Name: She is called Eloen and has no known last name.
Age: Eloen does not know how old she is, but she looks to be in her early twenties.
Sex: Female
Race: Elf
Class/Sub-class: Rogue/Archer



Appearance:



Abilities:

• Death from Above - Eloen inflicts more damage when she is firing on enemies below her.
• First Blood - Eloen can pinpoint enemies that have received no damage and can do extra damage against these targets.
• Long Shot - Eloen fires a single shot, which does more damage the further away she is from an opponent.
• Leaping Shot - Eloen can dive out of the way of those who get too close to her, and leave behind a hail of arrows.
• Explosive Shot - A specialized arrow that explodes on impact, damaging enemies around the initial target.

“Give all you can, even when you know you will get nothing in return.”

Personality: Upon first glace Eloen appears reserved and passive. These traits might have been born of her unfortunate upbringing, leading her to rarely engage in unprovoked conversation or make eye contact with those around her. Beneath this layer of obedience is her undying hope. Eloen has the ability to see the good in anything situation, no matter how devastating. She also sees the best in people, even those who would hurt her. She wants what Is best for others, and would do anything within her power to help those who need it. She knows what its like to be the one without a voice, and she wants everyone to be heard, even if she is the only one to listen to their struggles.

This extreme form of forgiveness can come with fault, as Eloen can come off as extremely naive and unwise. She also is known to put her trust in people who would take advantage of her kindness, although she doesn't seem to mind this. She doesn't enjoy getting in fights, especially with sentient foes. She will often try to talk her way out of a fight, not wanting to hurt those who could be persuaded to lay down their arms.



History:

Only Eloen's earliest memories tell of her life before her times in Tevinter. Eloen believes that she once lived in an elven Alienage. She vaguely remembers shanty homes made of splintering wood, kicking round stones in the streets, a large tree wrapped in ribbon and paper. Eloen recalls one night being awoken by a strange human man in her bedroom. He convinced the young girl that he was a friend of her father and mother and then lured her outside with the promises of food and toys.

Eloen was lead by the stranger through the dark alienage, wishing she had taken the time to grab her slippers, keeping quiet at the thought of having some new toys to play with. Soon they came to a house Eloen didn't recognize. The strange man grabbed Eloen by her wrist, his grip like a vice around her thin arm. The man then knocked a strange sequence of knocks on the door and after a few moments of silence the door opened with a grating squeak.

Inside the building was dark, but the faint glow of the moon illuminated the room just enough for Eloen to see what was within. Huddled in one of the back corners of the room was a group of maybe ten or so elves, some she recognized and some she didn't, all looking scared and tense. The strange, still with his grip on Eloen's arm, exchanged words with the man who opened the door. The doorman then handed the other a bag of coins and took Eloen's arm for himself. He corralled the nervous girl into the corner with the other elves, giving her a hard shove to the back and sending her tumbling into the group.

Eloen looked up at the leaving stranger, and before she could ask him where the food was he closed the door behind him. Leaving the elves in the dark.

Somehow the girl was able to fall asleep, but was awoken moments later by the rattling of shackles being fastened to her ankles and wrists. They were cold and heavy. The confused girl began to weep for her parents, but was quickly silenced by a fist to the gut. Under the threat of violence the elves were moved silently out of the building and into a covered wagon. Eloen watched through a tear in the canvas the slowly disappearing sight of the alienage.

The journey to Tevinter was dark and cold. The elves were not permitted to speak, but they all knew what was happening. Even Eloen eventually came to terms with what was happening, and what would soon happen to all of them.

Eloen was sold as a slave when she was twelve years old to a family of Magisters. Eloen still considers herself lucky. Some slaves were sold off for hard labor or worse, sacrifices. Instead Eloen found herself being given as a gift from a father to a daughter. The daughter was only slightly older then Eloen, and needed a handmaiden. Throughout the years Eloen's duties remained quite the same. Mending, cooking, cleaning. Helping her Mistress get dressed in her fanciful garments or help her braid her hair. It was during these years of enslavement when Eloen learned about the grace of the Bow. Her mistress was quite a fan of competitive archery, and often found herself without an opponent, meaning Eloen was given a chance to hold a weapon. She didn't realize it at the time, but she was being handed the opportunity to hurt. To free herself. But the thought never crossed her mind. Eloen often found herself learning about the horrors of slavery, of those beaten to death or slaughtered for sacrifice. But she also learned of the outside world. Of the elf who fixed the sky.

Eloen had never dreamed before, not before the events of the inquisition. But shortly after learning about what had transpired, Eloen had a dream. In this dream Eloen saw a beautiful elven women with glowing silver hair. She was told that things are about to change, and that she would need to be kind to all she met.

The next morning Eloen awoke disoriented, unable to tell if the events that had transpired in the night had been real or a part of her imagination. She decided to interpety the glowy elves message as a sign that something new would be occuring at her masters home. Maybe her Mistress was to get married, or would decide to make changes in her wardrobe.

A few days later Eloen was among several other elves to be “relocated”. There were horrified whispers around what being relocated meant, but most assumed it meant that you were being taken as sacrifice to some far off location. To be used in a magic ritual. As Eloen and other slaves were being chained together in a line many began to wail and cry, but Eloen tried to keep a spark of hope. She was determined not to let despair win. She thought of the strange glowing elf from her dreams.

And Prayed.

During the journey great earthquakes shook the ground. Spooking horses and sending the wagon that held all the slaves toppling over. During the chaos and confusion several slaves were able to flee. Eloen was among them. Most of them fled in different directions, disoriented and unsure where to go. Eloen, although she had never traveled so far alone and struggled to run with chains around her limps, felt like her feet moved true and her heart knew what direction to move in.

And so she ran, with arm fulls of chains, to her own freedom.

Name: Garlenn Fellhammer
Age: 38
Sex: M
Race: Dwarf
Class/Sub-class: Warrior

Appearance:

Abilities:

• Shield Bash
• Shield Pummel
• Taunt
• Bravery
• Power Attack

Personality: Garlenn's gruff and boisterous, and is always ready for a good scrap. He's got a savvy mind, reflected on his oft grinning face. He'll kill (most) anyone or anything if there's good enough coin. He tends to respect certain peoples more than others and goes easy on them.

History: Born as a Dwarf commoner who grew up in poverty, stealing, exploring the deep roads for abandoned valuable, and dealing under the table with merchants. When the 5th blight showed up, he had a weird sense of loyalty to his people, and many Dwarves agreed that whatever happened in this blight, they would be hit hard. Garlenn joined the Legion of the Dead, and he and his fellows fought for every inch of ground. Garlenn was among the most feircesome of fighters in the Legion. For despite his underhanded nature, he truly valued his race and homeland. That is, until the war was over.

He fought and bled for his people, almost seeing it as a way to atone for his criminal acts. And after all of that, he realized that there never was a place for him in this society that wouldn't be in poverty. Well fuck that. The stone take them all. He'd rather the surface world instead, and so he did. He made his way to the surface, and decided to make his living as a mercenary, traveling across Ferelden and Orlais, killing bandits, beasts, and all manner of enemies. When he heard Darkspawn had returned however...they were always on the top of his list.

Name: Astyth Cadash

Age: (Gotta figure this out tommorow)

Sex: Female

Race: Dwarf

Class/Sub-class: Warrior/Champion

Appearance: More often then not Astyths' battle scarred features are kept slightly hidden beneath an ever present hood or helmet. On the rare occasions that she does let her hood down a rather gray riddled pixie cut hairstyle that was once raven black stands out along with the impossible to hide S shaped tattoo on her right cheek. She seems to have an ever present scowl across her battle scarred and somewhat wrinkled face; more often then not this look comes off as something resembling a sneering smile. A few hand crafted beads dangle in the hair above her piercing green eyes, eyes that seem to rather fit her defiant pitbullish face. Her second most recognizable facial feature has to be her somewhat crooked nose (the damn thing clearly having been broken a few times.) At her full height she stands at a whopping 4'9”, although her stout muscular frame looks much more intimidating while encased in thick iron plate mail.

A slightly younger pic:




Personality: To sum Astyth up in one word would be care free: regardless of the rough hand life dealt her or whatever negative situation she stumbles into she never seems to lose her genuine “cheeriness” that almost comically mirrors her somewhat gruff exterior. Quick at a joke and to buy you a drink she is the type of woman whom always seems in control of her situation-combat or otherwise. Despite her jovial attitude she does have a somewhat sore spot when it comes to anything Orzamar related.

History: Born the lowest of the low in a society where position is everything Astyth was quick to learn just how important standing up for herself was, a fact that lead her down a path of constant fights and run ins with the law. In this world the fact of the matter was her family could either starve or eat off the coin she earned doing things many claimed the paragons frowned upon.

Sod the paragons.

The stone had found it fit to give Astyth a hard body and soft soul, a fact that clashed with the day to day dealings of her various “jobs”. Nonetheless for eighteen long years Astyth begrudgingly locked her conscience away.

After years of hard work, shady dealings, and a fair amount of blood Astyth had made her way up to a position of some actual importance-at least it was an important position to the far to numerous casteless that occupied Dust Town. For almost a year things had begun to look up for Astyth, serving just underneath a wicked woman named Jarvia had brought her more wealth than she had ever seen up to that point in her life-she had so much money she was even able to afford a fancy looking ring for her younger sister, real diamond an everything.

All good things must come to an end as they say though, something Astyth truly took to heart after the death of Jarvia-an event that created a power vacum unseen in Dust Town for as long as Astyth could remember. One thing led to another and before Astyth knew it she was taking her first (and hesitant) steps onto the surface, the ensuing blood bath in Dust Town having earned her and a handful of other teary eyed dwarfs a one way ticket above ground.

Amazingly Astyth was shocked to find that she took to surface life far better than she would have ever imagined; her mace and shield quickly finding her work as she was drug off on various adventures throughout her years of traveling. And even more impressive was how almost all of those large bumbling humans didn't pay any heed to her permanently tattooed face-to them she was 'just another dwarf.'

Chronologically Astyth left both the Carta and Orzammar when she was 20 years old (9:30) and made her living as a freelance mercenary of sorts until meeting Lady Nightingale by chance around the year 9:34. Although rarely meeting directly she went on to work as a trusted agent of the infamous left hand of the then Divine Justinia-the more years Astyth worked for the clever red headed spy master the more her adoration for the woman grew. From 9:37-9:40 her missions commonly involved tracking down the dangerous use of blood magic so prevalantly ignored in the midst of the Mage and Templar fighting at the time along with the infiltration of seemingly half the damn better organized bandit groups that had sprung up to take advantage of the aforementioned Mage and Templar conflict. In the year 1941 she was officially unofficially brought in to the inquisition as a mere thread in the vast web of Lelianas spy network. These days she continues to serve the now Divine Victoria with an almost religious zeal in and of itself. She does not believe in the Maker nor the Stone; if she were to have faith in anything it would be in Divine Victoria herself.