Name:


Epithet


Alias


Age:


Race:


Appearance:


Personality:


Backstory:


Magic:


Skills:


Equipment:


Misc:

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Age: 28
Alias(es): Ankle Hewer, Daveon the Small, Little Wolverine.
Gender: Male
Race: Halfling

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Personality: Daveon is, for lack of a better term, a dick. He has no respect for the larger races of the world. And why should he? They’ve done nothing for him or his people outside of treat them as lesser because of their stature. He is a tenacious fighter and stubborn to the core, refusing to back down from a fight or an argument, even to his own detriment. His love of coin is also one of his defining features, never able to turn down a full purse or the promise of wealth as a reward for his unique skill set of being able to bring foes down to his level. Daveon is arrogant, angry and a bit racist, never shirking a chance to insult an elf by calling them ‘Knife Ear’. He has a particular distrust for human barkeeps, not sure if they’re taking advantage of him for his size and charging him more for ale and then giving him a smaller portion than he gives the humans and elves, or if they are really just offering him the good stuff. Not that he can can tell, all alcohol goes down the same for him.

Daveon has only two loves in the whole world, coin and slaying monsters. He doesn’t even love his own mum that much, though she’s a saint. Daveon fights and kills not for glory, though he gives off that appearance, but rather he fights for the people of his home town, donating much of the money he makes to the needy and takes care of his kind. He believes that the halflings have been put down by the full sized people of the world, less so from the dwarves, as they have been kind and fair to Daveon whenever he’s been to their settlements. Much of what Daveon does is a show, being a dick to the larger people who have put his kind down for years and being callous. He only shows his true passion in the midst of combat, sword and axe flailing in his fury to cut down any foe brave enough to fight him.

Biography: Daveon started out as many of the other pitfighters like him did, as a street rat. He stole and fought to survive, believing that he could punch his way out of any situation, and it was mostly true. Dav found himself on the receiving end of many a brutal beat down while he was growing up, gaining a sort of resilience to physical injury and a callous personality that allowed him to brush off insults and rude comments like they were water off a duck’s back. Daveon spent a lot of time with his mother when he wasn’t on the streets learning to brawl, learning about what it meant to stand for something, and that something was the little people of his slums, his home… The halfling people were a race left disregarded by the taller, more importantly, a race of people who were given the scraps, treated worse than the slaves. Daveon felt that his people had always been regarded as inferior and unfit for anything, even slave labor. This belief manifested itself in unchecked rage and aggression, which got him into a lot of trouble.

Daveon spent his late teen years being trained on how to focus that rage when he decided he was going to use his natural talent for bludgeoning people to make money, focusing all of his hatred and anger into the Pits, an arena in his hometown that was designed to pit those who were truly brave, or stupid, enough to battle some of the most dangerous monsters capable of being captured and restrained long enough to be killed in the arenas. He learned how to let that rage become his weapon, a force within him to drive himself forward and accomplish feats that many of the other pitfighters would have struggled to survive, with the exception of one. A human fighter name Riance Stranger was able to meet and match Daveon every step of the way, creating a bitter rivalry between the two fighters. With Daveon being like a wild beast set off the chain, and Riance being a more calculated and measured fighter, the two enjoyed a very successful run in the pits fighting against and alongside of each other. Daveon often found himself wondering if he would surpass the man or remain his equal until the end of time, but he always remembered that his feats were great, even by the standards of a human, let alone a halfling.

Daveon often took his winnings and spent them on food and feeding the homeless halflings of his village, helping build shelters and homes for them. He was an active member of the community, even though he always felt the call to battle. He held a battle lust in his heart that could not be quenched no matter how much he wanted to give back to the people that raised him, his true family… the halflings of the lower slums of Headrion. It was during his time within the pits that he was discovered by the Order, and was watched quite diligently. Dav showed promise as a warrior and as a good face among the common-folk, a folk hero amongst the halflings and a legend of the arena. The spitfire that was Daveon Axebane, the Little Wolverine, a vicious predator that would strike with fury and with a frenzy unlike any sane being. Two members of the Order of Journeymen would approach Daveon after a particular bout of his against a group of about twenty five boggards. He was covered head to toe with blood, some his own and some boggard, he wasn’t sure, the events of that day were hazy. The members of the order asked him if he’d be interested in using his talents to save the realm from worse creatures, an offer to which Daveon responded with a laugh and rude gesture, until they tossed a bloated sack of coins at his feet, promising more if he were to join. The rest is history as they say, the angry halfling now fighting and killing his way to riches and making a better life for the slum that he calls home.

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Equipment: Daveon barely wears any armor outside of the steel pauldrons on his shoulders, preferring the freedom of movement that loose fitting clothing gives him while he’s fighting. Daveon carries a straight sword and an axe on his back as well as several daggers on his belt. The most protection he wears, outside of the pauldrons are a pair of loose fitting leather pants.

Skills: Primal Rage - After years of rage buried deep inside of him, Daveon is able to channel that rage into his combat ability, allowing him to shrug off blows that would look fatal to any normal man. When the primal fury takes him over, he loses much of his ability to conjure intelligent thought and speech, but his blows become much more devastating. Daveon also has his senses honed in this state of rage, able to react to incoming attacks many times faster than most fighters of his size or larger, allowing him to dodge out of the way of incoming projectiles and avoid being seriously injured by magics, while also being immune to any magic that might strike fear into him or charm him otherwise. Daveon can only enter this state four times over the course of a day and only for ten minutes at a time.

Shayzani

“How humans have spread and continued to destroy each other at the same time is a perplexing logic. They are like desert cockroaches. You see one. One turns to many. They destroy each other. Only to make more.”

Age: 45

Race: Anfau'Quessir [Desert or Dust Elf]

The Anfau’Quessir are rarely seen by human eyes, they often come down from the Savannah in roaming caravans in the last few months of the Harvest to trade goods with only the cities that greet them with kindness. The Anfau’Quessir left the forest thousands of years ago when they were being overrun by humans.

They warned their brethren Taur'Quessir [Wood or Sylvan Elf] of the Human's presence, declaring them N'Shanesti [not an elven friend] or N'Tel'Quess [not of the elven people]. The Anfau’Quessir decision to leave the forest thousands of years ago have created the bloodline you see today known commonly as Dust or Desert Elves, but in their tongue they are called Anfau’Quessir.

They are known for their bronzed skin, almost golden in color, that protects them from the heat. Their culture seems much more wilder than other elves liking, more spiritual, more coveted in mystery. They often have deserted colored eyes, of fiery red amber [almost like a hot blade a blacksmith once described], golden sandy color [almost the color of coin said a merchant once], and rarely some are born with earthy toned green eyes like the forest they once came from [gleamed like a green gem it did described a dwarf once].

Average Height - M 5’5” - 5’8”, F 4’9” - 5’5”



Alias: Anfauglith [Grasping Dust]

Amin quant'nyérë yassen mani ron a' Tel'Quessir
[It fills me with great sorrow with what they did to the elven people.]

Edain on-n'uma grith tenna' amin rese ron edain.
[Men lent no kindness until I helped their men.]

Ta' karandi o ron carda
[Only then did they care about their wrong deeds]

Amin ve' Tel'Quessir ar ron lerya-heke amin
(I was like other elven people then they took away a part of myself)

*It should be noted he's just scowling, he can close his mouth just fine, but does have burn scars on the bottom of his face and it gets progressively worse from the neck down as seen in the first photo with him veiled.

Shayzani might have been no different from other Desert Elves, from the Dust as they would say, he once had beautiful bronze golden skin, believe it or not. Though that was mostly taken away from him, to onlookers it is clear the 5’6” elf is burned at part of his torso, arms, and part of his neck. Which he keeps mostly covered with either bandages or layers of fabric. Dawned in the typical fashion of his people which is suited for travel. You can see the glimpses of his beautiful, sun touched skin of what little skin is exposed of his mostly covered face. His eyes are like dried jewels of sap, if you ever get to see them when most of the time he is seen shrouded. For decency reasons.

He has narrow facial bone structure. And is rather lithe, but toned.

His clothing might seem strange to those not part of his culture. The Anfau’Quessir live in primarily desert environments or really arid savannahs, to take clothes off is much easier than to put clothes on when you are out. Layers are essential for survival in the arid climates they have grown accustomed to, but not acclimated to.

It begins with the waima [robe] though robe isn’t quite an appropriate term humans might call it a robe, the waima as seen in the picture is more like a three quarter coat or jacket. When the waima is dressed, they layer over the waima with cloth breeches, which the waima is tucked into.

The waima is then wrapped around the waist, where the breeches ride, with a sash. They wear thick collos with several layers that can be stripped down depending on how hot it gets or to add back on depending on how cold it gets. Shayzani also wears a padded cuisse around his breeches indicative of some kind of “warrior” position.

Ohtarvar [Guard Watch] In the Anfau’Quessir “authority” is raised by the choices of fabrics you wear and have gathered during negotiations. The Anfau’Quessir have a habit of collecting fabrics from the places they travel as indicators of their experiences. It seems Shayzani wears a Niqāb with a high collar scarf around his neck as an indication of one’s modesty.

His voice is husky and hoarse, somewhat smoky, and gravely though it has its own unique elegance. Though his accent is heavy and strange to understand at times when he speaks in broken up common at times.

Personality:

Amin aa’ weeril yassen eidan nan’ amin sad ten’ ilya edregol ten’ N’Shanesti. Khep aminima ar’ Sha’Quessirnatul. N’at lle manka wistë lle amin garilaith.

(I may not agree with men but I show respect for all, even for Not Elvish Friends. Keep my favor to become Elvish Friend. Otherwise if you change your mind you let my respect slip away.)

There can be a common language barrier between others and Shayzani. He often speaks half in the common tongue and the other half in his more comfortable native language. If he doesn’t know the word he will use the elven equivalent [most common used phrases are in misc section]. He seems rather calm and not nearly as restless as many in the team seem.

He almost comes of shamanic despite his previous occupation as his people’s protector. Though he will probably not lend you any useful advice, mainly because of how chewed up his common can be. But also because it comes off entirely vague and useless due to his deep spirituality the Anfau’Quessir hold onto.

And that is exactly what Shayzani is a holy priest warrior, in his clan they would have been equivalent. He holds onto a deep sense of the world that was taught to him at an early age. That turns the ordinary world around the Eidan, Quessir, Naugrim, Periannath, and more into something magical and deeply connected to something more magical.

Some believe the Anfau’Quessir turned to their own religion after they departed the forest in the harsh climate of the Feanor, as they call it though more commonly known as Dark Wilds, though few understand how deeply entangled the Quessri were to their own native religion. It simply modified and changed over the years to the environment they raised their children in.

To Shayzani To Understand the Minds of Others, To Kill The Impurity, and To Create A New View are the duties of his people and himself. He is logical. Deeply curious and questions what he does not understand. And while he may have hints of distrust of Eidan, and rightfully so, he will still be friendly towards them or help them if they are threatened by something they have no way to defend themselves.

Eidan ndormap vára sina Arda en’ Seldarine.

(Man seizure of this land has soiled Gods’ Land.)

Everyone has a part to play in Shayzani’s world view, it is something he has been taught as a child. The balance of life [Meiva en’ coia]. Tend and take care of the land you were born on and the land will favor you. Though as of late there has been a perversion to this cycle and it has been mainly due to human influences in the lands.

It was first disrupted when the Dust Elves fled from the Woods thousand of years ago. It was then disrupted when the Naugrim fled underground. It was then disrupted when the Quessir [People Elves] were placed into the cities as secondary citizens and slaves. And in the city where they found freedom gave rise to the Aredhel [noble elves]. They forget that life was wild, filled with spirit, and even if magic seemed rare in people, life was clearly magical.

Shayzani may have not been so set in believing humans were merely malevolent spirits sent from some maikar [demi-god] of chaos. If not for the things he had to experience happen to his people. While he feels sorrow for the city elves who are now secondary class citizens or face slavery, he doesn’t see them as elves they lost their identity. The Wood Elves who were once warned now lose land has man seized. Shayzani fights to change the world. To Change Its Mind of Elves. He also is here for his own safety.

In short Shayzani can be a bit hard to stomach, he holds onto a very ancient religion that might offend human sensibilities with their own religious views, though it’s not like he takes every second to tell you about his multigod religion.

He can be mildly racist to Humans who show no wish to show him respect when he has shown them his. He can also be mildly racist to his own people who perverted the nature of their identities, that being the People Elves as he calls them or the Half-Elves. Though his own racism towards them is not built on the belief that his own kind is superior. But that they lost their way.

He wants to see a world that respects old elves for what they are. To see new elves not be abused by humans, but have no place in the old elven societies. And to see Humans develop compassion for the land they now spread across and those that have lived there for longer or as long.

Equipment:

Maksa - Mount - Anfauglir Aras [Desert Deer]

Rangw’kelvar lle kanta gwend yassen, rangwa coia ed’ coiaon enta.
(To understand nature you give with friendship, understanding life by giving to another.)

When an Anfau’Quessir comes of age they are given a responsibility. Some are given task such as harvesting from prickly trees, and others are given an animal [no different from a dog as a family pet and more] to take care.

In a way this test if they are ready to take further responsibility like helping others in their clan and shows the clan what they are good at and what they aren’t. Shayzani was given Maksa when she was a baby, she lost her mother in a desert storm and needed someone to tend to her. Shayzani was chosen to tend to her. This was his rite, his duty. To be able to protect his people meant to shelter this small innocent creature till it could stand on its own.

If it died in his hand, he would be left to help with Harvest or Making of the Goods. If she were to make it a year in life he would be honored with other opportunities.

The Anfauglir Aras are less much a deer and more a camel at least to the common tongue, but they were given their name due to the spots on their coat and overall appearance. Unlike a camel they live 20 more years of life than they do at 60 years, if well taken care of by their owner. It is considered an honor to have a Anfauglir Aras reach maturity and those in the clan have been praised for Anfaulgir Aras who are both loyal and stubborn and have lived well past their years. In their recorded history one is said that a chief of their kind had an Anfaulgir Aras live to 70 years.

Maksa has reached her youthful prime at 40 years of life and seems to have a strong bond with Shayzani. He doesn’t command her, not like Eidan command horses. He understands her and she understands him, all he needs is simple clicks and whistles, she understands them and changes her path based on what she hears.

Maksa is no battle mount. She is a personalized mount that carries his bedroll, his cooking pan, she has a simple saddle, with a rope at her side, a tent rolled up, a small bag which carries the stakes to hold up the frame of the of the bag, a small money pouch, his food rations things like dried fruits, and nuts and sometimes his staff when he has to steer her reigns. And bandages and other first aid kit like style stuff is kept in his bag as well.

Isilme [Moonlight], Ironwood Staff
*As seen in his appearance

Moon Crystals, some kind of quartz crystal, were said have properties like reflecting memories back onto the world. It is said when the crystal touches a scar of once was it reflects it for those to be visible. In layman's term, it reveals hidden passageways and illuminates scars of old magic when the crystal comes into touch with it.

*Anfauglir Lissuin Salve
*Stored in bag on Maksa

In a small compact bowl made of ceramic is a minty smelling lotion that is rubbed on the skin. It is both used in the treatment of dulling wounds pains, but also to sooth the skin with its numbing, tingling qualities. Shayzani uses it on the burns on his hands before wrapping them with fresh bandages, so he does often smell rather like a minty tea leaf.

Racial Traits:

It has taken several generations for the Dust Elves to acclimate to their new life in the arid deserts of their home, Feanor Asto. The Dust Elves are less delicate than their city brethren or woody brethren, they are a hardier species noticeable by their stocky frames and more lean, muscular frame. They do not harbor the same delicate frame that makes elves. Though they are still by human standards far more exotic in beauty than them. With that said their species has a few noticeable traits;

Survivor - You’ll eventually have to adjust with the lack of resources in the arid climates. With little farming opportunities, and having to follow the rains when they come. You have to learn to be like the Desert Deer, being able to survive through the extreme of times.

It is possible for a human to last up to 10 days without water, though the recommendation is 3 days. A Dust Elf can survive 20 days without water, and subsist off of a meager amount of water to the point of what humans would considerd dehydration, but not for a Dust Elf. A human can go three weeks without food, a Dust elf can go a month without food. And a Dust Elf can subsist on a mere 3 hours of sleep if they chose to do so.

When you live in a world that requires you to react as unpredictably as the world around you behaves your mind and body needs to be attuned to this kind of subsistence living. Though these are more like in case of extremes like food shortages and or an unsuccessful hunt.

Extreme Weather Conditioning - Dust elves can toughen out the most extreme of weather conditions. Mainly because they live in a climate that favors heavy rains that flood the savannah for a short period of time, to dry desert climates dealing with extreme heat and extreme cold. In that sense it might be harder for them to suffer from heat stroke or hypothermia, but eventually they would succumb to it.

Low Light Vision - Sometimes traveling at night when it is cooler is a much better option. They have a somewhat low light vision up to 30ft.

Not Limited by Terrain - Crossing dunes, deep sands, then deep floods that bring sinking muds, little terrain does to stop them when they need to get to one place or another.

Skills:

Animal Care - If it hadn’t been cleared Shayzani is rather good with animals if Maksa is anything to show for it. While he cannot speak with them directly through some kind of magic, he certainly seems to have whisper animal powers that sooth the most feared horse, or to make a common dog tuck its tail between its legs in intimidation. Shayzani pretty sure though that none of this is useful on things really determined to eat them and he isn’t going to risk limb to try.

Innate Arcane Casting - Shayzani is born the rare few who can naturally cast magic from his sheer Will. He is quite skilled and quite trained if that is any consolation.

Navigator - Shayzani is quite good at navigating terrain and maps. He reads them quite well, mainly because it was part of his job when he was traveling with the Travel Bands. He can tell you north from west to east and south, but also navigate which are the best passages and even point to unknown passages if that is so what people wishes.

Spiritual Guidance - A lot good it might do in this current party. But for some Shayzani’s way of speaking is quite clear the message and meaning he is giving. And for those some who understand what he says, even conveys they find something soothing in his presence that guides them spiritually.

Basic First Aid - Shayzani is no doctor, but he can put a bandage or two on you, or clean up your wound with necessary tools to do so. He also can close up your wound with a needle and some stitches given he still has the supplies to do so. But it will not be a professional job.

Magic:

Litse Fanya [Sand Veil] -Basic

Shayzani can spray a stream of sand in a small radial cone. This can be used for a number of purposes, as a distraction to be able to escape freely or a way to cause irritation in someone’s orifices, be it nose, mouth, and eyes. The cone is a 10 ft cone of sand that shoots directly outwards. While it may not be a spell that causes damage it can be quite unpleasant to experience getting a full face of ground rocks.

Stupify - Basic

What’s that sparks, like fireworks? But they are so shiny. Look at them dance in the air, they don’t even hurt you. They just look pretty. Shayzani is able to create sparks with a snap of his fingers, these sparks have an enemy distracted with the lights in a daze for 30 seconds before they come back to reality. Though by then it might be too late.

Limbe Litse [Quick Sand] - Ritual - Intermediate

Beneath your feet the ground begins to swallow you whole. The ground has become quicksand or mud depending on the terrain you step on. The quicksand or mud takes up a 5ft wide surface circumference. And while it remains permanent it requires the need for actual sand or mud to perform this ritual.

Harwa Rehtië - [Wound Recovery] - Ritual - Advanced

There is no such magic that can heal a wound and make it disappear. But there is magic that can sooth wounds pain, or stop you from bleeding out profusely by clotting the blood much faster than it would on its own. It’s only a temporary solution for major wounds, but for minor wounds it’s an easy close that might still need to be checked out by an actual healer.

Valalak - [Power Rush] - Advanced

Shayzani can create a small shield for a few short seconds, this shield deflects most damage aimed at him, though breaks if the ability is too powerful for the shield. Shayzani has the ability to use the built up momentum of the energy it deflects to throw the shield into a sweeping rush of raw magical energy. That knocks enemies back 2ft away and lighter creatures are prone on their back till they get back up.

Shocking Grasp - Basic

The last tool up Shayzani’s spell list is his shocking grasp. A hand of electricity wraps itself around an opponent, binding them for a few precious seconds 30 seconds, while continously giving them paralyzing shocks. They either die or withstand the grasp. Any allies who tried to break free the small fingers wrapped around their body are also shocked. Elsewise the grab is limited to its singular individual.

History:









It has been five or so years since that event. Shayzani chose to stick with the Order to be safe. But to also honor them for helping him. And in conclusion hopefully to use it as a way to gain something for his people.

Misc:

Before Shayzani leaves a building, room or outpost he makes sure all candles have been extinguished. And if he feels it is getting dark and the guards have not already begun to light the lanterns, he will light as many lanterns as he can on his way out of town or on his way into town. He has a habit of also making sure the team has good candle and lantern habits as well.

Elvin Translations

“kirma lithlad" [part of the plains of ashes]

"Val gwaith.” [to power the people]

Kyremcoia antvarna. Heren uummali ten loth. [Pray your life will not need saving. Fortune tends to not favor hate.]

*Heren is Fortune as in Luck
*Mande is Fortune as in Riches

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Age: 31
Alias(es): Witch-Slayer Hans
Gender: Male
Race: Human

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Age: 30
Alias(es): The Stranger, Midget Slayer, Fox Hound
Gender: Male
Race: Human

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Personality:

A hoodlum who found his fame through pit fighting. Riance is a patient and calculating man who ensures to exploit any weaknesses he finds. As a person he is quite honest and could be remarked as sarcastic at times. Speaking his mind whilst putting a twist of humour that he himself has grown fond of. He discovered that its the best way to reveal a person's weakness by taunting them to act rashly. While cautious, it does not mean that he is incapable of empathising with others... Although weirdly at that he may appear to be too accommodating.

Among one thing he hates most is recklessness. It is reflected through Riance's battles with Daveon, another pit fighter whom he has lost as many times as he won against. Its with great dishonour to be admitting that even sometimes recklessness could achieve a better result than patience.

Biography:

Cunning is Riance's middle name. Riance Cunning Stranger. A hoodlum without the smarts to be efficient in the slums could prove to be fatal. Every objective is met with precision and careful coordination of his natural assets. He never shy away from retreating if his cunning plan had folded for the worse. Countless trial and error refined him to become a proficient guerrilla fighter-- instilling fear and fury with his tactics that reveals weaknesses of his enemies. One day, he was made aware that there were an organised fighting pit hosted by one of the local lords and he travelled there looking to see if he could make a fortune using his ability sets.

Everything had went according to plan. Until a certain halfling stopped him in his tracks to be at the top. The fighter known as Daveon Axebane-- A midget whose name claims to be the breaker of all axes... Was a strange specimen for Riance to dissect. The halfling uses rage and recklessness as if that was his own middle name. His tactics while effective, do not often guarantee his victory. Daveon seems to reveal very little weaknesses... Maybe he has such a tiny brain that it doesn't register a wound like a normal halfling would.

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Equipment: Long Hewing Spear, with Cross Guard. This pointy stick could also pass as a shortsword in the nick of the moment. Riance utilises this spear to keep enemies at bay or to capitalise upon his foe's weaknesses with powerful thrusts and cuts. He is clad with a suit of half-plate armour that protect parts of his body and limbs, allowing for better mobility and sufficient protection.
Skills:

• Float like a Butterfly, Sting like a Bee - Riance carefully studies his opponent and attempts to find their weaknesses. Once found, he will exploit them until his enemy cease to live. During this time, he will appear to be fighting defensively; dodging attacks by a hair's distance and wrestling his enemy away from him to keep them at bay until he is ready to strike.
• Hit Hard and Hit Fast - Usually the result of the understanding his opponent. His movements will become more erratic to accommodate for his opponent's attacks and begin striking at vital points and retreating out of reach.
• Agile and Mobile - Self-explanatory. His lithe structure allows for easy getaways and flashy acrobatics.
• Self-Teaching - He learns and understands skill his own way.

Magic:
Light Rune - Uses a blast of light to blind his opponent in a pinch.

Misc:

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Age: 35
Alias: One-Eye Veira
Gender: Female
Race: Human

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Personality:

None have ever met a woman so distant yet warm, a woman who closes herself off from others yet exudes an embracing kindness which few bear in these dark times. Veira never raises her hand to strike someone who doesn’t deserve it yet is lenient on thieves and bandits, knowing full well that they are simply doing what they can to survive similar to what she does. Never once has anybody heard Veira raise her voice yet her very presence seems to draw all attention to her. She has always been a natural leader, strong and capable of bringing men and women in line for combat and never faltering in her decisions. Perhaps that is why she is distant though, that she must accept that her decisions can kill someone.

As a Journeymen captain, she has realized that men will die to monsters and there is little she can do it for it is not her fault but simply the weakness of the fighter being greater than the strength of the monster. She cannot grow attached to her comrades for they may simply be tossed aside the very next day while they dig a grave. As such, she comes off as cold to them, only granting them a little of her time and presenting good manners. However, she seems overly fond of reminding them that they are a unit and that they work together, lest she have to reprimand them.

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Equipment:
-Oaken Shield: A simple shield painted with hydra, the symbol of her clan. It is reinforced with a thin layer of iron in between the wood.
-Arming Sword: A gift she received from a blacksmith for saving his daughter. It is well crafted iron, tough and always kept sharp.
-Hand Axe: Veira’s favored weapon. An axe with a shaft made from oak and a head made from iron. Quite good at breaking shields when the need be.
-Woolen Doublet: Veira wears a light woolen doublet underneath her clothing.
-Iron Reinforced Leather: Veira likes to be mobile and she can’t have heavy armor for that. However, pure leather is impractical against most monsters so her’s has been studded with iron or layered with iron plates, like scalemail, to provide her better protection.

Skills
-Huntress: Veira was always a passionate huntress, willing to wait hours for her pray to cross its usual paths and strike. This carried over to her time in the Order and allowed her to harness the inherent strength of tracking to find her prey. She has more than enough skill at it to determine the freshness of tracks and, with enough time, could find out when the prey comes into a certain area.
-Shield Breaker: Veira’s combat is very much aggressive, relying on hitting the opponent hard and taking hits with her shield. Through her training, she realized that fighting humans with a shield was far easier than fighting a monster. As such, she seems overly capable of finding the weakness in a foe’s shield to break it. Or she simply gets consumed by the thrill of battle and just hammers away at it. Nobody is really sure which she does.
-Shield Maiden: Veira’s job in combat is not to take a hit directly, fire arrows from afar, or pound the foe with hits. Her job is to hit the monster, distract it, and draw attention to herself so that the others may attack directly. For this, she took up the shield and learned to wield it well, training her arm over the years to be able to withstand some of the hardest hits from monsters.

Magic:
Vlar: A simple darkness rune which causes its caster to be engulfed in a magical darkness which only she can see through. It lasts for a few seconds at most and exacts its toll when cast. Where Veira has it tattooed, nobody is sure.

Tava: A bit of a complex rune, one with many twists and curves to channel its power through. The activation of the rune only lasts a second at most however its toll it heavy, almost as if she had used it constantly for nearly twenty seconds. The fire rune envelops the foe in a blue flame which dances across its body, burning until the creature finds a way to put it out. However, regular water doesn’t put it out.

Adrianna Corvello

Age: 20-21
Race: human
Gender: female

Appearance:
Adrianna is on the short side, but not significantly so. Her caramel blonde hair is a frizzed mess from wind riding through Nagath … still stretching down well past her shoulders. She pulls it back sometimes when she’s expecting a fight. She seems like a soft, caring person at first from her face but there is a fire in her eyes when one looks closely. Gentleness is only skin-deep; there is something sinister behind those eyes.
Her normal attire is far too elegant and valuable to have come from anywhere other than nobility. She sticks out like a sore thumb as an outcast from both the world around her and the world behind her; she is overly conscious of this fact, further feeding her paranoia. She wears dark pants, shin-high leather boots, a loose fitting top, and parts of her armor all under a brown cloak. She keeps the upper chest piece, shoulder guards, bracers, and thigh pieces on most of the time, as she doesn’t fully trust anything or anyone farther than she can throw them at first meeting.
She wears a turquoise pendant necklace - typically concealed by the high collar of her armor pieces - bought from the town market when she was 15. She still has no idea the gemstone is in fact a Wraith Pendant.

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Biography:
Adrianna is the firstborn daughter of House Corvello, a lordship under the Empire of Gaelia. A son followed years later and only a year beyond that, twin boys. Her eldest brother is still four years her minor. Despite this, he is to inherit the family’s kingdom. In all her studies and her fight training and her grooming to be a baroness herself, she was always told that it was the firstborn who would inherit the land. Nowhere was it stated it must be a son. She knew in all the lordships of the empire that the daughters were married off, yet Adrianna persisted with the intent to be a Baroness herself and not a trophy.
Her parents did try. They found themselves however in a predicament as House Corvello was not in need of any diplomatic marriages. Adrianna knew this from her studies of current politics. She proved to be “quite the handful” as one suitor put it. Her hand was offered to three men from other houses. Her eagerness & tact for governance was often considered as ‘overbearing’ from the men who merely wanted a simple wife. She is famously (within the family at least) quoted saying “I am a warrior and a diplomat. I am not some housewife to a spoiled man-child,” after the second attempt to give away her hand. Though Adrianna had evaded attempts to marry her off, her father - ever the traditionalist - still decided it must be the eldest son who ascends to power.
At first she was shocked and could not believe that he would deny her perceived birthright from her. She jumped at every opportunity to prove herself worthy, as her father had promised he would allow. Every task, every challenger, and every single time she pushed herself hard and was the best she could possibly be. Still she was told time and again “Better.” Her disbelief turned into cynicism and disgust that she was to be barred from having what was hers by right. She was constantly angry at her brothers for being given the golden spoon – at her expense nonetheless – while she had to work to her limits and past them in vain to regain her claim to the throne.
Her older adolescent years were far from her most pleasant or most personable. In her cynicism she was snappy and perpetually disgruntled by the smallest of things. Her temper was always short. The perpetual negativity on her mind was a force powerful enough to awaken the spirit that sat upon her neck. On her 18th, she saw an armorer who fit her for a quality set of plate leather. While it was acknowledgement of her skills as a fighter, she still was unsatisfied. She had spent hours studying politics & diplomacy while her brothers played. Token recognition did not suit her. Even though she felt the gesture underhanded, she was quite pleased weeks later with the end result. Her personal armor set is something to behold: as much a status symbol as sturdy protection.
Her spoiled brother constantly made jokes about how it seemed so plain. Adrianna hadn’t wanted any large plates or elaborate helmets or shoulder spikes and similarly ridiculous garb her brothers were all obsessed with. The decoratives were in the details. A light scroll pattern on the plate and nothing more. Her forearm bracers though were as much a fashion statement as their other two purposes: protection and an improvised weapon.
In her permanent frustration, she was vulnerable to suggestion. The soul she had awakened within the pendant existed as the tiniest of voices in her subconscious reinforcing her greed and her darker, harsher thoughts. Her cynical complacence turned to a stubborn refusal to accept no for an answer. She became convinced not to be turned away quietly. More than once she confronted her father far more aggressively now, at one point straight up demanding she be given what is hers. With each successive denial and with their relationship straining, her father became the object of her fixation, and her fixation treaded into dangerously hostile waters.
After a final argument escalated to the point of guards being summoned – and summarily beaten into submission by a very angry Adrianna – she stormed out of the castle, hell-bent on proving herself worthy, dying trying, or finding a way to claim the throne she believes she is owed ... by lethal force if necessary.

Personality:
She was raised to be a baroness. She knows how to be a lady of many hats and which face to wear in which situations. She is who she needs to be. Should someone be of power and thus of interest to her, she’s cheerful and nice and someone most people want to keep around. This more outgoing persona rarely shows anymore however, owing to the gruff cynicism she’s developed. Most of the time she comes across as far more of a realist – sometimes overly so – always preparing for whatever can be thrown at her.
Choose the right topic of conversation with her and you can bait out her darker side. She doesn’t ever choose to reveal it to people, but get her talking about the right things and it just kind of happens. Her goals, her ambitions, her family, etc. These bring out a side of her born of years of frustration and dark influences upon her mind. This is the side of her that will move Hell and Earth to get what she wants. Her ultimate goal: reclaiming the throne she considers her birthright, only ever exists in the back of her mind most of the time. When the pieces fall into place and she grows close enough to taste her victory (if ever), she becomes fixated – dangerously tunnel-visioned in fact – on finishing what she started, everything else be damned.
Adrianna maintains strong loyalties with anyone she believes can prove beneficial to her intents. She has no interest in maintaining relationships that have no present or future benefit to her. Her studies in politics and the arts of persuasion & coercion were primarily focused on the types of people she would deal with as Baroness. She could rhetorically twist the arm of a nobleman to get exactly what she wanted without even batting an eye. As she travels now far beyond the walls of nobility however, the people are far different and her silver tongue is worth little more than pewter. Her powers of persuasion are often limited at best.

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Equipment:
(She does not carry all of these weapons at once ever. These are merely the selection I choose from.)
-Full set plated leather armor – custom tailored. The bracers are one of the heaviest plates and also well decorated with a light scrolling work, hand-etched. She wears the upper part of the torso armor, the shoulder pieces, and the bracers most of the time.

-Svardstav - a norse bladed staff (literally: sword-staff) with a fourteen inch double-edged steel blade on one end. The weapon caters to her speed-fighting skill and helps keep distance over an opponent, mitigating her moderate frailty.

Skills:
Adrianna is a pickup fighter. Though she does carry weapons of her own, she often fights hand to hand and uses an opponent’s weapon against them, both while still in their hand and once she wrests it from them. This makes her skilled and dangerous against a human opponent. Against not-so-human adversaries that roam in the dark, she is of little threat and would easily become food. Her armor can resist a man’s blade but not the fatal touch of a spectre or the crushing claws & jaws of many a beast.
She remains a trained diplomat. When negotiating - or threatening if the situation has appropriately devolved to such a point - with someone who wields power, she is well versed in the etiquette and skillset to do it. Inversely however her tact and subtlety has been somewhat blunted in recent years.

Motivations:
There is no glory to be had in deeds, not in her eyes. A deed done out of benevolence earns one nothing. There is always a prize or payment that she believes will help her get closer to her goal: claiming the throne she believes is rightfully hers. Along that she became wrapped up in a group calling themselves “journeymen”. She cared not what benevolent purpose they had as long as it proved beneficial to her for the time. The earnings were certainly not to be complained about.
Vengeance is also at the top of that list. She feels spurned by her family - especially by her father and by her eldest brother. She desperately wishes that one day her brother can know the struggle she went through to fight for what he was handed. She holds nothing but contempt for her father who made his choice to forsake her.

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Wraith Pendant:
Adrianna’s pendant charm is a Wraith Pendant: a turquoise gemstone that harbors a fragmented soul of the infamous dark sorcerer Abaddon Othgar. Othgar sought to become the most powerful being imaginable. In his quest for power, he learned a way to transcend his corporeal form, becoming himself a terrifying haunt as his power grew still. After a decade of reigning terror, he was vanquished and his soul was destroyed with his incorporeal form. A fragment however still resides in this gemstone.
Inside the pendant, the soul fragment draws minute amounts of Adrianna’s life force to sustain itself. It is not enough to affect her in any way. The fragment is weak for not being whole and cannot compel her. It can only subtly influence her thoughts. She has not yet learned to isolate and hear its voice, as she does not know its there yet. It also cannot possess a host which is unwilling. It is too weak. Nor could it have full control over a host it possesses.
If/when she begins to understand what she holds and the power it contains, she could call upon the wraith and allow it into her to harness its power. The soul can only control her body as long as her mind allows it. While it does it pushes her body harder than her conscious mind could and confers superior technique with her weapon in hand. Neither of these however could save her if she were in trouble, as they do little to improve upon her natural ability. Of note is the arcane abilities known to the Sorcerer Abaddon that now become her own to wield. The soul is so weak it cannot summon arcane power as it once could. Instead it draws off the host’s life force instead both to sustain its increased exertion and to fuel its magical abilities in an unusual middle-ground between the arcane and more common runic spells. Entering into this wraith form is exhausting and dangerous, effects greatly accelerated the more heavily she and the wraith call upon its arcane power.
When the soul retreats into its shelter of the gemstone after the two have merged for a time, she is left with crippling exhaustion for at least several hours. If she were to push the form to its limits, the result would be days spent unconscious ... or even death. When the soul does take hold of her, the telltale blur of its incorporeal form is visible from Adrianna’s body as well. There are also black marks that appear across her body - notably creating a mask-like appearance around her eyes - resembling decorative tattoos of a pattern similar to that scrolled on her armor. These fade with time after the soul has departed her at roughly the same rate her strength returns to her.

Clive The Reaper of Knaves

Before you know the man. You must understand where he came from. This story starts here in The Blooded Archipelago. Given such a name by sailors who told stories of a chain of islands run by a renegade society formed by a so called “Raider King” in a town created by prostitutes, stolen daughters from farms on the mainland, pirates, bandits escaping the gallows, con men, and children who learned to scam and steal.

In the Blood Archipelago are tales of Mather’s Lighthouse said to lure sailors trading goods from one mainland to the next to their dooms. Purposely luring them to dangerous waters near rocky crags. While the most feared place is the Deadman’s Port.

Where lost merchants, lost sailors, and even soldiers from the mainland had met unsavory fates setting foot on the ports of several little towns all connected by their ships. Each given a name and earned a reputation based on the captain who's made a name for himself.

There’s no imperial law here. Only raider law. The law designed by the Raider King, old Butcher Mad Eyes. Whose reputation trails all the way back to his younger years like breadcrumbs. Ruthless, cutthroat and said to have at least three wives. And many children. He’s spurred a generation of psychopathic nutso that all claim the rocky crags, stormy seas, and sea cliffs as their home.







A ratty, faded placard hangs up in the Leaping Fish Tavern to remind raiders what they have agreed to in staying Deadman’s Port as a sanctuary from the mainland’s gallows.

I - Every man sitting next to you is an equal in affairs. Every man has a right to share the claims of goods, fresh provisions or liquor at his pleasure, unless the rarity of said item is in question.

II- In regards to law, every man at your side has shared value to say. But if a conclusion cannot be decided by the crew, the Captain or Leader has final say. His vote may be questioned by his Quartermaster if the final word is considered unfair in any circumstance.

III - Every man is to be called fairly in turn by list on board to receive his prizes, every man is given clothes for his days on board with no questions, but if any man is founded to defrauding the company to the value of money in plates, jewels, or money he must serve the punishment. His ears and nose will be slit as a message to any incoming boats that may try to pick him up. He will be left somewhere that will ensure hardship before a pain and slow death.

IV - You do not cheat your equal. There will be no gaming at cards or dice for money among your fellows.

V - All lights and candles should be put out by nine o’clock and if any man wants to drink after the lights are out, he must do it on the deck or on the bay side port.

VI- Your weaponry must be clean and fit for service. And may not be used to dispute disagreements among your fellow while on deck or in city. Affairs will be decided by the crew, and will not be deadly, unless the crime befits the punishment.

VII- No boy or woman is allowed on deck or to raid with the party. No boy allowed onto a raid until he is considered befit for the job at hand. No woman disguised and snuck on board, nor to engage the latter sex on board. To do so with the latter sex is punishment of death, sterilization or marooning. Choice is subjected to the Captain or Quartermaster. No fellow should have a say. If a boy is found among the crew, he is subjected to marooning and must find his way on his own.

VIII - No man should abandon his ship or quarters in battle. To do is death or marooning. Punishment is subjected to the Captain’s final word.

IX - No man should retire until he has shared one thousand pounds with his fellows. If any man should lose a limb or become cripple in their service he is to have seventy six hundred pounds paid to him out of the public stock and for lesser injuries proportionally to the injury.

X - The Captain and Quartermaster are to receive two shares of a prize, all medicines go the ship doctors and anyone caught stealing or trying to take medicines from the ship doctors quarters will have their right ring finger cut off and marooned. The master, boatswain, and gunner to receive one share and a half, and other officers one and quarter.

XI - No fellow is to steal another fellows woman. Unless he pays out his fellow based on the value of the woman. A woman’s value will be based on who she has mated where she is located in the port, the value of the fellows home, and the value on the woman’s beauty compared to the fellow. The woman may contest the buy out if she has a feasible reasoning, either pregnancy, already have children with the fellow, and or in some way devalues the marriage by buying herself out more than the sum of the men then the fellow must forfeit the woman. If he tries to take her afterward, he will be marooned or may be feasibly killed by the fellow whose woman was taken.

XII- A boy who wants to accompany a raid must complete determination of his manhood. Often a task given to him by the Captain or Quartermaster of the crew he wishes to join. The task is an individual task subjected to the Captain and/or Quartermaster’s discretion.

XIII - A boy may accompany a crew, against VII if he is given a suitable task for his age. He may not join in on raids or be given any prize or reward. But may earn prizes or rewards for the crew. He is not to be able to claim these rewards for himself. If he tries to claim the rewards for himself may lose his pointer finger, and marooned. The boy has no rank in the crew, no word, and may not speak out against even the lowest of crew members till he has earned his title, or his manhood.

XIV - Any traveler who comes to the island is greeted by a swift death. Unless he or she provides some set of service. Bards and entertainers will be welcomed among the fellows and treated with the same discipline we show our fellows.

XV - If a Fellow is dead and has a claim on a woman. She is to receive one quarter of prizes from the public stock. This is one hundred and a quarter when she is considered too old to provide children.

These were the rules and laws everyone born or brought here were expected to follow. Or they were left out on islands, marooned for punishment. And any crew that tried to pick up an exiled crew member were subjected to long disputes.

Now that you understand the place, who is Clive the Reaper of the Knaves? He was born to Cleve the Shark, officer on Darrius the Menace’s ship Portside Stalker.

His mother a mistress at the Shipwrecked Brothel where he was raised by several whores and the lady of the house until he was deemed old enough to start serving a crew without claims.

A young boys duty was to learn and imitate the behaviors he saw the Fellows perform on a daily basis. To learn the Captains and their Quartermasters name. In hopes that one day they would claim the name of the Captain they would work under when they entered manhood.

Age: 35

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Alias: The Reaper of Knaves



Age has not slowed down Clive. In fact you could argue the man is exactly in his prime. His age has only given him more experience and made him more determined towards his indiscriminate actions. Wearing a long layered cloak over his clothes, the man sports a crew cut with very little hair receding at the top. His skin is actually quite tan from the years in the sun.

He stands at 175cm, 5’9”. He weighs 58 kg, 130 pounds. While he may not be muscular, he is quite toned, and fit. His frame is actually quite stocky and compact, but lean. His irises are steel gray.

Clive is not a complicated man his words are like the steel of a blade, they get to the point quickly, in a rather matter of fact way. He speaks with clarity for a man born on an island of anarchy and raiding. A clarity that makes him understandable to others, but what he has to say may shake their sense of sensibility.



Personality:



Cunning and calculative for a man people would claim is nothing, but a no good killer from an island of anarchy. Mainland educated for a man people would claim he was not raised by anyone civil. Clive is a rather respected man among his Fellows.

While the Knight Captain who wanted to capture may have painted him as some daft winded idiot, Clive is a lot more than some daft retard from the seas. Just because they were pirates, raiders, schemers and con men didn’t mean he wasn’t educated.

Clive’s a man who likes to get straight to the point of things. Which may seem ironic considering the man doesn’t fight considerably in the front lines, but he doesn’t like to bullshit or dance around a subject. He hates bullshit and worse he hates dumb twits, who don’t know the difference between their own dick and another man’s dick, trying to lie to him.

He hates an idiot who thinks they can con him. He hates an idiot who thinks they can manipulate him. He also hates the idiot who doesn’t think he knows a thing or two because they think he’s just a barbarian. Crude in his mannerisms, unashamed of his past life, Clive comes off a merciless, cutthroat. Which is not a wrong assumption.

A cunning mastermind, who prefers tactical thinking over rushing in. He may fight from the shadows, but he fights with just as much teeth and claws as someone in the front lines would. Maybe even more as his methods are ruthless, barbaric, and he seems to get some sick satisfaction watching something squirm in pain.

With that said he might be the sociopathic killer everyone paints him off to be, he does have a few soft spots. He has a code of honor that he follows. Whether or not that redeems him is a question the company has to ask themselves. A complicated moral and ethical system, he plays by a different set of rules. And while he may be ruthless at least for now it seems he is loyal to his latest company in the Order.

He won’t betray someone that is a part of his crew. No matter the current circumstances.

Weapons:

Mayhem and Madness; Razor’s of the Wretched

Every blade has a tale. Every tip has burrowed into someone’s flesh. Blood is just as much a part of the steel that crafted the blade.

Mayhem and Madness are dual combat knives that sit behind him in a sheath that looks like a scroll. It is obvious to any onlooker that these blades were not something he could have afforded even on his piracy salary. Instead they were one of the many items he helped himself to after a raid. He named them Mayhem and Madness. Others called them the Razor’s of the Wretched.

They belonged to some wealthy bloke that they terrified into submission somehow. And helped themselves to the wealth of his goods in his wagon. Mayhem and Madness since then though have been well taken care of, polished, sharpened, cleaned. As per the rules of when one wants to lead their services for a crew.





Death’s Kiss

There are very few things Clive has that have sentimental value. Death’s Kiss being the blade given to him by his father after he became a man. While Clive has no real feelings towards his father. He has feelings towards the sense of pride he felt when he completed the task given to him. Death’s Kiss ended up have more sentimental value towards his own pride than compassionate love towards his father. He sees it as something he finally earned.



Various Throwing Knives

A various set of throwing knives with unbalanced and balanced knives for different occasions.

Clothing:

It’s clear to anyone that Clive is not a man meant to fight in the frontlines. In fact he is majorely an ambush support fighter. He provides backup to his team with his various bombs, oils, throwing knives, poisons, and cleans up weakened enemies for the final blow with his dagger. Because of this he rarely is seen in anything cumbersome to wear, for easier movement.

Considering he’s a still well known wanted man for his assassinations despite his clearance from the Order three years ago, in the city he tends to wear a cloak over his clothing in order to disguise himself from the Guards or some sort of nosy sort. The cloak is gray and rather tatty looking. He doesn’t seem to mind it.



-Black Tabard with hood
-Metal arm guards
-Hide boots
-Black breeches
-Tan tunic



Around his waist. Carries 5 potions. Pouches for various usages.



Carries his bombs

Equipment:

What he cannot break with strength, he annihilates with poison, uses various oils, and bombs. Which he carries in his pockets and or his worn satchel.

He carries with him flask that you’d associate with alchemy, a pestle and mortar, various ingredients and their recipes, and smaller empty vials that he places in his pocket. Too often stash his stache somewhere else while he is ambushing his prey.



Bag doesn't come with him on missions in fact it often stays at camp.
Poisons











He also carries a small bottle of oil, that he can douse on his enemies for errr explosive results with his bombs. While it may not cover a whole area, even the smallest of area catching fire is enough for them to light up like a fucking kindling.

Bombs

The last of Clive’s arsenal is in his bombs. Which he throws into battle with indiscriminate glee. He tries his best to not throw them in an area close to his allies. But sometimes it’s less his throw and their situational awareness. Or that’s what he tells them.

Traditional gunpowder bombs ,about the size of a baseball, he carries with him. In his side bags he can carry at least five or six bombs. And he tends to chose a various set. His regular gunpowder bombs are often infused with runes for different results. Fire infused bombs cause a burst of flames with the natural explosion as well. Perfect combo with his oil and one of his personal favorites.

Light runes allow him to throw them and make wraiths and ghost become incorporeal for a short period of time. A dark rune allows him to weaken monsters in the area with the initial explosion.

Skills:

Sabotage and Ambush

In his younger years, Clive was the smallest boy on Menace’s ship. And while they were not allowed to raid or pillage with the crew nor had any claims to the rewards and items. Clive was small enough to squeeze into windows and unlock doors. There he had to learn also not to be detected by whomever would be in the homestead, farm, or even estate. Using all these tools of the trade as he got older into his own style.

He used his ability to trick the idea or sneak around others to use it support the other Fellows, who fought frontlines, from behind. Throwing bombs, using knives for combat, and daggers. To only slip back into the shadows by falling behind his enemies blind spots.

Knife Fighter

The Deadman’s Port had always been sort of a hub for other sailors and other sailing individuals to meet up. Other unsavory types from the other sides of the world would come and bring interesting inventions and gadgets.

Annie Razortooth, one of the few woman who earned a rank among the Fellows only due to her own personal history, always tended to bring back interesting skills and things from other parts of the world. She rather explore the open seas than go back to the mainland. One of those things she brought were a few people with slanted eyes, their knives, and they taught them to any curious boy.

Clive of course being that curious boy learned to throw knives from the slanted eyed individuals. And learned how to fight with the knives.

Quiet Step

What would the Raiding Pirate Assassin be if it wasn’t mentioned his quiet step? At an early age he was already exploring the boundaries of the world. Being that he wasn’t allowed on raids and pillages, he often found ways to entertain himself. One of his favorite games was sneaking up on squiiddish animals like deer. It became sort of a game to see how close he could get.

This game became less and less of a game the more and more useful it became to the Fellows. It’s the skill that allowed him to complete his task in the first place. Years of practicing walking softly and surveying the landscape for the quietest depressions.

Alchemy

Clive learned a few things here and there from the Deadman’s Port doctors. When he wasn’t out on the seas with the Fellows he tried to find ways to entertain himself. Knife fighting lessons with Fast Fingers and Annie. Potion creation with Ansley Three Fingers. And he indeed had three fingers.

Sailing and Marine Navigation

Being a Fellow meant a lot of time on the sea. And escaping the mainland meant knowing the ocean deeper than anyone. He knows how to set the sails, and work a boat. He also knows how to navigate the seas better than anyone beside probably a sailor doing it longer than him.

History:

It is not a man’s early life that makes the man’s name. His early life seems to be a drop of untouchable innocence that is the seed to grow. Except Clive’s life was never really innocent. As a young child he was learned to scam, con, spot a cheater and a liar, he was taught how to sneak into homes, watched violence. Saw blood woven into the soil.

He was taught the savage truth about a society raised on the edge of anarchy. He grew up a cynical child, exposed to brutality since he was very young. There’s nothing special about that man back then. Young and only learning there’s nothing more that can be said.

What changes a boy to a man? Is actions that highlight their path.

The difference between a Fellow and just a boy imitating a Fellow is the task they are given and how they complete it. The Menace had high expectations for Clive. Not because he was The Shark’s son, but because Clive had set an expectation of someone who could someday lead a group of Fellows.

To prove his worth among the Fellows and climb through the ranks he was asked to steal Lady Cecilia's ruby necklace. An impossible task many Fellows said, no one had ever been able to raid, let alone sneak into Crescentwood Chateau. Some say Lady Cecilia’s husband, Earl Romford had insulted Darrius the Menace many years ago.

He was fifteen at the time. The Shark, Colborn Razor Darrius’ quartermaster had decided and agreed upon the task for Clive. It was then asked by Darrius to Clive, that if he could he had a target for him to eliminate as well.

That being Earl Romford himself. Romford had hidden for many years in his impenetrable mansion for too long. To kill Romford was only really an optional step. Though Clive never really questioned any shameful act he had been witnessed to for the fifteen years he had lived.

Clive then proved himself. Not only taking the ladies necklace, but managing to kill Romford. Though his work then at fifteen being sloppy. Considering the amount of security he had to kill. And nearly getting caught on his way in and out. But the success of that task is what separated and define Clive as a child and as a man.

He spent many of his years after that climbing the ranks. Earning rewards. Taking out people who insulted the Fellows to send messages to those who owed them money. He earned the nickname Reaper in his late teens and early twenties by the Fellows. He was a bruiser among them, though the mainland commonly mistook or called him an assassin.

In his mid twenties he had earned enough recognition that at least eight years ago began to run his own crew of Fellows. He was said to be a cunning mastermind. A cutthroat who lacked remorse for his actions. He never seemed to weep nor care for the lives he took. Many of them were messages he sent to those who had insulted him somehow, many of them were messages to the mainland to fear his Ravagers.

And for many years they did. No one could catch sight of this so called bandit reaper and his knaves. The Knight Captain Dunnam at the time scoured the mainland looking for the Ravagers. To find no trace nor clue of them. At Deadman’s Port Clive was beginning to earn himself some mild success. Some saw him as someone who would be a great captain of history someday.

But fate has a strange way of changing. Roughly three years ago, at the age of thirty-two Clive and his Ravagers were caught. At least a few of them. Knight Captain Dunnam who had been madly searching for the group had finally found them by sheer accident as they were gearing up to leave the mainland with their goods. There was no due process. No negotiations. Willy One Eye was sentenced to death as well as Clive at the gallows. While Jimmy the Swindler and Calypso the Danger were given “mercy” if being torn apart by the Knights hunting dogs is considered merciful.

Even then Clive showed no shame nor remorse for his actions. He still doesn’t know where to find that. And it doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t feel it. He would have died three years ago if not for the Order who had him released into their custody. Who found his skills useful. Not only had he evaded being caught for seventeen years. Ran the most successful criminal group even among the Fellows. And had managed to leave a trail of blood with no trace of himself or his Ravagers.

In the Order he is not been allowed to contact his Fellows at Deadman’s Port. But he has been given his freedom and allowed to walk peacefully among the civilian cities. He provides the Order his perspective, but don’t think that’s some deep philosophical pondering.