Full Name:Kailea Arydunseyr
Titles/Nicknames: Matchstick,Tinderbox, Pyromancer, "No, not the damn tavern-"(Optional)
Age:24
Race:Human
Gender:Female
Sexual Orientation:Pansexual

Hair Color: Brown, when it isn't covered in ash or charred at the tips
Eye Color: Hazel, leaning toward topaz
Height:5 '7"
Weight: 150lbs

Appearance: Kailea could not be any less muscular if she tried. Every attempt she's ever made at growing out her auburn hair past her shoulders has met with disaster, and she keeps it singed short and out of her way. Her clothes are in a perpetual state of disrepair thanks to her mastery, or lack thereof, of fire and she chooses to wear as little as possible to avoid inadvertently igniting something on her person, though it makes it easy to see the puckered red welts of the burns she's given herself in the past from her attempts to learn how to control her magic. It's rare to see her not going barefoot, in some manner of sleeveless top. She doesn't so much walk around as she meanders around to music only she can hear.

Personality: Kailea has never been a shy person. An embodiment of confidence, she is known for shamelessly flirting with anything that has a pulse, and has a sharp tongue that gets her into (and out of) trouble almost as often as her magics do. She has something of a shopping addiction that stems from a constant need to replace her charred belongings and money will often figuratively, and literally, burn a hole through her pocket. And while she has little trouble finding things to like about anyone who crosses her path, once she has been wronged, her temper burns every bit as hot as the spells in her arsenal. She cannot stand to be cold or wet in the least, and is the most happy on bright sunny days, and insufferable on sodden rainy ones. She's rarely without some manner of company, during the night or day, because more than anything, she cannot stand being alone.



Strength: 2
Dexterity: 5
Intelligence: 5
Cunning: 7
Magic: 9
Willpower: 4
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 5

Weapons of Choice: While completely inept with any manner of martial weapon, Kailea is never without a small assortment of various flameable oils and powders that offer her a bit of flexability when it comes to using her magic.
-A palm-sized clay flask of plain lamp oil
-A vial no thicker than two fingers of a distilled spirit that burns vibrant green
-An old coin purse filled with a powdered mushroom that burns without smoke or residue.

Armor/Combat Apparel: Kailea doesn't bother with armor, and in her experience, it only serves as a hinderance. Her protection of choice consists of a pair of leather half gloves that protect her palms, and close, form fitting clothing that allow her complete freedom of movement. And allows her to show off a bit of any onlookers in the crowd.

Fighting Style: With little to no physical prowess of her own, Kailea fights dirty and has exactly no shame about it. She takes great delight in insulting and goading her opponents into making clumsy mistakes in a bid to shut her up. In another life, she could have been a world-class actress for all the acts she puts on in front of a crowd, often choosing to play the victim to a stronger opponent, while they take their time giving the crowd the show they paid for. She fancies herself to be better suited for the kind of explosive finale that leaves people talking, rather than meaningless fighting no one will ever remember. Both in and out of the ring, she's not shy about letting people in close, either to make them extremely uncomfortable, or burn them black. She has some ability to cast spells at range, but personally finds it boring when she can't get up close and personal. However, she's no stranger to her plans and spells backfiring spectacularly.

Magical Affinity: Fire, spellweaver

• Spell 1: Summon flame- A magically summoned fire roughly the size of a human head at its largest, and as small as a single match. Can be thrown, and will ignite flammable material upon contact. Can be shaped slightly with concentration.
• Spell 2: Overheat- A wall of fire engulfs the caster for several seconds, before expanding out from the center by 10 feet. the longer the spell is held prior to release, the hotter the flames become and can injure the caster if held for too long.
• Spell 3: Searing Pain- This spell deals no physical damage and can only be cast through skin-to-skin contact. Target feels as if they have caught fire and are burning. Caster must maintain concentration, or the spell breaks.

Place of Birth:Tyren
Social Status:Exile
Alignment: Fire

History: Kailea was born to a family of weaponsmiths. From an early age, she enjoyed watching her father work and helped him in the smithy however he would let her. Her favorite jobs involved tending to the forge itself, whether it be feeding the always ravenous fires, or pumping air into it with the bellows as large as she was tall. She despised being cold, and working the forge was a way for her to be close to the always burning fire. Much to her mother's dismay, despite taking after her in looks, Kailea had inherited her father's unashamed mannerisms and sense of humor. She had no qualms about speaking to whomever would listen as she stood on the tips of her toes to peak over the stone counters.

When she became a girl of ten, her world turned upside down, as a neighboring warband swept through their lands. In the middle of the night, the raiding party used the cover of a harsh blizzard to push past the clan's defenses before an alarm could be raised. The sound of screams and smell of smoke greeted her, as her mother ripped her out of her bed and carried her into the forge. She didn't understand when her mother wrapped her in a soaking wet blanket and doused the fires with snow and ice, before pushing Kailea inside and covering her with ash and soot.

"Do not move. Do not make a sound."

Kailea listened to her mother and laid in the bed of ash for two days, listening to the sounds of unfamiliar voices while both they and the warmth from the stone of her father's forge gradually faded away and left her freezing and alone. On the third day she could find comfort from the biting cold, no matter how tightly she curled in on herself. The forge was cold, and she had nothing but charcoal for company. She laid quietly, barely lucid and dreaming of the days when the forge was bright and lit and the air was filled with the ringing sounds of her father shaping the strongest metals. The smell of smoke ripped her away from her dream, and she looked to see a small flickering fire that danced in the old coals between her hands. It was from that small fire that her fallen clan's allies found her. They spotted the tiny curl of smoke and carried her away from the remains of her home and people.

As soon as she was of age to travel, Kailea left the frozen lands behind to find both a proper teacher for her magic and her fortune in the wider world. Though it quickly became apparent that it was the latter she'd need to procure the former. Her search for a teacher had led her to Risha and another round of disappointment, when she had nothing put lint in her pockets to pay for tutelage. Her begging and bartering did not earn her any favor, though she was told that if it was money she sought, the impending tournament could provide enough to cover the cost of her lessons.

Other: To clarify here, Kailea is often suggestive, but not outright lewd. She aims to make people uncomfortable, but enjoys her wordplay so that she has time to watch things sink in .

Full Name: Destin Eindride
Titles/Nicknames: Erland
Age: 39
Race: Human
Gender: Male

Hair Color: Gray
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 1m94
Weight: 85kg(i don't actually know how much a muscular giant would weigh @~@)

Appearance: Destin is a giant among men, or at least the men that aren't from Tyren. As he hails from a culture of violence and war, this has shaped him into a muscular soldier. His face is rugged and hair short. A permanent stubble is etched into his rectangular, manly chin. Due to the col, his skin could be described as a somewhat grayish white. Destin's attire back home might have consisted of furs on top of leathers, but he's learned to leave the fur part out of the mix when travelling outside of Tyren.

Despite the leathers there are some casual clothes Destin owns, but they are plain white shirts with plain, clay brown pants. These reflect his modest nature, and they remind him of the animal furs that made up his attire back at home. He is never seen without a nutty brown backpack full of supplies, as well as a zweihander either firmly in his grip or tied up on his back.

Personality: Destin is a steadfast and sturdy man in both appearance and personality. Very little humor is in his bones, but if you get him to drink one too many alcoholic beverages that could change drastically. He is well-travelled around the world and has at least some basic knowledge of each realm with the exception of Noctis. Destin has mastered control over his own mind and has an iron, unbreakable will which was forged over many years of hardship. Despite being exiled, he is still a proud warrior of his homeland. He will not tolerate insulting Tyren and despises treachery and deceit.

He is absolutely resolute to act honorably and has faced some of man's greatest fears in battle, which makes him a tad more confident than is normally healthy. There is only a single fear that can penetrate this man's locked heart, and that is one of loss. A wound that cut so deep that the mere mention could break his focus and bring him in doubt. Due to all the trials he has endured and the trials he has faced, he has seen that man is no better than what they accuse Beasts of being. Everything is an equal to him, only on the field of battle can one prove their worth to him.



Strength: 7
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 5
Cunning: 1
Magic: 7
Willpower: 10
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 5

Weapons of Choice: Destin is a proud and strong warrior of Tyren, which is a land that favors the axe, shield and spear. For many years he had used a combination of these three, but that changed. The mightiest warriors of his tribe were allowed to wield monstrous two-handed swords, fit to slaughter many men if you had both the strength and skill to wield it. Winning a brawl with the chieftain himself graced the warrior with such an honor, and that is just what Destin had done. This monumental event has lead to him using those monstrous blades, more akin to club than sword, ever since.

Armor/Combat Apparel: While it would not be unbelievable for him to wear full-on platemail, he does not hail from that kind of culture. Warriors were taught to survive with nothing but a few laps of a bear's fur covering and protecting them, and this has not changed. Destin likes to keep his armor at a minimum and even expose some parts of his body if the climate allows for it, revealing his muscular arms and sweet abs. Studded leather shoulderpads, chestplate and greaves is all this combatant needs. Countless injuries have shaped his body to be able to take more than a few cuts, bruises and stabs.

There is only a single oddity that he carries everywhere: An iron gauntlet on his primary sword-arm, namely the right. This gauntlet is enchanted, but not to enhance the user. It is a magical artifact meant to seal away a part of the wearer's inherent magical ability, restraining them from casting any spells.

Fighting Style: A proud warrior of Tyren fights honorably and without fear. They come face-to-face with the enemy and utilizes no dirty tricks in their fighting. Destin will always be the first to charge in and loves being in the frontlines, slaughtering the enemy while they desperately try to fight back. This style of fighting could be seen as reckless and barbaric, but it is the one true way that Destin knows to fight.

Magical Affinity: Spellweaver, but without any control over his power.

• Ragnarök – Ragnarök is the beginning of the end, and the first stage has been set in motion. Upon being cast, voluntarily or not, the user is engulfed with a fierce rage for battle. This burning hot spirit summons a singular creature, a wolf the size of a man: Fenrir. Fenrir adapts to the soul of the caster and takes form based on their affinity, and while a form of a blazing hellhound might look the fiercest, any form of it strikes fear in the hearts of many mortal men, woman and beast. Fenrir lusts for battle as much as the caster, and will not disappear if it's hunger hasn't been in the least bit sated.

Place of Birth: Teryn, in the tribe of Guldbrand.
Social Status: Exile
Alignment: Earth

History: Destin grew up in the tribe of Guldbrand in the frigid Teryn. He was raised by harsh mother and even harsher father, which was needed in that tribe. Food was always scarce and their was constant fighting among the youth. Children were taught at a young age how to hunt, kill and fight. Despite the harsh weathering conditions, the children were kept on a rigorous training schedule and had to share an equal part in the harsh labour back when they were home. This meant that some children, the weakest ones, simply did not survive. The strong enough ones like Destin, who endured the harsh training of the warriors and harsher beating when misbehaving at home, flourished. Despite what some may call as barbaric and mistreatment, Destin holds nothing but respect towards his upbringing for steeling both his body and mind for the harshness of the outside world.

Then there comes a point where a boy becomes a man, and for Guldbrand that means becoming a proud warrior. Once a boy or girl reaches the age of fifteen in that tribe they are eligible for battle. Almost immediately they are thrown into war and that becomes their next trial. Equipment was hard to come by in those frozen tundras, with the little metal they found being used on weapons and the fur of every animal slain going towards their armor. Destin was given nothing but a shoddy spear and minimal hides to cover himself against much more well-armed adults. Despite the harsh wounds he suffered, some of them life-threatening and scarring his body to this day, he always survived. For every battle you survive you get access to slightly better equipment, but the most valuable thing was battle experience.

So it was that Destin grew up to be a proud warrior of Guldbrand. For years he had known nothing but hunting and battle, becoming one of the best warriors in the tribe after the many battles he had completed, be they victory or loss. It was during this time he met a lovely maiden named Hillevi, part of his own tribe. She was aged merely seventeen when he was already twenty-three. Still, she was one of the strongest females in the entire tribe. Everyone respected her determination and strength, with some of the older men even losing to her in sparring matches.

It was fated that love struck between these two, after a particular fight in which only they made it back unharmed. This event made them respect each other more than they already had and frequently take each other as sparring partners, with unpredictable results each time. This bliss was not to last, however. At age twenty eight, long after marrying Hillevi, another fateful battle occurred. An invasion by a neighboring tribe, a fierce battle where Guldbrand was on the losing side. Just as Destin hit the snow-covered icy floor from a nasty strike, something within him clicked. The blood was staining the floor beneath him red, but the man responded with a shout of battle. He picked himself up from the floor, taking the claymore beside him steadily in his hands. A chilling wind cut through the clothes of the men around him and froze them in place. From behind Destin echoed a howl, right as a man-sized wolf came rushing in and pounced on the warriors before the man.

The majority of the wolf's fur was as white as the snow, but a few streaks of earthy brown and emerald green ran from their maw all the way to the tail. The eyes of this wolf were like two orbs of clay, and their fangs were made of metal. Destin was too engrossed in battle to pay any attention to his newfound companion as they both ran wild and slaughtered every man and woman they came across, including children. Friend or foe was of no concern to Destin as he sliced his way through fresh corpse after fresh corpse. Only two remained near the end, the chieftain and Hillevi. Hillevi proudly fought the berserked Destin and his newfound companion, but as the spell cast over him wore off he had already delivered the fatal strike, the lifeless and bloody body of his wife hitting the floor. When he turned around, the wolf had disappeared without a trace.

He did not realize at the time that what he had experienced was the spell Ragnarök.

The chieftain, both scared and angered, exiled the shocked Destin. For years after he wandered the lands, searching for a purpose and atoning for his sins. He thought of himself as no more than beast after the fact and adopted the religion of the Heart Tree. He wandered as a sellsword and eventually ended up accepting a contract from a reclusive wizard, deep within the deserts of Ashran. Risking his life, Destin traveled to Oriens to slay a minotaur, and returned successful. Destin needed guidance during this time and had accepted the contract because the Wizard could tell him how to keep the anger he felt back in the last moments of Guldbrand in check. To make sure that tragedy would never repeat itself. The wizard gave Destin a magical gauntlet, with the promise that it would seal whatever had triggered Destin to lose it. To this day, Destin still does not know it was a magic spell he cast.

He continued to wander the land with his sins, eventually deciding against the life of a sellsword. The atonement he got from that was not enough. He is now thirty-nine, looking to begin a new life. A life of combat still, but of a different kind: The gladitorial kind. He found himself in Risha, looking to enter the arena as a gladiator. Maybe here his sinning soul will find peace while doing the only thing he can do well: Fight.

Other: Destin means 'Determined', Eindride means 'To wander alone', Erland means 'Foreigner' and Guldbrand means 'Divine Sword'.