Barric The Spear

40

From first glances the thing that becomes apparent almost immediately is that Barric is no northerner by blood at least. From his auburn now splattered with clumps and streaks of grey to his aquiline nose and jagged jawline hidden beneath a rough beard, he very strongly carries the blood of the south in his veins. Despite this the man carries the same rough sense of purpose in his gait and way of carrying himself that is distinctively northern in its appearance. His build is lean and spryly in its appearance lean and built for endurance rather than the explosive strength of most northern warriors. This combined with the fact that he is naturally shorter than his northern brothers making him seem like a twig among towering tree trunks. Deep set into his angular face are a pair of light brown eyes that once seemed to twinkle with a sort of mischievousness to them but theses days just seem tired and worn out by the constant pressures of trying to just survive another day.

Barric dresses in what most would considered normal for his environment draped in a combination of heavy furs and tanned leather with a large cloak of dark fur atop it all. He still wears his whalers boots wherever he goes the thick hide perfect for keeping the snow out and the heat in rising about to just below his knee in length. The clothing is designed for function not appearance and that function is to weather the cold. The layers themselves provided some protection from weapons as they must force their way through them to get to naked flesh but a axe in a well used hand could easily cut through it without much of a care in the world. The furs themselves always seem to carry the particular odor of thick wood smoke upon them so much to the fact that some suspect that the smell is not trapped in the furs but in Barric himself.

Once Barric would of said that his only dream was to see the world, to experience everything life had to offer and maybe sleep with a few lovely ladies. Yet that time had long since past and priorities seemed to have tampered with age. Now he could care less about the world, hell he could care less about himself now his only concern was for his children. When they born all those years ago, Barric didn't want them, he found the idea of children utterly repulsing but he stayed anyway, he stayed because it was the right thing to do. Yet slowly he found himself caring for two little rather stupid blobs that he would call daughter and son. He watched them grow, he watched them learn to walk and he taught them important things like how to fish and how to make a spear. Then his wife died in the first few months of the endless winter leaving him alone with them in the world. By that point they were almost adults by most standards and they could look after themselves but he couldn't loose anybody else. Now all he cares about is keeping them alive, is keeping his family together and getting through whatever hell they have been cast into.

Beside his strong devotion to his family Barric is known around Aoalvik as probably one of the most dependable people you'll ever have the pleasure of meeting. When he used to serve on the Jarl's council as the spokesman for the sailors and fisherman he was known to fiercely debate upon issues and stood up for the ideas that he believed in. He was a so called pillar of the community, a natural born leader that made sure that everybody got what they were needed and that problems were solved quickly and with efficiency. And he did it all with a smile on his face. But that was some time ago and the death of his wife changed him much making him more more reclusive than he was, almost always either being found in the tavern drinking by himself or at his home in some sort of deep thought. These days Barric is tired, pushed forward by a steadfast resolve in spite of his own failures and sorrows.

Not much is known about Barric's past before he came to Aoalvik, not even his children really know. But from what can be gathered it is believed that Barric grew up in the southern port town of Byrle to an alcoholic mother and an absent father. To escape from his family life at the tender age of ten Barric became a cabin boy on a trade ship and left Byrle swearing to never come back as long as he breathed. For the next several years he jumped from ship to ship traveling the world and learning the ways of a sailor as he earned his keep doing meager tasks like swabbing the deck and peeling potatoes. One faithful day though at the age of twenty one, he found himself on a southern trader heading to the far north to the port city of Aoalvik. Barric did not want to go to the north, he'd traveled their before in his time and he found the people unruly and the climate far too cold for his liking. But the pay was good and he needed the coin, so he went along anyway. He never expected to stay in Aoalvik, he never expected to become used to the cold and the people, he never expected to find the love of his life selling furs in the Aoalvik market with her father.

They never do of course.

He stumbled out of a tavern trying to drink away the cold when he saw Signe. She was the most beautiful girl that Barric had ever had the pleasure of seeing. She stood tall and proud arguing with a merchant about the price of furs. Her long dirty blond hair fell to about her waist and her green eyes were strong and fierce, a deep scar running across the nose of her face. Thus he did not return to his boat which was leaving port that day and began the process of trying to court the girl. At first she was hesitant of Barric, the people of the north did not look kindly to outsiders such as him with his odd accent and strange mannerisms. But if Barric was one thing he was persistent and over the days and weeks she slowly began to warm up to the stranger and warmth became friendship, and friendship became affection and affection as it sometimes does ended up becoming love.

The first few years were tough on Barric even after he married Signe and the twins were born. He found work on on the whaling ships that called Aoalvik its home port, and showed his worth as a sailor, but even so he was still the outsider. He was still the southern that had come into their world, took one of their woman and was pretending to be something more than he wasn't. People often did their most to try and not talk to the man or even look in his direction and if they even had any questions or things for the family they would direct them towards Signe rather than himself. But that would all change the day he earned the title he openly hates Barric The Spear.

It was an early spring day and Barric's ship among the others were already heading out for a days work. But upon the horizon they spotted something, something that struck fear into the hearts of even the strongest men. Three Wylding Raider longboats cresting over the horizon sails unfurled and oars slicing through the water at a breathtaking pace. With their gargantuan size and seemingly unnatural strength they soared through the thawing water heading straight towards the clusters of ships. Panic arose among the crews as they tried to turn around to return to the safety of Aoalvik. But it was no northern man that answered the call of courage that day, it was Barric the southerner who had dealt with many a pirate in his time. Rather than try and retreats from the steadily advancing longboats and been inevitably cut down in the process, Barric rallied the sailors and staged a defense against the ships using their bigger if less heavily armed whaling vessels and trade ships to smash into the weaker longboats before leaping on board spear in hand and assaulting the surprised Wyldings. That day no ships were lost to the Wyldings an almost unheard of feat and from that point onward Barric was no longer a stranger but as one of them.

From that point forward Barric became something of what you call a pillar of the community, becoming the representative of the fisherman on the Jarl's council and helping keep Aoalvik generally running in tip top shape. He was elected to the position five consecutive times by his peers and refused a sixth nomination feeling that he was getting too old for the job and that new and passionate blood had to fill his place. During this time Barric began to focous more energy on making sure that his kids grew up right and learned the things that they needed to surive. All seemed well.

Then the Gods War Happened.

The unnatural winter cold came quick and it came hard. The chill of those winds took the breath away from Signe. She had a cold, a cold that at any other time she could of gotten over within a weeks time. But this time there was no such luck, the cold pushing forward and sapping her life away without reprieve. Barric was shattered, broken and destroyed become nothing more than the former shadow of himself. He took to drinking his troubles away and took to it hard. It has been two years since then, two years since the world started to fall apart and in that time Barric has never seemed to fully regain who he was before his wife death, but he stays alive and he stays strong not for himself but for his children. Determined to make sure that they make it through whatever lays ahead.

To put it plain and simple, all Barric wishes to do is make sure that his children make it through. He doesn't care about anything else or anything else in particular.

Hi!

Nope.

18

Out of the twins Aleia certainly takes after her father more than her mother with the southern blood showing apparent in her appearance. Unlike her father though, Aleia is not a small and slender creature. She stands taller than him and is of a strong and muscular build intimidating in its appearance akin to in modernity something like a MMA fighter. Her hair is a little lighter than her fathers showing more red than his darker browns and her eyes an icy blue much like her mothers. A line of freckles dances across her nose and cheeks above a small nose and a mouth that seems almost permanently etched into some sort of smirk. Despite this Aleia has an air of a warrior about her much, more than either her brother or even her father at times with a determined expression and a way of carrying herself that shows that she means business. There is a large claw mark going from her left ear downward towards the tip of her chin gained while on patrol when they ran into a rather angry bear. Her hair is kept short falling at just about ear length in level allowing it to easily be fit inside a helmet.

Usually Aleia can be seen in the chain mail and fur garb of the town guard, sword and shield in hand. The uniform is kept well intact by the girl and clean much like her weapons showing a particular intensity in the caring for and overall dedication shown in her work. When she is not wearing her outfit, she wears simple clothes of cloth that appear if a little bit baggy upon her. It is not hard to figure out that Aleia is not one that cares much for her own physical appearance and if she could just stay in her uniform at all times she would probably do it. It makes things simpler, one less annoyance to think about.

When she was younger Aleia was a much different person. She enjoyed goofing off with her brother, going on adventures and generally causing a great ruckus everywhere she went. She saw the world as a place filled with adventure just waiting for her to run out and grab it. She was going to be a Warrior Queen, A Rider of Dragons, A Wizard and fifty other things by the time she was ten. Then the snow began to fall and never stop, and then her mother died. It was this moment that caused something of a turning point in her life, she went from fun loving and serious to somber and very goal oriented. Joining up with the city guard, she turned her anger and aggression towards something more productive allowing her to at least vent out her emotions. She had to be strong to just for herself, but for her father and her brother. She had to be able to protect everybody and to make sure nobody else died. She had to do something. On that note she is fiercely protective of her brother and gods help any who would dare to try and harm him.

Of course though this air of stalwart responsibility is something of a facade. A carefully constructed ruse that she built after her mother died, so that she seemed strong so that her father stopped worrying about her. On the inside she is something of a wreck caught between her own feelings that everything is pointless and spiraling heavily out of control as even the gods have left, so why are they still around? As people she knows are dying and starving while she's supposed to be helping keep the order and keep everybody from killing one another while she can barely keep her own head on straight. But of course she never displays this outwardly, she bits her lip and keeps the screaming and the crying on the inside. Because you know this is real healthy for a young person, real healthy indeed.

Aleia is the older of the twins by a margin of less than a minuet but none the less flaunts it over her younger brother. Out of the two of them she was certainty the more troublesome of the pair while he would read and play his instruments, Aleia would sneak out of the house to go on adventures, climb buildings and often fall off of them. She was always an anxious child, never being comfortable standing in the same place for long and always wanting to do something, go somewhere never content with just sitting around. In short she possessed much of the same adventurous spirit that drove her father in his youth something that two of them managed to bound over, as Barric would occasionally help his young daughter sneak out of the house and go on the whaling ship with him so that she could pretend to be a pirate or something.

There life was a simple one if not a good one. They didn't have much in terms of money but they had enough so that they wouldn't starve at night and unlike some her parents loved one another very much allowing for a well established and stable family life. As she grew up while her brother had more of a well defined path going ahead of him, Aleia had less luck meandering about rather unsure of what she wanted to do with her life. She never thought about joining up with the guard until she was actually approached by them. She had just gotten into a fight with some larger boys that were trying to get money of her brother. A poor circumstances for them as while Aleia got a busted nose and some new bruises from the encounter, they got a couple of broken bones and a crushed source of pride. The guards were impressed with the girls skill when they had to eventually come in and break up the fight and prevent Aleia from pounding one of the boys head into the stone work. They didn't throw her in the stockades out of respect for her father but they did suggest that if the girl wanted to use her fighting prowess for something a little bit more productive and helpful for society.

The girl would not remembered those words until her mother died some time later. The remnants of her family acted quite differently to the tragedy that fell before them. Her father took to isolating himself and drinking his feelings away, her brother lost himself in the moment become more and more self-destructive wanting to feel everything else beside the pain and Aleia buried it all deep within herself refusing to show any emotion at all. She joined up the guard and lost herself in the training and the day to day activity pushing away the feelings and focusing on the day by day. The work went by as the routine became almost numbing to her and two years seemed to pass by in a blink of an eye. And now the Wyldings are coming and what in the gods name is she supposed to do now?

Aleia is driven forward by a strong sense of duty. Duty to the city, duty to the people and most importantly duty to her family.

Sword and Board: Aleia is well accustomed to her choice weapons a hand axe and a large reinforced round sheild.
Fall Down? Get back up: Aleia demonstrates a surprisingly level of resilience able to take a lot of hits before she falls down.
Grace Under Pressure: At the worst of teams Aleia can keep her head on straight or at least fake the appearance of keeping calm under the trials of life.
Strong Like Ox: Aleia possess tremendous levels of raw strength very useful for common activities like picking up and carrying heavy things and also useful for putting as much weight as possible behind her swings.

Hi again!

Fally: Used almost exclusively by his sister much to his annoyance

18

From outward appearances, Falke can be described most easily as a conventionally handsome lad. Unlike his sister, Falke seems to have much more of the northern blood in him. His stands with a lean and tall build meant more for stamina and endurance than the brute strength of his sister. His hair is a dark blonde in color almost nearing towards lighter shades of red and brown depending on the light and is kept pulled up in a messy looking ponytail of sorts. He possesses a strong jaw line and a cocky if a little bit crooked smile. His eyes are an eerily match to his father's when he was younger the same light green matched with the same mischievous twinkle. Unlike his sister who could care little for appearances, Falke is well aware of the fact that those of both sexes considered him to be fairly attractive and he milks that for all its prospective worth. A real charmer don't cha know.

Falke dresses in normal clothes for a skald in simple leathers and furs nothing too garish. Though they are certainty tailored by his own hand to be more form fitting as opposed to his sisters appearance. He's volunteered to do the same for her clothing so that she could catch the eye of a man, but alas she seems uninterested in such things much to Falke's disappointment. The most noticable thing about his attire though is the amount of pockets, an almost outrageous amount and almost all of the pockets are filled with something. What do they continue? Well he likes the sense of mystery, so maybe you will find out on day. Or maybe you won't.

Some people move incredibly fast, never slowing down to the point that there is is no one there to catch them with they inevitable fall in the end. Falke is one of those people. Partly to keep the pain away and partly just to feel anything he moves along through life at a breathtaking pace, taking ridiculousness chances and always chasing after that next hit be it a good high or the most depressing of lows. He does not seem to care rushing ahead as some sort of terrible self destructive tornado whirling ever ahead and taking in and spitting out whatever comes in his path. Fear and thinking doesn't seem to register in his mind as much as they should, instead he acts on animalistic instinct at a snap fire pace, sometimes doing things just to see how bad they make him feel. This react first think later policy causes conflict with almost everybody he meets from his sister and father to anybody else all trying desperately to get him to slow down at least for a little bit.

The boy shows a surprising level of depth though from his self-destructive nature, incredibly well spoken and well read and with a head full of big ideas. This comes from a very strong love and attraction towards stories, stories of all kinds. In the tales and in the words he finds not only solace but like minded ideas and people. They allow him to experience a full range of emotions from the most terrible sadness to the most amazing feelings of happiness. And the stories themselves are everywhere, everyone in the world has a story, a story that Falke wants to find and draw out of them in a desparte attempt to find some sort of connection with another human being.

For all his own problems and hiccups, the boy is if anything else a very charming sort of individual, some would go as far to call him a charlatan and hoaxer but he finds such terms to be such unnecessary cruel in their origin. In truth he's less of a good liar than he is a very good listener, he listens when nobody else does and he does so intently with all his senses. By doing so he has a very particularly good sense at reading somebody and says the words that they needed to hear at the correct moment. He may steal your necklace but he will do it while helping comfort you over the loss of your beloved cat.

Over the years he had became relatively distant from his surviving family, speaking only to his father on some occasions and seemingly avoiding his sister at all costs much to her anger. Maybe he feels guilty, ashamed or something else nobody really knows.

Falke's earliest memory is of his mother singing to him. He doesn't know why she is, but he knows he is in her arms and she is rocking him back and forth gently while in a gentle flowing voice signs an old northern ballad. It seemed fitting for a young man who would evidently traveler down the path of a storyteller and a performer. Falke was always a little bit different as a child than his sister or most of the normal kids in Aoalvik. He did not pretend to be a warrior by waving a stick around or try to climb the outside of the guard tower without being caught. Most of Falke time was spent sitting on the floor of the local tavern where his mother worked listening to the Skalds work there craft spinning stories of heroes and singing songs which could break the hearts of even the most stone faced gentlemen. He fell in love with this craters of word and song, finding himself memorizing every word to the tales they weaved and practicing the dramatic motions they used while they spoke. He begged his parents to get him a lute and one day his father came back from the harbor with one which he practiced with day and night even as his fingers bled to be able to play it properly.

It was only till Falke was a little bit older that he realized he could use these talents for more than just telling stories. He realized he could use such talents to get what he wanted from people with a well placed story and the proper belief behind it. The first time he did so he was eight years old and by pretending to a be a small urchin he received free food and some coin from a kindly lady. From that point forward Falke was off to the races and where he went trouble seemed to follow almost exclusively hot on his heels. Normally he'd end up pushing way too deep and getting himself way over his hell either scheming the wrong person or making the wrong guys sister sad, resulting in having to have his sister bail him out of trouble and making sure that he kept all the teeth inside of his mouth. But all seemed to be good, everybody was happy at least. Then his mother died.

The death of his mother may have effected Falke ever more than his father. Falke had always shared a deeper connection with his mother than he did was his mother, as the one life line that still beloved that underneath his troublesome exterior that their was still a good person laying somewhere beneath it all. No matter what she still loved him and she was always proud of him. When she died what little restraint Falke still possessed sort of just flew straight out the window. He lost himself in drink, money and the pleasures of flesh all in equal amounts as all seemed to fly about plenty in what seemed to be the end of the world. He went down his path as a performer more than he did before. He came home late if he came home at all spending his time playing in the taverns for coin and wandering the streets looking for more stories.

With the collapse of society and the Wyldings burning down villages and cities lots of culture and history is being lost day by day. Falke wishes to preserve this culture in his own special way by collecting as many stories as he can.

Bye!

36

Carver is an enormous man, tall and broad-shouldered and towering over most of the people he surrounds. These days, he’s rarely ever seen out of his armor – enormous, finely-crafted plate mail, once polished and gleaming but now scratched, dented, and worn from countless battles, the many decorations and inscriptions on its surface rendered illegible. On his back he wears a tattered brown cloak, the fine fabric of its creation now almost wholly replaced by patchwork burlap stitching. He is never seen without his enormous greatsword either in his hands or sheathed on his back (literally never, he even sleeps with it.)
Underneath the armor, Carver’s muscular form is absolutely carpeted with scars and bruises. His once-handsome face has been battered from countless fights, leaving his nose crooked and his cheeks scarred. He has blue eyes and a mane of blonde hair that hangs around his shoulders, which he occasionally ties back if he’s out of his helmet long enough. His entire appearance, in face and garb, is that of a man who once must have been handsome and radiant, but whom hard living and constant combat have worn down.

Carver is completely dominated by his passion and sense of idealism. He is obsessed with chivalric values of honor, compassion, and courage. In spite of everything that’s going wrong in the world, he has retained an indomitable optimism and a capacity to believe the best about other people, showing a blind faith in humanity that many might consider foolish.
He’s highly protective of people around him with a borderline martyr complex when it comes to keeping them safe. He’s particularly invested the well-being and training of his squire Christina, as he’s vested upon her the majority of his hope for a better tomorrow or at least the continuation of his knightly ideals after his death.

To the west of Aoalvik there once stood a mighty city known as Hendel, renowned for its prosperity, its power, and above all the legendary brotherhood of warriors that protected it – the Knights of Hendel. These warriors relinquished all claims to land or wealth, instead dedicating their lives to the honing of martial crafts and the pursuit of chivalric ideas, and were led by four knights representing the seasons and the diverse interpretations of knighthood. It was into this brotherhood that the orphan Carver Arken was raised from birth.
As the lad grew up, he stood out from his peers in several ways. Not only did he prove to be an exceptionally skilled fighter, he also accepted the idealism of knighthood with an energy and passion that impressed and at times intimidated his fellows. To most of the other knights, these notions were abstract guidelines to be considered and utilized – to Carver, they were the law. It was no wonder that his rise to prominence was so meteoric, and when he turned sixteen he was taken as the personal squire of one of the most respected knights in the order, the Knight of Summer.
Carver served his master faithfully and accounted himself well in many battlefields, and it was of no surprise to anyone when he was knighted four years later, at the time of his master’s death. What did surprise many was that, citing his fiery dedication to the ideals of the order, Carver was immediately selected as the replacement Knight of Summer, a position he served in faithfully for many years.
Then the God-war happened, and with it came the troubles. Crops failed and savage hordes descended as the endless winter set in, and the people of Hendel looked to their knights to protect them. The Knights fought valiantly against the Wyld hordes, repelling invasion after invasion but taking heavy losses each time. One day the line broke, the bulwark failed, the knights were slaughtered and Hendel put to the torch. As far as they know, Carver and his squire Christina were the only survivors of the order.
Since then, Carver has led the duo all across the land as a knight errant, protecting the innocent and fighting against evil wherever they can. This aimless quest has led to them escorting refugees to the city of Aoalvik, where they currently are.

To protect the innocent and finish Christina’s training; on a broader scale, to live by his ideals until the day comes when he is called to die for them.

Blade of Righteousness: The Knights of Hendel were peerless warriors, and Carver was one of the best. He is adept in the use of his blade, wielding it quickly and nimbly despite its great size.
The Cavalry: What sort of Knight is unable to ride into battle atop his noble steed? Though he’s more comfortable on foot, Carver is still a formidable threat from horseback, able to charge with the best of them.
Voice of Reason: What he considers to be his most valuable talent is his ability to persuade others. Carver’s a pretty good speaker, and more than a few times in his adventures he’s been able to talk his way out of a situation rather than fight, mainly by preaching his ideals or appealing to someone’s sense of right and wrong.

Hello.

Chris

19

Chris is a young woman standing in at about 5'8" in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to continuous physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Chris is in good fighting shape, and her body is sinewy and lithe. Her hair is a paled red color, and freely flows down to her upper back in messy locks, and her eyes are a light hazel. Her fair skin is lightly weathered and often dirty, but relatively unmarred by blemishes and scars.

Her regular garb is comfortable and durable cloths of dark and muted colors, and tough leather boots. However, over this garb Chris typically wears a mail hauberk, the 'skirt' portion beneath her waist sporting thick leather buckles for added protection. Overtop the mail, she wears sturdy plate armor over her chest, shoulder, arms, and legs. The majority of the plate armor she wears does not encase her entire body, allowing her to still retain a large degree of her mobility and freedom of movement. Over all of this she wears a thick green cloak.

Quiet and reserved, Chris is a relatively soft spoken individual. Her calm and collected demeanor is often mistaken for an uncaring and aloof disposition. Underneath her quiet persona lies an innate brilliance, a highly intuitive and strategic mind. Highly perceptive and keen-eyed, Chris is excellent at noticing minute details and has excellent spatial awareness. Efficient, but often accused of lacking outward compassion, Chris is highly competent in a wide variety of skills, though is lacking in overall experience. Strong willed and possessing an air of determination, Chris can be highly critical and will regularly call others out on their shortcomings, often leading to her butting heads with others.

Despite her aloofness and cold tendencies, her time spent with Carver has gradually taught her the value of compassion. Much like her lord (is that what squires call their knights?), Chris harbors a soft spot for the innocent and weak, typically children and the dispossessed, and will readily stand up for them in times of conflict.

Born a the eldest daughter of a baker in the city of Hendel, to the west of Aoalvik. As a child, Christina was noted to be sort of a tomboy, preferring to rough-house with the boys rather than play with the girls. Christina got into a lot of fights as a child, as children did as they always did, and boys would often tease her. Despite these difficulties, Christina enjoyed her childhood. Hendel was rich, and safe, thanks to the strength of its famed knights. Like the boys, Christina dreamed of joining the Knights of Hendel, taking part in daring and glorious battles in bringing justice to the wicked.

When she turned 10, Christina joined the Knights of Hendel- with the very reluctant blessings of her parents, and joined their burgeoning ranks of pages. She was the only female page in the order, and many of the other pages, squires, and even knights were quick to reprimand her for small mistakes and remind her that the knights were a "Brotherhood", and that she should've been one of the chambermaids or nurses instead. Despite constant opposition to her presence, Christina proved herself to be of tougher mettle than many had expected. Her demeanor transforming to become more bullheaded and aggressive.

Christina was one of the last pages of her group to become a squire, many knights passing up on her for male candidates, citing them as either stronger, faster, or better than her in some regard or another. Despite her apparent neglect by other knights, many whom refused to take her on, Christina eventually found herself picked up by the Knight of Summer, Sir Carver- one of the youngest and most talented knights to have ever joined the order and be given such a title.

Under Sir Carver's tutelage, Christina grew immensely, her strong will and aggressiveness tempered by discipline, and transforming her into the proud, collected individual many know her as today. Showing natural talent with many weapons, Christina quickly proved herself to be one of the most talented squires in the Knights of Hendel, winning the Squire's Tourney- an biannual competition held by the Knights of Hendel in order to test their young squires, in her first year as a squire. It was only after she won that tourney did she finally begin to receive some sort of respect from the other members of the knighthood.

When the Wyld hordes came to Hendel, Christina joined the bullwark, showing her worth every battle as she aided the other knights and squires in defending their city from the terrible onslaught of Wyldings. Fighting alongside her brothers in arms, Christina fended off wave after wave of wyld savages until one fateful day when their stretched lines were finally shattered. Outnumbered, the Knights of Hendel were overwhelmed as hordes of Wyld marauders surged into the city. Christina watched in horror as her brothers were slain about her, and her family and their home were put to the torch. Fleeing with her knight, Sir Carver, Christina believed the two of them to be the only remaining members of the Knights of Hendel, and one of the few remaining citizens of Hendel.

Christina now follows Sir Carver as he journeys across the countryside, righting whatever wrongs he sees. Christina learns what she can, seeking to improve herself physically and mentally, so that she may avenge her family.

Chris seeks to avenge the death of her brothers and sisters of the Knights of Hendel, and accompanies Carver on his journey to right the world of wrongs. Chris despises Wyldlings for destroying her home and family.

None

37

Adjantis' only motivation is survival at any cost. He dreams of restoring his wealth to what it once was but has little hope for that dream ever becoming a reality.

Adjantis possesses various skills with regards to persuasion. His time in the merchant profession gave him ample opportunities to hone his skills of getting what he wanted from others without resorting to violence or other duress. In his current situation this translates to pushing his product on anyone with a problem they can't solve, usually appertaining to problems of health. He also possesses skills in potion brewing and medicine which he has become rather proficient at given the amount of practice he gets.

Adjantis' notable equipment are his leather armor chest piece, a long dagger, and various vials and bottles containing poisons, medicines, and unknown properties.

Taz, Tazy, Iara, whore, girl. Anything man can think up

24

Taza's not at all a threatening looking creature. Indeed she looks almost like a doll, with her fine features and short stature. She stands only 5'2 and weighs a little over 100 lbs, she has dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes and full pink lips set on very light olive coloured skin. She is a strong one for being so little, which only fools find out once it is too late.

She wears heavy wool under garments and a light cotton dress that is a maroon in colour. She also wears a leather outer corset, long knee high leather boots and shoulder guards, as it is light while still offering some protection. She also wears one arm brace for shooting arrows.
You will often see her with a thick leather studded choker necklace, this is as much for protection as it is for looks. She also wears this choker to hide a large scar that runs across her neck.

Taza is in no way a virtuous young woman, this doesn't mean she doesn't have values or morals. But she knows the game, any nomad would. Even before the fall of the world she knew that people would cheat to get their own way, so why not her too? This way of thinking has left Taza a little rigid, but if you have her loyalty she will do nearly anything for you.
Before the Fall, Taza often prayed to the gods and gave nearly daily devotions, but after the Fall, after what she saw the mages do. She now hates the magic users, even though now they can't do much. She hates them with such a burning passion that it cannot be described only felt. She still prays to the gods in hopes that they will hear her cries and come back, but her hope of them returning is slowly beginning to fade.

Taza was born into the Dystraay nomadic clan to the north, not far from the Wyld Folk border. Life even from the beginning was tough, as she was a small and sick baby. The clan chief had told her mother to leave her in the wilds as they had no time to care for a sick child. But her mother refused and prayed to the gods to make her daughter well, they seemed to take pity on her and answered her prayers.
Though the gods made Taza well she was still very small, which made her an easy target for others to pick on. But she used her smallness and doll like features to good use as she was able to charm a few of the boys in her clan to protect her from those that bullied her. Her smallness also came in handy when hiding or even when spying, as she could be very hard to see when she wanted to be.

One day when she was about 15, a horde of Wyld Folk attacked her clan. They killed the men and children out right but used the women before cutting their throats. And so was to be her fate, as they lined the women up and pushed them to their knees. She can still remember the feel of the hand the held her chin up and the cold steel of the blade held to her throat. She prayed then, a silent prayer asking the gods for help, the blade was dragged across her neck. She doesn't remember what happened after that, what she does remember is the smell of blood and the incredible pain that racked her body, but most of all her throat. She is unsure if the gods heard her prayer, or if she was simply lucky. All she knows is that she survived when no one else did. For a week after she stayed in the blood stained valley, taking care of her neck while also tending to the dead. While also giving devotions to the gods.

Shortly after her neck had healed she wandered the wilds trying to come to terms with what she lived through. She wondered why the gods saved her and not her family. She contemplated ending her life, but it would of been an insult to the gods. This she knew as they must of saved her for some reason, she only wished to know why and for what reason.

As she wandered and contemplated, she suddenly heard screams of young women and yells of men. She came to an edge of a road, when she saw a merchant and his family being harassed by some bandits. The scene reminded her of what happened to her and her family, as the women were being held back and harassed while the men were being lead else where. Though the bandits didn't exactly seem like they wanted to kill their prey. As she watched the scene unfold, she suddenly felt a large hand on her shoulder. She tried to wiggle free, but she wasn't strong enough to break away from the man's grip. She was brought to the bandit leader who looked at her with interest, as he found her beautiful. He asked where she was from, that was when the merchant perked up and said that she was his servant and that he would give her to him if he let his family go. Taza was shocked that the merchant would sell someone he did not own and that if he did how he would so easily betray her. Her shock was turned into horror as she was now at the mercy of the bandit leader.

For two years she was forced to do many things for the man who owned her. She prayed to the gods every day for deliverance, and one day they heard her cries. All of the bandits fell ill and many died, which made it easy for her to escape. But it was in the middle of winter and Taza was in no way prepared for the challenges that she had to face, as it was spring when she was last on her own.

Cold and hungry she prayed again to the gods for help, asking them to give her a teacher. Someone who could teach her how to track and hunt. Again the gods took pity on her and sent her a young ranger. She was freezing and curled up in a ball when the Ranger found her. He nursed her back to health and though she was weary of the man that saved her, she could see that this man was sent by the gods even though he didn't seem to think so. She spent four years with him and he taught her many things from tracking to hunting to self defense and the art of archery. She grew strong and sharp in her skills, though she was no good in hand to hand combat but she knew enough to be able to get away. During the time she spent with the ranger she fell in love and he with her or so she was lead to believe. But it was a lie, as when they visited the village Nevmer, she noticed how he always slipped away for some unknown reason. One day she tracked him , even though he tried his best to cover his tracks, it was then that she caught him sleeping with another woman. What was left of her heart was ripped out of her chest. She left and never looked back.

From then on she travelled alone as she now knew how to survive on her own. One day while she was visiting a cities temple (she often visited temples and made offering to the gods), she over heard a mage ranting about how the masses should separate themselves from the enslavement that the gods had placed on them. Taza was shocked and appalled by the mages words, and spoke up saying that they needed to gods, as they had saved her life more than once. But the mage pointed at her and said that she was a fool and a slave to gods that cared little for their supposed people. Many seemed to agree with the mage which only angered her, as they were speaking blasphemy. It was not long after that, that the Gods War started and ended. She watched as the temples grew dark and how the cold covered the land, but she still prays. Why would they save and help her all those time only to abandon her now?

She has made few friends in her travels of late, but that matters little now. All that matters now is surviving, just as it always had been with her.

To survive, nothing else really matters to her.

Herbology/Healing: When her clan was alive she was learning to be a healer as there was little else a small girl like her could do.
Archery: Though she can't fight in hand to hand combat, she is an amazing archer and can kill her target many miles away.
Quick, Light and Gone: You see her now and two seconds later you don't.
Tracking: Need to know where that person or deer is? Ask Taza, she will find it for you.

A bow and quiver of arrows.
A dagger
A travelling bag filled with just the basics and a few herbs.
Cloak

Hello

Lone Wolf, Dragonsbane

29

His hair is black and worn in an unkempt fashion, pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. His skin is fair but ruddy. He has a noticeable fit and trim body, with practiced hard muscle, though lean. His face is not unhandsome, in a half commoner sort of way. He has a small scar on his left cheek, as well as 4 scars along his back, 2 criss crossing on his right bicep and one on the back of his left hand. He wears a torn wool vest over a grey-tan shirt. He wears a sarashi over both of his hands and forearms, leaving his fingers unwrapped. His feet are covered with sturdy traveling shoes. He wears halfplate armor, compromising of a breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, and thigh guards made of plate mail.

Introverted and introspective, Meldarion doesn't shy from conversation, but by no means enjoys it. Silence is his friend, and he prefers peaceful days on the open road than parties in a tavern. He loses mental energy in most social situations. However, camraderie with fellow soldiers he often welcomes, as he does when interacting with those he helps. He has a poetic mind at times, sometimes getting inspiration to paint or write, but most attempts end with him deciding to finish it later.
He tries to be conservative for more than just his benefit. He enjoys blades. The ring of steel and movements that kill. He quite enjoys the twang of the bow as well. Horse back riding is a hobby of his, but most of the time he hasn't the coin for a horse so he walks, which he is fine with. Even if he is generally slow to anger, if you do something he deems beyond his ability to cope with, take heed.
Eladar doesn't look for friends, but despite himself he finds people who enjoy his company and he reciprocates at times. He's gotten a very unamused and colorless view on life most of the time, knowing that this God's War heralds the end of an age in this world. However, it has also rekindled a fire within him, and he will fight for what is left.

Born the bastard son of a Lord through a mixing with a foreign maid, he grew up among his father's hold with his half brothers. His father treated him with a distant love and his father's wife tried her best to hide her disdain for him. His half brothers however treated him as one of their own. His mother was only allowed to see him seldomly, before she was forced to move away on his 8th year of life. He grew up thrust into Knighthood, starting as a page and working his way up to Squire with a natural ability for combat. He was under the tutelage of Sir Bryan the Bold. His Instincts and tendency to spend his leisure time alone coined him the name "Lone Wolf" among his elders.

Having no claim to any lordship, and feeling like he could never arise higher around his brothers, he rode north and joined the Kingdom of Andred fighting for control of a mountain range against the newly risen Vrettonian nation. He would spend 5 years fighting on horseback, foot, and upon the battlements of castles. He rose to the rank of Sergeant Knight at arms before the war was completed. During one seige, a Dragon attacked both opposing armies along the side of Hellpass, and Meldarion played a pivotal role in slaying the beast, giving the final blow with his sword and causing both armies to give up for the time being, having seen enough of war and mayhem for a lifetime it seemed.

Meldarion was given the title "Dragonsbane" and was going to be given a maiden's hand in marriage, but out of impulse, he escaped during the night and fled even further northwards, realizing then and there that children and settling down was not apart of his blood or spirit. As he traveled upon the road ever northward, the God's War occurred, the sky going from clear blue to stark grey in a cataclysm that was indescribable. Even since then, Meldarion has been slaying bandits and trying his best not to whither away like the world around him, ready to fight as long as he had breath.

Fighting for a worthy cause, and if not, then fighting and dying instead of fading away like this planet.

Half plate armor, with leather and chainmail covering his nonplate areas. He wields a bastard sword, a long dagger, and a recurve hunting bow. He owns a few pounds of beef jerky and a water jug.

If anything else suits your fancy