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Nᴀᴍᴇ
Fujin Ayame

Aɢᴇ
25

Sᴇx
Male

Nᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ
Endeny

Cʟᴀss
Samurai (swordsman)

Pʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ Dᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ
Stacked about 5'11" high, Fujin doesn't always look the most well kept. His appearance reflects upon his overall attitude: slack. He has a quite lean build due to his regular exercise and training, and maintains it in between his massive eating habits. His face is fairly chiseled, and his messy, wavy, upper-neck length dark brown hair contrasts against his olive skin tone. He has a faint mustache and soul patch which he shaves whenever he feels like. Fujin has no real defining features besides his overall messiness, and dark brown eyes.

When it comes down to what Fujin wears, he dresses light as to not bind himself down too much with heavy armor. He typically wears a light stitched shirt underneath a dark red faded, baggy, short-sleeved, unbuttoned jacket. He also wears a pair of dark grey knee-length trousers held up by a wide cotton wrap of sorts with a leather strap wrapped around it that holds his sheathe in place. To keep his messy hair out of his eyes, Fujin resorts to a grey-purple cloth that he wraps around his forehead that he usually only takes off to sleep. He keeps a pair of beat up leather shoes on his feet. They're clearly worn, but currently don't have any holes in them. He's walked a lot of miles in those shoes.

Fɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ Sᴛʏʟᴇ
Fujin is anything but a disciplined samurai. His attacks are very disorganized and unorthodox, relying mostly on brute force and unpredictable striking instead of technique. Despite this, his skills with the katana and other variants (wakizashi, tanto, nodachi, tsurugi, etc) are very well honed and strangely hard to maneuver out of due to his quick and swift assaults he lays onto his opponents. He prefers not to use a shield unless it's his buckler as it still allows him to use his katana with two hands and parry opponents attacks. Other than that, Fujin relies on his switchblade-like movement he obtained from martial arts intellect in order to dodge incoming attacks from his foes.

Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ/Mᴇɴᴛᴀʟ
Fujin could best be described as an anti-hero. He is a very laid-back person and so chill that he's quite lazy at times, and even gets condemned for it. He also has a very strong sense of individuality; so much so that he feels obligated to rely solely on himself with very little outside help if possible. Furthermore, he shows a great skepticism toward any sort of authority unless it's voluntary. Fujin generally believes that everyone should be free to do what they want. Fujin is also extremely competitive and has somewhat of a short temper. He's been known to pick fights with people for petty reasons and get himself in a lot of trouble. On top of this, he is fairly charismatic and has an elusive yet satisfying way with his words which he can use to his advantage to get what he wants. He's not so much kind as he is slick and rude on the surface, but if you take the time to get to know him, Fujin is overall an idealist and lighthearted fellow.

Hɪsᴛᴏʀʏ
Fujin was born in the country of Endeny on a small farm in a poor region east of the country's capital, Genjor. His father used to be a slave owner on a rice plantation and provided his family with a considerable wealth due to his exports until a tsunami wiped out his plantation and destroyed most of his home. With the lack of work available in the poorest country in the world, both of Fujin's parents were left without a job. Fujin was merely a baby when these events occurred, but because Endeny was prone to disastrous weather patterns, he grew up surrounded by drastic storms that would empty miles of land at a time. Much of the coastline in Endeny was tropical where Fujin and his family lived, and because where they were located wasn't very populated, they could harvest and cultivate any lush resources they found before they had to retreat in order to avoid being killed in some sort of natural disaster. His family made ends meet by travelling long distances to Genjor and selling these goods in an open market. Some days were better than others, and his family didn't always get to eat.

This led to petty thievery committed by Fujin whenever he visited the market in Genjor. He would often leave his family alone and travel there to steal things like fruit, and maybe gold from a passerby. A few times he was caught, but was small enough at his young age to tuck himself in between crowds and down alleyways where he could outrun authorities and/or angry vendors if need be.

His father was also a Ronin, though mostly retired in his training once he started his business. It was his cultural family tradition for elders to pass on their skills to their young ones. Fujin learned the art of the sword, but it wasn't easy. He often acted quite erratically which was hard to maintain even with his fathers stern yet loving authority. However, what skill Fujin did get out of it he augmented into his own strange style that typically throws his enemies off.

It wasn't until he was a teenager when something awful happened. Endeny went through a number of natural disasters and the state decided it was going to forcefully collect some of its citizens as slaves to aid the economic crisis to make up for the lack of industry. Government agents were sent out to locate and take people against their own will at all costs. Unfortunately for the Ayame family, all three of them were targeted and subsequently separated into different labor sectors by the government. Fujin only saw his parents in passing as a slave and again about a year later when a few of the slave sectors started an uprising against the same tyranny that put them in shackles. He saw both his parents die in the revolution which ultimately failed, but it spared him enough time to win his freedom and escape the labor camps. Fujin spent four years as a vagabond, traveling the world and doing odd jobs for people so he could make enough to get by. He didn't care so much for the work he was doing, even if it met indulging in criminal activity every so often.

After a while of aimlessly wandering, Fujin met with a woman named Amia, first mate of a pirate crew. They ran a number of tasks together until he was offered a position with The Valencia as their first mate. It took some time and a bit of convincing, but the pirates life was certainly growing on him so he accepted. He was somewhat reluctant, but at this point had built up so much of a relationship with Amia that he felt he was almost obliged to do so. Since then he's been with The Valencia committing piracy and living the dream. Fujin learned to sail and operate many other pieces of boating equipment. Now he hangs around the Free Isles, his favorite place anywhere, awaiting orders from the dreaded Pirate King Avoir.

Iɴᴠᴇɴᴛᴏʀʏ

• Katana
• Buckler shield
• Water skin
• Hempen rope
• 115 gold pieces
• Flint & Steel

Name: Galen Forthwith
Age: 26
Sex: Male
Nationality: Charta
Class: Swordsman/Duelist

Physical Description: A lean, fit, but refined man with dark hair and eyes, with a navy blue tunic over chainmail (covering leather) and loose fitting dark brown trousers. He has a fair face, albeit with a scar at the left of his chin and running down his jawline. His hair is wavy, loose and tousled. Not entirely groomed as he was raised, he still looks more or less presentable, and perhaps charming when he feels the need to present himself as such. He has the look of a youth that has been refined like silver through various trials by fire.

Fighting Style: Galen fights with a sword in a deft and dextrous dueling style. His sword whips to and fro, cutting and stabbing with a swift, practiced hand. Despite this, he's no stranger to powerful blows and brutality in his style. He wouldn't have gotten to his post without bloodying his hands with a few bludgeoning instruments and less elegant sword strokes. Sword fighting is a brutal affair, no matter how poised and quick your blade is.

However, he has quite the use for his mixture of brutal and elegant. He can pick complicated locks with one hand, while punching a man with his other hand, cracking his knuckles and barely grunting. His hands are callused and rough, useable for climbing ropes and buildings with his fine upper body strength. He has good reflexes, and can deftly move with his feet as well as his hands. His careers have been varied, from thief, to slave, to murderer, to duelist, and then pirate.

Personality/Mental: He has a good mind about him when it comes to common sense, though he can be a bit rash if he lets his anger get the better of him. Generally he has a friendly, if wary demeanor. He will sometimes spout wisdom he has learned on his travels. He's a steadfast Quartermaster, and takes his responsibilities very seriously. He'll not be afraid to use his high position in the crew to keep others in line if need be. He's often casual however, and has a love of women. What he truly wants out of life is to become an ever better swordsman, and a Knight with his own lands and title.

History: Born as the son of a nobleman in Meira, Galen grew up a relatively privileged life. Until he was twelve years old, he had received training in the art of the sword, as well as learning to read and write. The studying would have continued if his father had not been assassinated nearing his thirteenth birthday. It was something that would scar him for many years to come, and caused him to flee from his home.

He wouldn't have survived for long on his own. Ironically, what saved him was being captured for slave labor, transporting him to Ramsetta and making him a laborer and builder. The work was tough and near back breaking, and it wasn't until he was 16 years old when he killed the slave watcher and escaped to Charta City. He used the watcher's sword as a dueling sword, using his old childhood teachings and honing them by fighting for money until he was 20 years old, having lived off dueling and thieving.

He met a pirate named Grant who was a Quartermaster, selling the wares of his broken ship. He showed Galen how he made a living, and both of them traveled to the Free Isle, and Galen became a sailor and an armsmen for the next three years before he made it to quartermaster amid a pirate ship, until it sank in a storm months ago. He had been awaiting a new career until he heard of this new job.

Inventory:

• SideSword
• Dagger
• Flask
• Flint & Steel
• Waterskin
• Wetstone
• List of Weapons & Ship Supplies

Name:
Orm the Albino

Age:
24

Sex:
Male

Nationality:
The North (Exile)

Class:
Shapeshifter

Physical Description:
Orm possesses a pleasant face, gently raised cheekbones, barely concave cheeks, and a tapered chin, his nose strong and longer than most, but certainly not intrusive. His lips curve in such a way that it seems a soft smile always graces them. His hair, short and shaggy, is a white so bright and pure that only his skin, freshly fallen snow, can seem to compare. His eyes are wary, curious things, almond shaped, with dim fires of lavenders and pale reds swirling within. A general look of dubious calm seems to surround Orm at all times, as if every event that unfolds before him is something of a pleasant surprise.

Standing at six foot three, Orm is tall but not lanky, his body put together gracefully as if sculpted from marble by some great craftsman. Though toned and not unfit, his body as a whole has a very smooth appearance to it. The only discrepancy in the grace of Orm’s form is a barely discernible limp in his right leg, a constant reminder of his youth in the North. His attire consists of a simple cotton shirt, felt pants, and leather boots, with a navy blue bridgecoat covering the outfit, topped off by a brown tricorn hat.

Fighting Style:
With his status as a shapeshifter, Orm is well suited for various situations. Stealth and infiltration are afforded to him with ease, as are open warfare, or anything in between, thanks to the wide variety of animals at his disposal. When more conventional means of combat are required, Orm is a suitable shot with firearms, being adept with both pistols and rifles.

As a secondary skillset, Orm is well acquainted to the menial task of cleaning, finding the monotony of the exercise a soothing excuse to think to himself in peace.



Personality/Mental:
Always ready to agree with others, his own personal opinions seemingly as changing as the winds, no one has ever managed to discern what Orm’s true motivations or beliefs are. Never one to enjoy conflicts of the personal sort, Orm endeavors as best that he can to keep himself as far removed from any kind of rising tensions, and with his soft spoken voice, eerily serene tone, and agreeable nature, this is not hard to pull off.

Orm prefers to spend time by himself poring over books or as an animal, seeing and feeling the world through the senses of an entirely new species. The antics of more boisterous and excitable people has little appeal to him, and only those with a similar appreciation for study or nature have a chance to garner any kind of real friendship with him. While he can sometimes enjoy the rush that comes with a good fight, he usually loathes the act, whether it be a friendly brawl, an anger fueled duel to settle some score, or a battle against strangers to defend his home. The latter of the three, unfortunately, is rapidly becoming a driving force in Orm’s life.

History:
The owl knew it was being watched. Its talons dug firmly into the tree, swiveling its head around and giving an occasional hoot, the owl could feel that curious pair of eyes peering at it from some distance away. It decided to do a little show for its tiny audience, flapping its wings heavily and drifting over to the next tree. Swivel. Hoot. Swivel. Hoot. Hoot. Flap, flap. New tree. The pattern seemed to continue along for hours, until eventually the pair of eyes and the body attached to it went away, after the sun started to climb down the sky and slide off the edge of the horizon.

So for three months and a day the eyes would scan the wooded area for the owl, and the owl would perform for its watcher, and then one day the eyes stopped coming so often. The owl didn’t fret though, because soon after it met its twin.

Orm was never terribly close to his parents, or the other children in the tribe, instead preferring the wide freedom of the outdoors to the safety and warmth that the camp promised him. Why stay there anyways? There the younger ones gawked and pointed while the older ones muttered about curses and doomed fates, and his father paid enough attention to him to teach him how to shoot the firearms they traded with the merchants from the south in exchange for furs and meats. Orm was very good at shooting, and he hated it too. His mother dedicated herself to her other children, sparing only a choice glance or two for Orm. As for his siblings? The were the same as all of the other children.

So Orm hid himself away in the wild whenever he could, learning from the animals until he found that he himself was one of them. He flew high into the skies with the eagles, hunted for rodents and smaller birds as an owl, experienced the terror of being hunted as a deer, and the thrill of the kill as a wolf. Even the secrets of the great northern polar bears were unveiled to him in time, and soon after he was a seal, swimming the icy currents of the northern ocean as if he had his whole life. The world away from home was like a dream, until it came to pass that Orm realized it was the great outdoors that was his true home.

But as with all dreams, eventually the dreamer must wake up, and reality will face him if he does not face it.

The eldest son followed him into the woods one day, bid by their father to discover what it was that Orm busied himself with day in and day out, rather than prepare for his trial. For hours and hours he searched and he called, determined to complete his father’s task. Ludo’s sixteenth name day had already come and gone, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the blessings bestowed upon him by Mother Gaia. It was Orm who found him.

An explanation was demanded, and Orm refused to give one. The terse conversation quickly heated into an argument, and violence followed shortly after. Orm was smaller and quicker, but Ludo was strong, and the melee between the two did not last long. Bigger, stronger, but not at all slow, Ludo easily overpowered his younger brother, beating him to a pulp, raw rage overcoming him, not for the first or last time in his life. Eventually, the onslaught stopped, and Ludo fell to his knees, panting and panting. From Orm’s position, sprawled on the ground, bruised, bloodied, and broken, his brother looked like a wolf after catching a fresh kill. He struggled to rise to his feet, his right leg buckling out from beneath him as he attempted to stand. Painfully, Orm slammed back to the ground, and still Ludo knelt there, his breath heaving, eyes glazed over and staring at some far away thing Orm could not hope to comprehend or see.

So he began to crawl, and focused all of his energy into shifting as he did, and then Orm was flying, away from Ludo, away from the camp, away from his father with his foul guns, away from his mother and her apathy, away from the curses cast his way, away from the stares and the mutterings, away from it all. Away from his past, and towards the future.

Inventory:

• Flintlock pistol
• Bayoneted Musket
• Waterskin
• Spare shot and powder