Nicholas Keen

Nicholas was born shortly before the Abyssal Gladios reclaimed the land that was once his and renamed it The People's Conglomerate. It could be said that Nicholas was the last Liberatian, and his parents, patriotic Liberatians themselves, made sure he knew the legacy of the land on which he lived. While growing up, he was regaled with stories of the Heroes of Lasgoul. The stories that were focused on the most were the tales of Law Ehrhardt, whose many amazing deeds inspired Nicholas to begin practicing swordplay. By the age of twenty, Nicholas had become proficient with the sword, and decided to set out and follow the path of his hero. He spent the funds he had been saving for years to acquire a shield and proceeded to partake in mercenary work for the next ten years of his life. Aside from buying the necessities, he's mostly spent his funds to get more equipment.

Additional Information

Race: Human

Age: Approximately 30 (Basically however long ago Liberatus became The People's Conglomerate)

Experience: About 18 years of practice in using swords. He's had his shield for ten years. Plus ten years of combat experience that comes with mercenary work.

Weapons: An average sword. Sentimental value, belonged to his father, and his father's father, and his father before him.

Armor: Steel helmet, gauntlets, sabatons along with chainmail armor. Wooden round shield with steel rim. It has a cross of Roderick painted on.

Alignment: Lawful Good

Religion: Adheres to Roderick and Altor

Fun Fact: Nicholas means "Victory of the People" and Keen means "Brave" and "Bold"

Sir Vycker

Sir Vycker is a young man, appearing to be in his late twenties. He was born far away, in the distant kingdom of Valladia. Little is known of his past, though he requests that he be referred to as 'Sir' and introduces him in formal company as Sir Vycker the Adamant, Hand of the House of Verace, Knight of the Realm. As far as what all that means, his answers always include something about valor and on the occasion a story of bravery and courage on his own part. Being a knight, he's been tutored and trained his entire life, and he first saw combat at the age of fifteen while squiring for another knight. Since then he served his lord for nearly ten years before being sent to the New World after the Champion invasion of Valladia. However, his ship was wrecked during a battle with the infamous pirate, Captain Firebeard, and he washed up on the coasts of the New World not long after. He had lost his weapons and armor during the battle and subsequent wreck, and worked for a smith until he was able to make himself a sword and chestplate before leaving and traveling inland. All he has from his life before is a small golden amulet in the shape of a goblet hanging around his neck. For the past few months he has been traveling as a mercenary, though keeps an unusual moral code for a hireling. Sir Vycker is Lawful Good.

Appearance

Sir Vycker is a tall man, standing at around six feet tall, with a lean build. He has short black hair, usually combed slightly to the side, and has greenish-grey eyes which twinkle with a steely light. His clothing is plain, simple brown pants and a white cotton shirt, over which he wears a battered chestplate. Often worn at his belt is a steel longsword, of the same quality and use as the chestplate.

Sir Veryon

Sir Vycker's travelling companion, Sir Veryon is an older man, in his mid sixties, from the island nation of Raniroc. Throughout his younger years, he made a bit of a reputation for himself as a demon hunter and a mercenary, and he wasn't known for having terribly rigid morals. However, a few years ago, he travelled to Valladia and, upon his recent return with Sir Vycker, he's been a changed man. Now he ascribes to his friend's moral code, although he is still a bit less rigid about it than the other, and he relishes in combat slightly less than he did before, although he still enjoys a good fight. A Ranirocan through and through, he's an extremely skilled sailor and captain, and loves to drink, fight, and eat. While somewhat difficult to get close to, those who manage find fewer who'll go to such extreme lengths for those they care about.

Appearance



Sir Veryon is massively tall, standing at six foot six, with a broad build. His black hair is long and unkempt hanging around his face, and his thick beard covers most of his face. His eyes are a dark blue color, and are often clouded over by intoxication. He wears massively heavy armor, thick black interlocking plates on top of chainmail on top of boiled leather, with a bearhide cloak wrapped around him, and wields a crude black iron battleaxe.

Alignment: Neutral Good

Name:Abet Drakethorn of Boulderthane

Race: Dwarf
Age: 84
Experience: Thirty-four years of mercenary work, exploring, and training for his eventual battle with a dragon

Weapons:
This warhammer carries with it a Rune of Naghoth, the great hero of Boulderthane, who had slain several young drakes upon the retreat from the Great Chasm. His descendants are known as the Drakethorns, each one of them having been sent out once during their lives to slay a drake past the Frontier. Abet himself earned this warhammer from his grandfather, who had placed the rune upon the great stone several hundred years ago, by setting out on his journey for the upcoming dragon battle that he, himself, must fulfill. The rune casts upon the receiving end of the hammer, besides a few broken ribs, a great chill of cryomancy that freezes the enemy down to the bone.

Armor: Steel nasal helm, boots, and chainmail, leather gauntlets
Other items: Carries amulet of Aznathin (an image of an eye) and amulet of Roderick (a cross-marked shield) on a chain worn around his neck, pack filled with various tomes, scrolls, linen clothes, and waterskin
Magical Ability: Journeyman Mage - Major in Abjuration, minor in Runesmithing

Alignment: Chaotic Good
Religion: Worshiper of Gronmir Dwarfmaker, patron of Aznathin and Roderick
Creed: "Oi, friend, 'ow 'bout after these sorry lads taste me hammer, we go grab us a pint?"

History: Descended from a long line of arcane dragon-slayers, Abet has a lot to live up to. The Boulderthane clan is an offshoot of the Dragonsbane, a family of smiths, runesmiths, and battlemages. Abet's father, and his father's father, and his father before him, all the way up to Naghoth Drakethorn were great warriors who have defeated many a dragon among them. This legacy flows through their blood just as much as booze fills their bellies, making the men of this house the kind of folk you'd want to buy a drink for and have behind you in a fight.

Abet himself grew up a true brute of a dwarf, always one to pick fights with the others, but only when they hurt him or his friends. He spent much of his youth pledging an oath to the god Aznathin for wisdom and god Roderick for companionship, and hopes to join the great halls of Gronmir Dwarfmaker upon his death. He trained vigorously to hone his craft of wizardry, so rare a thing for dwarves, and became quite proficient in the school of Abjuration, casting up great shields of mana to protect him from spell and sword alike. Upon setting out to begin his journey into manhood at the age of fifty (dwarves consider maturity to occur later, due to their long lives), he has made the trek back to his home in the halls of Boulderthane each winter to hone his craft with runesmithing, which he is learning at an incredibly fast rate.

For thirty-four years Abet has traveled across the New World, learning of the folk and aiding those in need, and has even sailed to the Old World a couple of times, to speak with the old clans and visit the Gronmir Mountains. He has most recently been hired on as a soldier for Gladios Magnus, the resurrected leader of the People's Conglomerate.

Name: Rhindani
Race: Lizardfolk (Gold)
Age: Young adult, birthday unknown
Weapon: Claws/Teeth
Armor: Natural scales only
Alignment: Lawful Good
Religion: Draconis Rex (Gold Aspect)
Magical Ability: Divine spellcasting
Languages: Draconic (native), Common, Hand Sign (basic)
Other skills: Herbalism, Cooking, Sewing, Music (fiddle)
Special: Wings (gliding only)

History: Rhin's background is something of a mystery, even to her. Brief and confusing memories are all that remain to remind her of her youngest years, her only trinket a golden talisman pinned to her smock. As a small child she was discovered on Metallic Dragon Lands, lost and wandering very near to the Great Chasm. It was lucky for her that mithril-scaled Melanor was on patrol, as most other dragons would have found little reason to take interest in a mere dragonkin infant.

Brought to The Roost, it was the great king Aelinor who decided Rhindani's fate. All she can remember of that illustrious but brief meeting with the great golden wyrm was how he seemed to peer at her, his stare thoughtful but stern over a chinfull of long whiskers. It was a gaze that was terrifying to one so small and confused.

Since that time, Rhindani has been a ward of the Church of Draconis Rex, raised by a kindly but elderly cleric named Ki'Nem in the ways of the Gold Aspect. A quiet and pensive but perceptive child, Rhindani took quickly to the arts of Healing, her talents growing from the use of herbs and traditional medicines to asking the Blessings of the Golden Aspect to address greater maladies in those who seek the services of the Church. In addition to working in the infirmary, her years have been filled with other humble domestic toils such as sewing and cooking. What little free time can be had in the life of a vestal was spent with her friend and confidante, a copper lizardfolk female named Mahva who is as impulsive as she is deaf. It is because of Mahva that part of Rhin's daily exercise includes using her wings, because according to the young copper "there's no point in being born with wings if'n all you're gonna do is hide them under a robe until they shrivel up."

For the last three years Rhindani has been living in a small Church in the People's Conglomerate. The move away from the beauty and comfort of Metal City and the grand Church of Draconis Rex to a land of humans surprised those who knew her but wasn't exactly a shock to those who knew her best. Rhin wasn't without many doubts, but something wordless and nameless urged her to take her skills, little as they might be, to places unknown (at least to herself). Perhaps a little adventure would settle the coil of longing that comes with not knowing who you really are or where you came from.

Personality and Traits: Rhin has always been quiet and somewhat reserved, but ultimately kind and empathetic. That's not to say she is soft at heart, however, because tending to the sick and the dying instills and requires a certain amount of strength that has nothing to do with being bullheaded or the hefting of a sword. She prefers tasks that don't require much conversation, her favourite chores in the Church being tending the herb and kitchen gardens or cooking, or even sewing (though she prefers to do so outside when possible). She enjoys reading, drawing and listening to music, her prized possession a silverwood fiddle that took ten years to save up for and another ten to learn how to play with any skill. Rhindani hopes to one day discover her own origins, though long ago exhausted what little information she had to go on. She suspects that the knowledge will help her understand herself better, and explain some of her shortcomings, primarily with regards to a delayed advance in the abilities that come from worship and the strange pale opalescent gold colour of her scales that do not quite match with the beautiful rich vibrance of her fellow Gold dragonkin. She continues to pray to Draconis Rex about the former, and rubs ash soap on her skin to mute the latter. So far, the dragon God has been silent on the matter.

Name: Thirodaen ‘FeyWild’
Race: Fey Elf
Age: 85
Class: Blade Dancer
Alignment: Neutral Good

Description: His face is almost inhumanly elongated, though still possesses a kind of ethereal beauty common to his race. His red hair has been cut short and remains messy and spiky, maybe with the odd twig here and there. He has piercing blue eyes and an arrogant smirk always playing on his thin lips. Tall and willowy, he can seem quite effeminate from a distance.

When not in armour, he has adopted more human clothes, much to his disdain. He typically wears a loose white shirt with leather trousers.  He keeps it as simple as possible, refusing to adorn himself with further ‘human baubles’. He does, however, wear a tiny silver wolf on a thin chain around his neck, from his native wildwood.

Weapons: Wildwood longbow
        Elven Double-glaive
        

Curved dagger ‘Hiketash’ (he refuses to translate)

Armour: When going into battle, he adopts dulled human mail, having found that it offers significantly more protection than his native leathers. He does, however, still wear said leathers when traveling, as they’re far more comfortable.

Experience: Thirodaen has been hunting in the wildwoods since he was ten, and upon leaving aged 43, has been fighting for various mercenary companies for about 42 years.

Fighting Style: Thirodaen is a dead shot with his bow, and is quite happy to stand in plain sight, calmly picking off the enemy from a distance, absent mindedly avoiding any arrows that might have found their mark in him. Should the foe decide to close, then the killing really starts. His double glaive starts spinning, slowly at first, but getting faster and faster, forming intricate patterns around his body until it is nothing but a blur, marked by the blood of those who get too close.
Like any self respecting Fey elf, he can sneak and skulk with the best of them, striking unseen from the shadows. But that’s really not fair on the poor humans.

Personality: Thirodaen is cold and remorseless. He has a superior and arrogant attitude regarding humans and most other species, considering them to be lesser than himself. He does not deign speak to them, if he can help it. He trusts no-one implicitly, but he will still work with most people, convinced that they couldn't do him much harm anyway, regardless, he always has one or two knives of his person, even if you can't see them. He can also be judgmental of his faults, and defensive of his own. However, he holds himself to the high standards upon which he bases his disrespect for all others, and you will never find an elf quite so loyal, determined, or ferocious as Thirodaen. In defence of his allies, he would give his life. Albeit grudgingly, with promises of much haunting.