Name: Katrina Carlus
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Appearance:


Personality: Katrina is a blunt, brusque, and boisterous girl. She is the type to get into a lot of fights, but not necessarily out of choice; she just ends up picking a lot due to being irreverent, easily offended and highly competitive. If she’s given a good reason to hate someone, she will hold a grudge over it for a long time, and is far too stubborn to try and reconcile. She isn’t incapable of making friends and being friendly, but she’s easily provoked and difficult to approach. Anyone attempting to make friends with her will need the patience of a saint, if they even think it’s worth the trouble.

While she may not seem like it, she is a true believer in the cause of the Knights of the Iron Rose. If you strip away several layers of caustic cynicism, you’ll find a person that sincerely wants to help the weak and do right by others. Her desire to help is usually expressed in the manner of a Reonite; that she wants to smite evildoers with all the might in her arms. She would only rarely admit to having a more personal motivation to actually help people.

Brief Backstory: Katrina comes from a poor background in one of Thaln’s major cities. She grew up in a large slum where crime and poverty were rife. As a small girl, she often witnessed many scenes of criminals and the like preying on weaker citizens, shaking them down for all the crumbs they had on them. Her own family was no exception to this, and their home was robbed many times in her youth. It was here that her anger grew, along with her desire to do something about all this injustice. As she got older, she began to fight a lot, learning to fight practically rather than through instruction. She gathered a small reputation for her assaults on the criminals of the slums, and this was how she was noticed by a knight of the Iron Rose, who wanted to introduce her to their order. Having grown up hearing stories of the knights, she had always idolised them, and was all too eager to join.

Her entry into the order was met with a mixed reception. Few could doubt her ability, especially as she developed further with proper instruction. Her dedication was certainly not in question, as she was more than ready to take up the cause of the knights. But she did not fit in well with the more traditional, hierarchical elements of the order, and she had no love for its antiquated traditions. She conflicted heavily with the aristocratic recruits of the order that weren’t prepared to look past her background. While she could care less about the politics of succession, she certainly wishes for the order to flourish, and so she will be watching closely as to how the fresh command of the Knights of Iron Rose fares.

Equipment: Katrina’s armour is lighter than most knights, though still fashioned from iron plates. Her weapon of choice is a double sword that she acquired during her time as a knight.

Skills: Katrina is like a rushing bull in combat, attempting to use a mixture of speed and power to overwhelm her opponent at close quarters. Her training has geared her towards making use of her unique weapon almost exclusively. This also means she’s a bit inflexible in a fight.

She has long raven hair as black as the night. Her skin is nearly as pale as snow in stark contrast to her hair, with deep dark-brown eyes. She stands at a height of 5'8 (177 cm) and weighs a solid 120 Lbs (55 kg). Her body is athletic and limber; hard won and earned from her rigorous training and conditioning from a young age.

Kind, courteous, and empathetic to others; she is generally warm and compassionate to all who meet her. She treats those who are in positions of authority with high regard, being well-mannered and respectful. Dedicated to her family and to the People, she has a strong sense of duty, justice, and liberty instilled within her. In the face of adversity and hardship, she stands as firm and strong as a mountain. Noble blood giving her a confident and prideful bearing, she carries herself with the air and grace befitting of someone of her status. Although raised to be a lady, she can be somewhat headstrong and stubborn in her beliefs. Sometimes, her ox-headed ways can make her come across as one with an overbearing personality, openly speaking her mind on whatever comes across. She has a strong sense of what is right and wrong, good and evil, though sadly she is not well-educated to the ways and goings-on of the world. Having been sheltered and 'protected' during her youth.

Fencing/Swordsmanship - Adept with the blade, she typically aims for vital spots and organs using a thrusting/stabbing style of fighting. If unable to strike an enemy down quickly, she'll attempt to whittle them down. Disarming them however she can or working reduce the opponent's combat effectiveness. Not a purely offensive fighter, she can nimbly evade and counter using parries and ripostes with the grace of a dancer.

Archery - Though not as adept as she is with the blade, she has basic archery skills. Not the best marksman in the world, she can generally hit her target most of the time. Be they moving or stationary and only relatively close targets. High speed targets and targets at farther distances being rather difficult for her to track and engage.

Hand-to-hand combat - Should she ever find herself disarmed, she is not at a complete disadvantage in combat. Though lacking in physical strength as she specializes in agility and speed, she uses a basic fighting style with simple kicks, punches, elbows, and knees supplemented by a simple understanding of counters. Should she encounter an opponent much larger and physically stronger than her, she can quickly find herself overwhelmed in a prolonged engagement. Heavily armored foes are the bane of her existence. This is her weakest area.

Horse-riding/Mounted combat - Taught how to handle and ride a horse from a very young age, she can even conduct battle while mounted horse-back. Though, to a much lesser and reduced extent of course.

Sorcery/Magic: In the Delacroix family's attempts to rear and raise well-rounded and versatile knights, Marianne was taught the basic fundamentals of mana and how to use mana to create and weave spell casts. Though she is fascinated with the concepts of magic and desires to learn more, her best efforts thus far have only allowed her the ability to use one of two spells. The first being a straight upgrade to her swordsmanship, imbuing her weapon with the power of Lightning to increase the lethal effectiveness of her sword attacks. The second spell collecting and coalescing her mana to create an electrical orb of lightning with which she can form into a javelin to throw at distance targets. Both spells taking her considerable time to use as she only currently has the skill to use them after reciting relatively long incantations as opposed to a single word.

Lightning Blade - Touching and drawing her fingers across the flat of her sword, Marianne can imbue the power of lightning to the metal. Though it then glows white-hot and becomes wreathed in crackling arcs of electricity, the metal of her sword does not actually weaken and become malleable. Rather, the metal retains its base strength. A flat boost to her sword attacks, it allows her to deal increased damage against armored targets by amplifying her sword's piercing power. However, the spell only lasts a few minutes and for some reason or another Marianne can only it cast it once per day. She can even empower one of her ally's weapons, but at the cost of casting it for herself. Cuts and wounds caused by her blade do not bleed as they are instantly cauterized. Anyone foolish enough to touch her weapon is treated to intense electrical shocks, whilst she and she alone remains immune to such effects and can handle her sword safely. Being run through by a stab is enough to end most foes.

Lightning-bolt Javelin - Summoning and collecting electrical power within her body, Marianne can gather said power into a bright orb of light in the palm of her hand. Tightly crushing the orb, she then forms a throwing javelin capable of punching through most if not all non-enchanted armor. The javelin has the added bonus of a slight tracking/homing ability on armored targets and whether it finds a home within an unlucky foe's body or not, explodes on impact for small area of effect. However, this spell is not without its downsides. As this spell is currently Marianne's strongest ability, she can only cast it a few times a day before completely draining herself of mana. To add, its cast time is rather lengthy and requires time for her to recite her incantation before she could control it safely enough for usage. Typically she reserves this spell for only the most difficult enemy and requires the assistance of her allies to distract and protect her while she weaves the spell.

Continuing the list of negatives, this spell is rather fantastical. Emitting extreme amounts of bright light, intense heat, and creating a loud cacophony of raucous crackles, snaps, and hums. When let loose, the air cracks and booms with a sound similar to a thunderclap. Simply put, an intelligent and observant foe could see it from miles away. There is no stealthy nor fast method of casting this spell. That's not to say it's easily avoidable as its flight time and velocity is near instant and travels a straight trajectory. The worst part of it all, is that once cast the spell can no longer be controlled by Marianne. It is indiscriminate of its intended target be they friend or foe. Even during the casting period, Marianne must not be near her allies because of the dangerous volatile nature of this spell.

As a hilarious aside, the spell also has the unfortunate side effect of lingering sparks and arcs of electrical current to remain within Marianne's body. Causing her hair to become a wild, frizzy, and static-filled mess. A veritable pain to tame afterward.

Lightning Arrow - A relatively new spell she crafted during her training with comrade and fellow Iron Rose Knight Sir Tiral, its power comes from its versatility and efficiency. Very simply, she imbues her bow and arrows with her mana to fire lightning-charged projectiles. Its advantages over her regular javelin spell being its ability to be aimed more effectively, increased range, and numerous casts. Its disadvantages however being they take the 'regular' trajectory of a fired arrow, traveling in an arc and its lethality a fraction of what her hand-thrown javelins can output. However, the arrows increased piercing power and minature discharge on impact are still able to defeat nearly all non-enchanted conventional armor.

Side sword - A long and thin steel blade suited for thrusting and stabbing. Slashes with this sword typically leave only shallow wounds, though its edge is sharp. Due to its thin size, it's prone to bending and flexing under moderate force.

Buckler - A small steel shield on her left forearm used for blocking light attacks and strikes. Against foes wielding large, heavy weapons her buckler can crumple and fail. Forcing her to rely on her evasive abilities as it is unable to withstand against brute force.

Takedown Recurve Bow & Belt Quiver - Broken down and kept collapsed in multiple parts in a leather case is Marianne's cherished bow. Able to be reconfigured with different limbs and strings to fit the situation at hand in mere seconds. She often jests that any time she hits a target that it was due to the blessings of the Mayonite Goddess, but it in all actuality has no such enchantments. She has an accompanying quiver with various arrowheads worn around her waist as opposed to her back for faster nocking of shots.

Light Plate Armor - She wears thin and light, but strong steel plate armor protecting most of her vital spots and joints while allowing her full range of motion and mobility. Unhindering to her agility and speed, if only marginally.

Raised from birth to be a proper lady, she tries to not let her noble lineage inflate her ego. She was trained to be an exceptionally skilled warrior with a true compassion for others and a thirst to serve her country and its people. With a desire to prove herself and bring honor to her family's name, she was born with an ironclad resolve. Having been raised in a loving and nurturing environment, it clearly shows in her daily interactions with others.

The Delacroix family being a rather eccentric and odd bunch, her family's order of succession is by competence particularly in general magical/combative skill, ability, and quality of character. Instead of by order of birth, age, or gender. Being the youngest of three, she has two older brothers who were unable to be held to the standard she set. Easily earning herself the title of 'Tet de la Croix' with the eventual passing of her father and mother, the Duke and Duchess of the Delacroix noble family respectively.

The noble Delacroix family has served the land of Thaln for generations, producing and providing honorable Knights from their bloodline to defend the people of the kingdom. A code of tradition is heavily upheld and reinforced within the family. Devout followers of Church of Reon, the Delacroix family heavily sides with the Iron Rose Knights and believe their existence completely necessary. Their current ways to remain unchanged and unchallenged. It was long ago decided that for the Delacroix family, to produce a Knight each generation that could be allowed induction into the Iron Roses was the highest honor. Once satisfied that a child of the family was of age and sufficiently trained, they would send them off on what they considered to be a pilgrimage in an attempt to be scouted by the Iron Roses and earn a chance to be knighted.

The noble Delacroix family had long ago been established in the countryside of Thaln, she speaks with an odd throaty/nasal accent. Her speech punctuated with strange words from her native tongue that makes it difficult for some people to understand her dialect at times. The same going for her in her interactions with 'foreigners'.

Whenever she becomes emotional, she tends to lose a little restraint on her magical abilities and her body begins to collect and discharge large amounts of static electricity. Giving her a rather frightening appearance whenever angered as cascades of electrical arcs will travel erratically across her. It surely doesn't help that it also causes her hair to levitate, again a forsaken pain to deal with afterwards.

During much of her youth, seven lovely girls were raised alongside Marianne. As Marianne matured into a fine young woman, as did they. Trained and taught to be exemplary maids for Marianne, there is no task or no chore they cannot accomplish ranging from simple cleaning, laundry, sewing, cooking, and even basic equipment maintenance to name a few of their skills. Also known as Marianne's Seven 'Deadly' Maids, this group of chatty women are known for their feverish enthusiasm and energy in nearly everything, especially when it comes to gossip and general rumors. 'Socially deadly' to anyone unable to keep up with their rapid-fire chatter and ruthless character examinations. Other than their voices, different facial features, and slight body-type differences, the seven women dress exactly alike. Down to even the way they wear their own makeup and hair making it hard to differentiate the seven from one another, though somehow Marianne is able to tell them apart.

Name: Tarrya Khoroushi
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Race: Human


Personality: Tarrya has two personalities, one for the battlefield and one for... well, anything not the battlefield. On the battlefield she has no sense of humor and knows no mercy, expecting none in return. She speaks in a voice used to shouting over the din of war and has no tolerance for inefficiency. Out of her armor however, is a different matter altogether. She was raised by a scholarly mother, and like mother, like daughter. She spends her free time reading, usually. At odds with her battlefield persona, she's generally shy and reserved, happier spending her time in the pages of a book than carousing and drinking. That is not to say she avoids other people altogether, and a good, thought provoking conversation is as good as any book to her.

Brief Backstory:
Name a people under the sun, and Tarrya has probably fought some of them. In truth, any mercenary as well traveled as she could make this claim, but Tarrya has knowledge of the world to back it up.

Raised as a member of the low nobility - and destitute nobility at that, Tarrya originally never dreamed of making war her profession. Instead, she buried her nose in dusty tomes of ancient lore and modern science. She dreamed of unraveling the mysteries of the universe, and aimed to become a scholar and scientist, not only learning all that she could from others, but pushing the boundaries of mortal understanding further, to invent new and amazing devices. Even as she read and studied, she trained with the blade - more as a formality than anything else, but it was an enjoyable sport to her, and good excercise.

Unfortunately, the universe did not have the same purpose in mind for her that she did. To enroll at one of the great universities of the land took money, and money was something they had precious little of. Still enough to send her though, if just barely. That all changed one day, as her family lost most of what little money they did have and became peasants in all but name. Her dreams crushed, Tarrya wasted little time in moping, searching around for other paths in life to take.

Throughout her late night binge readings and general bookish life, Tarrya had read the autobiographies of adventurers and mercenaries, losing herself for a time in great battles and letting her wanderlust run wild through the pages. These stories came back to her at this time, and she resolved to join a mercenary company herself and achieve fame.

Her parents forbade it.

Undeterred, she stole away in the night about a week after, taking a small amount of gold with her to purchase arms and armor. She joined up with a smaller company in the area, and spent a year wiping out brigands and other dregs of society, steadily growing more experienced and skilled. She rose through the ranks surprisingly rapidly, eventually becoming a top lieutenant of the company, which by then had grown to become a sizeable force.

Her downfall came when, patrolling around a village, a group of bandits had crept in and murdered some villagers, taking the rest as hostages. Tarrya and a small contingent of crossbowmen and sergeants were the only force in the area, and they immediately rushed to the village’s aid. However, Tarrya’s many years of seeing death and devastation had hardened her heart and made her into a callous woman. When negotiations failed she simply ordered her crossbowmen to kill the bandits, regardless of how many villagers died. To “teach the bastards a lesson that hostages won’t work on us” as she had said.

She was stripped of her rank and arrested for the action. While she saw it as perfectly justifiable, others did not. In order to avoid harsher punishment, Tarrya promised to atone for her crime, joining the Blades of Iron Roses to defend the weak.

Or at least that was the line she fed them. In truth Tarrya didn’t care, the murder of the villagers was regrettable, but she felt no guilt in her heart. Nonetheless, she joined the Order as the retainer of one of the knights, accompanying him into battle and other duties. Nobody had informed her, however, that the new leader of the Order was an sixteen year old girl.

Equipment:

Heavy Brigandine Armor and Helmet (As seen in appearance section): What it looks like on the tin, a heavy duty set of sturdy brigandine armor consisting of tough layered steel plates riveted together and sandwiched between hardened leather - essentially forming a cuirass, albeit far cheaper and easier to create. The armor is incredibly durable, having saved her hide on more than one occasion from axe, sword, and mace blows that surely would’ve been her undoing otherwise. The armor is worn over mail and a padded gambeson.

Lucerne Hammer: A lethal weapon, spanning about three feet in length. Its primary function is as an anti-cavalry weapon, but is just as effective as a can opener, the brutal spike at the end equally useful for dragging an armored horseman off his mount as it is punching through his plate once off said horse.

Langes Messer: A brutal weapon with a self evident singular purpose - cleaving through as much flesh as possible. A strong blade, keen edge, and good quality steel ensure that this weapon will do exactly that.

Rondel Dagger: A weapon of last resort for armored fighting, when grappling with a knight, a quick thrust through his visor with the dagger is a surefire way of ending the confrontation.

Skills:
Weapon Master: Tarrya has been fighting for years, almost all of those fights to the death. She’s still alive. Her experience with all manner of weapons is nothing to shake a stick at, but give her a hefty sword or hammer and she has nary an equal, or at least, equals are a rare sight, and an unwelcome one if an enemy.
Leadership: Tarrya spent two years as a lieutenant in a prestigious mercenary company. Such a posting does not come easily, and in mercenary work there is no room for nepotism. She has thus acquired a good handle on commanding troops in the tactical sense, able to rally a second wind in exhausted soldiers and sense the opportune moment in a battle.
Sixth Sense: Years of fighting for a living have honed Tarrya’s awareness of her surroundings to a razor keen edge. It’s not quite a true sixth sense, but she’s highly unlikely to be caught by surprise by that angry infantryman with the nasty looking axe.

Name: Rolan Thatcher
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Standing at just above 6'0", Rolan is a lean, but muscled fellow who walks about with a catlike grace. He possesses aquiline features with a nose that has been notably broken many a time, a mess of dirty blonde hair kept swept out of his face and hard grey eyes, like orbs of ice.

Personality: Rolan is by all means civil in manner, but painfully introspective of all he does in this company of living legends, outside the order and among the more familiar rabble of the common folk Rolan is a lot more unreserved in nature. He's suspicious and distrustful of strangers, however those of whom earn his trust will often find loyalty, he is also often given to thoughts of extreme courage and heroism but his grounded nature, grown from a life of harsh reality often curbs him away from such daring action.

Brief Backstory: Rolan was raised in the town of Alugaurd, a bustling community nestled in what is known as the 'Golden Valley' in the northern reaches of Velt. Life was hard but fair growing up on his family's farm, growing, harvesting and selling the golden yellow wheat from whence the valley got its name. But as he grew so too did his spirit grow in restlessness, slowly filling with a desire to seek and explore until finally he could take it no more, and then on one warm, summers night, he stole off into darkness with nothing more then a few coins and the clothes on his back.

By the time the sun had dawned and flooded the world with a soft orange light, Rolan had almost walked all the way to the next town and although he desired rest, he knew he must walk on around it, lest he be discovered and held captive til claimed by his parents, for although he was only 13 and would probably be sorely missed, he couldn't imagine his folks would be too upset with his leaving, being one less mouth to feed. That would have been the case were it not for the fact he had also taken with him a family heirloom, his Grandfathers helmet, which he wore tied to his waist as a suspicious bulk beneath his coat, so on he walked, stopping only briefly to eat beneath the shade of some boulders clustered around the foot of a nearby mountain. His travels continued on for some time, leaving behind him the valleys and foothills of his home until stretching out before him was scores of endless plains as far as the eye could see, however his adventure soon turned sour as he ran out of food and was forced to forage among the meager game of the plains. Starvation was all he knew for the following week, walking shorter and shorter distances each day until he grew too weak to continue, laying down to die against a moss covered stone that rested at a crossroads as his world turned black.

Strangely the life in him clung on and the light from the sun above filtered through his shut eyelids, stirring him to wakefulness, weakly he opened his eyes, the light suddenly becoming too harsh forcing him to squint as he teared up, blinking profusely to regain his vision. It was then that he noticed he was moving, the ground beneath him slowly swaying from side to side, his hands ran along the length of it and found it to be wood, somehow he had found himself on the back of a horse-drawn cart. For as luck would have it he had been found and rescued by an old veteran soldier by the name of Horace Longfellow, having come upon the boy Horace took pity upon him and helped him in his recovery. Initially planning on dropping him off at the next village along the way, Horace eventually took the young lad beneath his wing, finding within him a certain kinship he had never had, being childless and a widower. And so it was that Rolan found himself living in the capital city of Thaln, where he eventually joined the city guard, whilst under the tutelage of Horace and thanks to him, served with distinction for many years. It was due to his excellent record as a city guard that one of the resident Nobles took an interest in him, eventually endorsing and backing him in the Iron rose knights recruiting process, hoping to use him as a tool of influence within its ranks.

Equipment:

A plain steel long sword with a black, well worn leather grip; Held in a simple and unadorned sheath at his side.

A small oak kite shield with iron rims, painted with the Iron rose knight insignia.

A simple hunting bow, with a quiver of iron tipped arrows.

His grandfathers helmet, refitted for himself:

Boiled leather armor, with a plain white tunic beneath, embroided on the right breast is the Iron rose knight insignia:

Skills: He's deadly proficient with his long sword from years of practical use and from training under Horace, however his recent training under the Iron rose knights implements shields which has hindered his usual grace with a blade. He also possesses unnatural vigilance and very little need for sleep from years of being on watch whilst with the city guard, a handy skill while watching horses and tending fires as a squire for his knights. And having being somewhat scarred by his experience on the road, Rolan has ensured that he himself became a skilled hunter and forager so he'd never go too hungry on any travels again.

Ian stands at 5'3" with a deceptively lithe figure hiding a surprising amount of strength. Atop his head are two pointed canine ears standing up about five inches with fur matching his hair color, he also has a nearly two foot tail of the same fur color.

•Name: Eadwig Aethlemund of Yaadsshoppe
•Age: 61
•Gender: Male
•Race: Human

Appearance:

o Eadwig is a grayed old man. In his youth, he had been considered comely enough. Never a man of great looks, but he did have a refined appearance of utility. He is a man of capability and function; his jaw is squared and his nose is crooked from injury. Eadwig’s face is weathered like leather, beaten by the elements and the Sun. Both of his ears have a beaten look from damaged cartilage and frost bite.

With Armor
Without Armor

Eadwig is a squat man of solid build and is strong and centered in his core from years of martial activity. In his older age, he has become more injury prone as his joints have become increasingly taxed and his speed has slowed. He has suffered many broken fingers and toes, his left arm has suffered numerous arrow wounds and a break, and he has broken ribs on many occasions.

•Personality:

o Eadwig is a reserved man of function. He enjoys that things work as planned and work logically. He is also a man who knows his place and believes others should as well. He is an up jumped commoner that understands the nature of the social system. Speaking out of line is dangerous and often stupid in his opinion. For this, he reserves his judgment unless otherwise asked, and he often maintains an aura of impassivity.
He too is a man who does not take loyalty lightly. Loyalty comes with time and trust, and sees this bond as sacred. With his time in the Order, he also has gained a fatherly attitude towards the younger knights. He has a nature to be caring towards them, and to impart wisdom on them without talking down on them, but he does not typically go out of his way to lecture the younger knights unless he believes they truly need it or want it.
Eadwig is a man who unwinds and reflects. He drinks more often then he should, and becomes more insular the more intoxicated he becomes.

•Brief Backstory:

Eadwig is from the village of Yaadsshoppe on the fords of a major tributary of a greater Thaln river way. Yaadsshoppe had been founded by Eadwig’s great great grandfather Yaad who had settled the land for a lumber mill. Yaad and his wife had sixteen children, and the lumber mill became one of the more lucrative properties in their local lord’s demesne. Around Yaad’s great workshop, his children settled into their own homesteads working the land and the forest. Eadwig is the 4th son of a 3rd daughter of the 1st son of the 2nd son of Yaad; his pedigree made him less fortuitous than his cousins higher in the ladder of inheritance. Instead of a merchant or an administrator in the village of Yaadshoppe, Eadwig’s father was a cooper, a barrel maker, and his mother a chandler, or one who made candles. As a boy, Eadwig would tend to the sheep and then to the apiaries they were entrusted before learning more of the cooper trade from his father.
At fourteen a conflict rose up locally and the local lord raised levies. Eadwig and the younger men of the village less inclined to inherit well we taken off for war. During a battle, Eadwig’s greater lord was pinned beneath his dead horse and the young boy held his ground against three successive cavalry sorties with a pitchfork and a barrel lid shield until their soldiers could rally. Eadwig was taken on as a squire by the lord Aethlemund, and by 20 he was knighted for loyal service to Lord Aethlemund and for martial prowess in and out of the number of small local conflicts.
When Lord Aethlemund passed on, Eadwig took on his passion for leal service to the common cause of law and serviced as a sheriff and watchman for several towns and villages before coming to join the Iron Rose at 26. A traditionalist at heart, Eadwig never looked down on the tradition of placing a young woman as the captain of the order. It was a challenge and a trial for all in the Order that would make them stronger; it was never to him to undermine the Captain but to serve. He has dutifully served within the Iron Rose for 35 years in nearly every campaign they have fought in for better or for worse. He has risen up to become a Sergeant of Arms within the Order, responsible for the training of fresh recruits and the drilling of formations. As he has aged, he has taken more of a back seat in combat and has served in the reserve in most recent expeditions and also the standard bearer. Nearing time to retire, Eadwig has been promised a small holdfast in Yaadsshoppe and has taken on the family name of Aethlemund after the man who brought him into the gentry and awaits the time he can move to his small hall and watch his children and grandchildren live a greater life than he had.

• Equipment:
A mustard brown suit of brigandine armor that falls to his knees with plated spaulders, gauntlets, besagews, and couters as armor.
He wears a coat of chain beneath this, and a helmet ontop.
He has a heater shield painted dark blue with a lit candle in the center and two honey bees on both sides and a third directly
below.
An arming sword.
A lance.
A dirk.
A voulge.
A short bow.
Depending on the order of battle, Eadwig will either use his lance or voulge. If it is a cavalry fight he will leave his voulge
behind, but if he is to fight on foot he will take his voulge. This equipment is kept with the supply train.

• Skills:
Skilled in martial arts.
A capable duelist with swords
A more than capable voulge wielder.
Hand to hand (i.e. wrestling)
A capable archer but nothing to write home about.
Horse riding
Beekeeping
Wood working from being a cooper’s son
Barber surgery assistant: he has pulled a number of teeth and helped set a number of bones.
Cooking.

Age: 37

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Teller stands at 6 feet tall with a style all his own, forgoing the knight in shining armor role and jumping right into the mad surgeon territory. A long coat made of tough but faded leather, matching gloves and solid boots with plating on the front, make up his usual attire. Chainmail has been sewn into the fabric making it a tad heavy but offering excellent protection. Perhaps the most striking feature is the mask he wears, featuring a conical 'beak' extending from the nose with two large green glass eyes. His face is entirely obscured, but his vision despite the helmet is entirely unrestricted. Inside the 'beak' is a soft incense meant to relax him and break down harsh poisons. A tophat for style finishes the look.
His outer coat has a belt wrapping around from shoulder to hip with 3 flasks filled with, in order; Lethal Toxin, numbing poison, healing salve. There are a few more caches of these liquids on his person at all times along with 5 syringes all full of one of the toxins. On his person for all to see is a small enchanted hand crossbow, to which he has a holster of bolts in his coat for ready use.
(The glasses of his mask and the vials are not glowing green. The glasses are clear, if a bit dark. As for his vials, they are all kept in crystal clear vials of enchanted glass. To prevent shattering.)

Personality: The green eyes of the mask hides the sadistic and cruel disposition of Doctor Anton 'Teller' Duboi. Dissecting monsters and men alike in the name of science, this cleaver wielding physician has horror stories told of him to children across the world. The remains of his victims are said to be found cleaved open like a stuffed pig after being subjected to the worst tortures the mind could dare comprehend. To see the beak of the Doctor was to know agony as your blood turned black.

Of course most of these are lies told by the easily frightened!

Anton Duboi is a studious and honorable fellow, in his own way, and though he does partake in the dissection and study of creatures far and wide it is only if they were killed after attacking him. Though it should be stated that Anton will not dissect a living creature, nor a living man. Unless it is to try and sew up internal bleeding or any other life threatening injury. New life is cherished and recorded by Anton in a leather bound, locked, booklet in his jacket with detailed descriptions of vital points, habits, diet, and lethality. Only when the creature forces him to kill it will the doctor examine it more thoroughly. Usually to the displeasure of his companions. Despite that grim work it is for the purpose of teaching the others of the order what to expect and give them a fighting chance against opponents they had never faced before. Knowledge was power.
Though his habitual need to know is put in a bad light there is still much to be gained from Antons presence on and off the field. Decorated field surgeon, explorer, alchemist. This man has seen and done things others dream of on dark star filled nights from their beds. The problem is that you can only see so much before you become something else entirely.
The problem with Teller is that he talks. A lot. Oh he can be quite silent when he must and creep up on just about anyone for his rendition of 'quiet nights'. To which he will often drug a foe with tranquilizer and send them to their rest after he has asked his questions.

Brief Backstory: Born and raised in Thaln with his family, working in the hospitals and homes of the nobility, Anton was given medical training from the day he could read and write. Everything and anything that could be taught was crammed into his head. Every surgery his father ever performed had an audience of one, his son watching the deft strokes of the blade and the systematic perfection of cutting away dead or infected flesh only to be sewn up again like new. But the fascination for surgery was outshined by witnessing the corpses of those afflicted with disease or poison.
The decaying process, to Anton at least, was a beautiful nightmare made real. One man with a disease could kill thousands with a cough. Truly it frightened the boy beyond measure to think of such a powerful weapon created by the gods to strike down men. A weapon Anton did not realize he wanted to wield one day. But the problem was, and still is to this day, the 'how' of it all. Sorcerers could conjure illness but Anton was no finger waggler or practitioner of the arts. His was the calling of a surgeon.
On his 18th birthday, by this time a well known assistant to his father, Anton joined the knights of the rose as a combat medic and ventured with various squadrons to eliminate all manners of threat to the order and the people of the world. The mission had been to infiltrate a cultist organization and eradicate their stronghold. Believing their numbers were relatively small, the duty of destroying them went to a small group of knights rather than a traditionally larger squadron. The fighting was merciless, as the knights were outnumbers badly and ambushed. Those that were not killed outright were dragged off and strapped to tables to await the sacrificial blade plunging into their chest. Incapable of moving, the man was a liability to the mission. Anton was forced to wield a blade for the first time to strike down his commanding officer when the man fell victim to a paralyzing poison of some kind.
Fleeing the fortress cost half the lives of the small party, the rest carrying wounded across their shoulders but the going was slow. Everyone in the group knew that the downed members were dragging down the teams chances of survival. With enemies approaching their position there would be no time to operate of find a way to stop the effects, the officer asked that the brave injured be given a merciful and clean end. A mercy killing to end the pain of what would have been a horrible death otherwise.
Awarded some minor honors and a promotion to a position inside the order, a promotion borne more from the need to help with his trauma, that would stop him from needing to go on more missions was his reward upon return. Anton all but spat on the idea of staying in the orders midst and never seeing the wider world.

Nineteen years later at the age of 37, the mad surgeon Anton 'teller' Duboi still ventures out into the world to save the lives of his comrades and take the lives of any that threaten his homeland. Though not popular, the opinions of the protected mean little to him.

Equipment: Toxicity master - The belt of toxins on his chest contains a powerful anesthetic, a healing salve, and a vial of the deadliest toxic concoction Anton ever conceived.
Quiver of bolts resting in his left side coat in a custom holster to prevent them from moving or making noise as he moves.
Right hip is a hand crafted miniature crossbow pistol. While not very powerful, the bolts are razor sharp and coated in his poisons for rapid application.
In the pocket of his coat is a medical kit, complete with; Gauze, bandages, healing salve, burn ointment, incense, scissors, scalpel, tweezers, rubbing alcohol.
On his left hip is a a curved Khopesh kept at a razor sharp edge. The weapon itself is largely used as a butchers cleaver on the operating table. One clean stroke can take an infected arm off at the elbow.

Skills:

Master Surgeon - Advanced medical treatments, capable of field surgery, master of medicines and poisons, and an alarming understanding of creature anatomy.
Toxic immunity - Not complete immunity but it would take the sting of a very dangerous creature to bring this doctor to deaths door. Airborne poisons have no effect thanks to the incense of the mask he wears.
Combat proficient - Fighting in the field as soldier and surgeon alike has led to the development of Tellers reflexes and battle readiness, making this healer a monster in the thick of a fight and operating in a hospital.
Dead nerves - While not necessarily a 'skill' it should be stated that, thanks to all the chemicals he has inhaled or injected himself with, the nerves on a large part of his body to not allow him to experience physical pain to the same degree others might.

She has bright blond hair tied into a loose ponytail paired with her fair skin makes for a delicate image. Her Slim build often does little to deny the fact. She has bright green eyes and stands around the height of 5'4. Her body is slim and limber a result of her training she took up from a young age.

Viviane is extremely prideful and a bit haughty always holding herself to be one of the best. She hates being rejected and only really wants to be accepted for who she is. With that said she means well despite everything no matter how she boasts she does know that she is not perfect and that there will always be someone stronger. She loves a good fight always willing to fight should the need arise. Despite this attitude she can not stand war itself seeing it as needless killing. She can be a caring person but it is often hard for people to see past her flaws.

Swordsmanship - Skilled with the sword she often tends to aim for certain points on the body first to disarm than for the kill. Her style with the sword is unique in the fact that is a offensive style with heavy blows but she is also able should the need arise to block and deflect blows with her sword. She disdains fighting styles that often deals damage with more roundabout ways like fencing. She is ferocious in a fight often trying to give the enemy little room to block or attack.

Spearmanship - One of her two main forms of combat she is just as skilled with the spear as her sword. Though she prefers using a sword her skill with a spear is just as good. Her style with a spear slightly resembles her one with a sword. She is quick and ferocious with her attacks using every part of the spear to her advantage.

Horse-riding/Mounted combat - Her skill while mounted is no less diminished being raised to be able to fight both on and off a saddle she is more than ready to fight.

long sword - A rather unique sword with scarlet decorations along the sword. The sword itself is a unique as a large two handed arming sword. The sword itself is somewhat heavier than normal and with runes along the blade that makes it sharper than normal.


Long spear - A long barbed spear that is rather simple in design and function it lacks any enchantments.

Plate Armor - She wears a unique set of plate armor covering most of her body. Its unique design meant to deflect blades. Its layered design meant to add more protection while the spiked arm guards were designed to be able to counter and block attacks due to her refusing to use a shield.

Viviane was born into the old noble line of Kresznik. Though in current times their name and family is not as well known as it once was. Despite that the family was content or was till Viviane was born despite being the illegitimate child of her father she was still raised as one of his own. This caused discord in the family as her mother disdained for getting what she wanted the status and the comfortable living that was supposed to be hers. While her step mother hated and despised her for being the "stray" that wandered in and started bothering her "perfect" family.

Her father on the other loved and cared for her despite everything. This made Viviane wanting to make her father proud so she took to the sword. Seeing her skill only made her father prouder of her. Though with most things all good things come to an end. Overtime her father cold and distant towards her. Being his only child and without a son made it where he had no heir. When she rose to the challenge and said she could do it but it was not to be. Being denied and hearing how she was nothing more than a "stray" as her step mother said she lashed out and rebelled. Despite the fathers effort on why she wasn't able to be the "heir" Viviane refused to listen seeing it as if her father betrayed her.

Her father loved her still and wanted the best but felt that despite having the skill she lacked a certain quality that was required to really be the heir. Viviane did not see it like that however and saw it as if her father didn't want her, hated her and wanted her gone. Feelings that her step mother only encouraged pushing more and more in effort to deepen the divide between father and daughter. Till it started Viviane had enough the trigger being her father's sudden refusal to meet her gaze. This was the final straw with that she lashed out taking only what she deemed needed. It was going to be a rebellion against her beautiful father. Leaving without a single look back she traveled and due to her skill she was sure that she would be able to gain a spot as a knight. It would take time but she would become the best so that her father had to admit that she was worthy than and only than would they all see how wrong they were. Her rebellion against her father would end when he finally saw that she was worthy more than worthy of being the heir.