Name: Folliwen of Harrowshreik
Age: 21, appears 17
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Race: Elf
Class: Hussar, Chasseur
Appearance/Clothing:
Height: 5’4’’
Hair: Blonde, long and elegant.
Eye: Diamond-yellow irises.
Skin: A healthy, fair colour.
Body Type: Thin, pleasantly curvy. Pointy ears easily mark her as an elf.
Voice: Standard for a girl of her appearance. Bold-spoken, passionate and optimistic.
Clothing: A thick, wooly-white single-breasted military coat alongside form fitting beige breeches. A deep blue waistcoat and white thigh-high dress sits interior. A brown leather belt is equipped alongside bags and a bayonet sheath. Her feet are clad in blue-rimmed, light-beige leather boots just under knee high. A deep blue, white-rimmed tricorn sits atop her head. A cartridge purse and strap hangs around her shoulder.
Armour: Her layers of clothing serve well enough to deflect the stray projectile or blow.

Weapons: Flintlock Musket, a sturdy Aeterasteel Alloy, 62 inch and 9 pound smoothbore gun with a black stock of Necrospringwood. Some say it’s a weapon too large for her, but years of wielding it has her fighting just as well as any decent musketeer. Bayonet, 17 inches of formidably durable spike backed by some handle; can be used as an effective stiletto in a pinch. Mounted on her musket, the combination is a 79 inch spear that can parry the heaviest of melee weapons with little effort. Unused, the musket is slung upon her shoulder.

Other Items: A remarkably strong, pony-sized undead flea accompanies Folliwen. It weighs 520 pounds and may jump six yards high. A blue-rimmed beige saddle with accompanying bags rest atop its body; within hold various bodily and tool maintenance material, ammunition, fire starting kit, tent, spare clothes and a blanket.

Skills: Folliwen holds success in gunnery, being able to load her flintlock musket in 14 seconds and could land shots at 234 yards, provided her weapon operates as intended. She’s also a very reliable dagger and bayonet fighter.

Natural Abilities: Elven Grace, Folliwen may act both fast and accurately allowing her effective acrobatics and burst run speeds. She does not know that many techniques in melee, but her keen sight and swift hands are able to land the strikes that count.

End of Magic: Shots she take are hardly, if at all, affected by opposing mystical forces. Defenses relying on magic are of no effort to breach. She possesses no immunity against magic herself, however.

Magic: Her discipline is general Pyromancy with some elements of Alchemy. She manipulates combustions and flame in support of her main role as a musketeer.

Industrial Revolution: Harrowing forces within the Dominon of Mist forced elves to renounce their traditional ways. A blessing of fire is typically cast before each attempt at shooting, increasing accuracy for the directed angle. Mana consumption is low, and the spell requires but a small gesture. Almost necessary to circumvent the accuracy drop when aiming muskets.

Betrayal of Nature: A tactic used by desperate forces is Scorched Earth; they set fire to their own grounds, to bar enemies from reaping the full benefits of capture. A sharp, sudden action and disdainful focus will ignite a wildfire, uncontrollable by Folliwen herself. High mana consumption.

Broken Harmony: An absolutely benign alchemedic spell that converts organic, non-sentient matter into a billow of energy which Folliwen intakes gradually. It is an extremely efficient method of regaining calories that can replace active consumption.

Machine of War: Another entirely benign alchemedic spell that converts various material into raw resources like spare parts, gunpowder and oil.

History: Folliwen was raised in an age of terrible and magnificent change. Her elven people had once acted on part of crusaders, willing to establish a fortified settlement on the centre of the Archipelago of Fog, a chain of islands inhabited mainly by undead and demonic. The idea lost much support after it had been deemed markedly costly, unfeasible, through extended experience. The ever marching dead and siege work of antagonists would relentlessly hamper static quarters, no matter how protected. The turn of events left her elven people in a conundrum; turn away from the isles in which only death lay, and face the shame and perhaps fury on a far continent ever-unchanging, or seek fresh potential, establish a method to persevere and conquer the predicament on hand. Her people chose the latter, and thus Folliwen trained early in the arts of survival when she came into being, on the continent so different from ones deemed elvish.

The elves had quickly learned of the existing state of archery on the archipelago; there were present almost inconceivably strong beings in vast numbers. Uruks, orcs of greater muscle and engineering feats than prior encountered, vampires who wield unnatural strength and wicked cunningness and wendigo, whose physical might dwarfed creatures several times their size. The typical draw weight of uruk composite bow was 150 pounds. The usual draw weight of vampire longbow was 170 pounds. The standard draw weight of wendigo recurve was over 200 pounds. Elven archery was completely outmatched, in range and armour penetration, to the point where they declared themselves obsolete; it was time to adopt new ways of war that may evoke great displeasure in tradition. Resorting to complying with the less violent undead and allied humans, elven battalions gradually acquired firearms, pyromancy spells and plate armour. Elven military efficiency skyrocketed, and many old thoughts were altered. Muskets were quite accurate, pyromancy wasn’t too difficult to acquire adequacy in and metal plate provided many more times the protection of other armours for surprisingly less weight, although for less comfort. The elves could then match the might of the Archipelago’s armies and match their might they did.

Folliwen’s particular group had garnered the title, the Hands of Harrowshreik as distinguishment for their innumerable deeds of hunting the harmful supernatural, restoring besieged towns and generally holding peace in the name of those still living. Folliwen herself was trained in efficient methods to dispatch the inhumane; gun marksmanship was taught young alongside close combat defence. The Hands of Harrowshreik, like most elven companies on the Archipelago, stayed not in a single area for anymore time than necessary, and so Folliwen learned to effectively live off even the dead land, and learned of spells ever-so versatile. She gained knowledge quickly in how life was in the environment of chilling temperatures and undeath, she took it to heart comradery and numbers coordination led to key success. A tactic of fight she finds to embody this is concept the sort of ‘conveyer belt shooting’ wherein a group of perhaps six musketeers stay close together; the keenest shot of them all performs his duty as his companions all reload guns for him. Folliwen’s company performed this method of sustained fire often, and she found herself the skill of being quick to re-charge muskets.

The Hands of Harrowshreik were known to be extraordinarily mobile as a fighting force. Outside of simply being elves, the company had included a significant number of giant, equine-sized undead fleas. They had acquired the arthropods through mercenary work under many Vampire Nobles and Undead Mafia Bosses. It was another mark against elven traditionalism, to operate as underlings to wicked forces, but a harsh surrounding demanded harsh measures, for the elves wished to survive. Folliwen found herself one of the perhaps freakish-looking steeds, and was eager to take instruction regarding its use. She was a fast, mounted warrior in short years, a Hussar. Bayonet atop a musket nearly as long as she tall made for a very workable lance.

There came a time when Folliwen, quite sure of her skill and filled with the spirit of an adventurous elf, requested for some time to test her self-reliance from her superior, High Judge Walcen. He granted her the favour and in due time, Folliwen found herself journeying/teleported toward the >Insert Rp Setting<.

Name: Heian of Noctenvale
Age: 23, appears 18
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Race: Pact Succubi
Class: Hussar, Skirmisher
Appearance/Clothing:
Height: 5’5’’
Hair: Raven coloured, shoulder length and swept slightly upwards at the ends.
Eye: Dark brown irises, turns bright green in darkness.
Skin: Fair complexioned, soft
Body Type: Slim, with notable voluptuousness
Voice: Soft-spoken. Tones vary between neutral and optimistic.
Clothing: An ebony, single-breasted military coat equipped with a short shoulder cape and decorated with flowing green marks sit exterior. A black blouse fits her torso. Dark speckled, deep green leggings fits her lower body. Black riding boots and form-fitting gloves clad her feet and hands respectively, a green belt fitted with a dirk's sheath wraps around her waist. Sitting atop her head is an ebony cavalier hat plumed with a green feather. A similarly coloured ammunition purse is hung over her shoulder.

Skills: Heian is an adequate wielder of her carbine, being able to shoot targets 80 yards ahead while riding and being capable of reload under 17 seconds. Her mastery in unarmed, dagger and other weapons is reasonable, due to mandatory training from her time in the military company Kleinschar.

Natural Abilities: Sensual Allure: A subtle magic courses through succubi, emotional tensions relax naturally around Heian. This manifests in rather arbitrary and unreliable forms, ranging from others finding Heian attractive to relieving some anger directed toward her.

Shatter Faith: Carbine shots she take are hardly, if at all, affected by opposing mystical forces. Defenses relying on magic are of no effort to breach. She possesses no immunity against magic herself, however.

Magic: While technically an Obscuromancer, Heian commands no offensive power on her own. Instead, being a Pact Succubus allows her to ‘gift’ dark energies. Slight bodily contact will grant others a single combative spell for a few minutes. Passionate shows of affection bestows a plethora of fiendish magic to those contacted for hours; new spells may also be created from this union. This ability holds a tremendous drawback; Heian cannot direct who are able to take her power. Near anyone can rob her of magic with cruel actions and even turn stolen mystical abilities against her. The only saving grace is that she cannot die by her own magic, only horrendously pained and bound. Additionally, power derived from Heian depends on her own mystical capacity; over using abilities granted will send her unconscious.

Abilities gained from Succubus’ Pact:

Obscurum Molniros: A swift, abrupt movement, say a snap of the fingers allow for a burst of non-luminous, erratic electricity to course from the user and strike targets. The energy does not radiate light, and may appear invisible.

Tenebra Laceros: In performing circular motions, black waves are conjured in forms relating to the directions of the user. The waves travel as quick as arrows and has the potency of sword slashes.

Obscurosis Eructo: Dark energies erupt violently in random spots around the user.

Fell Bondage: Shadows spring forth from a solid surface to encase targets in contraptions the user imagines. Its restraining potency depends on the relative mass of combatants: the denser the enemy, the weaker this ability becomes.

Draculian Impalement: Large obsidian spines jam upward from surfaces, piercing targets.

Standard Magic:
Material Reversion: A completely harmless spell. Converts non-sentient, organic matter into a billow of energy, slowly intaken by the user. Can replace active consumption.
Material Conversion: Another entirely benign spell. Converts various matter into usable resource such as ammunition or oil.
Additional Information: A pony-sized, jet black flea of 520 pounds accompanies Heian. It’s able to jump five and a half yards and holds a saddle with some bags.

Armour: The stray strike or stab may be prevented by her clothing.

Weapons: Cavalry Carbine, 31 inch, 6lb muzzle loading smoothbore with a black stock of Necrospringwood and barrel of Aeternasteel Alloy. Military standardisation ensures its sturdiness and operation in suboptimal conditions. Like many smoothbore powder arms, however, it’s not too accurate. Dirk, a long and dark knife made of high quality steel.

History:

Name: Autumn of Morseren
Age: Unknown
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Race: Dragon-stuck-in-humanoid-form
Class: Voyager, Chasseur
Appearance/Clothing:
Height: 5’4'' / 163 cm
Hair: Bright blonde, elegant and flowing, length to lower ribcage.
Eye: Blazing golden irises, give a stare distinguishably piercing.
Skin: Healthy and fair. Her hands, up to her forearm are smooth and firm, like blackened metal.
Body Type: Young in appearance. Delicate limbs, supple thighs, a notable bosom. Lizard-like frills where ears are supposed to be, long talons coloured ebony upon arms.
Voice: A confident, well mannered tone. Considerate and whimsical.
Clothing: A white-black, diagonal-half colour scheme halter dress with a short, scale-reminiscent skirt. Black, scale-reminiscent stockings alongside garter belt. Heels of bright gray. A soft-black belt wraps about her waist, holding some pockets and a pistol’s sheath.
Armour: Practically, none. Her scale-morphed attire and talons may deflect the occasional blow.
Weapons: Custom-trigger Pistol, a flintlock, one-shot muzzleloading smoothbore handgun with a barrel of Aeternasteel Alloy and stock of Necrospringwood. It’s accuracy isn’t too great or poor. Natural Claws.

Skills: Parkour, strong adequacy in close combat with many tools(provided they fit her claws). Reliable pistolier, able to hit targets at 88 yards and being capable of ten second reload.

Natural Abilities: Easily repairable, absorption of earthly material will restore bodily integrity. She’s not particularly resistant against physical injury, however. Additionally, high stamina allows for competency in most general feats.

Desert Embrace: The very sand seems to hold respect for Autumn, shifting and solidifying under her feet just so her mobility is greatly aided as opposed to hampered in grainy terrain.

Draconian Remnant: Long, black claws tip the digits of Autumn’s hands. They’re remarkably durable and quite sharp but otherwise not too special. Her claws are actually incredibly inconvenient at times, being 18 inches longest and 12 inches shortest. Complex hilt swords are none but impossible to use, common firearms are impractical due to trigger design and everyday tasks can be a challenge.

Significant Deficiencies: Mana Curse, after a certain amount of mystical energies is accumulated within Autumn through ally or enemy, she gradually petrifies. She cannot wield spells of most sorts, and attempts to assist her with magic by healing or buffing holds a massive risk of her temporal immobilisation.

Magic: Technically, Autumn is a geomancer, but practically, she cannot be considered a sorceress in most regards.

Dress Morph: The reason for the presence of scaley patterns upon Autumn’s clothing is due to their material; grains of sand that mimic the appearance and feeling of other material. She may alter her attire at will.

Vaporisation: Passive. Liquids seem to vanish quicker than ordinary in the presence of Autumn. Allies may find it annoying, or at the worst, life-threatening.

Ever Assimilated: An entirely benign alchemy spell, used to convert varying material into gunpowder, ammunition and the like.

History:

Recently, the once dead dragon by the name of Autumn has been resurrected by necromancers of Morseren. She was one of the first draconians to be revived not as a dracolich, but a full-fleshed dragon. The necromancers had expected trouble, and came militarily prepared, but she did the completely unorthodox action. Autumn took the form of a humanoid female and chose diplomacy. To gain Morseren’s trust, and by extension the Confederacy of Mist’s own, she requested to be cursed and bound. Her unnatural impairment almost devoids her of everything she was, including a full draconian form and all her major offensive sorcery. To this day the dragon remains mystically restrained, and seeks to find peace among lesser species.

Magically alchemised to be a guardian dragon of war and artificially recreated some centuries ago, Autumn was atypical of her kind. In the urgent time of Autumn’s conception, different methods had been conceived to bolster the relatively few ranks of draconians. The War of Earth and Heaven had turned against their favour, and the reincarnation of the Primordial Entities was sanctioned. Autumn was one of such powers, an entity mighty enough to be once titled Desert God.

Once awakened, she was exasperated at the turmoils her kin brewed, but fought with them for years nonetheless. In the final days, she wept gravely, for her kind dwindled in numbers, until only herself remained. Autumn fought for a short while more, before succumbing to technology that completely defied her divine might.

Miscellaneous:

An undead soldier approached the Desert God in the waning days of the dragon war. He solemnly suggested to her escape was the only option. She responded through infuriated combat, and found herself stalemated. The era of draconians was over; many more inferior species could fight hand-to-claw against her kind. The soldier asked her to flee once more, but she told him she will remain, for she knew her kind’s hubris will cause them to fight until the very end and it would be the gravest dishonour to abandon them, what little left of them. The two acted as partners, for a brief few days, fighting as comrades-in-arms against enemy Coalition forces.

There was once a couple of peaceful hours, and through whimsical conversation a name was gifted to the Desert God: Autumn, of the Eroding Sands. An ironic name befitting of the aspects she governed should she be considered a god, as well as an insult, given the interpretations. The Desert God accepted the name.

It was on the final day where the undead soldier chose to stand by the her side that she commanded him to fall back, to fade into obscurity. He initially refused, but the dragon persisted in reasoning; she will never truly die, being a Primordial Entity, but his kind is much more susceptible to being lost forever. She truly appreciated his well-meaning intention, to salvage at least a remnant of her kind and to grace them with a chance for redemption, and so displayed affection humanity is known for. The soldier understood her actions, and left Autumn to her fate. She could not save those she held dearest, and she in the very least hopes to save her last ally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the height of her power, Autumn of the Eroding Sands very easily fulfilled the title of Desert God. Whole continents of earthly mass and entropy itself was at her disposal. Excellent equipment of prime quality; swords, shields, armour, siege engines would rust, corrode and simply fall apart in mere seconds. Legendary spells would be stopped by towering tidal waves of desert sand. Entire armies could be rendered obsolete by her presence.

Part of the reasons as to why Autumn wasn’t invincible was due to the geography of the Archipelago of Fog, the ingenuity of its demonic and undead inhabitants alongside their absolute numbers.

There was a dreadfully immobile material underneath the land her kin sought to reconquer, Aeternasphalt was its name. Hardness, ductility and flexibility varying tremendously, the material had one key feature; it did not react to magic. Aeternasphalt was extremely abundant, making up something past seventh-tenths of the whole archipelago in varying layers, which inconveniently obstructed many available deposits of earth Autumn could have manipulated.

In the age of the dragon war, golem alchemy developed to an extent where magicians have been considered a waning force. While mages were often lost in single moments facing entities like the Desert God, golems could resist an eternal fight with them, being nearly immune to mystical offense. Such golems, with the arrival of magic defeating artillery contributed greatly to the loss of magic-reliant dragons, including Autumn in her vast power.

Finally, in order to access her prime potential, Autumn had to take the form of a dragon. A 24 metres long, thickly scaled beast with 40 metres of wingspan. A being of such size could not hide anywhere, and the Desert God held little chance of rest for every local battle she partook in. Artillery platoons and alchemy squadrons took much satisfaction to eroding away her strength, as her mass allowed little the the way of missing. In addition, her enemies could effortless revive, remass and return as a threat ever-eternal. Autumn’s existence in that period was grand, but futile.

Name: Woyadei of Shuischeier
Age: Appears 19, isn't actually known
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Race: Undead Human, enhanced zombie
Class: Dragoon, Conquistador
Appearance/Clothing:
Height: 5’5’’
Hair: Neck-length, snow-white, swept down towards either side.
Eye: Woyadei lacks eyes. His sockets are hollow and dark.
Skin: Dead-pale, like a corpse.
Body Type: He is well-muscled for his height, but he is still quite thin.
Voice: Slightly lighter than most men, though not boyish. He speaks in a formal, if curt manner.
Clothing: He typically wears a deep-gray trenchcoat rimmed with white fur and a wide, black belt with a dirk’s sheath and some bags. Black military breeches and white-rimmed Hessian boots complete his outfit.
Armour: His standard trenchcoat is quite thick, being resistant toward slashes and punctures. Underneath lies chain armour.
Weapons: Styrian Glaive, a tapering broad, double edged straight blade of Aeternasteel Alloy backed by a spike and long langets upon a pole of Necrospringwood. Long dirk. https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/98/00/6f/98006f23fb1ecae629b36f17d6857f4b.jpg

Skills: Joint locks and breaks, body throws, weapon disarms, staff and blade weapons expert. Arthropod rider.

Natural Abilities: High resistance against magic and mortal wounds(difficult to kill but similar durability to humans). He is extremely difficult to heal or buff magically, nearly requiring the aide of necromancers.

Magic: Woyadei is a Molniromancer, a wielder of lightning. His potency of spell is based on focused disdain; the more he feels toward a target, the more effective and quick spells can be. He may cast spells continuously for a few minutes, and no more, or stagger his rate of casting, and cast ever more.

Snap Lightning: Requiring sharp, sudden movements, say a snap of the fingers, lightning instantly streaks erratically toward a target, originating from Woyadei.

Shock Pillar: A swinging motion, like a falling hammer fist will call forth a delayed, large bolt of lightning from the sky to strike the ground. Less effective indoors.

Conduction: Lightning can travel forth from Woyadei’s body through material that can sustain currents of electricity. Mana intensive.

Additional Information: A pony-sized, 712 lbs millipede accompanies Woyadei. A distinct white-black saddle alongside bags, pair of dark shades and a letter sit atop of it(If for some reason reptiles want to eat the millipede, it tastes horrible and might be poisonous).

Possessions: A black-stained, silver pocketwatch. The outside is marked with an ominous, clouded skull. Unknown, black writing sits interior. An undead nurse had given him the object during his stay at Morseren, the Asylum of the Dead. His unlife began in that eerily gloomy, ever dark mountain-fortress.

History:

Name: Sernal Civilies
Race: Human
Age: Perhaps 19
Gender: Female

Appearance: With complexion like that of bleached bone and meek height of a meter and sixty-two centimeters(sixty-three, you might hear her protest), mass of forty-nine kilograms, Sernal indicates little belonging to the field of battle. She is no frontline combatant, and her very frame, delicate and soft it is, keeps her well-wary of ever straying too close to adversal predicaments. She seems to belong in some safe household, away from sharp steel and blackened blood. Perhaps like some well-kept noble’s daughter, she holds the scent of some white flower, and her hair is that of long gentle waves and soft snow. Her pale-grey eyes hold curiousity and a kind of serene understanding unbefitting of her young appearance.

Background: The idea of a child raised by undead would be a wild tale, if not simply unprecedented, but here is Sernal, curiously fortuned to have been under guardianship of a wight that since left.

(Un)Naturally, this led to a growing life revolving about Necromancy and its associated influence. Sernal’s come to learn a notable deal in the dark arts, even if she’s not particularly adept in their usage.

Still peculiar, are the philosophies she’s come to hear. “A World plunged in darkness will stumble without progress, a world bathed in light will fall in poor sight.”

Necromancy is a tool to seek understanding, as much as it is a tool to demonstrate force. Sernal believes it a method of balance, and so could be used to preserve peace.

Wandering, wavering between the Darkwood and Falconreach, Sernal keeps her presence slight. A few could recognise her here and there, yet her occupation isn't all so known.

Equipment: Robes, archetypically simple and dark, adorn Sernal. They reach her ankles, and might barely be considered threatening if not for their user’s diminutive height, and how they hug her feminine figure.

A sword of complex construction centred about a elegantly swept cage-like guard, a schiavona. Dark is its blade and silvered is its hilt. A few scrabbles of necromantic runes adorn the base of the blade, but Sernal couldn’t really make meaning of it. The weapon's usually sheathed in a dark scabbard, hung off a similarly coloured belt.

Skills, Spells, or Abilities: Expectedly, the diminutive necromantress holds access to minions, two at most, of skeletal, zombified or otherwise corpsely composition. They are basic in function, usually bearing a manner of simple melee utilities like pavises, clubs or staves. Their skill rests on the time Sernal is allowed to concentrate, and may act between the spectrum of wild swings or precised strikes.

Living among the dead has rather blessed Sernal with an atmosphere of indifference. Without a group of living humans for effective reference, undead do not generally aggress her.

Not so much capabilities, but Sernal does hold a small number of odd traits. She unsurprisingly, is frail, and although worthwhile in blade and magic, is a relatively poor soldier, lacking much endurance and strength. Additionally, she does hold peculiarly low fleshly temperature and notably high tolerance of the cold and pestilence. Perhaps linked, is her most sinister, albeit weakest utility; Sernal is able to channel a small stream of darkness to drain life. Subtle and slow, this has no real combat use, and only serves to be a convenient manner in how the little necromantress eats.