A note on Magic: I am not a big fan on fixed magic rules or magic systems. I do want to stress that this is low(ish) fantasy. That means no armies of reanimated dead or golems, no legions of fireball casters, balrogs, etc. We're going to err on the side of how the LotR handled magic rather than say, D&D. Meaning, it is present and powerful, but mysterious and often indirect.

This is what I call the Tolkien/GRR Martin approach to magic and religion. Magic is real, mysterious, and powerful, but for the most part takes place 'off-screen', and is for aesthetic purposes somewhat subdued or indirect. Likewise, the RP will take the GRR Martin approach to religion: there are as many religions as we can come up with here, but we will leave it an open question as to whether any of them are true. Conflicting mythos and cosmologies and visions of god(s) are encouraged.

Name:

Race:

Nationality/Nation description:

Occupation:

Religion:

Appearance: Description required, pictures optional.

Personality:

Biography:

Equipment:

Skills:

Motivation:

Name
Serilda

Race
Human (Mostly)

Nationality/Nation Description
The Highland Clans of the Wounded Mountain

The northern part of the Godsfang Mountains surrounding Varyon is home to a particular peak named the Wounded Mountain. Its name is derived from the majestic glacier that extends down its frosty slopes, which assumes a deep red coloration near the top that narrows down into trickling streams or veins of red inside the ice until finally petering out to indistinguishable fibers. Seen from afar, it would appear that the mountain carries a mortal wound, perpetually bleeding. The glacier and mountainside feed into a lower plateau where the air is cool and game is rich in the dark pine forests dominating the zone. In its center is a sizeable, cold lake with fresh mountain water whose taste carries a hint of iron.

The region is large enough to provide ample living space for multiple little hamlets that have sprung up around the lake and elsewhere underneath the protective boughs of the ancient pine woods. Often referred to as clans, the villages are mostly just isolationist communities who chose a life away from the hustle and bustle of the southern kingdoms. That said they did not completely break contact when they built their settlements, and frequently send trade caravans down the mountain to barter for products they have difficulty producing themselves and supplying high quality lumber, iron, steel and artisanal goods in return.

The mountainfolk gradually adopted a new religion centered on the Iron God, a nameless, formless deity that apparently dwells in any and all iron – including that in the blood. To outsiders it would seem that this faith is the result of minds addled by decades of consumption of their strange tasting water which, judging by the glacier’s appearance cannot be healthy. And perhaps these outsiders have a point, but no missionaries who tried showing them the path to another religion were ever truly successful in toppling their beliefs. Although the Iron God does not truly have a church or a clerical organization, there is an old temple high atop the icy mountain, near the glacier’s origin, where a handful of ascetic monks and the sage – their leader – live in isolation from even the isolated hamlets. Generally seen as aloof by almost everyone, their council and their blessings are often sought by mountainfolk who would ask for mediators in difficult disputes, blessings for their children or fortune in battle. Rumor has it that the monks know a secret path that leads inside the glacier’s heart, to where the mountain’s blood flows free and undiluted, yet none could confirm that rumor to this day, nor has anyone ever found out where exactly this “blood” comes from. Some take the name quite literally and assume that the mountain is alive and sentient, and indeed has a wound from which blood flows as from any man’s wound. Others assume that it is not the mountain proper but something inside of it. Something old and nameless that is trapped or buried underneath the glacier and keeps bleeding into it.

When God Emperor Dagon IV rose to power and crushed the adjacent kingdoms, it was only a matter of time until his inhuman legions would climb the Godsfang Mountains and invade the plateau surrounding the Wounded Mountain. And so they did, leaving naught but misery, smoke and ashes in their wake. Survivors tell of a particular village by the lakeside that took the brunt of the assault and which was pillaged and raped over a matter of multiple days. So great was their misery that the sage in the mountain temple could watch no more and did the inconceivable: he drank the mountain’s blood, greedily, until his body could take no more. The rest is highly speculative and highly exaggerated, but as the tale goes, the entire plateau echoed with the alien screams that boomed down from the frozen peak of the Wounded Mountain, as if some antediluvian demon had been roused from its slumber. A formless monster composed of rage and blood descended upon the lakeside, obliterating any of the invaders that stood in its way and routing the rest into the woods where it followed them and murdered them one by one. Those who claim they had seen the beast can no longer be considered sane of mind, their account made dubious, but it is true that the great sage no longer dwells among the monks, and they speak no more of what happened on that day.

Occupation
Vagrant Warrior

Religion
The Iron God

Belief in the nameless Iron God is restricted mostly to the small northern region around what is known as the Wounded Mountain. According to the lore, the god is not only nameless but also faceless; he is in everything that is iron, most obviously the ore found in the earth and mountains, but also in the blood. That there is power in iron ore and thus weapons is uncontested (who would argue, after all, that might does not make right?) but believers hold that by drinking blood and/or eating the raw flesh of things, they can acquire part of that being’s power, while others say one simply gains the Iron God’s favor. Either way, the ritual eating of their enemies is widely spread among the mountain folk in this region, a practice that used to be considered barbaric by the more civilized kingdoms to the south in the old days. Eat your enemy and you eat his strength, so the saying goes.

Appearance
Ask a hundred men to picture a woman, and you will hear a hundred different descriptions – but none will fit Serilda. She is tall, almost uncannily so, easily standing shoulder to shoulder with most men. Her face a perpetual grimace veering between pained anger and a disapproving frown. Even a stranger will recognize that no smile has graced her colorless lips in what must be years. Where her left eye should be there is only a dirtied, brown bandage from underneath which a trail of old, caked blood paints her unwashed cheek, past the puckered mouth and down to the chin. The remaining eye, encircled by a dark tone and amber in color, stares cautiously, perhaps disdainfully from one corner to the other, always watching for danger, for something to kill. Her head is crowned by a wild mane of unkempt black hair whose tips end just above her chest.

A coarse, dark gray linen hood covers her head and hair at most times to shelter her from the weather and shelter others from the displeasure of seeing her more clearly. The hood itself is part of a wide cape, embellished by a simple coiling pattern of black lines, which is slung around her shoulders, concealing a large part of the armor that she wears underneath. A harness made of hard boiled leather protects the chest and abdomen, while plate gauntlets protect her hands, forearm and elbow and additional plates which form part of her well-worn boots cover her kneecaps and shins. The rest of her arms and legs are clothed in simple, faded hemp fabric that looks to have stiffened with layers upon layers of dried sweat and blood. A simple necklace produced from animal sinew, pieces of bone and wood hangs around her neck. Various utility pouches and bags are fastened to her belt containing a variety of necessities like compact food, bandages, rope, a whetstone and more. When travelling from place to place, she additionally carries a decently sized knapsack on her back and underneath the cape, bearing supplies for herself and her companion for the journey.

Personality
In a world of monsters, only a monster can thrive.

At a glance, Serilda is cold, gloomy and full of bitterness. Although her demeanor can be offputting, she is not one to reject the company of others if they appear trustworthy. She may not reveal much about herself or her companion, but is willing to at least be a good listener to anyone who shares her manic hatred for Emperor Dagon and his fiends. Catch her on a good day and give her a strong drink and maybe she is willing to tell a story or two. For the most part, however, it appears Serilda is too absorbed in her own sorrows to care much for life – except, of course, towards the one person in the world she cares about, more so than for herself.

Nitsa, her fourteen year old daughter, is the only reason Serilda has not yet thrown away her life by doing a death march to Kuranes. To those who merely know Serilda as a stone cold butcher of all that is evil, it comes as nigh a shock to see her being warm, tender and caring when interacting with her child. In truth, the lass is the source of her every emotion. She is the reason she can feel warmth and happiness, and she is the reason for her constant depression. An unknown amount of years prior, Nitsa bore witness and possibly became subject to such heinous events that they have traumatized her. Ever since, she’s not spoken a single word and is deathly afraid of everything besides her own mother. Serilda fears that her daughter may never recover, may never speak or laugh or love in her young life. That fate would spare her child only to cast it down with madness is the true reason why Serilda has given up on her humanity and decided to become just another monster in a world of monsters.

Understandably, her outlook in life is bleak – she is pessimistic, distrustful, hopeless and if there is any humor left in her it is of a deeply cynical sort. That said her sober view of the world has made her very conscientious. She’s honest, having nothing worth lying for. She’s industrious and pragmatic, seemingly channeling her frustration into physical labor and exercise. When she’s not training her skills or her body, or caring after her daughter, she is most likely doing work of some other kind like chopping fire wood, maintaining equipment or preparing food. Although she is brave to the point of recklessness, she has also become extremely stubborn and set in her ways. The only one who could conceivably talk her out of a given course of action would be Nitsa, and she speaks no more. Fortunately, at least, she still values living more than dying a hero’s death, if just to continue protecting her fragile child.

Secretly she harbors the dubious hope that Dagon’s death by her hand will cure Nitsa of her mental ailment.


Equipment
• Cleaving Sword
The cleaving sword is a local oddity, used primarily by the tribes near the Wounded Mountain. Although it is technically a sword, it is used more like a halberd than anything else. The most unusual part of this weapon is its abnormally long handle which measures just about 70cm (27.5 inch) and is made of hard, heavy oak wood. The grip is wrapped in hemp rope to provide a better grasp. Affixed atop the long handle is a 90cm (35.5 inch) long, straight and 15cm (6 inch) wide blade with a single edge and which narrows down to a point at the tip. At the bottom of the blade, a rudimentary iron cross guard is in place. Typical use of this weapon involves chopping motions in an attempt to dismember opponents (very effective on horse legs), although the pointed tip allows the weapon to be used as a heavy spear as well.

• Hand Axe
Intended as a tool, not a weapon, this hand axe has a length of 45cm (17.4 inch) and features a simple iron head while the handle is made from sturdy oak wood. Largely used to chop wood, but if it can split a log it can split a skull, can it not?

• Flint and Steel
A chunk of flint stone and a small, irregular block of steel to start fires.

• Knife
A small, iron knife not intended for combat.

• Whetstone
A worn whetstone to keep all of her blades sharp.

• Oil
Roughly half a liter of oil contained in an iron flask. Used to prevent rust on the blades and create torches.

• Rope
About 9 meters (30 feet) of hemp rope.

• Blankets
Four rolls of wool cloth that can be used as sleeping mats and blankets.

• Bandages
A few old rolls of coarse linen cloth that can be used to treat wounds.

• Curative Salve
A herbal salve with a strong, alcoholic smell contained in a small wooden jar.

• Blood of the Mountain
A sealed iron flask containing about half a liter of undiluted blood from the Wounded Mountain’s glacier. Can be mixed into water in small quantities to create a sort of battle potion that increases aggression and lowers inhibitions, or be ingested pure… even if the consequences might be catastrophic.

Skills
• Devour the Strength of thy Foe
Most civilized folk would easily dismiss the old mountainfolk claim that blood and flesh is power, and thus eating it strengthens the self. But perhaps there is truth to the ramblings of the old folk, or perhaps it is a property unique to these people whose bodies and minds have been addled by generations of living near the infected waters of the Wounded Mountain. Wherever the truth might lurk, it cannot be denied that the mountain tribes can whip themselves into an unearthly battle rage if they gorge themselves on the taste and smell of fresh blood. If the legends are true, then they can even gain a portion of their prey’s strength by eating them.

• No Hatred is greater than Mine
There can be no doubt that most free men and women hate Emperor Dagon IV with a passion, but there is a difference still between their unbridled hatred, and the violent turmoil that boils in Serilda’s heart. It has deadened her sense of mercy or compassion. Anyone and anything that she even suspects of being tainted by the emperor can expect to fight or flee for their life. While this makes her a ruthless and efficient killer in battle that leaves no loose ends, it can be a liability all the same. She makes no prisoners, does not differentiate between voluntary and forced servitude, absolutely does not negotiate and has no interest in liberating slaves or improving the state of the world.

Motivation
Wants to kill Dagon and everyone related to him, willingly or unwillingly. She has no interest in liberating others, or improving their lives. She cares only for the total destruction of Dagon and his taint, wherever and in whomever it might be. Revenge is the likely motive.

As a minor motivation, she also hopes that Dagon’s death will cure her daughter of her trauma, though this is doubtful and she knows it.

---

Name
Nitsa

Race
Human

Appearance
Taking after her mother, Nitsa is taller than the average fourteen year old girl and more akin to what a boy her age might be. In spite of this she appears very diminutive, instinctively sagging her shoulders and lowering her head to lower her profile. Her dreamy eyes also have the same color as her mother’s, but unlike her she keeps hers constantly cast downwards, regardless whether or not she is currently working on something in her lap. Almost nobody knows that behind her soft, pursed lips she is missing two teeth. She keeps her dark auburn hair at chin length, trimming it herself when necessary. Years of a life in the wilderness have not been kind to her, she is meager and dirty, but not altogether malnourished.

Her clothing is plain, a simple brown linen dress with dull white overlays that would be common in any peasant community in the lands. The most expensive thing on her might be her boots, which are of solid quality and keep her feet comfortable and warm even on daunting marches. She wears a self-made necklace from natural materials (sinew, wood, feather and bone) and a bracelet of similar make on her right wrist. A travelling bag is slung around her shoulder and rests comfortably at her side, containing some food and drink, a handful of personal affects (a doll from her childhood) and materials and tools necessary for knitting yarn and working with fabrics in general (knitting needles, scissors).

Personality
Nitsa has closed herself off to the world; something unspeakable must have occurred to her in the unknown past and it defines her very being. Ever since that incident, she speaks no more. She’s not stupid, understands others perfectly well and communicates as well as possible without words, but simply refuses to talk. Often it’s not an issue because she is incredibly afraid of everything foreign, a disposition that makes her disinclined from conversing with others anyway. There are only two things she is not frightened by: her mother, and children below her own age. While her travels rarely take her to children, she has shown a real knack for getting along with them, speaking to them on a more primal level than mere words can convey. She could sit down and play with any child and gain its trust in a heartbeat. Perhaps this is because she herself has remained somewhat childlike in spite of her growing age, playing with a doll every now and again, sleeping in her mother’s embrace and seeking her approval on everything. A part of her wishes she could be this open towards adults too, but every time she sees one a knot forms in her stomach and she feels insurmountable dread and panic.

For the most part she keeps to herself, is shy and reserved and bothers no one. Similar to how her mother tries to forget through physical labor and exercise, Nitsa tries to forget through creating new and pretty things using cloth or impromptu jewelry. Often she can be found sitting by herself, knitting something of her own design or repairing a piece of clothing she or her mother wears. Deep down, there is a Nitsa who wants to be happy and live the life she was meant to have, but the shadow of dread has completely engulfed this version of her, hiding and muting it.

Name: Hadar Mizrahi - The Scholar Swordsmaster - Hadar the Windwalker.
Age: 40
Gender: Male
Race:Human
Nationality: Nomad of the Sand Kingdoms

The Sand Kingdoms are less a collection of monarchies as they are a vast expanse of dust, stone and sand, buffeted by wind and scorched by the sun populated by warmongers and warrior tribes. Thousands of years ago the desert peoples have studied alchemy, astronomy and mathematics, and have erected mystifying structures in the sands of their homelands. In the times now, they are a far cry from the once genial people, eager to trade and share with outsiders, and are now a region with such a long history of harsh conflict and grudges held. Bitter, bloody war of centuries-old transgressions is common among the Sand Kingdoms; the insurmountable pride of its people the only thing stronger than the harsh conditions of living in such a barren land. The arrival of Dagon of Aldebaran has been met with mixed feelings by the inhabitants of the Sand Kingdoms. Many warlords join the Aldebarans in return for power and conquest, while others resist him for the same reason, all the same, the people die.

Occupation: Wanderer
Religion: The Pursuit of Knowledge

Hadar's calling is arguably the simplest- the pure pursuit of knowledge of any kind. Hadar is not satisfied unless he has learned at least something new each day, and as a result scours the world for books he can read, people who can teach, and things he can learn. This knowledge is not limited to scholarly learning either- Hadar also has interest in learning different forms of swordplay, different types of cuisine, dialects. In particular Hadar has the desire to explore the world to rediscover the lost and dying arts of the world.

Appearance: A tall and lean man, Hadar is a man in his prime. His posture is decidedly casual, but his build is obviously of one used to travelling. His coarse, dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, his tanned skin is set off by his hazel eyes, his beard is rough, but maintained, and his mouth is often curled into a wry grin. His body is marked by numerous scars, the most obvious of which crosses his face. His garb is comprised of white and purple robes, loose fitting and easy to move in, and of the traditional Old Sand Kingdoms style. However, during his time outside the Sand Kingdoms, Hadar occasionally dons leather and steel to protect himself.

Personality:
Confident and charismatic, Hadar appears outwardly jovial and warm-hearted. His lazy and carefree demeanor, combined with his near perpetual times of thought is occasionally mistaken for a lack of spacial awareness and carelessness. Underneath his relaxed persona lies an innate brilliance, a highly intuitive and calculative mind. Highly perceptive and logical, Hadar shows an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge and learning of any kind, be it scholarly or practical to the point that his lazy and carefree demeanor is broken by a manic, almost obsessive disposition when presented with relics or tomes that are magical in nature. Despite his lazy demeanor, Hadar is a dedicated scholar boasting considerable knowledge of geography, mathematics, and alchemical theory. Hadar possesses a well developed moral compass, and can be fairly protective of his students.

History:

Equipment:
A traveler by nature, Hadar holds a precious few things. On his person he carries a satchel, filled with various tomes, scrolls, artifacts, and objects of knowledge and learning, several are of magical nature, others are of more mundane. Also contained in the satchel are the necessary tools for weapons and armor care.

• Steel Saber - For arms, Hadar carries with him two sabres. The first, is a mundane saber, crafted of fine steel and well balanced. It is a long, thin blade with a slight curve, and is kept in a sheath of fine, black coated oak.
• Zulfiqar - The second saber, is Hadar's most prized possession, a sabre taken from an arcane foe from the ruins of Al-Kibrit, an ancient Sand Kingdoms temple. Known as the Zulfiqar, the blade's silvery sheen reflects brightly in the dimmest light, and is near blinding in the harsh desert sun. Capable of cutting through the air and maiming men from several feet away, its blade is inscribed with ancient runes and grant Hadar even greater control over the winds that guide his movements. The Zulfiqar is sheathed in a scabbard of fine white ivory and its hilt and pommel are adorned with gold.
• Pupil - Not technically holdings, but accompanying him is his student Emil, a Varyon orphan that Hadar had come across a few years prior. The young Varyon peasant is just over 18 years of age, and is Hadar's first and only student to be taught in the way of the blade.
• Beast of Burden - Collectively, the two of them share a large beast of burden (imagine large water buffalo) named Clavat, which they use for transport and to carry their more mundane belongings- spare clothes, food, water, cooking implements, and trade items.

Skills:

• The Winds of Fate - Present with Hadar since his birth, strange winds follow Hadar wherever he goes, pushing him ever forward. They guide him in a never ending journey towards a goal Hadar will never discover. In return for his eternal following, the winds grant him great speed, pushing his arms and legs forward when he strikes, and allowing him to sense the minute vibrations in the air and predict the motions his enemies may make.
• Force of Knowledge - Years of studies and research have made Hadar very well versed in the ways of the world, both old and current. His base of knowledge is only surpassed by his thirst for more knowledge.

Motivation:
Hadar values knowledge, learning, and personal growth. He constantly seeks to better himself, and encourages those around him to do so as well. While outwardly lazy and carefree, Hadar holds compassion towards those who also embody his values. Though selective in his students, he believes teaching to be one of the ultimate methods of learning.

Hadar also values freedom, and the ability to pursue growth at ones own pace. He doesn't like the idea of being stuck in any one place for too long, and is commonly afflicted with wanderlust. This is occasionally attributed to the fact that he follows the pull of the winds, following what he calls the Winds of Fate.

Compassion and humility are also core values of Hadar. While one can argue how much compassion a man who so easily fights with a sword may be, Hadar truly values human life and dignity- though his displays of 'compassion and dignity' may not always coincide ideals held by others.

Name: Elaeria Fendril
Age: 153 (barely an adult in the eyes of her race)

Race: Elfin Seelie

Nationality/Nation description:
Seelie Court of the Ghostlight Forest

The Seelie are split up into individual 'Courts' and adhere to a belief of belonging to a single nation, one that encompasses all land where Seelie live as well as everything in between. Within this grand 'nation' each group of Seelie operate a 'Court' which oversees the running of their particular surroundings. Most will be found in forests, mountains or caves where nature is abundant and far away from other races and civilizations as the Seelie are not overly fond of involving themselves in the struggles of less cultured nations. Within these enclaves they will adapt to leave as little a footprint on the environment as possible. As such it is often difficult to locate a Seelie settlement and most will stumble across the Courts by accident rather than by design.

The Seelie Court of the Ghostlight Forest, named for obvious reasons and located far to the South in an area of a temperate climate and swathes of woodland, is predominantly made up of Elfin Seelie who can be found in their greatest numbers in woodland areas. According to ancestral lore they are descended from the huntress Brindel Fendril whose name the leaders of the Ghostlight Forest court bear and to whom they can trace their ancestry directly. Within this Court, Brindel is honoured as a veritable deity even by those who do not claim direct ancestry due to her woodland craft which is still observed rigorously by the Elfin Seelie.

Now the Ghostlight Forest is almost empty of its Seelie caretakers. All but the very young and injured left to aid a Seelie Court within a country neighbouring Aldebaran threatened by the encroaching forces of the crazed Emperor. Now they remain to fight alongside those survivors of that Court, their homes destroyed and most of their clansmen dead from the crushing defeat they suffered in the initial defence. Even the Chief Fendril has been terribly wounded and many suspect that his days are numbered, looking to any potential successor.

Naturally that would be his daughter, the only surviving clan member to bear the name Fendril. However, with exposure to heavily patriarchal practices in other races and the perilous situation they face, many have begun to question whether such a young woman could lead the combined Courts better than a male. This would mark a break from an aeon old tradition with an indirect descendent of Fendril usurping the position of a direct, main line family inheritor. The divide between the two sides is hidden but behind closed doors and in the shadows plots and schemes are conjured and before long it will no longer be a conflict that can be contained, concealed or delayed.

Occupation: Chief's daughter/heiress

Religion: Ancestor worship

Unlike most other races, the Elfin Seelie do not practise a Monotheistic or Polytheistic religion. Rather, they turn to their long and meticulously recorded family histories for guidance. Prayers for guidance, protection and strength are offered to famous members of their dynasty or the most celebrated of deceased leaders from aeons past. Songs and dances are attributed to their ancestors and form an integral part of their worship; celebrating in the accomplishments of their ancestors and commemorating the feuds long since ended.

When the first leaf falls for Autumn the Elfin Seelie gather to toast their predecessors and many believe it is the time in which it is easiest to commune with their ancestors; seeking guidance and wisdom from those whose name echo down the aeons.

A consequence of this religious adherence to their ancestral lines, and to maintain their diversity, is the avoidance of all inter-marriage amongst the Elfin Seelie. Instead, to maintain their ancestral identity, they will take mates from other, compatible, races (often humans) but rarely will they choose a lifelong companion. As such the families of the Seelie will not mix and lines are only lost through infertility or premature death. The children will almost always show traits specifically of the Seelie rather than the other races but there are occasionally those born displaying traits of the mate's race; these children are disowned by the Seelie.

Appearance:

Lithe, tall and toned from two lifetimes of hunting and arms training, Elaeria walks with the stalking nature of a panther. She is light on her feet and has an air of perpetual grace as if every movement is to a rhythm audible to her alone. Her limbs are largely in proportion with nothing especially notable although she is very slightly long-legged but this is more apparent in her stride length than in an aesthetic sense.

In the traditional style amongst Seelie, especially those Courts based in woodland areas, her glowing red hair has grown exceptionally long to rest barely above the back of her knees. In a more formal setting this might be braided painstakingly in whatever fashion is currently in favour by one of the branch families charged with the care taking of the head family but in these troubled times it is usually pulled back into a carefully tied ponytail (or one long braid when there is the time to do so).

At all times she will be found with her long hunting spear, an heirloom said to have been wielded by Brindel herself and often only used as a ceremonial item due to its unwieldy nature. However, Elaeria has fallen into the group of those few of Brindel's descendants who had a natural affinity for utilising the spear as it is: a deadly weapon suited only for a master in spearcraft. Along with this she will almost always be found in hunting leathers dyed a deep green, perhaps with a royal blue cloak when she is acting in an official capacity or is on the battlefield.

Personality: Despite her many years, Elaeria is young in age for her kind and this is partially reflected in her manner. She is cheerful in a manner only the young are capable, seemingly unperturbed by the horrors of war. Fond of celebration, dancing and singing with others given even half a chance, Elaeria is one who will take the spotlight at any festival. Her other love is of men. Specifically human men. She revels in their company and enjoys their determination to make a mark with their short lives, in sharp contrast to the cautious manoeuvres of the Elfin Seelie One should not be fooled by this carefree exterior, however. Raised to lead the Court from birth she has a mind for politics and is both cunning and strong-willed, the steel of her conviction something those attempting to subvert her birthright will find unexpected.

Biography:

Born to her Seelie father and human mother whom she knew only 'briefly', Elaeria was raised exclusively in the Court with an education fit for a leader. War and conflict were far away events, the Seelie not involving themselves in other conflicts unless requested by another Court to join their fight, but this was not a reason for relaxation in her father's eyes. As such she has been trained relentlessly in the art of hunting, both animals and sentient species. Constant training has left her with a lithe frame and toned body and she will be rarely found without her elaborately carved hunting spear, an heirloom from several generations past.

The spear had seen plenty of conflict before it came to Elaeria and has seen much since. When the Court responded to the plea for aid from another under threat from Dagon, Elaeria accompanied the warriors and most of the Court to battle. They arrived late to find most of the threatened Court dead or missing and instead evacuated those left and beat a fighting retreat from Dagon's forces, eventually meeting up with the Scarred King and his forces by sheer coincidence. Now Elaeria, and the Court, accompany the Scarred King, but the situation is fraught due to her father's wounded state. There are rumblings within the Court of choosing a more battle-hardened warrior to lead them during the conflict before allowing Elaeria to resume her father's position but few see this as nothing more than the power grab that it is.

Partly due to her status as the heiress of the Court, partly due to her natural charisma, Elaeria has a strong cohort of friends and companions of her generation who hunt and revel together. For decades she has built lasting connections with almost every family in the Court and so, whether by deliberate action or not, has ensured that any attempt to deprive her of right to lead the Court would not pass easily.

Equipment:

Skills:

Motivation: