rescued the baron and maintained Talbor’s uncompromising image to the world. It was at the cost of a large chunk of the monarchy’s coffers that ultimately went to nobody, but with the stunt pulled, surely there’d be no one stupid enough to risk Talbor’s anger again. The rescued baron honored Kane’s bravery and cunning, and among the three hundred cavalry in the Knights of the Ram, he had been issued a Commander Knight at age 28, and John had become a squire.

He was in command of his own regiment, a team of ten skilled knights. However, among them, three stood out. They were: Sir Sten Vellen, a pretty abrasive man, sarcastic, generally mean, but his motivations and heart are all in the right place. He was particularly skilled with crossbows and was a capable equestrian, able to snipe from horseback... sitting backwards. There was Sir Oscar Gene, who had the heart of bard more than he did a knight. Numbingly cheerful, he loved dancing and music, but was also the phalanx among them - his armor was heavier than the rest and he bore a tall tower shield, a javelin, and a gladius. Oscar was actually a knight longer than Kane, but lacked the same drive that kept him from advancing as quickly. Sir Alexander Xerxes, a half-orc, and was a particularly curious case among the Knights of the Ram, as they often took only humans. His martial skill was incredible though, and paired with two war axes and a tall morningstar, only Oscar seemed capable of defending against his strength and fury. Xerxes wore a shield, but it remained on his back at all times. He claimed that going turtle style would allow him to focus on eviscerating the guy in front of him, instead of worrying about cowardly back stabbers. John March was no knight, only a fresh squire, but the training came naturally to the boy, almost prodigiously. There was no doubt in Kane's mind that he'd become s knight earlier than many.

Despite the absurdly diverse team of knights at his disposal, who Kane himself contributed to with his stern and uptight demeanor, they came to be more like brothers than they were his subordinates. An inseparable team that, when working together, seemed to be unstoppable as they played upon each others strengths and weaknesses. Further, as miracles would have it, the aforementioned three all shared the same aspirations as Kane. These three knights in particular seemed to have been inspired by Kane’s oaths as he entered knighthood, that they too took up the ideals of liberty and justice, performing duty and services for the people and the people alone. Only on one drunken night of revelry did they admit that, if ever given the opportunity, would work with Kane. The miracle of being paired up with men like himself appeared a little less magical at the discovery that this arrangement was made out of requests, but it was heartwarming to realize that the superiors agreed to it.

Years later, after countless missions and adventures, and patrolling the city making a name for themselves as the knights of the people, things took a turn for the worse. On a lone night patrol through the city of Maceron, he stumbled upon candlelight emanating from inside a warehouse. Peering through the window to investigate, he spotted the baron he had saved from years ago in a conversation with a noble, and couple of other dirty men; shady types. He became alarmed when he noticed two orcs covered in rags, scarred and gagged. Slowly and carefully, he moved the window until there was but a crack and he could hear what they were saying.

To sum up what’s been heard, the noble employed mercenaries and slavers. The two orcs on the ground were supposedly warriors from Jikari. The baron himself was being bribed to allow the noble’s activities to continue - a process which had been going on for quite some time. From the sounds of it, even years. With the involvement of the baron and a noble, Kane feared the worst. He left the scene before he was discovered and returned to the barracks where the Knights of the Ram were stationed to talk to the headmaster of the order, Sir Fallon. Sharing his concerns, about his fear of corruption in Talbor’s government. Fallon appeared solemn. For a few minutes he was speechless, but finally returned to Kane with a grave warning: to keep his nose out of business that didn’t concern him.

Kane, mortified, returned to his quarters as well as the quarters of his men. He shared everything he learned about corruption among the royalty and the nobles, and even Sir Fallon of the Knights of the Ram. His seven of his ten men were tentative, hearing Kane's words, sounding almost like treason. They did not rally behind him, only Sten, Alex, and Oscar - even his own squire, John. Without the others, they began attempting to figure out a plan about how they were going to handle this. They all knew what had to be done, but none wished to say it aloud. A coup d’etat was in order, but the four men, Knights of the Ram or not, and a young squire weren’t capable of doing it alone. So their goal was to risk going around and talking to the other knights of the order and try to persuade them to follow their cause. Kane, concerned first and foremost for the people, didn’t want to involve them in anything that might result in their harm. Perhaps, in his heart, Kane always knew there was something wrong with the monarchy. The people were said and distrusting of the guards, nobles, and knights.

Unfortunately, their coup didn’t go far. Foiled in the early stages of their plan, one of Kane's own knights had contacted the Sir Fallon and told him about the stratagem Kane, his trainer, and three comrades were up to. The next time when the team was together, the Knights of the Ram stormed around Kane’s regiment with spears and swords circling all around them. The headmaster followed after, and informed Kane and his crew of his awareness of their scheming. They were taken away, tossed into the dungeon, and was scheduled for execution the next day. There were no words between the five men that night. Just solemn, dismayed glances and broken spirits.

The next morning, they held true to their word. His majesty, King Victor of Draco, had been buttering up the crowds and the people with words of their treachery and selfishness. When the priest of Adreal sung his prayers, Victor asked Kane for his final words. He shouted into the crowd claims of corruption. About how he found the baron and nobleman, and the slavers and orcs in the warehouse the previous night. How the nobility was unscrupulous and corrupt, accepted bribes and perpetuated slavery. He shouted his experiences with the people, about how the nobility took advantage of the poor, and the number of debts Kane had repayed for them, the inordinate taxes he relieved them of. His reminders of all the things he has done for the people seem to have hit the crowd’s soft spot as indicated by how their demands for his execution and yelling traitor died down to nothing but silence. His noble actions apparently went unaware to even Sir Fallon, who solemnly looked away from Kane as he issued his last words.

Without so much as a suiting final phrase of goodbye, Kane went silent and accepted his fate. Instead, Victor waved his hand for the executioner to stand by. He responded to his last words hesitantly. Victor expressed his shame in this misunderstanding. While Kane’s skill in oration served him well here, Victor has had more experience in doing so - but even then, Kane could tell his words were insincere. The misunderstanding, he explained, had much in part to do with corruption among the nobles. A cunning choice of words on his behalf, as admission of fault made the argument more credible if one would willingly proclaim something that made a bad appearance of himself. Victor continued to explain how he didn’t have full control over the land’s nobility.

In fact, that nobleman’s execution was scheduled to follow Kane’s and his regiment.

Guards escorted a well-dressed man up onto the headsman’s platform, cuffed and gagged. As a boot pushed him to kneeling onto the platform, he turned to face Kane wide-eyed with fear. This nobleman was, in fact, the same one he saw from last night.

The king continued. As a result, he would pardon the regiment as a token of forgiveness and understanding. Their goals, after all, were noble and for the welfare of the people. They could not let something as a coup go off so easy however. Each knight involved in the attempted coup were stripped of their knighthood and were demoted to simple guardsmen. But because of their skill and talent, together, they will be permitted to work as a separate division of the guard, G-2, of which Kane will be the captain and Victor would have direct control over. Kane and his men were subsequently released, and as they had done so, the headsman swung his gargantuan axe, and decapitated the nobleman’s head.

“Slavers,” Victor said, “and all those who would tread on the rights of others… do not have the right to any last words.”

The crowd cheered wildly, and Kane and his men were escorted to their old quarters to pack all of their things, get proper food and rest, and then move to the new barracks where they will be stationed for now on. As Kane and King Victor of Draco went their separate ways, they met each other’s gaze. There he saw the truth. Kane’s indignance, and amber eyes bore in Victor's own, who stared back callously and calculated, neither trusting the other. It was at that moment they both knew that this battle was far from over.

It has been three months since that day.

---

Physical Appearance

Height: 6'0"
Weight: 190 lbs.
Appearance: With the stature and body of a soldier, and the disposition and appearance of a noble, it is a little difficult to put a finger on Kane by appearance alone. A life of hard work has done well for him and his growth. Kane stands at a solid six feet in height and weighs in at about 190 lbs. A good deal above the average human height during this age, he finds himself looking down on most people in the literal sense. Pair with his height a variety of sharp features such as his jawline, high cheekbones, squared-off chin, blond hair, and dinaric nose, you see that his overall appearance is striking. His aforementioned blond hair is a pale color, and is cleaned and well-kept. It is of medium length as the hair does not fall below his shoulders, but is still long enough to curtain and frame his face, although it is generally combed back in a wind-blown style.

Constantly on duty, his face is often stern as he maintains his official status and regal appearance. His skin lacks the tan a man would usually have if he spent all day under the sun like he does, but his naturally pale skin has at least since darkened in tone, and sits in-between those shades. These colors provide little contrast with one another, but blends, and amber eyes contribute to that. Sharply-angeled eyebrows frame his eyes and his frequent stoic expression gives him a cold and calculating appearance in the presence of his warm color scheme, especially when those eyes trail your every move. Even the sound of his voice, unexpected of a soldier, sounds cool - calm and collected. Though as a soldier, he is still capable of conjuring the booming force and projection befitting of an officer.

Devoting his life to the sword and liberty of the people, in addition to his early days of farm-work, his physique is sublime, even if it falls short of peak human conditioning. His grueling days of training back when he was a squire was thorough: crunches, push ups, leg training, being pelted by rocks – every part and aspect of his body was pushed to breaking points in his training to be a Knight of the Ram. As expected, his body, hands, and feet are riddled with scars, but there is nary a scar to be found on Kane's face. He and his trainers were of the opinion that a knight's acceptance was affected by charisma and presentation, as it would be his face that'd be leading his men and the people - at the expense of his arms' welfare.

Attire: In the most basic of adornments, Kane wears an off-white linen shirt with sleeves down to his wrist and the neck left unstrung. A similar color of linen pants is paired with it, along with woolen socks. Over these are leather boots that are strung up to the calves. Only in the most humble and modest of situations are these worn in the presence of others. In formal advents are more presentable clothing pieces donned. A black leather saberist jerkin, for instance. The jerkin itself is sleeveless, allowing Kane's white sleeves to feed through. The buttons on the jerkin are entirely on the left side of the article, and can be buttoned all the way up, or save a couple to leave a flap – which is entirely for the sake of fashion (the latter is more frequently done to reflect Kane's “proper” appearance). In unison with this, breeches – or more often, jodhpurs – are worn. The wool breeches are gray whereas the jodhpurs are a black leather. The dark color scheme contrasts heavily with Kane's brighter, natural colors, but is there for the sake of making dirt and such to be less visible, and a leather outfit provides at least some protection in the event of an emergency spur-of-the-moment conflict.

In preparation for battle or duty, however, the color scheme returns to bright and noble colors. The suit of armor Kane dons is shined and polished, detracting from the scratches that decorates the armor. The suit of armor is heavy and bulky. We're talking full-on plate armor with chainmail lining wherever there are joints, with an aketon underneath the suit. The breastplate and backplate are of course large plates of armor that protects most of Kane's organs, and are sleek in their design. The breastplate and backplate are actually divided into two separate parts. Two plates of armor overlap, allowing the knight to breathe with his chest and move his chest around. The armor plates slides against each other and is so close together and tied tightly enough that a sword slipping through the plates would be highly improbable. In addition, a couple pieces of armor are in place that retracts the need for a full gorget. The pauldrons he wears are large. The cover his shoulder down to the middle of his biceps, and there is an extension to the top of the pauldrons that raises up and flares out to protect his neck. On these pauldrons, there is a gold leaf trim where they flare up around the neck and three gold-leaf coated studs on the armor where the flares are bolted to the pauldrons. There is a half-sized gorget that acts as little more than a throat guard. The gorget itself is highly decorated in what appears to be a design resembling a ram's head, which is entirely coated in gold leaf.

This armor is not the typical ware for a Knight of the Ram, rather, it was lovingly custom made for him by one of Maceron's own citizen-owned forgery following Kane's demotion to the G-2 guard unit. Being a special division, he was allowed equipment that didn't necessarily conform to the standard outfit. It was so meticulously crafted and detailed, it's rumored its second only to the Knights' own armor.

That is all there is for the most notable aspects of his armor, where the rest are greaves on his calves, cuisses on his thighs, and so on. The only other areas of his armor trimmed with gold leaf is around the fan-plates over his knees, the top of his sabatons, and along the vambraces of his gauntlets. Kane opts to forgo his helmet, a fluted armet, most of the time as he often finds himself planning and leading a charge, and consequently needing to get a good view of the field and more effectively calling out his commands.

---

Personality

Personality: The core of Kane's motivations is “for the sake of law and liberty for the people”. Truly, he embodies the principles and ideals of knights and guardsmen, and has upheld these ideals since the beginning of his aspirations. While many people become knights and guards for the esteem, the money, or for the thrill, Kane has wanted to do good and protect others back when he was a boy. Those ideas were attributed to and represented by knights and guards and soldiers, which thereby inspired him to follow that path. He, amidst his virtues, recognizes he is not without flaws, and works hard to compensate for those negative aspects of his character. He has a soft spot for the vulnerable and poor, but he has little tolerance for domination, prejudice, and corruption. He even goes as far as to root it out from wherever it may be hiding, for the sake of protecting the greater good. It puts him at odds with the corruption of King Victor of Draco, and would go as far as dethroning him in a coup and take the responsibility upon himself to lead. At his best, Kane is selfless, loyal, and compassionate.

Despite his altruism, Kane's disposition is something of a hindrance to those who wish to approach him. He is a highly disciplined knight after all, shaped to a soldier's protocol. As a rule of thumb, he is not allowed to become emotionally invested lest he lose his cool demeanor. Keeping a level head is crucial in being a Talborian Knight of the Ram. His discipline, however, also lends to him a degree of tenacity quite unlike the typical soldier or guardsman. This stubborn rigidness gives him the “never give up” code and quick-to-act reflexes he carries with him even to this day. Kane has often been credited among his troop that, should they ever have to fight one another, he might win just by outlasting them all through sheer willpower. Granted, he is also credited to being the biggest stick-in-the-mud of the team, and very rarely does Kane drop the sense of duty and stoic temperament.

The knight is also intelligent and carries with him a certain charisma. The intelligence is due to the education that he had received in his training to be a knight, since no respectable high-ranking soldier can serve the royal court and be deemed a fool or moron. His intelligence is well applied to practical use. Among his cadet class, Kane was among the top ten percentile for strategy and tactics. His charisma factor is a different story, and has very little to do with his training. It is a sort of noble selflessness that Kane has held close to heart since he was a young teen. His capability for empathy and his devotion to others allows him to carry the flag of command and inspire others, or calm the angry. Being a talented fighter and strategist, he can be very calculating in the midst of a fight or spar. This calculating behavior influences other aspects of his life as well.

However, his charisma is not all that it is cracked up to be. Despite being able to inspire in the heat of the moment, Kane still possesses the predisposition to be intellectually oriented. The aforementioned calculating behavior detracts from his appearance as being compassionate. He comes across as unmoving and stoic; cold and uptight. You would think the man has never had the heart to live it up some, as one could see when you consider that Kane regards music as a distracting novelty, and being overall oblivious and unmindful in the area of romance or sex. Also, one of the quirks that was often made fun of back at the barracks was how picky of an eater he was. If he looked at the plate of food and thought he wouldn't like it, he wouldn't eat it – or even touch it. Granted, if he were starving, this would change, but he'd accept it reluctantly. While he is generally open-minded, he can be a little black and white if he sets his mind on one thing for too long. At his worst, Kane can be distant, stubborn, and evangelical.

Hobbies: As a knight-turned-guardsman who is very much dedicated to his duty, he has little time to do or think about much in the ways of hobbies or interests. As he was once a knight of the highest prestigious order, he got somewhat involved in the political field. While he is by no means talented in the area, he possesses a mild curiosity in politics. If he were to lead, and lead effectively, this is surely something he should look into, right? He has a natural curiosity when it comes to people as well. He seeks to protect them, their freedom, and their ideas regardless of what they are. When Kane has nothing to do and cannot sleep at night, he writes unaddressed letters.

Skills: Kane was once a farm boy, so he has a natural inclination to perform any farm activities with little struggle. He worked specifically on a grape vineyard, which in itself is a little different from other produce, but he'd likely get the hang of tending to other crops. He has an understanding of survival techniques and therefore can get by in the wilderness for a period of time and set up a camp, while nothing exceptional, being a picky eater forces him to learn how to cook for himself. As one of the Knights of the Ram cavalry, he is an expert on horseback and understands basic animal husbandry when it comes to horses. Being an inspiring captain and field commander, Kane is an exceptional orator. He happens to be something of an amateur calligrapher due to his nights of aimless letter writing.

---

Abilities/Combat

Abilities: As once being a Knight of the Ram, Kane possesses martial prowess equal to that of ten soldiers. Capable of carrying out missions and objectives single-handedly that’d normally take a squad of infantrymen to perform. His technique with a wide variety of weapons lends to him a flexibility that’d be useful in most combat situations, though his greatest prowess comes from the use of spears, pikes, and swords, keeping his enemies at a distance while taking the advantage of his superior reach. Even if the enemy gets around his reach, he can use his spear much like he would use a staff and use the shaft of his weapon to pummel the enemy away. He is exceptional with his bastard sword, a two-handed longsword. His skill with the blade, maneuverability, and strength are acknowledged by his peers and would outmatch any adversary without extensive training in combat. He also carries his armor well, and knows how to shift his weight just so, that he can maneuver in it to compensate for his lack of speed inside it. He is an expert equestrian.

His training has done more for him than just his skill in arms and armor. Extensive training exercises and workout routines in the Knights of the Ram are some of the strictest and most rigid to be found. The order of undefeated cavalry also train up in the mountains where the air is thin. So not just their muscular strength, but their endurance as well, is tested to absurd extremes. Pelted by rocks and struck by wooden swords has risen his pain tolerance to a degree where anything short of being slashed by a real blade would do little to slow him down. Being a knight, he also wears his heavy plated armor on a regular basis - where I will leave you to simply wonder how strong the man is.

In addition to his physical attributes, both knights and noblemen receive excellent educations. This means that Kane probably knows a fair deal more than the common man or woman. He knows his history, is literate, understands mathematical skills and applications, taught extensively in politics and courtship, and other fields of education befitting of a noble (such as dance). While not necessarily an ability, Kane does possess a leader’s charisma. Whether or not he is everyone’s favorite person isn’t the issue, but he can inspire and encourage others under his banner. It is a combination of good will, passion, and sincerity that garners the trust of others and makes people want to believe in him.

Weaponry:
Large weapon: A spontoon, otherwise known as a half-pike, is a 6-7 foot spear. Kane's in particular is almost 7 feet in length, and has the spear-head of a pike.
Medium weapon: A bastard sword, otherwise known as a two-handed longsword. The length of the sword is such that, while capable of being used one-handed, and also has a long handle, so its capabilities are maximized when used with two hands. Kane's in particular has a black leather grip on the handle, a conical shaped pommel, and a long blade. The sword itself is about 4 feet in length.
Small weapon: A dagger. The dagger that Kane possesses is nothing special or extraordinary. It is simply an emergency back-up in case he has been disarmed of his other two weapons. He keeps it hidden in his boot. It is just slightly curved so it can slip between pieces of armor and ribs.

Weaknesses: Naturally, Kane is only human. He shares all of the same mortal weaknesses as we do. We don’t necessarily like hot or cold environments, despite our ability to adapt to it. We’re pretty squishy without armor, our strength pales in comparison to the likes of orcs and minotaurs. Kane’s particular weaknesses does come from the fact that he does wear armor. Despite him moving very easily in full-on plated armor, it still slows him down, which would mean an unencumbered opponent can take advantage of that. Being skilled in all sorts of weapons makes finding a duel that is weighted in his adversary’s favor something of a challenge, and while he is exceptional using his sword and spear, he isn’t a master swordsman nor is he a master with a spear.

His biggest weaknesses have nothing to do with physical flaws, or flaws in his skill however - he excels in those areas, and he is also a strategist. The best thing to do is to take advantage of his character. This does often involve delving into unscrupulous territory, but it does get the job done. Kane, being naturally self-sacrificing and altruistic, will put himself on the line for others. Taking advantage of that will put him at risk at either injury or death, for instance, jumping in front of an arrow or trading the custody of an innocent with himself. Even in non-combat circumstances, this can be taken advantage of if you wish to take someone’s money within the law.

Always wanting to see the good in everybody and believing most people are capable of redemption, that can be taken advantage of. But Kane does have an intuition for sensing motives, so if not of Kane, then his mercy, as it has given you another opportunity. You can definitely take advantage of the people around him since people tend to believe in his word. He also abides by honor and the code of chivalry. Work outside of that for an unfair advantage. The best way to combat him and undermine him is to target his allies. If you apply the pressure and don’t give him time to think or strategize, and demand quick decision making, he can either cave in to your requests/demands, or he may lose his clear head and become sloppy.

Companion: Kane has a shire horse as his steed; a tall, strong, dark brown shire horse with its signature white fur flaring around her hooves and a black mane. This tall and mighty horse is named Edna. Along with Edna, Kane is the captain of the elite G-2 “outcast” regiment of the Talborian guard, all of whom were once Knights of the Ram like himself. He has 4 men under his command: Sten Vellen, Oscar Gene, Alexander Xerxes, and John March.

Other: It's really important to me that you understand that this guy can bust some sick moves on the dance floor.

Name: Benedict Kaspin
Age: 50
Gender: Male
Species: Human

Background

---

Kingdom of Origin: He usually identifies as being from Nepharie. But he is originally from Talbor.
Parents: Not important.
Backstory:

At one time, decades ago, Benedict was a blacksmith. He worked with iron, steel, wood, and otherwise. He was quietly intelligent, and tended to keep to himself- but he was the best around. His services were requested by the government in Haderlock in order to build that territory's new walls. The journey from Talbor to Haderlock was long and treacherous, but they were on one the homestretch when everything changed. In order to avoid the Minotaur territories, Benedict's caravan was forced to traverse through the swamps of Silvestre. There they were attacked by none other than the witch queen Grinda herself. The battle was short, but bloody. Benedict was spared to act as a pet to the witch queen. Ben was treated surprisingly well, but was still a lab rat. Experimentation was his purpose, and of all the creatures Grinda has ever created- Benedict is her most successful endeavor. Benedict was soaked in the wells after each experiment, in an effort to keep him alive. As a result his body grew and changed, becoming what he is today.

Benedict's relationship with Grinda grew, and over time the experimentation came to an end. Due to the length of time spent with Grinda being the only sentient contact, Benedict developed a form of Stockholm syndrome, and a form of fucked up friendship was forged between the two. More time was passed, and Benedict was released by Grinda out of guilt. A few years passed and Benedict had been traveling, as most villages and cities saw him as a monster. Several contracts were put on his head, and over time he learned to avoid people. He did his best to refrain from killing those who took the contracts, and oftentimes fled over fight. Once however, he found one of his hunters. Through some twist of fate, his hunter- Theresa Ot An Bol'hjar, and himself struck a deal. Benedict played monster, to help Theresa gather coin. To Ben, Theresa was company. She was the first to find him and talk to him rather than swing her sword at him. Through the years the two forged a powerful friendship, and have been traveling together ever since.

Physical Appearance:

---

Height: 10'2
Weight: 5122lbs
Appearance:

Benedict is a gargantuan reptilian humanoid that exudes power. His body is incredibly muscular. Similarly to a rhino, Benedict has thick and armor like hide that protects him from most forms of physical assault. Arrows, swords, and most forms of bladed weaponry are ineffective on the first swing. Blunt weaponry is more effective, if enough force is applied. His body is slate blue coloration, with little variation in colors from one area to the next. Overall Ben bears no resemblance to the man he used to be- with all facial features having either degraded away or warped. His body, despite being generally aggressive in appearance Benedict has the foul attitude that only a herbivore could have. Benedict's diet is about 95% plants. He also eats a lot of coconuts. Like, a LOT of coconuts.



Attire:

Benedict's clothing is akin to his lifestyle. Luxury is not exactly far up on the list of needs and his clothing is more for functionality then it is for anything else. He wears pants composed to sewn grey leather, and a large leather coat made of bear skin. All of his clothing was hunted and made by him- and the craftsman ship (or lack there of) shows his inexperience in the skill.

Personality

---

Personality:
Benedict is blunt, stubborn, and rude. For the most part, this is usually a bad thing. But to some, this aspect can be endearing. He will always tell it as it is. He knows human nature well, and due to his history he often thinks the worst of people. Benedict is a pessimist and a realist. And he will tell you that you are going to die. He will also tell you that he will do everything in his power to keep you from being killed. Despite his relatively angry and distrustful personality Benedict is still a relatively social creature. He forms a quick 'team' bond with people who work well with him. Even if he doesn't necessarily like them (or if they dont really like him). He will play favorites. If he knows someone is better than you at something he will give you zero chance to improve because he will always play to them.

Much like the dragon, which Benedict is similar to, his is protective and possessive... of his stuff. If you want to be brutally maimed or worse, cross him. Benedict also has an really bad temper and an INFAMOUSLY foul mouth. This guy is the shakespeare of curse words and he has literally come up with more insulting or slang terms than anyone has ever thought possible. It's like the damn guy has researched this shit. Like, have you ever met a person who has called a prostitute a 'Slattern'? Well, now you have!

He also takes an unusually large amount of pleasure out of seeing other people get hurt by doing stupid things. He's no psychopath, and he's not going to torture anyone just cause. He will be efficient and... messy though. That's his style. Leave no survivors and a mess for someone else to clean up.

No, Benedict doesn't want to be loved. No, he doesn't need a hug. No, he doesn't secretly crave attention. He's not a people person. He's very much okay with being left alone for the most part. He's a man of few words. And finally, while he might be good at working as a team player, he still hates being in close proximity with just about anyone for more than a day or so in one sitting. He was born a lone wolf in that respect. And he personally thinks he will die a lone wolf too.

Hobbies:
Ben's main hobby is surviving in an understandably anti-monster world.

Alongside Theresa, Ben works bounties with Theresa. Between monster hunting, intimidation jobs, or simply watching something burn, Ben keeps himself busy. As an exile from society, Ben has developed an intense appreciation of nature- even if he doesn't always show it. He's never wasteful, and leaves nothing but footprints when he leaves. He's a surprisingly avid reader once given a book (as he is literate). He also ends up as being the target Theresa uses for various weapons when she finds a new toy.

Skills:
Benedict is a blacksmith and holds his alcohol like nobody's business. As a man of the woods, Benedict is adept in all the skills necessary for surviving in a fairly unforgiving environment. Fishing, forging, basic first aid, hunting, avoiding being hunted, you get the idea. He's not at all an expert or a master in any of these fields, but he's good enough to avoid confrontation with most anyone who doesn't seek to kill him. And that's all he could ask for.

Abilities/combat

---

Abilities:

If I had to equate Ben to any character with a similar role on the team, I would equate him to the Hulk's in the avengers.

Muck like Hulk, Ben might not be the biggest there is (should we have Minotaur join us), but he sure is the strongest there is. The amount of power behind him is incredible. His muscle mass and density grant him surprising weight, and when he is ready- almost no manually generated force can move him. Benedict's bones are thick and heavy, and his body is covered in dense, tough, scaly hide. It is not abnormal for swords to cut into the skin and draw no blood or even get stuck, or for arrows to hit him, and for him to not even notice. Ben is a living weapon. His size is coupled with deadly jaws and claws. Ben is so big that he cant use almost any weapons effectively- as they normally end up breaking. Benedict's condition has granted him the ability to breathe white hot fire His fire moves as a single jet, which travels in a straight line. It's more concussive than normal fire, as it is magnesium based- so once it hits something, most of it's fire starting capacity is removed. It has the ability to leave third degree burns and in extreme close range cases- break bones. A direct hit from a few meters away could very well take a grown man off of his feet. Benedict is not affected by the dark, and can see equally well in the darkness and in the light. Finally, Benedict has a passive resistance to all forms of magic due to the nature of his 'curse' and how he acquired it. This makes his whole body is a 'blessed weapon'.

Weaponry: Ben doesn't NEED any weapons. His claws and teeth are more than enough. Benedict however does carry a meathook and a skinning knife (which is his size, basically making it a machete). If he cant tear you apart with his bare hands, he'll kill you by throwing something big and heavy at you from a distance.

Weaknesses: Benedict is massive, and cannot fit through some spaces. It is highly suggested that one hides in a place that he cant smash or burn. Speaking of fire, Benedict's fire can only be used for about eleven seconds before his magnesium reserves are exhausted. Benedict is mainly a herbivore and has a diet consisting of mostly plants and especially coconuts. I shit you not this man has about two hundred pounds of coconut extract.

Benedict is an angry man since his change. It's not a difficult task to entice him into a fit of rage.

Benedict is massive. While is is unnaturally fast for his size he is still naturally somewhat slower than the finesse fighters and he relies almost solely on his size and power to break swords, bones, etc. If he's going up against another person who is stronger than him or at least is able to overcome his strength, he doesn't have a whole lot of other skills to fall back on.

Finally, Benedict cannot swim. His body is so heavy and dense that he sinks like a brick in water. While he can hold his breath for a fairly long period of time and even run along the bottom, he cannot breathe under water.

Mount: There are few beings that are large enough for a five thousand pound person to ride.

Other: Grinda branded his chest. Anyone who knows of her will know her sign and will likely refrain from fucking with Ben for fear of pissing her off.

Name: Arya Briarwood
Age: 46
Gender: Female
Species: Fairfolk (Fairy)

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Nepharie
Parents: Some well off noble fucks in central Nepharie. All you need to know is that they is rich, dawg.
Backstory:

Arya was raised as a scholar in what is basically the tope 1% of the Nepharie population. At the ripe ol' age of ten she was shipped off to the Academy of Sorcery and has basically been learning since. As a naturally studious and school orientated individual, she excelled. She wasn't the best magician around, but she was smart about what she focused on. So, for many years she basically hunker down and studied. She'd move around now and again and would oftentimes return to her family for visitation here and there- but her studies always game first.

For abut twenty seven out of the thirty-six years Arya has spent studying in the Academy, she has been trained by Lady Mirabella Caerus herself. After demonstrating a very steep learning curve and ability to learn, the Archknight took the young woman under her wing- seeing her as having potential of being one of the next great spellcasters. Due to the length of time Arya has spent studying, she has majored in two different elements. The first being earth, and the second being fire. Her minors have been combat and utility respectively. She plays a better support role than she does head offensive.

Arya, as a highly skilled knight of The Order of Mordane, is tasked with maintaining order and regulating magic. She tends to travel from one area to the next- or wherever her superiors order her to go. Recently, she's been sent to go and investigate all these undead wandering around...

Physical Appearance:

Height: 4'9 (She insists that she's 4'9 and 1/2!)
Weight: Around 82lbs.
Appearance:
Arya looks like a very short version of a regular twenty-five year old girl that happens to have butterfly wings. Yes, she is fifty and looks twenty five. Dermatologist hate her! Anyways, Arya has blue skin, with large wings that are almost identical to that of a moon moth's. Her eyes are large and almond shaped, and are almost a solid green coloration- matching her wings. Beyond her skin coloration and eyes, she looks very human in terms of appearance. She retains a very girlish look and has been maintaining her hair at a certain length throughout her lifetime. She happens to enjoy the look that shoulder level hair gives her. Her hair, much like her eyes and wings has a green coloration akin to that of a moon moth's.
Attire:
Arya is a noble, and wears only the finest clothing available to her. However, because she is traveling, most characters will only see her wearing fairly tight fitting but comfortable clothing such as boots, leggings, tunics, hoods, gloves. I would use this image or this image as reference when imagining her appearance. What she wears is made from the finest materials, but is travel worn.

Personality

Personality:

Arya is biting and sarcastic, but not overtly so. She oftentimes is quietly calculating to an observer and oftentimes exudes an aura of intelligence to whomever she encounters. She has quite a diverse vocabulary, and she wields it like a battle axe. Arya does her best to be kind, and she is a good teacher. She has a natural empathy for people and animals that has been part of her even before she began exploring the world of magic. She is patient, and does her best to help others understand certain concepts that subscribe to the subjects of maths and sciences.

But, be this as it may, I have to make you understand that Arya is doesn't like pain be it hers or others. She doesn't deal with pain well and all things considered she'd probably start hyperventilating/pass out at the sight of a whole lot of gore. If a redwood victim is coming after her, she'd freak out. By freak out, I mean that she will pull a boulder out of the earth and literally smash the thing with it until it stopped moving, all while screaming. If you somehow make her want to do that, god help your soul. She doesn't get angry of scared often, so she's not very good at handling those emotions once she gets there.

Arya, due to her studious lifestyle, does not have a lot of experience with people. She can be a little annoying from time to time, somewhat spastic, easy to fire up, and generally a bad liar. She's really bad at 'keeping it cool', and tends to get very fired up about things she is passionate about without much regard for the other person's interest. Various people have different reactions to her. Some, such as Ben, might want to kill themselves and then her. Others, such as Kane, might have an easier time interacting with her.

Hobbies:
Arya is a studious individual and tends to indulge herself in note taking, art, and what have you. Her journals would have instructions of how to brew potions and what plants have medicinal propertied and how to use them. Stuff like that. Couple this with an experienced individual who knows where to find everything, and shit can get interesting fast.

Skills:
Arya has always been super interested in the cultures of various races and basically is in the know about how to get on the good side of any specific race so long as they dont want to right out kill you. She knows a great deal about Orcs, Minotaurs, and Doraki despite never having seen any one of these races. Diplomacy and multilingualism are her strong-suits.

Abilities/combat

Abilities:
Arya doesn't have a whole lot of combat experience but she does know how to use magic like nobody's business. Arya's majors were fire and earth. As a result, she has a vast amount of experience manipulating both. From throwing, crushing, entrapping, or what having you with large hunks of rock around, to literally combusting the nitrogen in the air, she can really fuck up your day. With her fire, she mainly creates explosions. She can easily ignite combustible items such as gunpowder. She can also remotely create explosions about equivalent in size to a car explosion. She also has control over whether or not an item will combust, and can manipulate the smoke the fire produces. As a result of her majors, Arya is able to combine the two and become a metalbender when she so does desire. There are about 118 elements in the real world, and like, 91 of them are metals. If an item has a metal of any kind in it, Arya can manipulate it by levitating it, throwing it around, etc. However, if the item is pure metal, she can alter it's shape and manipulate it on a much finer and more complex level. Arya also has a whole other slew of abilities that come from years of studying. From teleporting, camouflage, sound dampening, illusions, and mimicry of nearly any form. She doesn't have a whole ton of experience, and cant apply everything to a complex degree, but she sure can use it. Because she studies in the schools of utility, she also have the ability to transmutate matter from one form to the next, or force-grow things like herbs or even food.

Weaponry:

Arya, due to dress code for the Order, is forced to carry a sword. She doesn't use it as often as her other abilities, even if she knows how.

She also has a small blade made of tungsten and steel in her boot that she basically uses as a weapon if need be.

Weaknesses:

She's but a girl, and she's not exactly hyper experienced with anything. If you hit her with an arrow before she can stop it, she's probably going to die. She IS part of the frailest race in Tithe.

Due to her training, she actually has a more difficult time working with saturated ground, and has no control over water itself. Arya also has limited range with items over a certain weight. With smaller object, she has a vast amount of control over a decent distance. But if she was chucking a boulder, she has about as much control over it once it leave a few feet as any other person does over a ball once they throw it and it leaves their hand. So far she is fairly inexperienced with camouflage and various manipulations of how people appear to others. She might be able to make Ben appear as a normal human to others, or she might be able to create a field of invisibility with a twelve foot radius, but for someone Ben's size or for a party too large she has a hard time keeping it going due to the complexity and size of the situation. For an illusion, while she might be able to make it appear that a dragon is in the area- she cant exactly make it hit like one too. It is, after all, an illusion.

While she is technically able to immunize herself and others from explosions and fire, most of the time if she's dumb enough to get within range she wont be fast enough to divert or cancel it. Especially in the explosion's case.

Mount: None. If she needs to get somewhere fast, she'll do what the pioneers did years ago.

Other: Nothing to mention here.

Name: Shux Nide
Stage Name: Silvertongue
Age: 46
Gender: Male
Species: Satyr

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Robore
Parents:

• Qiera Nide - Mother, 98 years old
• Conior Nide - Father, 102 years old
• Qamea Nide - Sister, 41 years old

Backstory:
Shux was born into a family of musicians and performers of the Robore Kingdom. His parents formed a semi-famous performer duo, his mother was known for her pretty and almost ethereal voice, his dad for being a great artist when it came to instruments with strings. Shux' upbringing was marked a lot by music and performance as well, as his parents wanted him to succeed them one day in the future. He had just learned to walk when his dad started teaching him how to use the lute, and his mother sang lullabies to get him to sleep. It was a very nice, very loving childhood, one that was full of joy and without much trouble to speak of.

It all changed however when Shux became older. At the age of 18, which in Satyr years is still the age of a child, he started becoming a troublemaker, disrupting the peaceful and calm life of his little town. He started playing pranks on the villagers, disrespecting his elders, and didn't care much for his parents' efforts in teaching him the art of music anymore. Shux started hanging out with a like-minded group of other young Satyrs, who spent their days causing nothing but trouble. What started off as a few pranks and minor misconducts, eventually lead to a life of crime for the young Shux...

He was 23 at the time, and had stopped living with his parents and his sister for about a year, instead chosing to be roomates with a few of his criminal friends. Their crimes were not especially violent, but they almost always targeted women and the elders, people who could barely protect themselves and their belongings. On one faithful day however, Shux would steal something that forever changed the course of his life. He was sitting at his usual bar, drinking his last cup of wine before heading home, when the human next to him started making conversation.

Usually, Shux would not care much for stories, but this man was well dressed and possessed an aura of nobility. He told the Satyr he was a well-known merchant, someone who traveled all across the land to get his hands on rare items. He was clearly inebriated, and told Shux too much for his own good. The prospect of stealing the man's gold and treasure was already good enough, but then he mentioned an object of even greater value: A vial of Gallor's blood. Shux eyes widened. His kind was known for having a connection to magic, but he himself had never drank of the magic blood. He knew it sold well, kings and mages all over the kingdom wanted to get their hands on it. So, he did what he had been doing over the last few years.

After Shux and the merchant had drank a lot more wine and beer, the Satyr was nice enugh to accompany the man back to his chambers. He fell asleep almost immediately, without even changing his garments. Shux started looking around the room, pocketing a few gold and silver pieces, until he finally found the vial with the magic blood. With a huge grin on his face, Shux left the sleeping merchant and made his way back to his home. He kept the vile a secret, not wanting to share his prize with his fellow "friends". He thought about where to sell it, and realized he would have a hard time finding a buyer in Robore. Satyrs were not as desperare to get their hands on magic blood as say, humans, and the prize would not go that high. Furthermore, Shux had developed a sort of reputation for being a thief and scammer, which made finding a buyer that much harder.

After a good night sleep, Shux had made his decision. He was 24 now, and his town had become rather boring. There were so many places out there, so much to see, was he really going to spend all his life here? He had the vial, which would allow him to set up a new, more luxurious life somewhere else. He knew that Contera, of the Nepharie Kingdom, wasn't that far away, surely he would find various interested buyers there. Two days later, Shux had left his hometown, his former friends and family none the wiser where he had disappeared to and why.

His journey to Contera proved to be an enriching experience. Shux had never left the Robore Kingdom, and had only met a few other races over the years. The road to Contera lead him along villages and cities, full of life and other creatures he had never seen before. He sold off a few of his stolen items to get by, but the journey proved to be longer than expected. He had been on the road for about a month, when he started running low on supplies and goods to pawn off. All Shux had left was the vial of magic blood...

The Satyr stopped at an inn close to the road, night was approaching fast and he was tired and hungry. He spent his last coin on a bed and a warm meal, not really sure how he would go on from there. Things were not going according to plan, and his wanderlust was slowly being replaced by nervousness. As he sat there, eating his bread and soup, someone started playing music in the background. The Satyr turned around, there was a small group of musicians, playing to entertain the patrons. They were ok, nothing special compared to the sounds he knew from home, but at least they did not suck. Shux was not about to pay them too much attention, until he observed some patrons approaching the group, giving them silver and gold coins for their performance. The Satyr kept observing the scene, counting the coins that were being tossed inside the little basket, a plan forming in the back of his mind.

That night, Shux spent a lot more time thinking than sleeping. The group of musicians had been nothing special, but the coin they had earned would have been enough to keep the Satyr fed and dressed for at least a week. It had been an eternity since Shux had touched an instrument, but his upbringing had been based around it, sure he could do at least as good as that group of musicians. And...he still had the vial of blood. Normally, people would use magic to control the elements, but there had been others throughout history who had used it for other purposes. One of the most famous Satyr musicians in fact, Quemal "Goldtongue", was known for using magic to improve his music and performances, and he became famous throughout the kingdom, playing for kings all over the continent. The vial would earn him a lot of coin, sure, but how long would that last? What if...he took it instead? He never thought of touching an instrument again, but the thought of becoming rich seemed to be right there, he just had to stretch out his hand and grab it. Before he could change his mind, Shux popped open the vial and drank its contents in one go.

The following weeks and months were spent practicing his magic and relearning his musical skills. Shux decided to not go immediately to Contera, but to follow the road and practice at inns and towns instead. His beginnings were mediocre, only earning enough coin to buy two or three meals, but soon enough, the lessons he had learned over the years started coming back. Shux also realized that, to improve his skills, he had to learn how to control the air around him. After all, it was air that carried his sounds and melodies, shaping it meant shaping music. After around two months, Shux had started making a name for himself, spending several weeks in one town now to give performances instead of being on the road constantly.

Fast forward to now, Shux has become a well-known performer and musician, someone who enjoys the company of nobles and courts alike. He is wealthy enough to live a comfortable life, not needing to steal anymore, but using his magic and skills to pay for everything he wants. He has been living in the Capital city for around 5 years now, giving regular performances in the local music hall.

Physical Appearance:


Height: 160cm
Weight: 66kg
Appearance: Shux could be described as a good-looking Satyr. He takes a lot of care of his dark brown horns, keeping them at a medium size and making sure they are always shiny. His hair is of a golden blonde that shines in the sun, it is usually shoulder long. It transitions directly into his beard, which is of the same color, and is usually adorned in some kind of way. His blue eyes are a pool of selfconfidence, with a slight hint of mischieviousness showing every now and then. His skin is of a slightly darker olive tone, his fur is of a rich brown color.

Attire: In contrast to most Satyrs, who usually wear little to nothing, Shux has quite the collection of expensive and personalized clothing. Enjoying the company of nobles and kings over the years, the Satyr has adapted the clothing style of rich humans, chosing to wear elaborate shirts made of silk or wool, depending on the season. He usually wears bright, eye catching colors, which make him stand out immediately. This is usually accompanied by a collection of golden rings and a necklace every now and then. Shux knows that looks matter in the world, and has adapted over time to belong into a crowd instead of standing out because of his race. His attire sometimes includes a cape as well, depending on his mood. His lower body however remains unclothed, always showing his fur and tail.

Personality

Personality: No matter what, never ever trust a word Shux says. Although he stopped stealing, he never became an honest or stand-up type of person. There are clearly two sides to Shux: His public persona, Shux "Silvertongue", and his actual self. To start off, his public persona is a facade that relies on charm to get whatever he wants. He has learned how to act around nobles and important people, always observant of his surroundings to adapt. Shux is very well-versed in sucking up to others, playing on their desires and pride to move up in the world. However, he is always scheming and trying to get the most out of every situation. He is the type of singer who will chant about heroes and love stories in the evening, only to make love to the noble's daughter that same night. If there is an angle to exploit, Shux will eventually find and use it.

In what might seem a contradiction, his actual persona is a lot more shallow and simple than his constructed one. In reality, Shux cares about wealth and material possession more than anything else. He always spends his nights with a different woman, only to find a new one on the morrow. He will sing about heroic deeds, legends and true romance, but in the end he only really cares about how much coin that puts in his pocket. He is not dumb, but he is not excideengly smart either, unless it comes to "emotional intelligence". Shux' motivations are simple: Make a ton of coin, become someone important, move up in the world. How he gets there does not matter.

Hobbies: Most of his time is spent either practicing his music or magical skills or writing new songs. When he is not doing that, you can usually find Shux with a cup of fine wine sitting at someone's table, enjoying a good time without a care in the world. He is a womanizer, someone who loves to flirt and using his fame to get to know women. He has become a fan of arena fights over the years, for their aggressiveness and entertainment value

Skills: Shux is very charming, someone who knows how to talk himself into places and out of trouble. He is smart enough to recognize someone's desires, using them to get something out of the situation. His time around nobles has taught him everything there is to know about court manners and customs. He is an adept at bartening with merchants as well.

Abilities/Combat

Abilities: Shux has to rely on his magic if he wants to survive a fight. His skills in music allow him to alter the conditions on the battlefield, improving himself and whoever might fight on his side, and using illusions and other devious means to stop and hinder his opponents. Shux can raise the morale of the troops, using his music to increase their strength and resistance. Playing the right tune, he can demoralize his enemies, put them into a trance, maybe even convince them to switch sides for a short period of time. His skills in transforming the air around him allows him to use the element of air to his advantage. He can imbue weapons with elemental power, create gusts strong enough to knock over things and opponents, and sometimes he is able to create a localized thunderstorm.

However, Shux has had no formal martial training, making him reliant on all of his tricks if he wants to stand a chance. His illusions allow him to weaken enemies first, confusing them to attack. He was little more than a thug, and never commited any violent crimes, so his skills with the blade or any other weapon are very limited. He did pick up the sport of hunting over the years, which makes him at least decent with a bow and crossbow.

Weaponry:

• Lute - Shux' instrument of choice. It allows him to cast musical and air magic, changing the conditions on the battlefield for his favor. It can also play very lovely tunes in the hands of this skilled Satyr.
• Pan Flute - Another instrument that Shux carries with him most of the time. Due to it's smaller size, it creates less powerful magic, but allows him to weild another weapon at the same time in contrast to the lute.
• Silver Dagger - A simple silver dagger, used for close-quarters-combat. It allows to strike precise spots, but won't stand a chance against bigger weapons in a fair combat.
• Crossbow - Long-distance weapon, allows Shux to attack from a safe distance. The Satyr is a fair shot, however, the weapon needs to be reloaded after every shot, exposing its user to attacks.

Weaknesses: Anything that comes close to a fair match will be a big disadvantage for Shux. His lack of former training makes it pretty much impossible to defend against any weapon or fighting style, experienced fighters would mean a ton of trouble for the Satyr. He is also not the fittest, having lived a life of luxury with little to no effort. If Shux wants to survive any fight, it is imperative that he uses whatever means at his disposal.

Mount: None, the idea of sitting on a horse having hoofs himself makes him feel weird.

Name: Kathleen Wallis (Formerly known as Kalea "Cloud Feathers")
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Species: Valkyrie

Background

Kingdom of Origin:Southern Isles

Parents
Nalani:Mother, status unknown.
Kaipo:Father, status unknown.
Both parents are probably still living with the same Valkyrie tribe and still on the same island assuming the tribe hasn't been chased out.

Backstory: Kalea was the daughter to Nalani and Kaipo of a tribe of Valkyries in the Southern Isles. Their tribe wasn't the largest, nor the strongest yet they were more than capable of fending off the various terrestrial races that dared to stake a claim on their home island. From an early age the tribe knew what kind of woman Kalea would grow into, she was very outgoing making her popular among the other children and always willing to make new friends. She was also a curious child who constantly questioned about anything and everything under the sun. Some found her curiosity to be amusing even willing to humor the young girl's questions, while others understandably considered her to be nothing more than a nuisance. As Kalea aged her thirst for knowledge only grew proportionally, yet the answers she received were the same as always. It seemed no matter what explanation she was given, Kalea was not satisfied, and this lead to her committing an act unimaginable among the tribe. Kalea left them.

It got to the point where the Valkyrie knew her small island couldn't fuel her curiosity anymore, she still wanted to know more and ultimately lead to her desertion of the tribe. At the still young age of 17 Kalea was on her own, this fate brought by her own volition. It wasn't long before she came across a lone ship sailing on the seas the very sight of which evoked a host of conflicting emotions and thoughts. On on hand has has always been told that the other races were dangerous, monsters blinded by gold and greed, yet on the other she knew that these "monsters" were potentially her only hope to get satisfying answers. Being the naive girl she was, Kalea approached the ship in broad daylight. Perhaps it was because the crew didn't expected a winged stowaway to suddenly appear on board, maybe they were more tolerant of Valkyries than expected, yet when Kalea stood there on deck with her wings in full view. None of the crew seemed to know exactly what to do, Valkyries had always been a secretive bunch and for reasons beyond their comprehension one had somehow decided to land right before them.

Quickly though someone did react, a large man with a powerful presence stepped forward. At the time Kalea didn't understand who he was, but whoever the human was he had to be in charge. Right she was. Captain Tristin Barret was the name she'll eventually learn, a man larger than life who wore a deep blue admiral's coat as if showing off his authority. His facial hair was a long, thick black beard, and his hair a scraggly mess of the same jet black. His features were rock solid, especially his large broad nose. His cold blue eyes pierce deeply into the soul of whoever would dare to stare back. In every way he came across as a true man of the sea.

"Valkyrie." His deep, booming voice commanded Kalea giving him a even more oppressing aura. "Here you are aboard my ship without invitation. Any normal man would be executed on the spot, yet you are not any normal man are you? Speak."

Kalea couldn't find the right words as she momentarily stammered. She did not expect this, she did not expect humans to be so... intimidating. "I-I I'm soo-sorry?"

Barret's expression remained unchanging, still yet expressionless. "Valkyries are a uncommon sight even within the Southern Isles, for one to show herself so willingly is unheard of, I want to know why."

The girl stopped to take a deep breath before tying again. "I... I, want to know more... so I uh, I left my home."

If there was any reaction, the captain certainly didn't show it. "A Valkyrie who desires knowledge, interesting." Barret carefully looked over Kalea as if sizing her up. Finally he gave a curt nod. "If that's what you seek the perhaps you have found the right place. I am offering you a place in my crew as I see potential within you. If you refuse then you are to leave my sight imminently and without question. What say you?" Kalea hesitated for what felt like hours to her, yet after much thinking she eventually responded with a single, meek nod. The captain reciprocated her nod with his own. "Good."

From then on Kalea became the first Valkyrie crew member of the ship. At first she was terrified for obvious reasons, never before has she dealt with anyone outside her tribe, much less people from different races. The crew was made up of humans and orcs, making her the odd one out, even then it wasn't long before she started to feel accepted, no small thanks in part of her friendly demeanor. Her first few months were spent on training on how to preform her new duties. Everything from knot tying, to assisting with navigation, and especially weapons training. Learning how to fight came as some surprise to Kalea honestly, however it was explained that the sea was a dangerous place thus she'll need to know how to defend herself and the ship.

It was a year later when Kalea was recognized as a full member with all the responsibilities. Her official job was something like for aerial recon given the particular advantage of her wings. During the day she would fly a few nautical miles from the ship to scout out the surrounding waters to spot anything of interest be it landmasses, other ships, or anything in between. There have been times when she returned to find the crew splitting what they called loot. For whatever reason while she was away the ship sometimes came across gold and other valuables, so obviously they bring it on board. Kalea herself would earn part of the share, and of course she understood it was payment for her work.

Two years passed without Kalea realizing it, sailing the seas was exactly what she needed. Her comrades were certainly knowledgeable and worldly with many stories about what seemed like everything. Then of course getting to see new sights did much to feed her curiosity, the same one that lead to her leaving home in the first place. It was one on faithful day that Kalea's naive existence got shaken up. She awoke to some commotion above deck as she was sleeping off her last recon mission, normally the others were known to get rowdy, but this time it sounded like something serious was going on. Quickly she got dressed and retrieved her trusty crossbow given to her back when she completed her training.

In the open air above matters were dire, it dawned upon Kalea that they were under attack! Although somehow that wasn't even the most of her worries because the enemy ship was actually flying Talbor's colors much to her shock. Kalea couldn't imagine why the Talbor navy was after them, weren't they supposed to be hunting pirates? The smell of gunpowder and burning wood stung her nostrils as she attempted to join in the defense. Over the years she had become a decent marksman with the crossbow, with it she was able to pick off three Talbor soldiers before the enemy was finally able to board. Grappling hooks pulled the two ships side to side, and at that the battle was decided. Like lightning Kalea and her fellow crew members were overran, quite literately brought down to sword point.

The enemy captain stood before them, looking rightfully victorious. "At last... Tristin Barret and his pirate scum, I have you now." Kalea couldn't entirely believe what she just heard, pirates? Did he just call them pirates? Yet as she thought about it, well honestly it explained way too much. The random gold they happened to come across, how Barret was always asking for reports on nearby ships, how they rarely come into port. This whole time she was helping outlaws to make their ill gained fortune, and the most mind numbly, world rocking, horrifying fact of all. She was one of them, she was also a pirate.

Kalea right there made her second major life decision, without so much as thinking she jabbed the nearest Talbor soldier in the crotch, and before anyone could stop her she took flight. Talbor undoubtedly didn't account for a flying pirate, because of this she was able to cover enough distance to be well of their weapons' range before they could target her. After that it was all a blur, Kalea found her way to the nearest port city where she had to think about what to do next. It has been three years since she left home, as much as she wanted to go back Kalea had a gut feeling that wasn't an option anymore, not after she deserted everyone. Going back to sea wasn't all that desirable either, not with the possibility of being recognized as a pirate by the Talbor. She could only think of one more way to go and that was the mainland. For all her life Kalea has only known the sea and the islands, leaving all that behind was terrifying, but... well what else could she do?

With her new direction in life decided, Kalea knew that trying to continue as a Valkyrie wouldn't work, no instead she had to pass off as a human. Using what wealth she had left Kalea bought herself a disguise, never mind the trouble she went through to hide her wings in order to even go shopping. What she found was an orc's cloak, after cutting some cloth off it worked perfectly to conceal her Valkyrie identity. Once ready, Kalea used the last of her coin for a way onto the mainland, specifically into Talbor. Kalea just couldn't exist anymore so from then on she became Kathleen Wallis, a normal human with a normal human name.

A decade and a half passes as Kathleen aimlessly traveled across Tithe, becoming just another wanderer. Money was hard to come by, yet she had always found a way to survive mainly by working seasonal jobs when available. Be it assisting with a farmer's harvest or lending a hand at a lumber camp, Kathleen made just enough of a living. Her experiences varied, sometimes she got to momentarily settle down if there was enough work to go around, other times she would spend days away from civilization as she tried to find the right path to the next settlement. For a wanderer Kathleen actually never traveled too far, staying generally within the borders of Talbor or sometimes venturing into Nepharie, simply keeping to the human realms. Never before would Kathleen had expected for her life to end up as such, at least she was the one who made her own decisions, and of course the fact she was still free.

Physical Appearance:

Height: 5'4"
Weight: 118lbs
Appearance: By all accounts Kathleen passes for an average human with all the right parts, and unless someone were to catch sight her wings they probably won't be any the wiser. She has fair black hair that's borders the line of long or short as it reaches just to the end of her neck. Her features are somewhat sharp, yet retain a certain level of softness and is more so a result of a lean lifestyle rather than genetics. Her skin at one point was fairly tan as expected from a Southern Islander, but after spending quite a few years away from her homeland she has lost some color, but is still far from pale. Kathleen's eyes are a deep brown typically with a bright gleam to them. Lastly and most distinguishing are her wings. Her feathers are almost a pure white that if in direct sunlight is very capable of blinding onlookers. While within her home tribe white wings are very common, hers were much brighter than anyone else which ultimately was responsible for her namesake of "Cloud Feathers."

Attire: Kathleen wears the garb of a seasoned traveler with a pair of faded and worn leather boots as proof. Her most important article of clothing is a large brown cloak that was originally meant for orcs, however after some modification by cutting a large portion of cloth off the base it fits her surprisingly well. The purpose of this cloak of course is to hide her wings, she had also tied down the extra appendages much to her discomfort, but obviously for the same reasons. Otherwise her clothing is fairly plain yet practical. This includes a tough leather jerkin, linen gloves dyed brown, and cloth pants.

Personality

Personality: Kathleen used to be a extremely free spirited and curious youth, very much the embodiment of a nosy kid. Much of that heart remains now in her adulthood, only that experience and wisdom with age has tempered her over the years. That said Kathleen by no means is a somber individual and prefers to keep matters lighthearted. To friends and family Kathleen is cheerful always being the one to lift everyone's spirits in dire situations. Even while naturally a friendly person regardless, it was her early years in the tribe that cultivated the importance of tight knit relationships, and to retain a positive outlook in life. This openness does somewhat extend to strangers, although to them she is considerably more tight lipped.

In a way Kathleen still holds some prejudice against the other sentient races, especially humans, as of course her people were the target of much strife back in the Southern Isles. After leaving her island she has since learned to give up on most of her hatred against mankind finding most to not be the gold hungry monsters she once assumed them to be, however to say she has completely accepted humans as a whole would be a stretch.

Hobbies: For as long as Kathleen can remember she has always been fascinated with the night sky, and has probably spent days worth of time just to observe the unknown cosmos. While it might not be strictly a hobby per say, Kathleen is perfectly content with simple star gazing. That said she does also greatly enjoy flying for just leisure, although for a Valkyrie this is likely very normal.

Skills: From her time serving in a pirate crew Kathleen has good nautical knowledge and has learned how to navigate by using nothing but the stars. If there ever comes a time when a ship may need sailors, Kathleen can be a strong candidate. Then from her experience as a wanderer, Kathleen is fairly adept at traveling long distances and that is when she doesn't make use of her wings.

Abilities/combat

Abilities: Foremost Kathleen is meant for long ranged support or skirmishing. Her skills revolve mainly around the use of ranged weaponry, and she has revived training during her days as a pirate to use whatever might have been available. This mainly includes crossbows and bows as they are the most commonly found weapons, although she at least knows how to operate a rifle just that doesn't mean she's skilled with such a new piece of technology. In terms of preference, however, Kathleen would rather take the crossbow due to its more durable build, and the fact it can be fired at a moment's notice unlike the bow. Now while Kathleen is absolutely most comfortable in the back that doesn't mean she can't swing a sword, and is actually partially competent as a swordswoman, that said her skill as a marksman is far greater.

Weaponry: As mentioned before Kathleen primarily uses ranged weapons, and her choice is a crossbow again for the aforementioned reasons. Her crossbow is of fairly simple construction even compared to other crossbows, and to boot has seen a long history of usage. It is also a considerably heaver type which requires two hands to even aim properly. Her second, and only other weapon is a simple short sword of mediocre quality. She almost will never use this sword unless there's essentially no other option.

Weaknesses: Other than the more obvious racially common weaknesses such as being relatively frail compared to the average human, and her vulnerability to wind magics, Kathleen's shortcomings aren't anything special. Her other weaknesses are all based in commonsense. Kaylee can't hold her ground in a heated melee battle and will probably be quickly overwhelmed. Her lack of any armor makes her a squishy opponent, just about any decisive blow can land her in trouble.

Mount: Nothing but her own two feet. (And wings.)

Other: Got nothing else to add.

Name: Sir Royce Agathon of Debbens
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Species: Human

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Talbor; Debbens Shire
Parents: Lord Jurel Agathon of Debbens, and Lady Carol Danes of Maceron.
Backstory: From the first time young Royce Agathon could speak, he made it known that he wanted to become a Knight of the Ram. Practice with wooden swords began long before he'd turned eight, and Royce had always been large for his age. Thus, it was no surprise when he was accepted to be a Page. In his training, the young page never stood out in the classroom. In fact, in the eyes of his teachers he was a middling student at best. However, he shined in the practice rings, and after a few years was beating pages and young squires alike to a bruised and bloody pulp. He was not a quick child, the instructors noted, but he was a vicious one.

There were times during his studies when the teachers were reluctant to move him ahead, but his sheer prowess on the training field, coupled with pressure from his noble father kept him on schedule. At the age of fourteen, Royce was considered ready to assume the rank of squire, and was given to Sir Valentine of Draco for the remainder of his training. Sir Valentine was, in many respects, the catalyst that turned Royce from an arrogant young noble into a man who exemplified the qualities of a knight. He allowed Royce the chance to make mistakes, and rather than insulting him for them, he used them as teaching moments.

But most importantly, Sir Valentine cared for his men. Where many of the other knights Royce had seen chose to stay above and separate from the commoners in their host, Sir Valentine went out of his way to care for them. In his words, the Knights of the Ram were servants of the realm. "Servants," he stressed. "Not overlords."

The common folk loved the man, and it was no surprise that his demeanor rubbed off on young Royce over the years. Royce's apprenticeship to Sir Valentine lasted five years, during which he was crafted not only into a man, but into a weapon of the realm. The tricks and ferocity that earned Royce praise in the practice rings were not all that there was to being a knight.

Those years were happy times for Royce, but like all things, they had to come to an end. In his fifth year of squireship, Royce was told that his knight had been taken captive, and was being held in a cave guarded by a flight of harpies. He'd heard of these types of missions before, in campfire whispers from the other squires. He knew it was his test, and he was ready for it.

When he reached the cave, Sir Valentine came out to meet him. Without a word, he drew his sword and flourished, signalling for a duel. The fight was hard won, but Royce came out the victor - and with his victory, his knighthood was earned. His journey of five years with Sir Valentine was at an end.

It wasn't long before Royce found himself in the service to Commander Knight Alric of Ferdinand. Sir Alric was everything that Sir Valentine wasn't. He was older, ruder, and more arrogant to an extreme. Royce had to bite his tongue more times than he could count, resisting the urge to draw his blade at the Commander Knight's constant barbs.

He kept to Sir Valentine's teachings, always having a kind word or encouragement to offer, offsetting his commander's toxicity as much as he could with the common born soldiers in Sir Alric's host. In the battles to come, that rapport was worth earning. Soldiers came to the Commander Knight's aid because they had to; they came to Royce's aid because they wanted to. When Sir Alric found himself surrounded by brigands after being forced out of formation in a charge, Justiciar Knight Royce and the rest of the host stood by and let them take him.

No one ever spoke a word of what had happened. Sir Alric's host was transferred to the command of another, newly promoted Commander Knight - Sir John of Jessup. Shortly after the change of command, Royce was put in charge of a new squire. Squire Kristof of Draco was a fiery youth that reminded the aging Royce of himself in many ways, except for one: Squire Kristof was smart as a whip. No Knight of the Ram is stupid, but Squire Kristof was an intellectual jewel by the standards of the tutors - qualifying in the top single digit percentages in every single one of his classes.

The boy proved himself quickly, and Royce was soon taking him by his side on every battle and mission. Bravery and talent such as that - Royce knew he was training the next Grand Master; but it was not to be. Sir John's host was marching to the supposed location of a large pack of Orc mountain bandits in Talbor's north when they were ambushed. Before Royce could react, they were already upon his squire - hacking him to pieces even after the blood had stopped spurting. The rest of the column was able to reform and repel the attack, but their casualties were staggering.

Royce's own horse was shot out from under him, and reluctantly he took the reins of his fallen squire's horse - Victory. He personally led the charge into their den, and cut down their chieftain in single combat.

The death of his squire, the first he had ever lost, sparked a fire in Royce. Sir John quickly acquiesced to his demand for an element of the host. Then he went hunting. In battle after battle, he sought out the strongest of opponents and hacked them to pieces. It was many, many months before the rage quieted down. In that time, a dozen bandit clans had been annihilated, and Talbor's northern mountains knew true peace for the first time in years.

It wasn't long after that Royce found himself in the position of Commander Knight. Word had gotten around the upper circles of the knighthood and nobility. They called him a class traitor, whined that he was too close to the peasants; but they couldn't deny his achievements. Royce's service record was nearly impeccable, and the body count attributed to him staggering. When the common folk started rumbling about corruption, his appointment was seen as a way to appease them.

In assuming the rank of Commander Knight, Royce was able to finally use Sir Valentine's teachings to their fullest extent. In his host, all men were treated with dignity, and he held his knights to the highest standards of decency. Over the years he took on other squires, and trained them well, but he never forgot his first.

Physical Appearance:

Height: 75 inches
Weight: 217 lbs
Appearance: Royce is physically imposing man, with a large black beard and a wild mane of hair that stands in stark contrast to his polished suit of knight's armor and noble clothing. His frame is huge, and thickly muscled. He has wide shoulders and powerful legs, his physique equally as resultant from his training as his genetics. He has little of a dancer's poise, or a duelist's grace.

His eyes are hetero-chromatic, with one being brown and the other blue. His face has never been renowned for its beauty. His nose is hooked, and has been broken more than a few times. Several old wounds mar his complexion, some of which look to have been very deep. His right eyebrow is parted, and a scar leading up from the left corner of his mouth gives his face the appearance of a constant, grim smirk.

The rest of his body is similarly weathered. Royce is a veteran of many battles, and although he is a fearsome warrior, even the weakest of men can wound a dragon. He walks with a slight limp, the memory of a when his left leg was stabbed clean through with a spear, and his right hand is missing the last segments of his two outer-most fingers - caused when an enemy lance pierced the wood and metal of his shield.

Even in the clothing of the nobility, he looks like more of a mountain barbarian than a knight, and as such many in the noble class find him unsettling. This often causes him to be their first choice to send on patrols or missions, preferably the most dangerous they can find.

Attire: On the battlefield and during ceremonies, Royce is garbed in the armor of the Knights of the Ram. His tabard is decorated in the colors of Talbor; gold, blue, and white, and along his lance run streamers of the same. The armor is typical, although modified to accommodate his large frame. Bright, polished steel edged with brushed brass, the crest of Talbor inlaid and lacquered into the breastplate. The suit is heavy, although not by the standards of comparable armor found in the rest of Tithe. Nevertheless, the steel is segmented and hinged in such a way as to allow the most movement possible, and Royce wears it as a second skin. His sword is belted to his right side, and in war he is rarely without a shield slung across his back.

When in conditions of relative safety, Royce wears the silks and fine cotton of a Talborian noble. They are typically coordinated in his house colors of red and white. However, he also maintains a wardrobe of commoners' clothes for situations in which he wishes to avoid the attention typically given to nobles seen wandering the less savory areas of the kingdom. He also wears a medallion with his mother's personal seal at all times - a gift left for him to remember her by when she died giving birth to his youngest sister.

Personality:

Personality: Though Royce's face may be terrifying, his demeanor does not match it. Beloved by the men under his command, the Commander Knight finds himself more at home among the commoners of the army than in the marble halls of the nobility. Royce is a man of boisterous humor among his friends and terrible rage at his enemies - but this is cut by an understanding of their humanity. He does not allow his men to loot the farms and villages of the territories he is ordered to seize, and he has personally executed those who would rape the wives and daughters of even the kingdom's most bitter enemies.

Royce cares for his men in a way that few of the Kingdom's nobility do. At all times, he keeps a ledger with the names of the men who have died in his service, and is sometimes found poring over it, trying to figure out how he could have done better - how he could have saved them all. Whenever the situation permits, he takes the time to personally deliver news of their passing to the families, often gifting them a sum of coin from his own substantial personal coffers.

This all has led him to have a reputation as one of the Knights of the Ram's most noble warriors - if not in appearance, in deeds. However, Royce does not have a reputation as one of the Knighthood's greatest intellects. Perhaps due to disinterest, or perhaps due to sheer lack of scholarly talent, the Commander Knight was never known for his grasp of political machination, or the history of the realm. Royce prefers to live in the here and now, and as such the majority of his education that remained with him was for things he considered to be important. He has a keen grasp of tactics, and is very capable of organizing and leading an effective fighting force.

In training squires to take on the mantle of Knighthood, Royce has tried to engender a sense of humility and humanity. He does not expect his squires to wait on his every need, and forgoes the need for a constant guardian while he sleeps. He emphasizes dealings with the common folk, and tries to force his squires out of their comfort zone. He has been known to leave squires on farms in the middle of nowhere, expecting them to help the families with their tasks. To a particularly snotty squire, Royce once said, "There are enough preening pricks in the Rams. You're not going to be one."

Royce's steadfast support of his men, coupled with his willingness to meet them at their level has endeared him to the common folk. However, this very same demeanor does little to win him the love of the nobility. Because of this, a career that should have led him to the Crown Officers or above has stalled at the rank of Commander. This does not bother him, however, because he believes that the battlefield is where he can do the most good - leave the politicking to the spineless cowards. He cares little for the machinations of the realm.

Hobbies: Royce is a man of simple things. He is most at home on the battlefield, or in the training square. He takes great pleasure in turning green village boys into deadly warriors. But not all of his interests lie in martial fields; Royce is often found drinking among his men, or helping widows with the farm work. On other, quieter days, he can be seen sitting outside his tent nursing a flagon of ale, lazily whittling a block of wood, or poring over his terrible ledger.
Skills: Royce is a hero of the common folk, known for his deeds and not for idealistic speeches. As such, he finds very little trouble winning the willing cooperation of the lower classes. That said, he is a singular man. Outside the realm of combat and command, Royce is capable of little more than dumb labor.

Abilities/Combat:

Abilities: As a Knight of the Ram, Royce Agathon is a master with sword and lance. He is also left handed, which often catches his foes off guard. The Commander Knight is strong, but not particularly quick, and as such he is more of an methodical fighter than a savage one. In battle, Royce will often fight defensively, watching for the right moment to use his superior strength to level foes in a single hit. However, Royce is capable of flying into a black rage in battle if enough of his men are murdered, or upon viewing instances of particular cruelty. Under these circumstances, his normally defensive style of combat turns towards the offensive. Utilizing the superior quality of his armor and blade, he hammers his opponents into dust.

While skilled on foot, Royce is also a talented lancer. While not always the champion, he has won his fair share of jousting tourneys against the knights and noblemen of the realm. On the battlefield, Royce has no qualms against lancing the mounts of his enemies and leaving them for foot soldiers to kill afterwards.

While Royce is a fearsome opponent, his primary value is as a symbol and as a commander. The men he leads fight harder than any other, partially due to the time he spends training them but primarily due to a desire to live up to his example. He has an unparalleled ability to rally common troops and lead them to victory - even if he relies more on his nature than on clever battlefield tactics.

Weaponry: When mounted, Royce wields a long lance. He also carries a bastard sword on his right hip at all times, both as his primary weapon and a mark of his station. He also wears a knife at his belt, but it is more of a tool than a weapon.
Weaknesses: While trained in the use of ranged weapons, Royce was never of any particular talent and makes little use of them. As such, he lacks any ability to harm foes that he cannot physically reach. His left leg is also somewhat weaker than his right, the result of a wound sustained many years ago. This causes a visible limp which could be exploited by his enemies. The rage into which he sometimes flies leaves him with tunnel vision, unable to comprehend the wider situation. As such, he is useless as a commander under these circumstances and easily drawn into traps.
Mount: Royce rides a great black warhorse, named Victory. Its namesake was the mount of a squire killed during his training. The boy's family wished for Royce to keep it. While the name was a bit more ostentatious than he would have chosen, Royce considers the mount a reminder of his greatest failure. When it grew too old to ride to war, Royce retired it to his manor. Knowing he could not be without a horse, Royce took another and gave it the same name, never to forget his fallen squire. The horse is well trained, and in battle it is barded in steel and caprisoned in the colors of Talbor.

The horse's chanfron is mounted with a pair of ram's horns identical to those on Royce's own helm, and the steel of its barding is made in the same manner as Royce's own armor. It is a veteran of many battles, and one of the Commander Knight's most beloved possessions.

Other: Royce and Kane are two different people.

Name: Vyri Underfoot
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Species: Human

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Nepharie
Parents: Mari Underfoot
Alanan Underfoot

Backstory: Vyri is a servant, or rather, was a servant. The National Academy of Sorcery is a huge institution, and like all huge institutions, has a great deal more below the surface than most are aware of. Dozens of forgotten corridors honeycomb the ancient buildings, forgotten except to the legions of servants, footmen, maids, cooks, deliverymen and other staff without whom the Academy would swiftly grind to a halt.

It is much the same in all of the institutions upon Creation, for every opulent feast there are a dozen cooks sweating over the ovens, for every alchemist’s accident there is a maid scrubbing the soot marks from the walls. They are the people who make the world go round, but they are never particularly important in the grand scheme of things, content simply to go home after a job well done. The world does not rest on their shoulders, and the fate of nations does not depend on their decision. It is, for the most part, a peaceful life.

It is about this time that Vyri is dearly wishing she had never wanted something more. The life of a servant in the Academy of Sorcery is simple. They are well looked after, with adequate servant quarters and pay that is to be expected, plus free access to any leftovers from Academy meals. The Underfoots, as the name suggests, have served at the Academy for as far back as the family can remember. Vyri’s father was a servant, his father was a servant, and his father before him. It was the same for her mother’s family.

Vyri didn’t want that, she wasn’t content, she wanted to leave, to adventure, to live the life her parent’s had never had an interest in. They told her it would just be a phase, to just stay for a little longer. There was not really anywhere for her to go anywhere, they were paid, but not enough that she could simply go adventuring.

It was stupid, how could she have been so stupid? That one decision that changed her life had to be the most foolish thing she had ever done.

The National Academy of Sorcery contains perhaps the premier collection of sorcerous artefacts in the world. Though each of them pales in comparison to Godbane they still represent power unmatched by an private collection. The most powerful artefacts are locked behind sealed portals, access available only to the most senior of the Academy’s mages and the Council themselves.

Other items are kept in various strong rooms, their magic faded or the purpose long since forgotten. Vyri stole one.

How she wishes she could put it back. It appears to be a simple ring made of iron, clearly of magical origin to those with the sense, but with no apparent power of its own. Such is often the case when things are not truly understood. Though the Academy has long forgotten the rings origin, the ring has not. It has lain undisturbed for centuries, even millennia, until finally it found someone to bear it.

Vyri took something that she though would not be missed. She only wanted a thrill, that sense of adventure she was denied within the walls of the Academy. Had she committed her act of rebellion a year earlier then perhaps she would have remained there. Things are changing in Tithe, the dead roam the land, and it has stirred other things that lie just beyond the veil.

The being that dwelt within the ring awoke when she placed it upon her finger, and Eleuril, ancient Sage of the Faefolk, a figure forgotten by history and legend, spoke into her mind.

Vyri is stuck with the ring. She cannot remove it from her finger, try as she might, and she cannot ignore the voice that speaks inside her head. That and it was only a matter of time before someone realised that the ring was missing. She stole what little money she could, and fled the Academy, heading north towards Talbor, following the hordes of the undead.

The ring has its own history. Once a great academic, Eleuril became obsessed with the thought that his knowledge and understanding would be lost and dedicated what remained of his years to prolonging his life indefinitely. The amount of God-blood that would have been required to accomplish such a task would have been impossible to acquire, even so long ago, so he sought other routes, and eventually fell into darker studies, exploring the tenuous link between the soul, the body, and magic. He came across a text, something old even in his time, but preserved far beyond its natural end by the sorcery of its author. It spoke of the soul, and the body, and how to manipulate and separate the two. These petty manipulations and pursuits of power held no interest for the Sage however, he wanted something far simpler, and perhaps far more costly. Though he succeeded in prolonging his life far beyond what it should have been he could still feel his strength seeping away, his life gradually ending. A slip, a misbalance of power, and he ripped his own soul from his body, binding it within the ring he used as a foci. When the Council realised what one of their most prized Sages had been doing they obliterated all record of him, and now only brief mention can be found of him in the footnotes of history, much to his chagrin.

Physical Appearance:

Height: 5'7
Weight: 100lbs
Appearance: Vyri is relatively tall for a servant, standing a slightly gangly 5’7. She has the sort of form that suggests she is wanting of a few square meals, but is rather a product of a hyperactive metabolism instead of a lack of food. She bears the typical complexion of those of Nepharie, swarthy, though only particularly dark when exposed to the sun for long periods of time. Her hair is dark, too frizzy, and usually pulled back into a ponytail for convenience.

Her eyes are large, green, and not unattractive, though often too expressive. She’s not a natural liar, and catching her off guard can often lead to her giving away the truth through her expression.

She was raised a servant, has lived as a servant, and, in her mind, will probably die a servant. She has that uncanny knack that servants acquire of simply fading into the foreground, being so much a part of the situation that they are almost unnoticeable. She walks hunched over, trying to make herself as small as possible, even more so in the time since she stole the ring, terrified of what might happen should someone discover what she hides beneath her gloves.
Attire: Solid and serviceable clothing is the order of the day for Vyri, with a long dress of cheap woollen cloth covered by an apron. She has acquired a cheap second hand cloak of heavy, faded wool and a pair of leather gloves that she rarely takes off in company.

Personality:

Personality: The spark of adventure is still alight in Vyri, she loves to visit new places and meet new people, and has an almost insatiable curiosity when it comes to either of those subjects, perhaps to the point of annoyance. With that spark of adventure comes a rebellious streak, and she has an embarrassing (for her parents) habit of answering back, with little patience for arrogance, especially in her ‘superiors’. Still, there is a part of her that regrets the road she has taken, and wishes that she could simply go home to her parents, to the life that was a lot simpler and a lot safer, without a sarcastic, grouch fairy in her head.

She doesn’t want fame, or recognition, and will happily pass the credit onto others if they want it. It helps that she has no desire to draw attention to herself, fearful that the Academy will find her and remove the ring by force, as every other technique she has tried has failed. Other than her habit of arguing with arrogant noble children she is mostly a kind and patient soul, though her patience is wearing thin now that her own head is not private. She has a tendency to irritability of late, though it is not her true nature.

She can be sarcastic, and has a rather sarcastic sense of humour, as well as a somewhat pessimistic outlook on life. Since taking the ring everything seems to have become a lot more complex and difficult, and she really sees no reason why it would possibly get any better.

Eleuril is equally as sarcastic, making them the perfect match. He is bad tempered though, and has none of her patience, especially for her and her unwillingness to allow him to use magic. He is cantankerous and ill-tempered, with little time for the foolish and even less time for those he considers beneath him, which fits just about everyone short of royalty. He does however, have some enjoyment of the debates of magic and magical theories with others of sufficient understanding. Unfortunately Vyri is not someone of sufficient understanding.
Hobbies: The life of a servant, even in the Academy of Sorcery is hardly filled with thrills, and having long since grown out of childish games she has instead acquired a taste for games of the mind, riddles and such.
Skills: Vyri was raised the daughter of a footman and a cook, and as such has acquired a number of skills from both. Though she would not be ready to serve food at a banquet, she knows her way around a cooking fire and can recognise and make use of natural herbs and seasonings. She also knows all she could ever need to know about maintaining cooking equipment, including sharpening knives, which could be extended to weaponry, though it is unlikely any warrior would let her near their sword.

She is also a gifted needlewoman, when clothing is supposed to last a long time you become accustomed to repairing tears and even adding simple embroidery. She could not match the skill of a professional tailor, but has an undeniable talent.

Abilities/Combat:
Abilities: As a servant, Vyri is comfortable blending into crowds, even in places she shouldn’t be, taking advantage of the fact that most of the higher classes wouldn’t even deign to notice her presence, let alone question it.

Eleuril however, is a very different matter. An ancient Sage, he remembers magic that has long since been forgotten, and is capable of wielding potent sorceries from eons past. Unfortunately, the fact that it is no longer his body means that his abilities are incredibly reduced from their great heights, and a Sage who once would have dwarfed even members of the Council is now brought down to what he considers a demeaning level.

When Vyri grants Eleuril permission to wield his powers then he effectively takes over control of her body, she can take it back, albeit it can take some effort. She also still retains some limited degree of control even after the fact, for example interfering with any spells or gestures he may make, throwing his aim or the predicted effect wildly off. It is possible that the two could come to something of a compromise, though neither is anywhere near such an event. His presence behind the spells becomes more or less apparent depending on the level of power they require. It can vary from simple incantations in which his control will simply cause her face to take on an expression of complete serenity, to mighty spells in which the presence of the Fae sage is tangible, even visible, a faint shadowy figure surrounding her, mimicking her movements.

The first element Eleuril mastered was that of air, long before he became a Sage, and it is still the element which comes to him easiest. It could be called instinctive, if it weren’t for instincts being long since forgotten along with his mortal remains. He is capable of a whole multitude of feats, from the simple task of an unexplained wind casting aside arrows, to more complex weavings that could pull the air from about a target, leaving them to gasp desperately at the vacuum that now surrounds them. He can shape the air about Vyri’s limbs, allowing her to move far more swiftly than she would otherwise be able to, and even achieve the same effect with allies should he wish, while hindering the motions of opponents. A simple application of basic meteorology also allows him to generate lightning bolts, hurling them like an angry god.

Though as a Sage he has an understanding and mastery of the other elements, and it is this that truly proves his greatest weapon. He was a learner first and foremost, someone who sought the deepest secrets of magic and wished to understand the workings of the world itself. As such he has a talent for understanding the spells of others, for deconstructing them and redirecting them. Though this can theoretically be applied to any spell, it isn’t much use if it is hurtling at Vyri at speed, greater workings, or enchantments however, will swiftly receive the scalpel like curiosity of his mind.
Weaponry: A handful of knives for preparing food, a frying pan, and a saucepan, in as much as they can be quantified as weapons. She also has a small sewing kit, and though thread is hardly lethal, the needles are wickedly sharp.
Weaknesses: Vyri is no warrior, she is a servant. Any fight with someone of actual skill will lead to her loss without a severe handicap to her opponent, and even then, she’d have to be lucky. Also, although the magical abilities Eleuril can wield through her would best most living sorcerer’s she has little fondness for them, disliking the sensation of being worn that comes with the ancient Sage’s will. He seems to require her permission in order to utilise magic, or at least has so far shown no ability to override her own free will, or no reason to.
Mount:

Other: