Her first memory, is waking up in a forest, rays of sunlight piercing through the leaves above her, waking her up, two swords in their sheaths on her lap and no memory of who she was, where she came from or where she was headed. All she had were her clothes and the two swords, which somehow, she just knew belonged to her. She set out, not knowing where to go, travelling through the forest till nightfall, she had no memories and yet she knew how to make a fire, even how to talk as she just, talked to herself, just so she could hear something, her voice unknown to her at first. Eventually she fell silent and fell asleep, for some reason a silly thought came over her that the swords would protect her while she slept.

She woke up refreshed but still without memory of who she was, when she came upon a stream and eagerly drank the clear water she took a moment to look at herself, surprised she felt her ears, pointy, Elf, she was a Elf, how could she be able to know what race she was but not her own name? She continued walking after that, leaving the forest behind her and saw smoke on the horizon, people, she headed in that direction, hoping that if there were people, that maybe these people knew her, could tell her what her name was. It was a small settlement, with people she recognized as humans but still no thought of how she knew they were humans. When asked some looked at her oddly, others just said they had never seen her before.

She sat down on the side of the street, not knowing what to do, where to go, she looked to the sky and asked for guidance, screaming for someone to tell her who she was or where to go, ignoring the looks of the people, the murmurs and the stares. She sobbed, crying and then screamed again, this time from pain as if a white hot blinding pain seared through her head, before the images began. She saw herself, walking, heading to the market of the settlement, a man, red shawl, kind smile, offering her a hand. The pain stopped and she shuddered, finding herself on the street still most people ignoring her, others staring at her and muttering, catching some of their words, 'insane', 'beggar' and 'bad omen'. They said, she got up and hurried away, finding herself on the market like she had seen in the images. She looked around and froze when she saw him, the man with the red shawl, loading up crates in a wagon, talking to some people. She approached him warily, not sure what to expect and just looked at the man, when he noticed he looked back, a eyebrow raised before he shrugged and asked her what she wanted. She said nothing in return and he scratched his cheek, looking her over and then at the swords, suddenly asking her if she was a mercenary and available for hire, saying that he needed a new caravan guard since he was one short, extending his hand and smiling.

She looked at the hand for a moment before she took it and accepted, when asked for her name she answered Ceann for some reason, the meaning of the word at the back of her head as she said that, Forgotten.

That is how she lived by for years, traveling with caravans from place to place only changing her course when the flashes of pain and images came, guiding her... and sometimes warning her... when they warned her she felt afraid, as if she was being hunted, she... or her swords and just knew she had to leave the route she was on or the caravan she was with and took a new direction, always walking, always on the move and yet the flashes of pain and images never gave her the one answer she was looking for, her name, her identity, her past.

Several times, despite her flashes of future images, she had been called upon to defend herself from robbers, bandits, slavers or others who meant her harm for their own reasons she could handle those somehow knowing fighting techniques she had no recollection of ever learning but sometimes a figure would appear dropping down in the midst of her attackers, helping her, always cloaked in black and gray, never answering her questions ,her pleas of why the figure helped her because in the end the figure would always leave. She caught a glimpse of the eyes of the figure once, predator like they were, as if belonging to a wolf.

Then came the tale of Kouri, gods banished, a time of hope for some and despair for others, the night after hearing about that she suffered such pain but the image was clear she had to go to Renalta, for a time of great troubles and challenges was ahead.

Name: Gahrul the Tower.
Age: 34.
Race: Ogre.
Sex: Male.
Appearance: Gahrul is an ochre-skinned ogre, a humanoid of gargantuan proportions. Almost 10ft tall at the shoulders and weighing over 600 pounds, he's a sight to behold and a prime specimen of the ogre race. His posture is hunched, his head almost level with his shoulders, and his huge arms reach down to his knees (compared to other humanoid species, his legs are disproportionally short). His eyes are small and deep-set, almost lost above a drooling mouth filled with big, blunt teeth. The exceptions are his two bottom canine teeth that jut out of his jaw, almost like tusks. A single horn sprouts from his forehead.

He wears a set of crude, mismatched iron armor that looks like someone forged it out of spare scraps of metal, including an iron skullcap to protect his bald head. Certainly the most distinguishing part of his attire is a gigantic tower shield, almost tall and wide enough to cover Gahrul's whole body. It's several inches thick and the surface is pitted and dented from years of use, but it has never failed. He carries it on his back whenever it's not in use. Sheathed at his waist we find Gahrul's weapon: an iron warhammer.

Picture used for inspiration (to get the general idea).

Homeland: Wanderer.

History: Born in the mountain ranges between Rheinfeld and Renalta to a clan of cave-dwelling ogres, Gahrul's youth unfurled out of reach of society. Ogres are notoriously stupid and still exist only as hunters and scavengers, scraping out a living in the rough mountains. Gahrul doesn't remember much from this time aside from brawling with his brothers and hunting mountain goats.

His introduction to the world at large only happened when a group of goblin scouts came to the mountain ranges to recruit ogres for the war against the Free Holds. Goblins are clever and they knew how to convince the simple-minded ogres with tales of oppression and 'not-freedom'. Gahrul, upset by this, went north with his newfound goblin comrades. It was them who clad him in armor and gave him his shield – Gahrul was to become a mobile archery station on the battlefield, using the gigantic tower shield to protect the goblin archers from harm as they fired volley after volley from Gahrul's great shoulders. He quickly learned how to use the shield as a weapon as well, crushing and bashing the enemies in his wake. Eventually, one of the goblins had the idea to give Gahrul a weapon to go along with the shield. His smashing and bashing now augmented with a warhammer, Gahrul truly became a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

Gahrul's military career was quite respectable. He helped to free both Kinghold and Freehold and fought in numerous other skirmishes against the mercenaries and troops of the Free Holds. After Gahrul was seriously injured when a collapsing structure almost crushed him, his goblin comrades decided Gahrul had fought well enough. The bemused ogre traveled back south to his homeland, taking a meandering route throughout the world that took him several years to complete. He frequently forgot where he was going and ended up involved in a lot more situations than necessary. During that time, he worked as a bodyguard for a trade caravan, as a gladiator (never once defeated) and a lumberjack.

Once back home in the mountains, a chance encounter with a sprite by name of Draza lured him back into the world. Enamored with the creature as she traveled through the mountains on her way to Renalta to join the Queen's Blades, Gahrul became the sprite's companion, bodyguard and mount. He has been with her ever since, joining the Queen's Blades by association with the sprite.

Motivation: To keep Draza the sprite safe. People have tried to explain the Queen's Blades' motivations to Gahrul before and the fact that they're doing good work to keep the world safe is enough for him.

Strength: 8/10
Agility: 2/10
Charisma: 1/10
Magical Endurance: 5/10

Fighter: 6/10
Pavise
Blunt, One Handed
Sniper: 1/10
Custom -- Rocks/Boulders
Leader: 0/10
Seducer: 0/10
Sneak: 0/10
Mage: 3/10
Anti-Magic

Experience Traits
--Catch!
--Shield Maiden.

Conditions
--Clean Blood.
--Wells of Power.
–The Wanderer.

Unique
--Indomitable Monster: Gahrul's sheer size is an intimidating factor in combat against human-sized (or smaller) enemies, who often hesitate or find it difficult to attack the ogre in melee combat. Who engages an elephant with a sword, right? Conversely, Gahrul is too stupid to be intimidated and is oblivious to charming or seductive effects (not that he's immune, but you better be really good at persuasion if you want to change Gahrul's mind about something).

Romance: Wouldn't work. Unless someone finds him an ogre lay-dee.
Play style: Gahrul follows Draza (Elendra's character). If it were up to him, straightforward, action-heavy missions, since fighting is all he knows how to do, but he goes where she goes.
Does the Kouri Plushie exist?: Sure?

Signature: Hank.

Tobias fidgeted uneasily, loosening his sword in the scabbard as he stood guard outside the inn. He was as nervous as a raw recruit, almost shaking in his boots. The Da’Har was only a few blocks away, and the toughs that ruled the place had no liking for the Watch, whether they were officially on duty or not. Neither was Jones or Maxi was there to watch his back, and his mind filled the shadows cast by the smoky torches with imaginary foes, creeping assassins and devious devils. He let out a shuddering sigh and leaned his spear against the front portico of the Dragon’s Den. He pulled out his pipe and a packet of his vice, Two Leaf tobacco. Tamping the fragrant blend into the carved wooden bowl, his left hand struck a match against the stone columns of the weathered but majestic inn. A few deep breathes calmed his nerves, and gripping the spear gave him a reassuring boost of a fortitude.

The bells pealed ten times, and Tobias could hear the clipping of hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels against the rough cobblestones. Led by a team of four immaculate greys, the dark cherry wood carriage oozed understated elegance, taste, and wealth. The driver pulled up neatly and opened the doors of with twin crossed gauntlets behind a rampant lion. A hulking giant stepped out, clad in enough metal to equip a platoon, and Tobias swallowed. Marcus Existus, the former grand champion of the Free Hold arenas held his hand out for a young, smoking beauty to step out. Tobias brought his fist to his heart and bowed his head to Lady Elena Dawncrest, heir to Duke Dawncrest, one of the more powerful, vindictive nobles of the land. She swept him with an imperious and dismissive glance, and then sauntered into the inn with a grace that took his breath away.

The next two patrons of the tavern this night were underwhelming compared to the omnious menace of Existus and the beauty of Lady Dawncrest, even though either one wielded power that could crush him like a bug. Councilor Farran rode in on a magnificent brown gelding, shortly followed by the wealthy merchant factor Garvai Elding. Neither one gave him a second glance, but Tobias couldn’t say the same of the third man, sauntering up. The guard didn’t recognize the tall man huddled in his own cloak, but the cold dead eyes made him shudder again. Tobias reluctantly challenged the man for his invitation, and a single hand clad in black calfskin gloves handed him a single embossed card. The fourth man was another regular, and once again Tobias felt dirty at the smarmy shiftlessness the arms smuggler exuded like a noxious odor. The smirk sent a jolt of pure fury through the stolid guardsman as the rampant murder and extortionist strode by without a care in the world. His hands trembled against the spear. Suddenly, the final man just appeared in front of him, and Tobias took an unconscious step back. A wide brimmed hat was perched jauntily on top of the tall lithe man. The brim contained a single card, an ace with a hole in the middle caused him to stare for a bit before his eyes dragged down to the worn, many pocketed leather coat, worn but fine silk vest, shirt and trousers. As Tobias opened his mouth, the embossed card appeared in one callused hand, a single ruby peeking out from the silver ring. Tobias took the card, and looked up to motion the man by, but he was gone. Even the alley seemed a little darker. Tobias shuddered again, and fumbled to repack the pipe.

The common room was empty, but still conveyed a regal impression. The large functional hearth was brilliantly concealed with a grand wrought iron screen. The bar was long, and beautifully polished, and even the functional furniture conveyed a sense of warm magnificence. Polished lamps reflected dim light, and the warmth suffusing the room relaxed the soul. Even the proximity to the hellhole was a bonus for this place of backroom dealing. He walked through the room to the back parlor. He scanned around immediately noting the hulking menace standing behind the sultry lady. She cast a haughty, seductive glance his way, and he cocked an eye and gave her a wry grin. Only two of the players were able to draw their gaze from the sultry nobleman lounging on a custom upholstered chair. The first made his palms itch. Alex suppressed a frown at the red trident tattoo that was poking out of the man’s collar. The second got up and confronted him.

“Where is Captain Allory?”

Alex flashed a smile, and held his hands out with palms up, open and empty. “His daughter Julia has the Red Pox. While they have a healer over now, the place is quarantined.” The statement caught everyone’s attention, and they all looked back at him with horrified revulsion. The monster in the corner started moving, and Alex continued smoothly. “But, the purified holy priest conveyed his message to me, and his stake.” He pulled the heavy bag and tossed it on the table. The heavy sound of metal on the table distracted the sufficiently greedy from the previous lie, but Farran continued his inquisition. “And why you?” He sniffed contemptuously.

“I owe him. But if that’s not enough for you…” Alex withdrew another heavy pouch and tossed it on the table. The bindings slipped loose, and it wasn’t the only the golden portion of the contents that fell out onto the table. “Then let’s raise the stakes, shall we?” A broad grin ‘leaked’ out from his face, and Alex pushed back to sit in the empty chair at the table.

________________________

Alex lifted his cards with his left thumbnail, and eyed the pair of threes, an angel, an archmage, and a king. His eyes surveyed his competition. The arms dealer was staring morosely into his glass of brandy, only a tithe of his stake remaining. The factor had already left in an angry haze of red wine and crushing defeat. The councilor wasn’t much better off than the merchant, glancing around desperately. They would both be gone in the next few hands, but the man with the trident kept his gloves hand clasped together, form a triangle with his elbows. While the dealer was sweating, the lady still lounged on her chair, pouting more over losing half her stacks rather than the loss of the equivalent of a few farms. Alex leaned back and palmed a three before tossing the mixed hand in. The sweating dealer was suspicious, and the man with the trident had been winning with surprising hands more than he should have been able to.

Alex leaned back to survey the odds once again. The arms smuggler took a deep drought and bought in. The man drew three cards, and took another big drink. The councilor’s eyes went wide at his draw and pushed the rest of his chips in. The dealer fingered the cards with three fingers and his hand flickered again, giving the arms dealer two. The pouty princess also folded, and gave him a little look. She traced a finger down her generous cleavage, and Alex enjoyed the spectacle. She gave him a breathy little sigh, and took another drink from her glass of mead. She broke the long silence.

“So, why do you owe the Captain?” Her eyes belied the interested tone, never moving from the still untouched sack on the table that was his additional stake. Alex took a drained the last of his whiskey, and motioned the serving girl for another one. “That’s a long story,” Alex gave her a leer, and her eyes finally flicked up from his stake to give him a moue of annoyed disappointment at the stall.

“But I suppose we have some time.” The man with trident tattoo flipped over his cards and won the hand with a set of threes over a pair of angels. The councilor and arms dealer both flipped over their cards with disgust, revealing the remaining two angels. Alex’s eyes’ flicked back over to look at the heir, who stopped lounging to lean forward instead. Only a supreme act of will, and a quick sip of his new whiskey kept him from succumbing to the tempting allure of her figure and instead studied her face. She had no reaction, and not the studied blank face she used instead of a reaction. He smirked, and took another slow sip of whiskey and tossed in another coin for the next hands.

Alex eyed the cards, and frowned as his lips tingled. He slid the palmed three under the rest of the cards and tossed them in. He had already confirmed what he needed to know, and he had no need to actually cheat to win. “At the time, George was serving with a dwarvish merchant clan. I think he was part of the guard force they hired to carry…” Alex traced his scar with his left middle finger in thought. “Diamonds I think. At the time I was under the service of Duke Blackwell,” Existus shifted at that, well aware that the now deceased nobleman had a far greater tendency to own slaves than servants, and began paying attention. “He decided on a sporting game of cards with like-minded fellows, and arranged to have the dwarves participate with their merchandise as their stake. I am fairly certain they weren’t allowed any choice in the matter, which wasn’t a wise decision.”

Alex played the next hand silently, and lost. “Of course, Garret Blackwell was a great believer in his own towering superiority and had no use for any opinion from his staff other than how tasty his boot polish was. To spice up the occasion, he decided to invite a few choice slaves to table of cards, much like this one. If you managed to win, you were free. But if you lost…” Alex flipped over a pair of rulers and pair of fives to win a small pot from the young heiress. “You got to entertain the sadistic bastard in other ways.” Existus spoke for the first time that evening, his deep bass rumbling out, “And even if you were winning, if I remember the tale correctly. That was five years ago wasn’t it.” Alex nodded, and traced his scar again. “More than a few events came to confluence that night, but before Blackwell fell, they completed the card game and a single slave won out. Then Blackwell played his own game of roulette with assassins, with his own underworld backers, the Shimon, won out.” With a some common traits of black gloves, and demon wielding a red trident as a symbol.

“None of the rest of Blackwell’s claimants or supporters were all that happy with anyone still around, and George took me in for a while as a recruit, and I stayed with them until they left the Free Holds, and made my own way from there.”

Alex played a few more hands, faking bigger drinks of the spiked glass while instead carefully pouring it down a table leg. He started exaggerating tells, and making a few larger, foolish bets and lost a large chunk of his money while eyeing the Shimon member. He was sharp even with the cheating with the local syndicate running the game, keeping the whole thing subtle. But not subtle enough. Alex bled chips feeling for the flow of the game. He let his luck build, and found the perfect hand. A pair of archmages, and a run of seven, eight and a nine all in the same suit. He tossed in two and pushed in a large chunk of chips. The dealer gathered the cards and his fingers tapped the cards, and the Shimon assassin let out a smirk. Elena folded, bored with the whole affair but not quite ready to leave yet.

Alex smiled. Perfect. “Let me pull,” He slurred pompously. The dealer glanced at the assassin, who shrugged. Sloppy. The thrill of the game danced through his veins, and the young drifter had never felt more alive. Alex felt the luck build in his fingers, and tugged out two cards face down. A thumb lifted the pair for the full straight flush. A complex deal reshuffled his pair of archmages to the assassin. The dealer’s hands were blindingly fast, and must have been the best pickpocket in the city in his youth. The assassin gave another hefty raise. Alex nibbled on his lip, the sign he had been cultivating when he had been bluffing this game, and raised again. The Shimon assassin leaned back with fingers steepled as if deep in thought. The silence stretched out, before the man put his palms flat against the table.

“All in.”
“Call.”

The assassin’s eyes flashed with victory and flipped over the four archmages, and an angel. Lady Elena’s face perked up at the rare sight, and cast a considering eye over the victor. Alex stood and stopped the man’s hand from grabbing the pile. He gave a toothy smile and flipped over his cards. Elena gasped, “the gauntlet!” Her voice trailed off, adding the conclusion, “Blackwell’s demise.” The man’s eyes flashed in rage and glared at the suddenly dough faced dealer. Alex quickly gathered the coins into convenient stacks. “I think I shall cash out for the evening. Even if wasn’t so bewitched by your charm, lady, I would find it difficult to focus on the game if I was the sole attention of such a beauty.” Alex picked up his hat and bowed, holding it over his heart. The heiress smirked and waved her assent. Alex quickly collected his winnings, filling seven heavy coin purses and half a pocket with loose change. He left the ashen dealer at the table, hands in his face.

________________

The city’s bells clanged, once, then thrice more. Alex hurried across the boulevard and ducked into the border street of the Da’Har. The proud slum dwellers bowed to no gang, organization or king, let alone an underworld cultist. Few lamps were lit here, no city watchmen would patrol here at night, and even fewer of the rest of the city would enter this warzone. The only beacon the light sounded was a monster dwells here. It was a dangerous gamble by itself to walk through the slums with so much coin without an assassin on his tail. Alex hurried further into the twelve block hellhole, almost hearing the Shimon man’s boots on the cobble stones.

Alex made it half-way through before soft clapping cut him off. The young man ducked into an alley, only to find it blocked with refuse twenty feet in. A shadow fell alongside him. Alex spun around, and turned to see his worst fear. The assassin had his shirt loose, and sleeves rolled up, bearing the demon wielding a trident prominent on his chest curling up to his neck. Black, corrupted flesh dappled the otherwise pale skin. A vicious looking serrated blade dangled from one fist, and coiled and barbed net in the other. Alex clapped his hands together and began to chant softly.

“Do you think praying to the gods will save you? You, of the Underdark know better. WE ruled even before they were banished.” The assassin’s body twisted, contorted and grew larger. Serrated teeth popped out from the gum line, and fingernails turned into claws as the cultist channeled his bound demon. Alex clapped his hands together, and kept his eyes closed. “You’re delusions of grandeur grow overbold. You never ruled anything, only pawns in the games of your betters.” Alex started chanting, and the thing laughed, a horrible silky chortle. “The Nine Hells come, boy. You’re kind don’t have a chance.” Alex snapped his fingers, magic swallowing the only still burning lamp. Light winked out. The thing roared, and twin gunshots barked simultaneously. A scream of unholy rage and pain echoed from the alley, and another pair of gunshots barked out, and then another. And another.

It mewled in pain as Alex walked over, the reloaded pair of ivory grips visible in the bottom pair of holsters on his waists. The amulet dangled out his shirt, the intricate gold and silver craftsmanship glinting invisibly from the darkness. A long blade dangled from the young gambler’s fist. “I’ll take that bet.” The arm swung.

Strength: 3/10
Agility: 3/10
Charisma: 8/10
Magical Endurance:0/10

Fighter: ?/10
--Skill Set 1 (Unlocked at: 1 point.)
--Skill Set 2 (Unlocked at: 4 points.)
--Skill Set 3 (Unlocked at: 7 points.)
--Skill Set 4 (Unlocked at: 10 points.)
Sniper: ?/10
--Skill Set 1 (Unlocked at: 1 point.)
--Skill Set 2 (Unlocked at: 4 points.)
--Skill Set 3 (Unlocked at: 7 points.)
--Skill Set 4 (Unlocked at: 10 points.)
Leader: ?/10
Seducer: 6/10
Sneak: 4/10
Mage: ?/10
--Magic School 1 (Unlocked at: 1 Point.)
--Magic School 2 (Unlocked at: 5 Points.)

Experience Traits
--Trait 1. Ghostly Beauty
--Trait 2. Cultural Mastermind

Conditions
--Trait 1. Non-Magic Telepathy
--Trait 2. Underworld Contracts
--Trait 3. The Wanderer

Unique
--Trait 1. Contortionist: Seraphina is able to move her body in ways that are wholly unnatural to most. This allows her to fit into smaller areas than she would normally be able to in addition to aiding her in dancing.

Personal Section

Romance: I wouldn't mind it, but would need a very good reason to get involved with another character in the first place.
Play style: I enjoy a bit of everything in a story.
Does the Kouri Plushie exist?: Is that a Neopet or Japanese thing?
Signature: Esper