Name: Ardelon (ar-del-on) Inu'ther (ee-knew-there)
Race: Half Vata'an, Half Vata'sha
(Mother, named Koreight'le (kor-ight-lay), is Vata-sha, father, named Vuillon (vwill-lon) is Vata'an)
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: She doesn't really think about love often, but when she does it's in a very Bi-curious manner.



^Obviously there are two different versions of Ardelon here. I consider the one of the left of her in the yellow and blue outfit to be what she currently looks like.

Weapons: Currently has no weapons.

Shaping: Parents sent her to school to learn water shaping, as they were both water shapers themselves. Has secret mind shaping ability that has yet to fully awaken inside of her.

Companions: Rhydan snow owl, Eluvian (Elle-loo-vee-in)

Since the War:
Ardelon (Age 21) is very loyal to her parents and insists on staying around to help them with literally anything they need assistance with (sometimes they don't even need assistance and she'll help). Her parents insist that she go out and see the world more but she refuses. When she isn't busy helping her parents, she is usually reading in her room or in this secluded field near where they live. She also enjoys making sketches, usually of some form of plant life. She loves sketching flowers especially. She will also practice her water shaping whenever she has free time (mainly at the small lake that's nearby the field she always goes to) or will go for walks in the forest with her snow owl.

Audition:

"Ardelon, come quickly!" My mother cried, hurrying my small body along the cobblestone street.
"Where are we going?" I asked, somehow completely oblivious to all the fire and death happening around me "Where's daddy?"
"Daddy will be with us shortly. Don't you worry about a thing, my love. Everything will be alright." My mother assured me.
I believed the feigned sound of confidence in her. I believed that everything would be alright, despite this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me otherwise.

As my mother and I ran through the crowded streets that were full of others like us screaming and fleeing for their lives, that's when I started to really notice what was going on. The sky was a burnt orange and the clouds were a dark, ashy grey. There was a smokey haze that never seemed to go away no matter where we went. In the streets, others were fleeing. Men, women, and others of various races with dirt and blood of their faces scurrying around, frantically trying to leave this place. Many were pushing their way through the crowd, ignoring many families that were also fleeing with their children. I saw a family of Aldins sprint past us, the parents each carrying a sobbing child. A young Vata'an and Roma pushed past them, knocking the mother and her child to the ground, who proceeded to sob even more. I also noticed an old man with a wooden cane trying so desperately to run as fast as he could. He ended up tripping and falling to the ground. He cried out for help at everyone around him… and no one seemed to hear his pleas.

I don't know if he ever made it out this town alive. There are nights where I lay awake and think about him. I had seen him around before. He was a kind elder man. No one knew his real name. Whenever someone asked him about it, he would find some way to evade the question. We didn't know why he did that, but we honestly didn't care. We would either call him the Old Man or Omo when he was around us (the adults didn't deem the name "Old Man" appropriate for when we were in the man's company). Omo would always talk with the children and tells us fantastical stories full of wonder and whimsey. You could truly see the joy in his gray-blue eyes whenever he made us laugh, which was quite often. He would sometimes bring us delicious baked goods too. He'd even say he used items like "unicorn sparkles" or "phoenix tears" in his food, which was why it always tasted so good. Us ignorant children believed him. He was a funny old man like that. The thought of an old man with a cane going out on some adventure to get a magical ingredient seemed plausible at that age. You believe anything when you're that young. But you're not always that…. well… dumb. Children notice things adults believe they’re hiding. Whether it's a mother holding back tears as she and her young daughter try to flee from a town that's being destroyed or the wrinkled face of an elder man as he lays helpless on the ground. The look of not only fear but incredulity in his eyes as he watches the people around act like he isn't even there.

I remember as my mother and I reached the edge of the town, I looked back at Omo to see if he was still there.
He was.
He saw me too.
It felt like time stood still for a moment as our eyes met. Neither of us attempted to say anything. It would've been futile anyway. But I could tell he was still speaking to me. His eyes… they were telling me another story. The story of young Elven girl escaping a great danger and living on to become a strong, intelligent woman who helped those around her. He told me another story. The story of an old man who also escaped a great danger who went on to live in light and in peace. All this he told me with his eyes… and with a small, kind smile.

It felt like a lifetime had already passed but it was only a few seconds before another crowd of fleeing people joined us, blocking my view of Omo. I continued to look for the Old Man through the legs of the people behind us, but no matter how hard I tried I could never catch another glimpse of him.

Several hours later, we all set up camp near a lake far away from the town we used to have lived in. My mother and I sat on the grass. I was leaning against her body as we gazed upon the bright, twinkling stars above us. I wanted to speak to her. I wanted to ask her about the Old Man. I wanted her to tell me he would be alright. But instead listened to a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach that was telling me otherwise. I knew the answers to my questions already. I didn't need someone sugar-coating the fact someone so important to me was dead.

My father, who had met up with us halfway to the new campsite, walked over and sat down with us. He had yet to tell us what he was doing earlier while my mother and I were running for our lives and he continued to keep that level surreptitiousness throughout the night. I didn't care though. Star-gazing with my parents gave me a sense of relief and comfort. Looking back on this night, it probably would have been good to discuss what I was feeling with my mother and father but at that moment, just being in their presence was enough for me. And so, we sat there, mostly in silence, for who knows how long before I eventually fell asleep with my mother and father's arms around me.

"Aww ain't you two cute? Relax I'm here to help you.
Happily ever after is right past those guys. Stay close behind me."

Name: Kyros Sirvaki, Herald of the Ebony Dawn
Race: Night Person
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Kyros champions love, if its pure and without compromise, he will defend it. He himself is heterosexual.

Weapons: None. While Kyros is born to be the barbarian and has weilded many weapons in the past, he has since adopted a more 'peaceful' way of life and shuns the use of weapons for the favor of his own war forged form. Kyros fights exclusively with his bare hands and feet, which can be augmented by metal boots, cestus, and other brawling aids. The study and mastery of Body Magic has tempered him even more, and he will engage armed combatants without fear. Flesh now beats steel in his devoted eyes.

Shaping: Body Magic - Kyros is an acolyte of Hiathas, Lord of the Dawn, Hope, the Eternal Dance, and Beauty. He has trained his body to become a practitioner of The Dance and utilizes its teaching to enhance himself via Body Magic. The Dance requires discipline without equal and training to the peak of physical limitations and beyond. There are many variants when one takes up the Dance, and Kyros has followed the lead and steps of the Rising Phoenix under the tutelage of his Sifu. The Phoenix personifies Hiathas and the sun, its burning passions always bright and ablaze. This variant emulates the glory and perfection that is the sun, and how it remains higher than all others. There is no grace, no subtlty. Passions and conviction strike like the sun of high noon, the speed of a flashfire, and the devastation of an avalanche. Its steps are slow and deliberate, rooting the practioner to the earth. Its sways, turns, and motions are torqued with the shoulders and hips to allow the whole body into the move, making each strike equal to ten lesser ones. The grips upon his partner are boulder shattering and meant to leave him standing above with them flattened the earth, like the sun over head to everything else.

• Golden Fists of Battle - The form of the Rising Phoenix channels the excellence and power of the Sun to smite the wicked and unjust. Channeling his magic, he shapens his body, strengthing him so that he strike with the might of the Dawn and the hope it brings. His strength is enhanced to near super mortal levels. Hitting, lifting, jumping all are enhanced whilst his body shines with the light of the sun, a paragon of hope and light.
• Iron Skin Concentration - To suggest to mar the beauty of Hiathas, and to tarnish the hope in his heart, some things are just not possible. Focusing inward, the shape of bodily perfect, his form hardens to that of armor, turning aside an attack as if Kyros himself was awash in impenetrable shield of hope.
• Hurl to the Horizon - The sun casts its rays over all, reaching out to touch the lands across the world. Like hope or love, distance does not matter. Kyros follows this teaching, knowing his strength sees that lesser things like distance will not keep his enemies safe. Any item that Kyros can lift, can be thrown. Anything that Kyros can see, can be hit. The physics involved make sure the item remains intact during its travel. Thus a wagon can be thrown by its wheel with the wagon sent flying, or an ally thrown on a castle wall without harm.
• Foe Clearing Shockwave - Hiathas as the God of Beauty, is always swarmed by the rabble of his admirers. Sometimes he must cast his hand to sweep aside the small, in order to find the partners that catch his eye and are worthy of his attention. Kyros emulates this with a powerful punch to foe or ground, the force of such a blast knocks all those nearby off their feet becoming easy targets, or determining who in the army is the strongest, and thus the one whom he must do battle.
• Sledgehammer Fist Punch - Many a lover has been seperated by walls and gates from their fated one. Hiathas tears down such barriers and so does his herald. Kyros strike causes much more damage to inanimate objects than even his prestiguous strength is capable of. Instead of punching through a stone wall, a section of wall crumbles away to allow him passage.

Companions:

The orc, though blessed in might and beauty has rarely known personal love himself. He has put himself in mortal danger so that others may get their happy endings, but his battles remain without end. Kyros serves a rather jealous master who demands a world purged of hate and fear and while his priests teach the people of Aldin how to love, how to dance, and to remain hopeful, his herald is the one counted on to get things done. Still he's had lovers of multiple races and many many more friends, all of whom had their own responsibilities and tasks to complete so Kyros has not yet been able to place down roots, something he has considered on more than one occasion. He keeps those willing to come with him quite small in number as he tends to attract alot of attention and danger.

Sun'win

A Badger Rhydan. Sun'Win was considered a sage in his village of other woodland Rhydan who attempted to build their own village among the trees, to better find and trade the various artifacts of the sorcerors war that was lost to the wilderness. Sun'Win had personally hired the orc as a guardian whilst he explored the fae ridden reaches of the deep woods. Having found more interesting trinkets on Kyros' person, the badger decided to travel the lands with him. Since he beckoned and hired Kyros, he calls the orc his familiar. Sun'Win is a shaper of Mind and Earth, and takes pride in knowledge of the spells and history of the lands. He provides the simple Orc with information in return for protection. The Badger will commonly rides on Kyros' back and scamper off to a safe location when things get dangerous. Only rarely does he get involved more than shouting strategy or encouragment.

Since the War:

Walking as the (Self Proclaimed) mortal right hand of the Sun God, Hiathas Kyros stands as a defender of hope, beauty, justice, love, and all that as good. He is the guardian of star crossed lovers evading the blind cruelty of kings and despots. He is the fist that knocks down the walls so that the rebels may end tyranny. He is the hunter of Silent Men, Criminals, and Monsters that pray upon the virtues of the good and just. Sadly, duty falls short of physical compensation. For every rich princcess that dreams of her prince charming, willing to shower the hero in gold, there are a dozen more without strength and without coin. Hiathas cares not for the gold his subjects possesses, only the love in their hearts, and through Kyros, his will be done. Kyros is known for his heroics and can count on many across the land for various favors and kindnesses, but in the Kingdom of Aldis, he has as many enemies as he does friends, lords and criminals brought to justice or slighted by the mad orc or serves the god of Love. Regardless, he has been beckoned to the capital for divine purpose as well as for coin.

Audition:

So this was it.

The battle had reached the gates of Aldis. The Hordes of the dead so thick and so numerous that there was an everpresent moan that seemed to echo on the wind, audible to everyone, everywhere in the city. Maybe that's what did it. Not the sound of war, not the crack of lightening, not the roar of cannons, or the thrum of explosions as spell lanced against spell, it was that constant reminder that the dead were so close, scratching and biting at the thick walls, getting closer inch by mad inch. Maybe that is what scared everyone the most. It was a fear you couldn't run from, couldn't hide. Maybe thats why the knights and lords became desperate. Maybe thats why the boy who would be Kyros, standing shoulder to shoulder with the others from the gladiator pit stood at the middle of one of the districts in a line as if to charge enemy formations. The dead had breeched the gates of iron seperating the lower ward from the lake ward. They were pouring in, one of a handful that if left unchecked would spell the death of the city.

The night person, the orc was still a boy to most. Barely seen his twelth winter, yet flanked right and left by the battle hardened and war weary slave fighters of the pits. He stood with them, his tenacity and savagery needed as much as it was reviled now, his hands given only a chipped chopping sword and a leather bound small sheild. With it, he was given a promise. A promise of freedom from the pits should he survive. It was a gift he didn't want. All he knew was fighting, all he knew was the cold dark of his cell, the pain and the blood and the stained steel in his hand. That was his world. What would freedom give him? Looks of pity and fear? An empty belly? He knew not of the world, but he knew how to survive. The pits meant survival. He didn't want freedom, but he did want to fight, just like he always did. Its all he knew, what he was alive to do. There was nothing else. And so while standing side by side on a dark street, surrounded by the remains of frightened panicking civilians, the cries of children, the wails of women, and the screams of men to try to maintain order behind him, he felt nothing. It was just another day, its just that the scenery changed. He felt fear, but it was a fear that win or lose, his life was over. He'd die on this street, either eaten by the dead, or having his own body eat itself from starvation.

And then the dawn came.

For a night person, a boy, knowing chains and stone, the sun always seemed to invigorate him. There was something about it. When he felt it's touch, it warmed him, when he stood out in it he felt stronger. When he fought under its scorching rays, he felt stronger. The sun, that beautiful golden flame was his only source of beauty and light in his world. When he felt its rays on his face, and stared into the light that would blind others, he felt purpose in his movements, he felt life in his veins, he felt love in his heart. He fought as if all the world watched him. He fought with passion and conviction as if trying to impress the ball of radiant glorious light. Little did he know, he was.

And so on this day, where the sun was beginning to shine over the bleeding and dying city that was Aldin, a boy felt its heat on his back. He felt the touch of warmth fill him. Kyros held out his arms, his head rolled back and he closed his eyes. He felt its eyes upon him. He felt the thrill of battle in his heart, but there was more to it now. He felt the love, the hope, the beauty of the world awakening from the darkness. There was light behind him, but shadowed in the wall, in the street, came the shambling horde of the lich king. In front of him, there was ugliness, despair, hatred. The Orc stood at the threshold of light and dark. A guardian of all that was good and all that was evil. He knew his place, he knew what the sun told him. It carressed his cheek and whispered in his ear.

It sounded like music. Like the beckoning of a lover's call. "Fight for me. Kyros." The sun said.

The boy smiled, gripping his weapons and charging forward. He eagerly accepted the offer. Where he felt only despair, the light had given him hope. Hope for victory, hope for Aldin, hope for life. The light had given him his name. His purpose. He would never stop fighting for the light.

Name: Hester Karela
Race: Human (Roamer/Roma)
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual



(She has brown hair and green eyes, and possesses a tanned complexion. She stands at a height of 163cm (5’4”) and is of a thin and wiry build.)

Weapons: Hester has no great and storied weaponry, only possessing a simple steel dagger and a brace of throwing knives at any given time. Hester prefers to rely on her wiles to get her through encounters rather than rushing into the fray swinging steel.

Shaping: Hester is a Light Shaper. Her primary use of her talents is grounded in parlor tricks and illusions for the benefit of her troupe’s performances, though she knows a handful of more directly offensive spells for when she needs some. A concentrated beam of light to the eyes makes for a perfect opportunity to escape, as far as Hester is concerned.

Companions: As a member of “Troupe Vardo”, Hester has numerous companions among its membership as it is a close knit group. Despite feeling as though every member of the troupe could be described as family, Hester no longer has any direct family among its members.

Since the War: “Troupe Vardo” travels the lands of Aldis as entertainers and odd-jobsmen. Hester in particular tells stories and jokes and puts on other displays using her Light Shaping as an aid. She was trained to do so since long before the war, and has continued to do so afterwards. As Troupe Vardo is not especially wealthy, its members are often called upon to do whatever they can to raise cash when the need arises, and as such Hester has much experience doing various acts of manual labour as much as she has experience as the troupe’s storyteller. Naturally, there is much work to be done with the troupe’s caravan, and Hester is not spared from all the tedious tasks involved in preparing to move from one location to another.

Audition:

“Pentin?”

A young man raised his hand in response to being called.

“Agnes?”

An older woman responded in kind.

“Janos?”

No response came this time. Hester, along with the other young ones, was meant to be going over the art of card reading with Margeret right now, but she couldn’t focus on it while the elders took stock of their people. They had been running from the monsters for so long now, and Hester was curious as to what they were going to do next. From what she could tell, uncle Janos was not with them.

“He must have fallen behind…” Elder Erek said, though his voice was hard to hear over the others.

“Where? Does anyone remember where they saw him last?” Her father, Regis, asked franticly.

“I think I saw him back at the crossroads.” Someone called out.

“Then I’m going to the crossroads.” Regis stated plainly. He collected his sword from the ground before mother stopped him.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just go out there alone!” She told him, spreading her arms out to block his path.

“It’s my brother, Heather.” He replied emphatically. “I can’t just leave him out there to die. Besides, all I have to do is get out there and grab him. I’m the fastest blade in the troupe, right? Nothing to it.” Her father was always so brave.

“Damn you.” Heather said through clenched teeth. “Fine. Then I’m going too.”

“There’s no need for that. This is my burden.”

“And you are my burden. To the end of time.” It sounded so harsh to Hester at the time, but she came to understand the meaning behind those words eventually. “We should at least say goodbye to her before we leave.” She said as they both turned their gaze to Hester. Noticing, she tried to look back to Margeret, thinking she had been caught in the wrong. Her parents soon came over and crouched down to speak to her.

“Hester.” Her mother began. “We’re just going to go fetch uncle Janos real quick, all right? We’ll not be gone long.”

“All right.” Hester mumbled. All the moving in the last few hours had sapped the energy from her.

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Her father assured her. “Everything’s going to be okay. We love you.” Her mother parroted his words before the two of them headed off into the night. As Margeret’s lectures continued, Hester did not fret, as she was sure her parents were coming back. Nobody told lies to each other in Troupe Vardo. They had told her themselves.

She paid no mind as screams erupted from the walls, and as the shouting and clamour came closer and closer to their camp, as she knew her parents were coming back.

When Elder Erek told them they had to leave, Hester asked after her parents. He assured her that they knew they were moving and that they would catch up in time. Hester was still certain that her parents were coming back.

Even when they had moved so far from their last camp site to a place teeming with strangers, Hester did not think for a second that her parents would not return. It would take her until the siege was well and truly over to fathom that they were well and truly not returning. She had thought that once the chaos died down, they would easily find their way to them with uncle Janos in tow. That illusion was shattered when they came across uncle Janos’ corpse among the dead. They would never find her parents’ bodies, but with her naïve fantasy of a happy ending obliterated, she slowly came to the realisation that there was little chance they would return.