Race: Goblin
Age: 19
Former Profession: Barbarian warrior
Skill: Winning David vs Goliath fights, which for her is basically every fight


She has a sort of unstoppable personalty in place of actual charisma, she is fierce, bold, cock sure, completely willing to fight dirty and acts like she is the biggest and meanest thing around no matter who or what she is facing. She has an in your face attitude despite actually being at your knees, knees from which you shall soon be parting ways with. Her manner of speech is rather antiquated as a result of her little trip, which clashes a lot with her demeanor, speaking like she is out of a Shakespearian play put on by stereotypical scotsmen while trying to rip someones head of.


Long ago in a distant land there rose a furious goblin horde the likes of which had never been seen, it swept across the land till it reached the city of Kings Knell. At its head was Goblinhis Khan, a mighty barbarian warlord and one of the keystones that held the bickering goblins together with his inspiring presence and sheer bloodymindedness. But when the goblins needed her most he vanished, for in the final battle to take the city a sorcerer of the defenders tore open a portal in time and flung him into the future. However the spell missed a bit and so only sent about half of the warlord into the past. Who was sent in the past intact was one of the may offspring he had sired who just happened to be next to him at the time, a young goblin named Rita.

Years in the future a screeching goblin appeared one night in a tavern along with half a corpse and descended upon the patrons with a furious rage caused by the death of her father. About an hour later the City guard, who had arrived about 40 minutes earlier and had waited till the fighting died down, went in to arrest anyone who had survived what was essentially a regular bar fight round these parts. Inside the found a now very drunk tiny goblin woman wielding a warhammer way to big for her standing in the middle of a thoroughly trashed tavern bawling her eyes out. It was rather fortunate that some of the Guards where goblins because she didn’t immediately try to assail them and instead was contrived to discuss the situation, something she had never been that good at.

After a lot of explaining she eventually calmed down and was taken to the goblin area of town where they tried to work out what to do with her. It was like if a Viking had suddenly showed up in modern Sweden, just what did they do with this relic of the past, particularly when she was wanted for the deaths of quite a few members of various gangs in that fight. Especially when she is riling up a lot of the younger ones to take up arms against the city and go marauding again. In the end she was convinced that it would be best if she took the pardon from the guard and that the old days were over. She has since then made quite the transformation, physically at least, to a relatively respectable looking Guard's women, though she is still a berserker at heart. Her main concern however was to return to the past and undo the future that had resulted from her fathers death. or at the very least smash the sorcerer to bloody pieces personal.

She has gotten a bit used to the city, so she doesn't quite feel like a fish out of water anymore, if she does find something she doesn't understand the best course of action is to thwack it till it makes sense. She has gained this kind of grudging respect from the goblin community as someone who really has no place in their new culture yet who stands for them first and foremost with a strength that cannot be questioned. A useful and rather easily manipulated tool for furthering their interests when a bit of brute force is required and you can't just pay some orks to do it.

Name:
Annekra Blyuthstyl

Race:
Gryorga


Appearance:


Age:
Forty-two.

Former Profession:
Armor and Weapons Smith

Skill:
-=Weapon Smithing=-
As the daughter of a weapons smith, Annekra was taught how to make weapons, how to tell metals apart and to see the quality, or lack thereof, of a blade. With their keen eyesight and incredible muscle mass, Gryorgai are known to be some of the best Weapon Smiths around.

-=Enhanced Strength and Durability=-
Like any and all other Gryorgai, Annekra is much stronger than a human. Her muscle mass is much thicker and more compact, like a bullet-proof vest below her skin. That, along with her thick bones and hard skin make her about as tough as a rock.

-=Knife Wielding=-
As taught by her trade, Annekra carries a weapon on her person at all times; her usual choice being a pair of curved hunting knives. She is quite talented at the use of these and her compact build allows her swift movement for the use of them.

Personality:
>Curious/Nosy<
Annekra is very curious about almost everything. She has an urge to know every- and all things that are going on around her. More often than not, people find this behavior annoying and state her to be nosy.

>Protective/Loyal<
By nature, most Gryorgai are very protective of their kin, be they close family or a different “tribe” altogether. They are especially protective of their mates and children and will oftentimes sacrifice themselves in order to keep those they hold dear safe.
Such a bond can, obviously, also be made outside of their own kind. What we call “friends”, a Gryorga will call an “Illyu”, which roughly translates into an “off-kin”. They treat these “Illyu” like they would their own children.

>Social/Talkative<
Annekra loves to meet new people and she loves it even better to get to know these people. She wants nothing more than for everyone to be her friend. She even tends to butt into other people's conversations in an attempt to get to know them and their situations.

>Ill-tempered<
Unlike what most people would believe when first meeting Annekra, she has a temper that is not to be messed with. It does not take much to tick her off and when she does, she will throw tables around and scream bloody murder.

History:

Name:
Dregg

Race:
Grull


Appearance:




Age:
35

Skill:
Being a warlock, Dregg obtains some minor abilities from a powerful demon. Unfortunately, the only demon who gave him the time of day was a lowly demon of little consequence known as Detritus the Unseemly, who was, in fact, a trash demon. Having one’s patron be a trash demon is not entirely without its perks however, and Dregg reaps the benefits of superior trash-picking with a special increase in lucky finds and a knowledge of which discarded items are of value. A less desirable “blessing” from his rank demon patron is a decidedly stenchful bouquet about his person, which can at times be so bad as to clear a room. As a Grull, he personally does not really mind it, but it can make it difficult for him to be seated at the tavern and definitely puts a damper on socialization with beings of the “higher class.”

Former Profession:
Due to his precious gift of trash-picking magic from Detritus, Dregg was a garbage collector. Many would be disappointed with this lifestyle and the “curse” of being a trash warlock, but not Dregg. After all, many a time he has found countless treasures from his dumpster-diving adventures, including but not limited to a shoddy Battleaxe of Tickling, an entire bag of only slightly moldy sweet rolls, and a children’s nursery rhyme book that was possessed by at least three very vulgar ghosts.

Personality:
Unsurprisingly, Dregg is definitely not what one would consider the epitome of class. He is more than a little uncouth, rather blunt, loud, and a bit rude, though often without intending to be.
Having a relatively small brain and coming from a culture of stereotypically ruthless brutes has not fostered much intellectual curiosity or even much in the way of brain activity in Dregg. He does not speak particularly eloquently, and indeed, this is often a point of embarrassment for the grull. While not being the sharpest tool in the shed, Dregg is not without street smarts, which he uses to keep out of a great deal of trouble in a crime-infested city such as Kings Knell.

Dregg is quite easily angered, but is not as violent as his grull brethren. He usually just loses his ability to speak and grunts angrily. Tantrums are not uncommon.

History:

Dregg’s story does not begin in any traditional way, nor is it particularly exciting. No, he wasn’t the piteous bullied runt of the bunch, nor was he the “best and the strongest,” as many of these tales do begin. Dregg was your average everyday Grull kid, slopping about in the mud, kicking bunnies, eating dragonflies, and trying desperately to show off to his friends by doing mind-numbingly stupid things that almost guaranteed he would not live past the age of 12. But live past 12 he did — by some miracle. In fact, it was in his 13th year that his story really began.

Dregg and his motley crew of hoodlum friends were gallivanting around the refuse dump near the grull city of Gargflak. The youngsters had skittered up a tall mountain of rotting food and bones, and at the summit they decided on a test of balancing skill, mixed of course with a little good-natured senseless violence. They wanted to see who could stand on one foot at the summit and manage to keep still while being beaten over the head with very large sticks by the rest of the group (grull were known to have very thick skulls and prided themselves on being able to take large blows to the head).

Not wanting to appear a weakling, Dregg stepped up to be the first volunteer. After about six blows, one caught his clean in the face and sent him tumbling down the mountain of trash. Shrill laughter from his friends filled the air, but soon stopped suddenly and was replaced with frightened grunts and screeches as the trash mountain began to shudder and become unstable. Dreg slowly freed himself out of a barrel of spoiled rat meat and pickles (when fresh, a delicacy among grull), and watched the retreating backs of his so-called friends. He really began to worry when the mountain trembled so much that it seemed it was about to fall in on itself, so he hid his eyes, resigned to his fate.

“Dude, your friends are kind of jerks.” a voice sounded from nowhere.

“EH? WHO DERE?” Dregg managed to utter, still shocked.

“Not the most eloquent one, are you? Well, I suppose I did choose to set up here at a grull camp. What did I expect?” A smooth, grey-bodied creature shuffled its way out of the refuse with its scrappy claw-like fingers and blinked its large red eyes in the bright sunlight. It shook its head and pulled a stray fruit peel from its sizable bat-like ears. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking. I’m Detritus the Unseemly, master of this garbage hill, blah, blah blah.” He twirled his hand idly in the air as he spoke, betraying his utter boredom with the situation. “ I am going to cut to the chase here. I am a trash demon and I can bestow upon you great powers and be your patron. You’ve just gotta like, sell your soul to me for all eternity and stuff.” He spoke the last sentence with such speed that it was barely understandable, especially to a slow-witted grull. “Whaddaya say?”

Dregg’s eyes widened. He could obtain great powers from this demon? Now that would guarantee some cool-points from his friends, definitely. And hey, maybe he could set that idiot Olak’s ears on fire for making fun of his kilt. Eager to be blessed with great power, the young grull nodded his head emphatically. That was all Detritus needed, and a blinding light suddenly surrounded him. And from that point on he was a trash warlock.

What did I say? Not particularly exciting, but Dregg always enjoys telling (and enriching) the tale. From then on, he decided to leave his little town of Gargflak and see the garbage dumps of the world, his new-found patron and friend by his side.

This is how he came to Kings Knell. He drifted in and found himself unable to make a living the usual way grull do (murdering, kidnapping, etc), so he took his patron’s suggestion to be a garbage collector for the city. He got fairly decent wages and a spiffy uniform. What more could he want? Years passed, and Dregg was a happy grull, and slightly more educated thanks to his patron and the various books he found in the garbage.

One fateful day, when taking out the trash behind Blagor’s Bakery, Dregg scored a rather large bag of moldy sweetrolls. Not moments later, an angry elf rushed at him and demanded that he return the pastries. Dregg was not about to give up such a tasty prize and reiterated that he found them in the trash and did not steal them. The elf carried on for several minutes about a thief, then fetched a nearby guard.

“Let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll?” the guard asked with annoyance in a rather mocking tone, as if he had dealt with this particular situation in the past about a thousand times. “Look, I am getting tired of you elves thinking every grubby-looking orc has stolen something from you. You pretty boys are really getting on my nerves.”

“Pretty boy?” the elf repeated in utter horror, “I am not going to stand here an let you talk to me like that!” He raised his hand in threat, but did not look as if he knew how to follow through or was still deciding if it was worth it. Sensing danger, and not wanting to get tangled up with the guard, Dregg threw the bag of rolls at the elf, expecting him to catch it. Catch them the elf did — right in the face. The blow, combined with the fact he was not expecting it, caused the elf to stumbled backward and fall into the open refuse bin Dregg had just been working in.

“Well, I’ll be!” the guard exclaimed, quite impressed by the little grull’s spunk. The man felt Dregg threw the bag as an attempt to protect him, and recalled the guard was offering incentives for recruiters. This could be his ticket to a week off to visit the super hot gold elves on one of their beaches. “Hey buddy,” the guard murmured to Dregg, “You ever thought about joining the guard?”

Other:
Grull are not particularly common in Kings Knell, and many residents mistakenly refer to Dregg as an incredibly short orc, or a mutated goblin much to his annoyance. Though it may be hard to believe, with his departure from his people, Dregg is very proud of his heritage and culture and gets annoyed at its erasure in Kings Knell.

Name: Emerson (Em') L. Pèlerin

Race: Human

Gender: Both? Neither? Responds to both He and She and prefers not to think about it.

Appearance:
Emerson's appearance depends entirely on how he prefers presenting herself from one day to the next. With plenty of outfits to give off both a masculine and feminine appearance, it's a toss up depending on her mood and how long he's portrayed himself as one gender or the other. His life on the run has instilled a habit of very frequently changing things up, in order to keep the heat off his back. On top of this, her hair colour also changes daily, almost a source of pride for Emerson. He started training her magical endurance a decade ago by changing one strand at a time until he passed out from the effort. It's still a tiring task, but part of her daily regiment.

Other than Emerson's extreme androgyny, there are a few other features that are distinguishable. While attractive there are signs of malnourishment present, she's not quite dangerously thin, yet, but it's clear that eating has either been impossible or of a lesser priority for some time. On top of this he's quite short, perhaps a result of stunted growth throughout her youth. Whatever the reason, Emerson barely breaks five foot on a good day, tiptoes or not. If pointed out, she would usually deflect by saying all of his growth went into his brain.

Barely peeking out from the collar of Emerson's shirt is a tattoo of an eyeball that glows faintly whenever she begins casting spells. Magical runes can also usually be seen running up and down the length of both arms, notes taken when inspiration strikes and the parchment in his backpack is too far away to bother retrieving. Usually these are covered up with long sleeves to avoid unneeded attention, but some days she can get carried away. Since joining the guard, these days have become much more frequent, no longer needing to blend in with the general population.

Age: 17

Former Proffesion: Street Urchin, Apprentice to Aurelius the Sage

Skills:

Photographic Memory: Emerson forgets nothing that he is taught, or reads. Events may pass by her notice, but that's usually because he is more absorbed in research than what's going on around her. When on the run it came in handy many times for recognizing off duty guardsmen to avoid.

Magical Prodigy: Magic fascinates Emerson more than anything else in the world, and she's dedicated every spare moment of her young life to it's study, and practice. Moreso than just recreating existing spells and effects, he strives to invent new and creative ways to implement the powerful resource.

Bereft of Talent: An almost complete lack of natural affinity for magic means that it's use taxes Emerson to the extreme. Often only one or two spells of even moderate potency will knock him out, or otherwise drain her completely of energy.

Poor Eater: Whether due to circumstances or choice, food has never been something Emerson has had in abundance. While this has affected her strength less than one might expect (Just try lifting her backpack) he tires easily when straining himself with non magical tasks as well. This, however, is much less extreme than his magical lack of endurance.

Urchin's Skills: While they've rusted since she was a child, Emerson's life growing up on the streets of Kings Knell has instilled a certain number of thieving talents. These helped him elude capture while on the run, and could conceivably be improved to full blown thieving skills of she so chose to spend her energy perfecting them. He has no such desire though.

Dual Casting: Emerson's trademark is mixing two (or more) types of magic to make a more potent affect. Often this results in overkill, but she considers it to be experimentation as much as practical use. Whether this means creating earthen shackles that electrocute their target, or a fireball that also freezes the insides of it's victim, the results are sure to be interesting if nothing else.

Personality: Emerson is in actuality quite social in spite of both his past life on the streets, and his shut in years of research and magical practice. Perhaps it was because of this shut in lifestyle that she developed a habit of seeking out company, even if she prefers to read or otherwise occupy himself while carrying on a conversation. A lack of... experience in this department and a bizarre sense of humor means that she does personify social awkwardness.

On top of this, while she loves talking about her research into the magical arts, she's bizarrely tight lipped about his actual years as an apprentice, describing what he does decide to share in a cold, matter-of-fact manner that one might find more fitting to her analytical mind. He is only slightly less distant about her years living on the streets of Kings Knell, clearly much more interested in staying in the present. Still, beneath this detached exterior cracks of emotion can be seen if asked on a particularly bad day. Hinting that these experiences are not so distant in Emerson's mind.

Clearly though she has a deep love for what she does. Even though it takes incredible effort to cast even the smallest amount of magic, he does so with great joy. When fatigue inevitably overtakes him from the strain of his actions, Emerson passes out with a smile on her face, clearly enjoying a satisfying slumber. How long it takes him to recover varies, but usually ten or twenty minutes will suffice, leaving him exhausted for the rest of the day afterward.

History: Emerson grew up like many of the urchins lining the streets of Kings Knell: Poorly. Although her lack of nutrition wasn't due to any absence in talent as a thief. Indeed, had he chosen her belly would have never been left wanting in those years. However, he put those talents to far better use (at least in her mind): The theft of books. Literacy wasn't something common amongst his kind, so he traded favors in exchange for education. Food and baubles were exchanged for knowledge, which awakened a voracity in her that still has yet to be quenched. One day a drunk and lost man stumbled upon her hidden library in the alleys of Kings Knell, and recognized her potential as a student. That man was Aurelius The Sage, one of the greatest researchers of the arcane arts in the city.

For almost ten years to the day Emerson served under the man, attacking Aurelius' library of research like a starved animal. However, there was one slight speed bump in Emerson's road to magehood: he was almost entirely lacking in talent for the magical arts. Every spell cast felt like swimming against a raging river, and rarely could he perform more than one such feat per day. However, the results were always both precise and powerful. Emerson seemed to grasp the science behind the magical arts like few others. How exactly to coax the power latent in the world around her and change it to suit his needs. Within the (admittedly small) world of magical research, Emerson was hailed as a prodigy, more than capable of even surpassing her teacher.

However, three months ago Aurelius was found mutilated in his bedroom. His skin was burnt almost beyond recognition and his organs were found to be completely frozen solid underneath. Dual magic was known to be a specialty of Emerson, and especially considering the fact that the prodigy was nowhere to be found in the aftermath of the murder led investigators to deduce an obvious culprit. Those who have met the prodigy in the months since the incident claim that Emerson has professed innocence, but in spite of that never allowed the guard to detain him for a trial. He often used his relative anonymity (At least amongst the general public), and ability to easily pass as one gender or the other from day to day to avoid suspicion. That, and a quick escape was only a spell away. A painful, taxing spell away.

However, though as a child she lived the life of a petty criminal, Emerson had never been wanted for a serious crime. In fact, for the most part was completely ignored except by others of his kind. Being actively hunted for murder was an entirely different kettle of fish, and far worse was that she had no license to practice magic. Guardsmen were easy to escape on any given day, but the guild was far more tenacious and capable of hunting him down. After three months of being on the run she finally grew tired of it. Knowing that her talents would be valued- and that the guard could be called "loose" with their acceptance of fugitives- he finally turned himself in for a pardon. Considering his talents for magic and stealth, it was agreed he'd be absolved of the high profile murder and made a member of the guard on the condition that he allow the city to track him at any time. Now she sports a tattoo of an eye on her chest. which activates a scrying spell any time she uses magic. A small price to pay, in his view.

Name: Fenni Gorrun

Race: Dwarf

Appearance: Fenni is an aged dwarf, his gray-black beard thick and long, his cold, tired eyes showing years of both wisdom and loss, and his scarred body showing marks of many years carried upon his shoulders. His hands are thick and sturdy, with many callouses from years of hard labor, combat, and other physical endeavors. Despite his age, he is still strong and sturdy, and can easily take most people in a physical fight.

Age: 86 in Dwarf Years

Former Profession: In times of peace, Fenni was a laborer for Clan Gorrun, smithing, mining, woodworking, and everything else that required strong physical abilities. In times of war, he was a soldier, marching into battle with the axe and armor of a dwarven warrior, defending and serving his clan in battle.

Skill: Axes. He can do just about anything feasibly possible with an axe, from throwing to fighting, to woodcutting and carving, and even things one wouldn't think possible with an axe. He's also an amazing drinker, alcohol seeming to have no effect on him no matter how long he drinks. He's even known to keep dwarven ale in his waterskin instead of water.

Personality: Fenni is a gruff, ugly person, both in appearance and personality. He's sarcastic, brutish, harsh, and doesn't seem to have any sense of manners...except around other dwarves. When with his kin, Fenni shows all the traits of an honorable, proud dwarf. With a groomed beard, polished axe, and the emblems of his clan displayed prominently.

History: For most of his life, Fenni was a proud member of his clan, bringing honor and glory in both his mundane tasks, as well as the field of battle. The clan records held many praises of his works and deeds, and songs were sung of him in the great halls during feasts and celebrations. He was a hero and everyone loved him for it. However, like all great tragedies, the hero's greatness must fall, and Fenni was no exception.

As dwarves live primarily in great mountain halls and vast cavern cities, one of the prime enemies of the state is foliage, trees and other plant life. These often encroach upon dwarven homelands with their vast roots, smashing through walls and invading dwarven buildings. Fenni's fall from grace was brought about by these enemies, for he was found consorting with them. Fenni was discovered supplying the great green menace with water, applying it to the soil around a small batch of flowers. When his shame was discovered, he was punished. Allowed to keep his family and clan name, Fenni was given a punishment; slay 1000 of the plant foes, and he may return with his honor intact.

Joining the town guard was simply a matter of keeping Fenni's martial skills intact, as he also does part-time work as a logger for the city, to try and accomplish his goal, so he can one day return to his home.

Name: Syrenity Dru, tends to go by just Dru

Race: High Elf

Appearance:


Age: 25 (Apparent age. Don't you know it's rude to ask a girl's age?)

Former Profession: Assassin for Hire

Skill:

• Stealth - Able to remain unseen, Syrenity can sneak around easily in most circumstances. While easier at night, she can manage during the day, if the situation is right
• Seductive/Persuasive - When actions don't work, words are often needed. Syrenity is able to charm the pants off of many people (quite literally) if it suits her needs. She isn't picky about the gender either
• Dual Blade - What assassin isn't well-versed in dual blades?

Personality: Syrenity tends to put herself first above others. Not one to turn down a job due to morals, she likes what she does and isn't afraid to show it. If she isn't killing, scoring, or stealing she isn't happy and a not happy Syrenity tends to make others around her miserable, if for nothing else than her own amusement. Some would call her sadistic and that may be true, but she does it for the coin. She has very little friends and very little time for the friends she does have. Ultimately, she's in it for herself; others be damned.

History: Syrenity doesn't talk about her past much. The only thing she ever revealed was that her parents didn't want her and that suited her just fine. Instead, she was raised in the wealthy households, used and, more times than not, abused for their wishes. This instilled in her the love for all things fine and money talked. As she got older, it became more apparent to her that she was merely a trinket. An accessory to be talked about and shown to the others, saying "Look what we have!". She didn't much care for it and found thrill in other capacities. Starting off small, she would nab little doodads that no one would miss. As time went on, she went larger and larger as the thrill grew. If she was ever caught (and let's be frank, that rarely happened) she was able to charm them with her social graces and the promise for...more.

Soon, she got bored of that as well and looked for something else to do. Having been treated unfairly for too long, she decided to try her hand at killing. Quite a leap from thievery huh? She found she could be quite good as she stood over the bed of her "parents" with a blade in hand. It wasn't that she couldn't do it. It was more the fact if she did, what would happen? They would investigate her first and she would be thrown in jail or worse. Instead, she take whatever valuables she could and escape.

She kept up stealing, but took contracts whenever she could for assassinations. She found the thrill again and was paid handsomely for it. She established a small name for herself as someone who could get the job done. However, one such assassination attempt against a member of a royal house got her caught. The Guard took her in. Having finally got the girl responsible for the crime spree, instead of throwing her in jail to be left to rot, they decided to use her skills for themselves.

Remember when we said there was something worse than jail? This was it.

Character Sheet
Name: Beatrice “Blackheart” Bolevar
Race: Human (Cursed)’

Beatrice have been cursed for her act of vengeance upon House Kalaba. While she can die, she cannot have a slow death. Instant killing blows like running through her heart or cutting of her head always seem to fail. Instead she may get stabbed through a non vital part to bleed out, or her throat might be partially cut up. This was put on her as they meant to torture her. But House Kalaba collapsed upon itself financially before they got that far.

Note, while she is hard to kill,she is very far from immortal. She heals just as slowly as any other human and is just as susceptible to disease, poison, and magical cause of death bar disintegration.

Appearance:


Ginger hair and freckles, green eyes that sparkle with life. Those were words her mother once used to describe Beatrice. Now beatrice eyes are dull green overflowing with cynisicsim. Her pale skin is more often not covered with dirt and grime. Her body is built, muscle honed by the constant sword practice and workout. Her face is a mask of tired regret. Her lips seems to always be chapped, her red hair is tied down in a tight short ponytail that’s been cut and frayed several time. A long scar run acroos her throat where the medic healed her from a otherwise fatal injury. As a result, her voice is always raspy and harsh. In fact, she has scars across her body.

Age: 32

Former Professional: Captain of the Lady Melarosas Bodyguards/ Lady Knight
Skill:

Swordsmanship: A talented swordswoman by all means, her one refined techniques have been reduced to a sort of angry, brawly and instinctual fighting on Kings Knells streets.

Literate: You’d be surprised how many don’t know how to read or write in Kings Knell.

Iron Liver: Nobody drinks like Beatrice.She might just be Black Liver instead of heart.

Code of Chivalry: She knows all there is to know about knighthood. Knows what banners belong to what house. How to conduct and challenge to a duel. How to eat like high society. How to dance (Only leading, to the confusion of every man she ever danced with.).How to ride a horse. How to kick a suitor is the 'nads when nobody is looking.

Personality: Beatrice is not called blackheart for nothing. The Cynical woman's heart might just have shrivelled to the size of a raisin at this point. You are hard pressed to find any woman or man more disillusioned with the world. She absolutely loathes the Guard and everyone in it, including herself. Hell, Especially herself. But she does not hate herself to just end it all. She is violent to the point that hardened criminals has complained to the chief justices. Add to that a rampant sort of alcholism that leaves taverns dry and out of buisness from unpayed bartabs.

History:

House Melarosa stood for over 300 years as beacon of purity. The Lady Benicia Melarosa was the Matron of the house back when Beatrice was only a child. Beatrice wasn’t noble by any means, she was just the daughter to one of the house many servants. But the Melarosa have a tradition they call Ascendance. In which they allow a child of their servents to join the rank of their Guard and aspire to actual Knightdom. And as Melarosian tradition allowed for female and male knights alike, Beatrice was chosen.

Beatrice was really made for it. Her father was the stable master, and she had rode horses since the age of 7. And being around the stables meant a lot of hefting and lifting, so she was plenty strong for a girl her age. Her father had about as much concern for gender rolls as a overworked, all hands at work dad could have in the dukedom of Melarosa.

She took like her apprenticeship like a fish to water. She was attentive. She was brawny. She was intelligent. She was exceptionally prone to “Justified violence”. The latter meant she would duel you the second she went from Paige to Anointed knight. And she was good at it. As tall as most of the boys, she was fast and and talented with the blade.

But all stories come to an end. And so would hers. Only a few months into the duty of bodyguard for the Lady Anise Melarosa, the daughter of Benecia, things went awry. The rival house of Kalaba had been buying up all the local privateers to hassle any Melerosian ships. They would buy grain from merchants at price, knowing that Melarosa could not compeet. They were starving them.

And then. One day, Melarosa had to succumb. The Lady Anise was to be married away, uniting the two Houses. Outraged by this, like any good knight who wanted a outright battle, Beatrice decided to duel one of the princes.

The Duel was short. Becouse it ended with a swift, very unknightly kick to the jewels for the prince. ANd then a unholy beating of the other brothers who were offended that she had just nutted their brother. Mainly by driving a iron plated knee to their groins one after the other. When she was finally Dragged off, she escaped to light the entire dock on fire.

For this, she was apprehended and deemed unworthy of knighthood by the Kalaba, who now were rulers of her former retainer. Further, and more critically, she was cursed to die a slow death. However, the mage had taken the slow death as to vague, and instead of making her die a slow death, he made it so that she could die a quick one. Kalaba thought this would work in favor of torture at the very least. Fortuneteller for the Lady Knight, her stunt had them in ruination. And unpaid mercenaries and cut throats came demanding payment. The House Kalaba would be dismantled. Sadly, the pillaging spilled over to Melarosa house, and as the blame lay with a disgraced knight, she was promptly booted off the border with only a horse, her armor and sword to her name.

She sought out the guard, knowing full well of their reputation. She rose to the rank of Captain fairly quickly, much due to groin kicking and the ability to strike the fear of of armor plated women into burglars everywhere. She had to sell her armor and horse to afford a place outside the slums to live though.

Name: Valoren Ahallah
Race: Thiefling (Djinn Linage)

A tiefling, he is half demon. However, unlike most city Tieflings, he is not from a Succubi or a Incubus or similar infernal creatures. He is the offspring of a Desert Demon. A so called Djinn. This has not spared him the City Inquisition from making note of his existence. However, due to his almost sheepish innocence, they feel uncomfortable about even the thought of putting him near fire.

Not that fire would help. Djinn blood makes him near impervious to heat. On the flip side, he has deadly fright of running water.

Appearance:

One thing most people dont realize about dancers, they are pretty built. Valoren is no different. Having spent his life keeping himself in tip top form for his former Mistress and Sultana, he is quite fit. His slender but powerful form has the added benefit of being clawed. His fingertips all end in razor sharp nails that he files to a point.

Age: 32

Former Professional: Dancer at Sultana D’zannas Harem.

Hand To Hand combat: All the Sultansas Harem boys are trained in basic martial arts skills incase they need to sacrifice themselves to protect her. With added benefit of demonic blood and literal claws, Valoren isn’t as harmless as he first appear.

Whips: The Sultana didn’t allow her boys to wield anything crude. Their weapons needed to be wielded with elegance and flourish to fit her aestethics. Whips, Iron Fans, Needles nad hidden daggers only. In Valorens case, he is a menace with his whip given enough space.

Slight of Hand: Things go missing near the dancing boy. That is for certain.

Dancing: Valoren knows at least thirty forms of dance, from across all six continents.

Personality:

Bubbly isn’t quite right. There is a sharpness to him that is undeniable if you spend time around him. He is just capable of appearing completely clueless and innocent if it aids him. He is a reveler, enjoying his newfound freedom his absolute limit. He is often invited to Brothels to to teach the girls and boys to dance, something the Guard has told him is against every regulation ever made about private interest and personal involvement.

History:

His life was a simple one. Born in a lone desert town. Mother was a lonely woman, his dad was apperently a demon. Raised to be a nice and good boy who treated everyone with respect. Then the Sultana visited their village and fell insantly in love with the boys exotic looks. She bought him off his mother for a sum greater then the village put together. Last he checked, his mother was on another continent.

As a part of the Harem, he was thought many, many things. He was taught every new dance his Mistress found fascinating. He was taught to read and write, only so that he could read her poetry. He was lavished with attention on a good day, completly ignored in the favor of some new toyboy the next. He was growing quietly dissatisfied with his stay and started to become more prone to sour moods and it only escelated his Mistress negligence. One day, he found out the Harem was being pruned. He was told he was going to be free.

There was catch.

The Sultana was holy according to her laws and religions, and any man who had been with her must not be with anyone else. This included him of course. And the way to ensure that was… painfull to say the least.

Not wanting to lose one of the few things he had to his name, he managed to escape the night before his “surgery”. He hitched a ride aboard a vessel bound for Kings Knell. There he found his way into a brothel, where immediately charmed the Madam. He spent two years at “The Ogress” as a dance instructor. Untill a rowdy patron pushed her after he told her he was in fact a boy. As the rowdy drunkard of a woman pushed however. he acted on instinct, he flipped the woman onto a table. Said woman was Captain BLackheart of the Guard. While not amused, she was also impressed and pressed him into service.

Name:
Khaz the Guard-Goat

Race:
Beastman (AKA. Mutant Human)

Appearance:
Standing over seven feet tall on cloven hooves, Khaz tends to draw the eye and a fair few muttered prayers of protection under the breaths of more... devoted religious people. A humanoid goat in appearance, Khaz is quite clearly physically imposing with the well honed muscles and scars of someone who has spent their whole life fighting battle after battle. His horns are sharp and well taken care of, through never polished enough to shine. His fur is messy and often unkempt, the only attention that it is ever given is the occasional bath to prevent himself from smelling too horrible and the occasional trim to prevent it from getting in the way.

Age:
16

Former Profession:
Hired Muscle

Skill:
Living Bulwark: When one is born cursed and reviled by many of those around you, you must either become incredibly hard to kill or die. Khaz is the former, his body easily strong enough to withstand quite a fair bit of punishment.

Strong Fighter: There is a stereotype of the 'monsterous' beastmen that all of them are physically powerful and good at fighting. This is a misunderstanding; There are weak, more scholarly beastmen... They just tend not to survive till adulthood.

Stealthy: One would think that a large humanoid goat would be difficult to miss; There are quite a few bodies in the slums that never lived to learn otherwise.

Personality:
Violent and angry at the world that hates him, Khaz is not the first person that comes to mind when they picture a member of the city guard; despite this he honestly desired to join up and to the vexing of many he has never actually explained why. Born and raised in the slums, Khaz has seen more soul crushing, harrowing sights in the shadows that anyone really has any right to bare witness to and yet he remains unbroken by it. Khaz processes both a brutal cunning and a cunning brutality combined a willingness to use both in order to get the job done and come home alive.

History:
Despite what the Mage Guild says, Magic has unintended consequences on the world. No one knows exactly how it happens or why due to the Mage Guild refusing to even acknowledge the problem and any independent researcher looking into it tends to disappear without a trace along with their notes, but there is a degree of raw, magical fallout in the world caused by the practiced usage of magic. While this fallout of magic has numerous effects on the world, its most visible is seen in the birth of the 'beastmen', children born to human parents mutated as some kind of humanoid animal. Condemned as cursed by the gods, many of these children are abandoned in dangerous places to die and in the natural course of things, most do.

Some don't.

Khaz was born in the city of Kings Knell, his goat like mutations complicating the birth and resulting in the death of his biological mother, with his biological father abandoned him in the middle of the night in the slums soon afterwards. However Khaz was found by a passing member of the Blood Maul gang, who recognized in the young infant a great deal of potential. Raised by his adoptive father Dakka, Khaz received the best education that the slums had to offer... the art of shit kicking.

When he was old enough to walk and understand, Khaz was taught by Dakka how to fight, how to take a beating and how to avoid being seen on an almost daily basis due to the man's drinking habit making him... ill tempered. The almost daily circle of abuse continued until Khaz was ten years old, when he interrupted a drunken beating by soaking his face right in the face and knocking him the hell out. Unwilling to stay in the same building as his old man anymore, Khaz left home.

Work wasn't hard to come by, since even at his young age he was rather big, strong and scary looking; Marking him as perfect hired muscle to those that would hire him for whatever ends they required. While he embraced his talents of brute force and honed his cunning, Khaz quickly found the mercenary life he was living rather... unsatisfying. He felt the strong desire to belong to a herd and while he could have joined one of the countless gangs that would have killed to have someone as strong as he was, none of them felt like they would be home...

He was an outcast in the world...

... And like all outcasts do sooner or later, he found the City Guard.

Name: Alec Lingam

Race: Human

Appearance: Alec is a tall, relatively well tanned young man with green eyes, and unkempt brown hair. He's thankful he was given an average face, nothing to balk at, but nothing to boast with either. His body has a slight muscular build, but such a body is not uncommon to those who spend their time applying themselves physically. His body sports a noticeable amount of scars and sometimes cuts, evident of multiple close calls or even scraps, but not so many that it would be disgusting.

Age:21

Former Profession: Brewer, Social Reformer

Skills:
Fast: Alec knows how to run thanks to his many days of eluding and escaping authority. And due to his early grace period, he's developed the leg muscles needed for said running.

Slippery: The human body, when stress, exudes moisture through the skin in order to regulate temperature, he's no different. He also knows how to wriggle out of some holds better, in order to escape custody.

Personality: Alec can be described as passionate in his beliefs, as he thoroughly pursues what he believes to be the ‘true way’ as best as he can, and as often as he can. If you approached him about his ‘problem’ he’d react to you calmly, with the same jovial and even talkative nature he treats everyone else with.

History: Alec spent his earlier young adult years working in a brewery, making a decent amount, more than enough to cover his daily costs and then some. He had spent a good amount of time as an honest brewer, but he felt bored, like he wasn’t doing enough with his life, until he discovered it one day. He was on his way home one day and a mugger approached him, naturally he demanded money and valuables.
The thought of being left full of holes and left for dead in an alleyway threw Alec into a small panic state, he let go of all inhibitions and allowed only his first instinct to take over. Alec knew he needed to distract him somehow to gain the upper hand, so his instincts amplified that wish, and he instantly began to drop his clothing.

The thief, like any normal person, was stunned by this and allowed Alec to take the initiative and pummeled the thief. With no time to recover, and still being largely disgusted, the thief went down quickly. After this Alec opted to spread his own beliefs by publically speaking about his feelings, specifically, about his brand new connection to nature, the feeling of finally being liberated.

And for a time Alec even gathered a small following of men and women, those interested in breaking new social ground, and those who happen to be as passionate as Alec. Although there was no law against public indecency yet, the nearest guardsmen always aimed to try and stop him. And try they did for months and he had always escaped; sometimes he’d escape without a scratch, and sometimes he’d get a few cuts from the guard’s weapons while narrowly escaping.

But all good things must end, and so did Alec’s glory days of freedom. You could say the stars were bad, or that he was just unlucky, but the guardsmen finally caught him. Alec was once again running away from the guard, but this time Alec must not have seen everything in front of him, because he tripped and fell on a puddle. There is now a law against public indecency.

Name: Krobb

Race: River troll

Appearance: i18.photobucket.com/albums/b118/ghazg…
Krobb is a river troll, river trolls are big and not overly pretty fellows. Krobb is an unusually good looking river troll with his bright blue eyes, flowing blonde mohawk and fair skin (for a river troll).
He is about 2,5 metres tall (3 if straightening up) and carry some sort of armour with his pretty guard star.

Age: Ummm, he is kinda young.... for a troll....

Former Proffesion: Before joining the guard Krobb followed the footsteps of his father and worked on becoming a freelancing bridge toll manager. (Extra fee for goats.)

Skills:
VERY robust: Krobb, being a troll is very robust. Troll skin is monstrously thick and resists most acids to most weapon attacks with ease. Krobb is also very very strong, able to lift cows with just a bit of effort.

Troll appetite: River trolls can eat anything, and do. Rocks, wood, meat, that strange bottle (crunchy), you name it. River trolls merrily eat things that would kill other beings without any problems. They can go long periods of time without food, but they will complain.

Thick: It's not just the trolls skin that is thick, his brain is as well. Krobb is a very knowledgeable and intelligent troll, which on average puts him on being more clever than a chair... most of the time.
At times he has shown great cleverness, outwitting smart animals like cows and chickens. This makes him very proud.

Scary: Trolls are not normally city living fellas, in fact they are seen as dangerous monsters by most. While this is true with most trolls, Krobb unlike many of his brethren is not a monstrous brute.
So while being rather nice, many people fear Krobb, either because of his visage or his massive muscles and weapon.

Personality:
Kind gentle giant, means no harm and enjoys life. Has a really easy time making friends with small birds.

History:
Being such a pretty troll meant he was seen as some sort of abomination among his kin, while not ostracized, he was shunned. Sad and lonely he left the marshy forest of his former home and went to search for a new life.
He brought his nice club and the clothes he had made with his own hands.

He never found any bridges that needed a freelancing toll manager, most were already occupied and the ones that didn't were not very nice bridges, either far too big or too small.
Toll management is important business, and knowing your own skill is as important.

Saddened by the lack of need of his family business, he went on.
He found himself entering some sort of city, he had heard about cities before and this made him very excited. So he entered.
He didn't really understand the need to scream and run away or to poke him with metal tipped sticks that some were doing, but he assumed that was normal for city people. So stressed they were, not able to calm down.

He really enjoyed the market, lots of food which he ate and interesting things, some of which he ate. He didn't understand the need to jump out of sight as soon as they saw him though, and some of the others were actually becoming annoying with the pointy sticks, even though some of them were getting tired.
It was about there a man walked up to Krobb and explained in forest speak that he had broken the law. But Krobb didn't remember breaking anything and was confused.
With great effort the man managed to explain the concept of laws, to some extent, and that Krobb had to follow him to the prison for being a criminal.

Krobb was sad at this point, disappointed that he was a criminal, and that he hadn't managed to make anything better of his life than being a simple criminal. What would his mother think of this?
He spent many days in the cell, tearfully eating the stones from the walls and the metal bar door. With only the single man able to speak to him.
The man told him his name was 'Remik Tollb', a druid. That was brought in when the guard couldn't stop Krobb's "rampage" through the streets. Krobb expressed his feelings to Remik whom felt sorry for the poor being and promised to teach Krobb the common language here in exchange of being a good citizen.
Krobb was overjoyed and gladly accepted, and explained he wanted to help people, and make sure there were no people doing bad things.

Krobb lived with Remik for some time after the druid adopted him, and actually inherited his few possessions when he died. This of course saddened Krobb and he vowed to do good within the guard which Remik had managed to arrange a workplace at.
Sure, it was one of the worst districts, but Krobb didn't know that.
As proof he was a member of the prominent city guard, he was given a gold star (made from brass, and not at all the only way the guard could without spending a fortune on cloth show people Krobb was in fact a guard.)

So for the last few years Krobb has assisted the city guard on 11th "Chopping street" (which only at times was misinterpreted.) But was to be transferred to 22nd "Cleaver street".
And of course no one told the Cleaver street guards this fact.