Name: Gerard Gast

Gender: Male

Age: 16

Role/Position: Cavalry

Appearance: Shoulder length brown hair, slicked back away from piercing blue eyes. Maintains a lazy scruff on his jaw. Stands at about 5’10” at 185 lbs. Lean, athletic build.

Personality: Gerard, still fairly fresh among the ranks, tries to keep a strong confidence to hide his fear of inadequacy. He continues to maintain a childish level of joy hoping to raise the spirits of those around him. Gerard tends to flock to the more experienced mercenaries, hoping not only to learn their techniques, but that their skill in battle will ensure his survival. Gerard tries to get along with others, never bashful to strike up a conversation. Due to this, most members of the company find him a little overwhelming.

History: The Gast family had been selling their blades for five generations, leaving young Gerard as the last son to pledge his blade to a cause. His father, Johannes Gast, also in active enlistment, disapproved of Gerard's choices, fearing it was too soon as Gerard had not carried their lineage. Despite his disapproval, his father handed down his warhorse, Bona, as a gift and a charm. Gerard has been a member of the mercenary troupe for a short time, but continues tirelessly to hone his skills for his father's approval.

Skills and Abilities: The Gast's were a family of mounted knights, giving Gerard ample time to hone his skill on horseback. Gerard eventually began practicing his hand at mounted combat, driving practice spears into bales of hay. Over time, he proved to have a keen accuracy when placing a blow. During his youth, Gerard found work as a courier. He possessed a strong body and proved he could cover long distances quicker than some of the stronger children and made his way into delivering more important parchments, such as troop movements and battle strategies.

Weakness(es): While Gerard practiced diligently at his family's craft, he tended to ignore some of the more mundane training. Gerard's swordplay and close combat stances were poor, and he didn't possess a strong strike. It seemed as though without a mount, Gerard's confidence melted away to reveal that he was truly still just a child on the battlefield.

Equipment: Bona, a black destrier, handed to him by his father. Gerard carries a spear, a sword, and a long knife. Gerard rides in leathers instead of heavy armor, preferring to be able to run from the battlefield if dismounted.

Name: "Sir" Wulfric York

Gender: Male

Age: 31

Role/Position: Blacksmith

Appearance:


Personality: Some would say Wulfric is shy, or even bashful. The actual truth is the fact that Wulfric is not a fan of speaking out of turn. A short lifetime full of torture, fighting and nightmare has forced him to hold his tongue unless he truly needs to speak. Because of this, many believe he has some sort of anxiety with speech. Preferring that his actions answer more then anything else, Wulfric is a quiet soul that pounds out the steel the company uses throughout the night.

History: The York family were once a proud line, having owned several estates throughout the Kingdom of Westar. Wulfric was the youngest son of a rather large portion of the family, and was raised quite well. Being the squire for one of his older brothers, Wulfric would never become the heir of the family, but was happy nonetheless. This noble upbringing gave Wulfric a short teaching in both combat and reading. However, his life would come crashing down around him due to a feud between the his family and the Dunstands. Finally culminating in a clash in the streets, the York family were cut down through assassinations, executions and even abductions. Wulfric himself was captured in a quick abduction, where he was a prisoner for over 3 years of his life. A great majority of his scars come from this time period, where he was tortured brutally at the hands of several banner-men.

Through sheer luck, Wulfric was eventually able to escape. Realizing he was the only surviving member of his family, Wulfric went on to become an apprentice at a local bakery. His time there was short enough, and soon, he was under the tutelage of a blacksmith, who allowed Wulfric to stay there only as a tutor to his own children. Wulfric's ability to read allowed him to barter it as a tool, teaching those that could not. Picking up several abilities underneath the blacksmith, Wulfric would apprentice under him and the rest is history.

Wulfric is now the company swordsmith, casting the steel needed to create more weapons for the soldiers and infantry. His is well-known throughout the camp as the quiet man that can build you a pretty good weapon if need be.

Skills and Abilities: Wulfric has a small learning when it comes to one-on-one combat, due to him being taught at a very young age. Furthermore, he is dedicated to his craft, and can pull miracles out of small amounts of metal. Finally, Wulfric is more learned then your average blacksmith, as he can read and write.

Weakness(es): Wulfric is emotionally scarred from his former life. Furthermore, his survival means that assassins are constantly searching for him. The companies movement throughout the country is a blessing, as it does not stay in the same place for long. Additionally, though he is more skilled then your average peasant, he is still rather clumsy with fighting.

Equipment: Wulfric usually wears tanned hides and leathers, along with his tool apron. Almost always having his smithing hammer on him gives him an improvised weapon, and he can wield it well enough to fight off would-be attackers. Since blacksmith's rarely go to war with the rest of the company, Wulfric does not use much armor beyond leather and occasional brigandine.

Appearance:

Hard is the correct word to physically describe Brádach, and indeed is the one that most would use, for you do not get to be as old as he without living a full and violent life.

A full 6' 0” (1.83m) in height, though somewhat bowed by the weight of years, Brádach has never been what one would call 'imposing' – he is nowhere near as muscular as some, having retained his wiry body type throughout his life, corded and lean, like a coiled bowstring – but an life starting with farming and ending in the killing of others has given him the overall form of a gnarled oak.

This is seen most particularly in his face – haggard and coarse, like the side of a sea-facing cliff, weathered by age and climate – his wispy white hair worn to his shoulders but his beard always kept neat, framing his gaunt, almost emaciated, features.

What really draws the gaze though are the pale blue eyes beneath his snow-coloured brows, eyes that have seen so much and managed to retain there glimmer of mischief, there youthful vigour that the rest of his body can be said to lack, and a depth that any who peer into them experience for themselves – make no mistake though, as much as they may not seem so, they are the eyes of a killer.

Personality:

This 'old salt', having seen and done many a thing in his time, is a pragmatic and down to earth sort of mercenary with a personality that matches perfectly. So much so that he will not take on challenges that he knows he cannot win but will also attempt to keep younger, and hotter blooded, fighters in line if they get out of hand. On the other hand he is also a teacher, with plenty of stories to tell and many lesson to teach, from the correct way to plant a seed to how to handle a dirk and a sword simultaneously. In his eyes any respect is earned and until others prove themselves then they will have neither his respect nor his affection. Lastly he is quite a reposeful man and usually speaks in his raspy tones only when he must or when he is first spoken to, though he will play his pipes anywhere and everywhere.

(Will probably edit this later)

History:

Clan MacShana were once one of the pre-eminent noble families on the sparse shores of the Skerry Isles, having dominated the other families for well over a century before they were broken apart and descended very much into what they are now; mercenary warriors-for-hire that fight for the highest bidder.

Along with various other names, the MacShana 'brand' is known as one of quality and dedication, their warriors taking an oath to fight for their employers/paymasters until the bitter end and their skills at arms drilled into them with wooden substitutes as soon as they can properly grasp a pole – such was the life which young Brádach found himself flung into.

The life of Brádach MacShana, scion of a smaller cadet branch of the main clan, has been one of almost constant conflict. Training in both piping and warfare under the stern gaze of his uncles and grandfathers, possessed of many for they were an extensive family, he tasted his own blood in his mouth many times before ever being allowed to handle a sharpened weapon of metal.

Violence entered his life with cattle raids, standard enough when other resources were in short supply, and the plundering of your neighbours treasure, but soon took a turn that would see him whisked across the sea to Westar; having taken something belonging to a much more powerful clan, and knowing that it would mean his demise, his father sent him southward with a company of saffron-clad compatriots to live and die for whoever should pay them the most.

For nearly thirty years he served alongside his countrymen, their numbers dwindling away to almost nothing, before many of them decided to return home. For his own part Brádach could not, clan feuds were things that never really went away, and so he was forced to use his musical talent to earn some coin and to have his more violent skills diminish to little more than tools for throwing drunks from a tavern or collecting money for debtors.

It was only in his later years that he fell in with the Fools, mercenary work nearly gone from Westar thanks to Adalamar the Second, but his death – and the conflict that was certain to come with it – rekindled the need for strong, brutal and savage men to ply their trade once more. Brádach had been one such man, and with a few years of building himself up again, he was confident that he could be again.

Now he unofficially makes himself the musician of the Company and even more unofficial 'keeper of records', unable to write or read but with a memory that stretches back beyond his lifespan, while being able to handle oneself in a fight is never a bad thing either.

Skills and Abilities:



Weakness(es):

He's old, that pretty much sums up his major weakness.

Brádach survived infant mortality, he survived the violent younger years, he then survived what many would call 'old age' (his forties and fifties), he has survived more than most will ever live to see in their lifetimes and not without consequence.

The cold bites and gnaws at him as it never did before, his bones aching and becoming stiff of a morning and freezing night, and – in spite of keeping himself in 'good shape' – overexertion is not something anyone can accuse him of any more. Though lack of breath and ill-eyesight have not yet afflicted him, he suffers early symptoms of them both, unable to run with the pace that he once did, or to loose a ranged weapon...at all, really. Hearing, well, that has gone downhill a bit, his ears nowhere near as sharp as in the past.

Weak though he is not, age will catch up with you, and so he conserves or expends what energy he can, always bearing in mind that he just isn't the man he once was.

(May edit later)

Equipment:

(The elderly gentleman on the right in this picture, pretty much.)

Beginning with the flowing saffron shirt of his people, nothing really more than a golden-coloured smock with wide sleeves (useful for concealing weapon and plunder), it can be lengthened or shortened by the taking up or letting down of surplus cloth at the waist according to condition of climate.

In battle he wears a calf-length shirt of mail with a hood, old in design but well maintained nonetheless, and a simple brigandine of leather over the shirt. A metal 'steel cap' protects his head and an old-fashioned hand-axe paired with a simple arming sword a used for close-in fighting. His (usually reddened) legs go bare for the most part, and his feet are held in by a pair of sandals – something not really worn any more outside of the older generation on Skerry.

During cold nights and on long marches he wraps himself in a mantle known as a brat, a thick and triangular shaped garment that many compare more to a coarse and hairy rug than an actual cloak.

Lastly comes one of his most valuable items, and the only 'fancy' he allows himself, one which had been with him since he left his home, that being the set of pipes commonly known as 'warpipes' on Skerry. In most cases this is true, they can and are used for warfare as a form of martial instrument, but they can also be used for more melodic duties when outside of a battle or, should the opportunity arise, even for a dance.

Name:
Berislav Dąbrowski

Gender:
Male

Age:
Twenty-seven

Role/Position: (Let me know if the following is ok, I tried not to take too many liberties).
Bowman/Vanguard/Scout - Job includes scouting ahead of the expedition for danger, clearing obstacles, securing lodgings for the main force and more. While most often accompanied by a body of fore-riders (who the scouts are drawn from), it is not unknown for them to travel and operate in small groups and rarer still, alone. Bolsters ranks of the bowmen during battle or positioned as an ambushing force with his fellow scouts.

Appearance:

Dark, peppered hair and deep brown eyes, there has never been a more common or forgettable face. He is not unpleasant to look at, however, there is nothing spectacular that stands out about the man either. Standing at 5ft8, Berislav is just above average height by maybe an inch, but no more. Berislav boasts a lean body most likely attributed to by his current position in the company, which he has held for a few years now; and his previous life as a simple woodsman. His most recognizable feature is a faint scar running from his forehead to roughly eye level above his cheekbone on the side of his face. Due to its prominent positioning, it is still rather obvious despite having faded over the years. It is an interesting story that Berislav would be inclined to divulge to you, if asked and over a good mead, you're buying.

Personality:
Somewhat of a loner by choice, needing -- or at least craving -- to spend lots of time by himself allowing him to think, and entertain himself. It's not that Berislav necessarily dislikes other people, in fact the opposite could be said to be true in the company of most. He has been known to be able to get along with anybody and has been described as having an affinity for people, but still disliking company once in a while. With that said, Berislav doesn't have a deep need to be around people often and can spend weeks in his own company happily.

Unfamiliar with shyness or nervousness when talking to people, including superiors, Berislav is not afraid to speak his mind although is often more reserved in his speech and actions, preferring to think first, a trait installed in him by his father from a young age.

Almost always attuned with his surroundings, as one would expect from someone in his position, Berislav very much lives in his own head. Hustle-bustle, noise, bright lights, and action tend not to distract him but rather act as a mild annoyance.

History:
Berislav was born in a small village nestled at the edge of the woodlands and foothills of Westar, due north of Old Neystead, the second child of his family following a few years after an older sister. The people of the village, primarily hunter-gatherer folk, made their living off the land; occasionally trading goods such as wood, fish and meat to travelers, merchants and at times of trouble, the larger cities of Old Neystead and Tradeforth themselves.

A blacksmith father and gatherer mother, during his early years, Berislav and his family were also joined by his grandfather, Henryk; a prominent hunter in the village who taught the young man everything he knows. From age twelve Berislav would join and assist his grandfather with hunting and by age fourteen, a year younger than the average age, he was gifted his first bow and began to take a more active role in his community. It was clear from the beginning that the adolescent had an affinity for archery and it soon became an obsession, practiced day in and day out almost every day of the week. Originally destined for a holy life in the Clerisy (something his grandfather vehemently opposed) by his father who wished a better and educated life for his first and only son. However, as fate would have it, Berislav was turned away from the church for reasons undetermined; although it is not hard to discern it was probably a mixture of education and lack of faith.

A year after Berislav's coming of age (fourteen in his particular village), much to his dismay, Henryk passed away at the age of sixty-three. The cause of death had been an infected wound, acquired from a wild boar while out on a hunt alone, it wasn't until the next day that Henryk was found by Berislav and brought back to village. It had been known early on when the herbalist indicated so that Henryk would not survive, but his death came as a shock nonetheless and a source of much grief and mourning on the whole villages' behalf for a time.

After the passing of his grandfather, Berislav began to take on more and more responsibilities around the village, although this did not last too long. Aged seventeen, another tragedy had befallen the Dąbrowski family, when now Berislav's mother also passed on from a mysterious sweating sickness that ravaged their small village, in total cutting the population in half. For a while it seemed that the siblings' father would also die, he made a miraculous recovery however, although he would never get over the loss of his beloved Dominika.

It was around the time of the devastating loss of his mother, and stealthy decline of his father's mental wellness, that Berislav left the village. Upon leaving, he was gifted a sword by his father, tentatively crafted although far from masterwork, the sword would last him many years and with maintenance has survived to the present day.

Berislav spent the next several years roaming the lands, spending short stints in larger towns and cities but never settling anywhere for too long. From Westar he made east, winding up in Avaria making a living as a woodsman in the capital of Arlan for a few months before skipping out again and continuing on his travels, this time to the north. It was in Durranheim where Berislav was first introduced to war-archery, his talents transferred well and while he never swore fealty to any single ruler, he found himself for a short time on the back line of Ragmark's archers before travelling back southwest and resettling in Westar at the age of twenty-two. It was there, in the harbour town of Innsmouth specifically, Berislav became fast friends with a young and recently promoted Serjeant of a mercenary group known as the Band of Fortune. The promise of good food, women and coin at first did not interest the young hunter, yet the Serjeant's persistence meant it was only a matter of time before Berislav would enlist and since then he's just kind of stuck to the group like glue.

Skills and Abilities:
Keen Eyes- Excellent eyesight combined with years of hunting, and arduous practice with a bow and arrow have made Berislav a talented archer; his trained eyes arguably his strongest suit. Often described by others as having the eyes of a hawk, Berislav is able to pick out details both significant and otherwise about his surroundings and opponents.

Nimble- A natural agility combined with little to no real armour and practiced reflexes makes Berislav a rather nimble being.

Swordplay- Although Berislav only truly began practicing fighting with a sword in his late teens/early adulthood, he became rather adept quite quickly. No doubt aided by his familiarity with his father's gift, reflexes and dedication. By no means is Berislav a master swordsman.

Weaknesses:
Unarmoured- Wearing little to no armour and untrained in the use of it, the only protection he is afforded is by his clothing, reflexes and a leather jerkin.

Equipment:
Recurved Composite Bow- Ash wood, Gazelle horn and Deer sinew held together with animal glue make up Berislav's personal bow. It is not his original bow, although similar in design, which was made of inferior material and began to lose its use as it delaminated with overuse. 45lbs draw weight.

Father's Gift (Bastard Sword)- This sword has been with Berislav for roughly a decade and over the years has received much love and care, well maintained. Crafted with a considerable taper and a reinforced thrusting tip, the total length of the sword comes in at 41″ with a blade length of 30″. While obviously better suited to two-handed use, if need arises the sword can be handled with relative ease using one hand. Worn on the hip.

Hunting Knife- Primarily a hunting tool, if all else fails him in battle he can use this as a last resort in defending himself. Made in the likeness of the growth of a new shoot, the knife boasts a hardwood, oaken, grip, curved blade and a total length of 17.5" with a blade length of 11". Where his sword is kept on his left, this knife is worn on his back.

Clothing- Clad in a green linen shirt dark woolen hose and knee height soft boots made of travel-worn leather. Over his shirt, Berislav wears a sleeveless jerkin, secured by braided cord ties. A thick, hooded cloak goes over this although when not needed is rolled up and carried on his back. Sports two belts, both functional, one to help hold his jerkin closed and a second to carry his sword and scabbard. A combination of the appearance photo and this should give you a fairly strong idea of his general appearance.

Appearance:


Personality:


History:


Skills and Abilities:

• Logistician – Despite his illiteracy (or appearance of), the little groom is seemingly able to get anything he wants whenever he needs. He can track down the smallest of needles in a haystack, and seemingly can find highest quality Taratio wine in a desert.
• Near-photographic memory - Il Sposoletto can recall what his master ate for breakfast on Midsummers Day twenty years ago.
• Squire-ly Conduct – Il Sposoletto is well at ease in war councils as he is cleaning armour and tending to horses. It almost seems as though the man never sleeps and he is an excellent cook.

Weakness(es):

• Avaricious
• Amoral
• Arrogant
• Impatient
• Sarcastic
• Theatrical

Equipment: