Reiko Hayakawa

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Appearance:


Name: Reiko Hayakawa

Age: 23

Class: Ninja

Level: 1

Personal Skill:
-Grace: +30% to avoid

Skills:
-Locktouch: User can open doors and chests without requiring keys

Equipment:
-Iron Shuriken
-2xVulnerary

Story: Reiko was born a member of the Hayakawa clan, which is a Ninja organisation based in Mica. Trained from birth as a fighter, Reiko grew up expecting to one day go forth and prove her worth to her clan. Only, for some years after her training was effectively complete, Reiko was not sent off on any missions. Indeed, few people in the Hayakawa clan were actually being sent anywhere, as the clan had developed a small, elite group of Master Ninjas whom monopolised the important tasks that came from the clan’s clients. Reiko and many others among the clan’s newest generation began to feel like they were superfluous. She and the others begged the clan’s leadership for an opportunity to make something of them for what seemed like an age. Eventually, it seemed that their elders finally caved in and allowed them to take charge of their own assignment.

The assignment Reiko got appeared simple enough on paper. She, along with a few others, was to assassinate a warlord whose territory lay near the Yeryn border. When her group of fledgling ninja attempted their task, however, it soon became apparent this was anything but simple. Their target was not some jumped up outlaw but a legitimate warrior who had been gathering a small but vicious following. Her group was discovered trying to infiltrate and were all slaughtered save Reiko herself, although she certainly thought she would die at the time. As she lay there bleeding out, the Hayakawa’s elites showed up to finish the job. It was clear that they had planned to come here themselves, showing little surprise at the failure of their juniors and not even bothering to attend to those that were wounded, Reiko included. They came, killed the target, and left, saving Reiko only by virtue of giving her the opportunity to crawl away from the violence unnoticed.

It quickly dawned on Reiko in the aftermath that her group were used as fodder to soften up the warlord’s band for the better ninjas. They were never expected to succeed, only to kill a few or perhaps distract them long enough for the others to have an easy time of it themselves. Reiko waited for a week, convalescing in a derelict farmhouse, wondering if they would at least try to track her down, only to conclude their was no point waiting for those that clearly thought little of her. With nowhere else to go, Reiko made up her mind to leave this land for distant shores. She ended up in Nuniel purely because it happened to be the destination of the ship she stowed away on. In Nuniel she found a sense of purpose, as the militaristic country always had something in need of doing that suited her talents. She drifted around for a time, scraping by as a low-key mercenary, before she signed on with the Red Branch Company. This time, she hoped, she would be part of a family that wanted her as more than arrow bait.

Sample Post: The irony that her ninja training was what kept her going through these times was not lost on Reiko. Skills that were passed down to her by people that cared little if she ever used them, and later marched her to her potential demise without a care in the world, were precisely what had kept her from getting killed time and time again. The very skills that the Hayakawa clan had not cared to utilise were practically relished by those that discovered them in the warlike nation of Nuniel, and Reiko now found herself swamped with the activity she had so desperately desired during her days at the clan’s stronghold. As she let her last shuriken sink into the flesh of a Zuiterran skirmisher, however, she admitted to herself quietly that it was all too likely that Nuniel would forget her quickly once it found itself at peace. Nobody needed a ninja when they had no enemies to foist them upon.

Such was the way of life, of course. Reiko learned the hard way she couldn’t expect people to care when they had nothing to gain from you. Years having past since that day on the floor of the Zanshan warlord’s fortress, Reiko had embraced the facts of her situation rather than become embittered by them. If she could not expect unconditional support from those that employed her, then she would just have to make herself useful. There was nothing to be gained in wallowing in self pity, hoping that one’s callous superiors would bend down and give charitably. Just as Nuniel’s soldiers showed little care to their Zuiterran enemies, Reiko mirrored such apathy in her own work. She expected it would be little different if she were hired by the Zuiterrans to push out Nuniel.

As she scoured the battlefield for signs of life, her technical commanding officer approached from behind and patted her shoulder. “Damn fine work, girl.” He began. “I wish my own troopers had half the zeal you have for this work. We might push our way to the heart of this land like that.”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. She was quite sure Captain Manstein had a soft spot for her. Perhaps it was a slight infatuation with her exotic appearance. Either way, she knew there were plenty of soldiers that took their jobs as seriously as her, and yet here Nuniel was, fighting an eternal skirmish with their neighbour.

“It’s really too bad.” Manstein continued, paying little heed to Reiko’s remark. “The campaign’s winding down again. We’re likely to be heading back to base.”

“But the generals were sure we’d make a breakthrough this time!” Reiko hadn’t been in Nuniel nearly that long, but she had heard enough from Manstein and others to know they were always being told how their next assault would be the start of the final conquest of Zuiterra. Everytime, it was just another minor skirmish.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll herald this brush up of ours as the victory to end it all.” He laughed along with her. ”Tell you what though, you should head on south. I’ve heard talk we’re planning a major offensive down that way. They’re sure to need someone with your talents.”

“It’s definitely worth considering. Do I really want to walk all that way, though?” She said half in jest. She was concerned about travelling so far for an uncertain venture.

“I’m sure the walk would do you good. But if you’re feeling lazy, you can always hitch a ride with a mercenary company. There are a few good ones that are guaranteed to get picked up for the campaign. I know a guy in the Red Branch Company, if you want me to help you get in. Interested?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” The two of them would leave their modest battlefield behind and return to Nuniel’s territory. Eventually, Captain Manstein made good on his word and introduced Reiko to the Red Branch Company, and soon enough she would join them in battle.

Appearance



Name: Raina Clerevaux

Age: 19

Class: Pegasus Knight

Level: 1

Personal Skill: Zephyr - Increases Avoid and Hit by 20% when paired with another unit.

Skills: Darting Blow - If unit initiates combat, grants unit +5 speed during battle. Learns at lv 1.

Camaraderie - Restores 10% of HP at the start of unit's turn if there is at least one ally within a 2-tile radius. Learns at lv 10.

Equipment: Iron lance, Javelin, Vulnerary

Story: To be revealed...

Sample Post: To be revealed...

Many years ago, in old hut somewhere in the ancient Mican mountains…

“Wha--!? How come you are not going to teach me? Didn’t you say--” Chiyuri said in a shocked voice once last traces of the past winter disappeared and she was able to make it to the derelict house of the man who agreed to be her swordsmanship master a few months ago.

“Things change, girl. You gotta learn that; the only thing you can expect in this life is disappointment,” the old, haggard-looking samurai said as he reached for an old earthenware pitcher that reeked of booze, not even caring to look Chiyuri in the eyes.

“Why is that, then?” she asked again, stomping the ground like a pouting child -- which she pretty much was. “You agreed to teach me if I could make it here on my own. Why is it that you aren’t going to do it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say that you could take four months to do it, kid. If you want to be a warrior, you gotta have more resolve than that,” he replied, chugging down more of his questionable alcohol. “But.. I may be inclined to change my mind if you can show me your determination,” he added, flashing a thughish grin.

“Wha-- what’s it that you want now?” Chiyuri asked. The dark-haired girl recoiled a bit unwittingly, in anticipation to anything obscene that the man might say.

“Calm down, kid. I don’t know what’s in your mind now, but I can say that you are at least ten years too young for my tastes. I just wanted to see what you were gonna do,” the old samurai laughed heartily, after Chiyuri fell to his tricks like the child she were. “Anyway, I’ve had my fill for today. Come back tomorrow and I’ll begin teaching you about something that you gotta learn before you you can even touch a blade. And by that, I mean how to deal with these wits of yours,” he said as he walked back inside his hut, leaving behind a dumbfounded -- and much aggravated -- Chiyuri.

“Oh, and don’t forget to bring some food, ‘cause you’re gonna be doing the cooking and all the chores as your tuition fee. If there’s one thing a lone wolf like myself could use, that’s a maid, hahaha!” he shouted in an ever drunkier voice from inside his home.

And the rest is history...

Appearance:

Name: Fenne de Wees
Age: 27

Class: Fighter
Level: 1
Personal Skill:
Knight Scourge – when attacking, Fenne has a chance -affected by enemy gear, speed and weight- to topple her opponent using her scourge, preventing counterattack while the foe is down
Skills:
Rattling Blow – a melee attack with a heavy weapon. An unusually precise application of force, typically to the head, dazes the target, crippling his or her hit rate for a brief time

Equipment:
Iron hammer – a sturdy, heavy hammer, not oversized, that excels at crushing bone, armor, or even other weapons. 20/20 uses
Scourge – a leather lash with a clawed end, commonly kept wrapped around Fenne's left wrist. Its points tend to snag on opponents' apparel, more so on armor, and it can be used to bind, trip, and topple enemies, particularly heavy ones

Story: The mountainous nation of Brudel is a vast one, with dizzying highs and astonishing lows, full of secret and remote places isolated from the rest of the world by the inhospitable, obstructive terrain. Far from the spires of the capital, overlooking the bay between Brudel and distant Nuniel, rests a town stewed in superstition—Gespenst. As the tale goes, its namesake -a legendary warrior whose nightmarish skills and crimson eyes marked him to others as a demon- established it centuries ago after growing tired of fighting and bringing his war caravan to a halt. The resulting settlement flourished over the years thanks to the mountain's untapped resources, though rumors persisted of unholy rites to ensure that the land's bounty never ceased. In present times the town persists in good shape despite certain degradations commonly associated with backwater towns, honoring its founder as a saint and maintaining prophecies about his legacy and eventual return.

Though not all such utterings proved true, one did seem to make itself apparent following the birth of a girl, Fenne. From the moment she opened her eyes, wild talk flew about their brilliant, scarlet hue. Fenne grew up made to believe that she bore the blood of the noble demon lord Gespenst, if she was not in fact the great warrior reincarnated. She certainly acted the part; full of pride and excused from the consequences of her actions, she tormented the other children and caused no end of trouble. When the town's head warrior taught her how to fight, she displayed a remarkable aptitude for violence, finding that she preferred brutal, heavy weapons. Her wanton aggression faded as she grew, but her capacity for cruelty only swelled, and she fought with demonic strength whenever bandits, wild animals, or invaders threatened the territory. Fighting scum, however, eventually came to bring her little satisfaction, and she sought escape.

Looking to the myth of her heritage, she decided that it was the duty of a noble demon to tear down the falsely righteous, serving as an arbiter to determine the world's true heroes and warriors. To that end she left her town and crossed the great bay to Nuniel, where she sought out such people, particularly knights, the supposed defenders of the weak and protectors of the innocent whose principles and ability bore closer inspection. She became a mercenary, employing an arsenal tailor-made to take down opponents in heavy armor, and she delighted in dethroning the proud and the powerful warriors she faced, in showing them their own weakness and hypocrisy. However, the real world also brought along a number of rude awakenings for Fenne, showing her through pain and punishment that the same behavior that flew in Gespenst would not serve her well elsewhere. She also began to learn her own shortcoming; that sometimes the wicked and unjust prevailed no matter what. Troubling thoughts plagued her, telling her that her whole sense of self might be built on a lie, that she might be nothing more than a bloodthirsty, insane human, and that she was doomed to live a life short, agonized, and alone. Her mission to tear down the false and the weak, however, remained, and as such Fenne ended up in the Red Branch Company, poised to bring her hammer down on Lapis' unworthy.

Sample Post: Everything about the man irritated her. His unkempt hair and beard, his easy smile, the cobbled-together armor wholly unfitting of a knight, the scandalous way he talked to the village girl...after a time walking behind them, Fenne could bear it no longer. She lengthened her stride to catch up with the wagon, its driver, and its pedestrian escort. At her approach, the two gave her a momentary glance, but the next moment the man pretended not to notice. To her disgust Fenne realized that he seemed to be in the middle of some kind of story, no doubt trying to steal the heart of the girl he was paid to protect, taking advantage of his position. Venom filled her voice as Fenne came up alongside the man and snarled, “Hedge knight!”

The words demanded the man's attention, and he turned to look at her as he continued walking. Though the village girl seemed frightened by Fenne's tone, the amused, offhanded manner of the knight appeared to put her at ease. Brown eyes sparkling, the swordsman replied, “Yes?”

Fenne bristled. Her insult should have roused this fool to action to defend his supposed honor, but this cur just rolled with the punches. Proof, she decided, of his falsehood. “Dirty, broken armor, and the emblem of some noble house,” Fenne observed. “You've got balls to parade about that trash, likely stolen from some battlefield, and act like some gentleman or hero.”

The man smiled, showing white teeth. “Why, thank you. Not every day someone walks up and starts offering compliments.” On his other side, the village girl snickered, prompting Fenne to clench her teeth as her anger mounted.

“You're scum!” She thundered, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Her red eyes flashed in the morning sun, but if her target noticed, he gave no indication. “Preying on the weak and gullible! And there's nobody I hate more than pretenders!” Fenne twisted, putting all her strength into a sideways swing of her hammer, newly pulled from her belt. Its metal head rocketed toward the false knight's chest, but like grass in the wind he bent out of the way. Fenne's overswing carried her off-balance, causing her to stagger backward.

She righted herself a moment later, whirling to face her foe. The wagon and the knight had stopped, with the man in question standing with his hands on his hips. His right hand lay close to the hilt of his sword, but he did not reach for it. His mocking manner infuriated fen, and with a guttural cry she launched herself forward. Once again the man moved out of the way, stepping to the side to slip past Fenne's overhead slam, and this time his hand shot out in a cross punch to Fenne's ear.

“Guh!” After another stagger sideways, Fenne whipped around, loosing the lash curled around her wrist. Its clawed end snaked through the air, ready to latch onto the hedge knight's gambeson, but he reached up a hand and caught it like one might snatch a buzzing fly from the air. He gave it a yank, pulling Fenne toward him, and before the woman could react the man delivered a left hook to her temple.

This time, Fenne crumpled without a sound. Her hammer plonked into the earth of the dirty road, and her body fell right beside it. As she lay on the ground, head spinning, she became aware of the man standing over her. “Look,” he was saying, slowly so that in even in her state she could understand. “You're obviously new to Nuniel, and I don't know where you might be from, but you should lighten up. Things are more complicated than they might appear, especially people. If it's your mission to take out liars and pretenders, you should know that not all the just are strong, and not all the unjust are weak. I like your passion, but sooner or later it'll be the death of you. And not everyone's going to forgive an attempt on his life for a pretty face.” He winked, then turned to walk away. Fenne heard the wheels of the cart begin to groan again, and the man's voice grew distant. “Take it easy, Red Eyes!” he called. “I hope I'll see you again!”

The next moment Fenne drifted off into unconsciousness, though her scowl remained a few moments longer before her muscles went slack.

Name: Stian Berland
Age: 20

Class: Wyvern Rider
Level: 01
Personal Skill: Fiery Blood – When the user’s HP is not full, Damage +4.

Skills:

• Strength +2

Equipment:

• Iron Axe
• Hand Axe
• Vulnerary (3)

Story:

Stian was born in Malia (in the town of Narla in the country’s centre) to parents who were both hunters and warriors. For the first few years of his life, Stian’s childhood was such a common story, any citizen of Malia could accurately tell you it whether they knew Stian or not. Stian lived in harsh conditions, as did every other Malian. Stian learned first from his parents, then his peers and other adults. Stian was luckier than the strays for sure, but had nothing too remarkable going for them either. Perhaps a surprising amount of optimism. Stian learned the basics of unarmed combat, chose an axe for his main weapon. As most teenagers did, he eagerly joined on the hunting expeditions and helped in the occasional guard shift as soon as the adults let him do so.

This common tale became an uncommon one on the day The Wyvern appeared. While the beasts could certainly survive the harsh northern climates, they were most typically found in the mountainous regions to the south. Why one had flown all the way to Malia was unknown. Stian saw it fly overhead during one of the expeditions he was accompanying. The hunters and guards reported the happenings to the city, and it was cautiously decided that the beast should be found and disposed of. Stian suggested taming it, but was rebuked on account of the resources the wyvern would cost. The youth did not give up, tracked the beast himself in secret, found its lair, and through sheer stubbornness and undaunted will, managed to get the old scarred wyvern to accept him. Stian revealed his success only to his parents, announcing he would leave Malia and become a sell-sword, which was a common Malian thing to do, though Stian’s reason was not quite so regular. Stian travelled southwards with his wyvern companion (newly named as Gamleen), earning money however and wherever he could. This nomad and sell-sword lifestyle lead him quite naturally to eventually join the Red Branch Company, which offered a surer income in exchange for serving in riskier mission.

Sample Post:

It was early winter, but the snow, ice, and morning mist were already heavily present. Stian was securing Narla’s perimeter alongside several other (adult) guards. It was getting dark, and they would have to light torches soon. It was in that moment, as they turned to take a side-path around town, when a high-pitched shriek sounded. It was similar to an eagle’s but louder, and soon the creature responsible for it could be seen as it flowed overhead. It wasn’t flying particularly low, and yet it appeared large. Too large. Stian was dumbfounded in awe as he recognized the shape as a wyvern – something he’d only heard of about till then.

He noticed his obvious distraction only as a sharp SMACK ringed in his ears, and his head was turned slightly from the impact. “Stop gawpin’ silly, boy,” the culprit rumbled from almost a foot above him.

Stian directed a fierce scowl at the large bulky man, though the blonde teenager’s expression was akin to a cute pout compared to the mild yet expressive frown the older dark-haired and long-bearded warrior was sporting. “But Jonas, the wyvern!” the youth sulked, yet was unable to conceal the note of excitement when speaking of the winged dragon-relative.

Jonas grunted, spun on his heel, and moved ahead with the others as they had finally been able to calm the two horses accompanying the group. “We’ll deal with it later, now’s time to finish our round,” the brute announced, leaving Stian to jog to catch up with him.

Stian was perfectly sure he knew what ‘dealing with it’ meant and was surprised to find he didn’t like it one bit. The wyvern had impressed him, even though he’d seen the greyish-white white creature for maybe the span of a half a minute. He found himself wanting it. Yeah, sure, wild wyverns couldn’t be tamed, not usually, but if it was a wild one, why would it have travelled to Malia in wintertime, and alone to boot? Of course, there was not much of a reason that a tame wyvern (with or without a rider) would have flown there in such a fashion, but Stian was much too fixated on his idea to bother himself with such trivial details.

However, his fears that the townsfolk would want to hunt it down proved true some hours later, when all the people gathered at the chieftains’ hall, a place usually dedicated to feasts and sometimes to meetings, the kind of which they were holding just then. It almost unanimously decided they would need to get rid of the wyvern.

And although Stian had suggested what he deemed the perfect alternative…

“Chief, what if we tame it? We could sell it for a pretty coin then!” but his idea was practically trampled on by the killer trio combo of their current leader’s cold glare (and coming from the chieftainess, the redhead beauty who had won her position by combat of trial, it was deeply devastating indeed), his father’s grown and his mother’s “Hush you fool, we’re hunting it because we don’t want it to steal our game! ‘Sides, even if we had enough meat to feed it, you can’t tame a wild wyvern, boy!”

It was then and there that Stian decided he would find the wyvern first and tame it in secret, all the while pretending he was convinced the creature should be hunted. He even used his well-known cockiness to brag and convince them of the lie: “Well, if I can’t have it alive, I’ll cut off its head for a trophy myself!”

And so, he had joined in on the wyvern-hunting expedition. However, this effort proved to take longer than intended, even when Malians in general dedicated some time to the hunt. There were quite a few rumours of sightings, but no other evidence. No animal carcasses, no bloody trails, no tracks that would lead to the wyvern. The beast was smart enough to hunt at night and left nothing to hind wherever its lair might be. In fact, it was suspected to have several hideouts, so that even if it was seen mid-flight, it could easily switch up resting location soon after (and again, usually at night).

It wasn’t until the following mid-spring that anyone had any kind of breakthrough. And it was either by luck or chance, or perhaps the blessing of a deity, that Stian found it as he was investigating one of the recent rumoured sightings by himself. The wyvern was standing at the edge of a cliffside cavern, gazing at the sunset, the range of pale blue, pink, orange and crimson slowly fading into obscurity behind the western sea-line.

Stian approached it carefully, but the wyvern gave no reaction behind a single tail-swish. “Hey, wyvern?!” the teenager shouted at it. In answer, the monstrous creature barely turned its head, seemingly reluctant to cease its observation of the admittedly stunning sunset. However, its action was enough that it focused a single baleful eye on Stian, then boomed a deep grumble, the kind a dragon might issue before blowing a fire-full directly into someone’s face. “Hey, hey, easy, handsome,” Stian tried placating it. The wyvern stomped the ground and clawed at it, but the way it threw its head back, Stian figured it both understood and was pleased by the compliment. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right, you’re real beautiful. And, well, I thought maybe you’re lonely? There’s no way a smart wyvern like you is wild, right, but you have no-one else with ya…So why not let me be your rider?”

At this, all Stian perceived was a larger-than-the-average-horse-sized white blur come at him, and a second later felt a sharp sting as two or four lines were carved into his face. He promptly fell right to his ass, gasping in shock, forgetting all about the wyvern as he checked if his face was still attached. The blood was flowing freely, but the cuts were surprisingly shallow, no deeper than if some huge but pissed off cat had attacked him. This thing could’ve easily ripped me to shreds! He knew that for a fact and it took a couple of moments for his panic to recede, and the reason to kick back in. But it didn’t. So, just a warning? Or it doesn’t see me worthy?

Either way, Stian’s humiliation only fuelled his anger, and he stood up, then drew his axe, gripping it tightly in both hands as he faced square-footed and straight-back against the wyvern. “Ya think I’m too young and stupid too, huh? Just like all the rest,” he ranted at the wyvern, who stared down at him with a calm belied by its spread wings and swishing tail. “Yeah, well, I’ll show you. I’ll hurt you and I’ll tire you down, till you can’t move an inch. Then I’ll bring ya some meat. That’s right, I’ma feed you, buddy. You’ll see, I’m strong, and I can take care of you. So just give it up! Be my companion!” Stian exclaimed in exclamation, simply winging it at this point. The wyvern bared its fangs, approached, but did not attack.

Rather, it simply stared. Stian didn’t know how long they stood there, neither willing to back down. His arms burned and his eyes watered, but he knew he had to show he meant it, otherwise the wyvern most likely would kill him for real. To this day, Stian couldn’t tell you how long the stare-off lasted for.

But he did know he fulfilled the self-made promise to bring a trio of hares to the wyvern the next time he visited it.

Other: