Notable Items
Wishcatcher – A sin-effacing sword of stardust that strengthens itself as a reflection of the Saint’s own faith, capable of emboldening those who stumble and nullifying the dark whispers of the monstrous. It resonates with a radiant force, illuminating even the darkest dungeons.

Kite Shield – A sturdy, steel shield. Nothing special, but it was free, at least.

STA ⚔⚔⚔
STR ⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔
DEX ⚔⚔⚔
INT ⚔⚔
FAI ⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔

Physical Abilities:
Swordsmanship – Powerful blows mark the Saint’s fighting style, for Champions need not worry about vulnerabilities when they can smash through a foe’s defenses in a singular strike.

Shieldwork – A stalwart warrior needs only to trust in the Goddess’s protection when put to the iron test, but the shield that the Saint bears is to protect others and to push back the enemy.

Magical Abilities:
Miracle – As the conduit of the Goddess upon the land, her miracles of healing, protection, and empowerment flows through the Saint’s hands, granting respite and renewed vigor in the glorious crusade.

Penance – As the physical manifestation of the Goddess’s wrath, the Saint can call down holy lightning and clad their blessed blade in resplendent flame in order to judge the souls of those that have erred from the Goddess’s path.

Sacrament – As the ever loyal servant of the Goddess, the Saint can empower his Miracles and his Penance by offering up anything from livestock to lifespan. Their benefactions may mean nothing to the omnipotent Keeper of Light, but who was she to deny the pledges of the faithful?

Name: Samuel "Sam"
Age: Biologically 50
Gender: Male
Race: Elf
Mental Pros: Hardworking, determined, levelheaded, loyal, brave
Mental Cons: Arrogant, lustful, greedy, rude, impatient, picky eater, prone to envy
Background:
Extras:

Hero Class:
Legend:
Notable Items: The Eagle's Bow: A powerful crossbow that loads and arms itself at the command of it's chosen wielder. Its connection to the sky also allows it to boost the power of an Elf's wind magic.
•••
Sta: 4
Str: 3
Dex: 8
Int: 6
Fai: 4
•••
Physical Abilities:
Magical Abilities:

A tattered, dirt stained cloak covers the grim hero's body, obscuring their figure and darkening the stubbled, gaunt outline of their face. Jagged features wrought with rough olive skin stare out at the world. Shaggy hair creeps from underneath, dark and bestial as the gravelly voice that speaks from within. Straps of leather, buckles of iron and steel, and salvaged plates of mismatched mail cover the creature's body, not a single scrap of metal so new or unweathered as to shine. The belts and studs clatter as they move. The heavy, disheveled state of their attire never weighs on the graceful, springing gait of a predator. The stigmata of the goddess is stricken down their back, burning chevrons to mark the new contestant.



Irene was a passionate student of the arts, and had held interests in cinematography and film theory from an early age. She naturally gravitated towards challenge, and the most difficult questions of all, in her opinion, were the human questions. Emotions, beliefs, sensations, the facets of the persona captivated her, and nowhere did they mingle as freely as in the visual arts. Composition was a language all its own to study, with as many dialects as there were viewers. It was fortunate then, that she was pretty good at writing papers on it because she had a much harder time learning actual languages. Compared to the prodigious polyglots, theoretical physicists, and bioinformaticians she rubbed shoulders with at KU, Leotta's was something of a dim star, though a star nonetheless. Perhaps because of her relatively soft field of study she has always wondered whether or not she was added to 14-A strictly to round out the roster. Being a brilliant student all the same, she took the time to dip into some fields and was forced into others by Kurtzpel's course load. The sciences made storytelling believable when it needed to be. They also greatly contributed to pyrotechnics; she was an optimist.

Optimism served her very poorly on the day of her death. She had been looking forward to visiting the Glasgow Film Festival more than whatever stuffy academic function they had been on the way to. Her daydreaming over the idyllic (overcast) Scottish countryside had been cut short as men began to bark orders and brandish weapons. Irene had been near the front of the bus. Irene had stood up. Her token resistance had gotten a boxcutter pointed in her direction, but they had no time for a denouement. The bus rapidly slowed below 50 miles per hour. Stopped entirely, actually. No bomb under the bus went off, but that didn't make the landing any easier.



The beast folk are a meek folk, without the storied history of the other races, without the protection of their precious goddess. Their kinds are many, scattered, alike only as they all struggle to exist. The few legends shared by their kind identify this, hold up that tenacity as an identity all its own. A beast is not named so for the pattern of its stripes, nor for the length of its tail. A beast is named so because it will fight until the end, with tooth and nail and less if need be, until the last breath leaves its body. Every century brings the trials, the endless hordes of darkspawn who care little for the social classes of the Holy Continent. While the demons reave and pillage without discrimination the Huma, shepherds of the land, look on from the protection of their goddess, without care for the lesser races. No one variation can narrow down when, but in the cycles of that never ending conflict the legend of an avenger was born. A creature of no tribe in particular, usually alike to the one telling the story, who dared to stand and fight. This nameless hero is always the same in spirit, breaking steel and struggling valiantly, raging against the dying of the light until it is done. They are fated to die, it is sacrifice for others unlike them that makes their legend. They are brought to the world with the same empty hands they will inevitably face the end with, the weapons that will clutter their path means to an end, and a symbol for the transience of all things.






All weapons are equally worthless in the hands of this brute. Their determined strength is enough to force any blade home, and render horrific effects with striking weapons. For weapons which require finesse... Well, they're good for a few hits, right? Their dexterity is not so poor as to render them incompatible with such instruments, but their fighting style is too harsh for daintier weapons to survive. Blunt instruments tend to survive longer while being swung wildly, and so the beast has developed an affinity for them when they are at hand. Most of the time, however, a fight will be decided with their bare hands. Fighting without a weapon is no longer such an unsettling thing when you can grow claws.


The beast is by no means as durable as a monster or demon, but when compared to their human self they stack up rather favorably. Wounds heal over days, instead of weeks. Trauma that should have been fatal or sent her spiraling into shock is suppressed by the flood of adrenaline and bloodlust that combat brings. In effect, physical damage is somewhat mitigated, and the consequences of injury are more forgiving in her new form.




Less an ability and more a condition in her current state, Irene's shapeshifting has thus far been involuntary and permanent. Reconstituted by the Goddess and crammed into the class of a beast, she became unrecognizable from her human form. No longer a representative of Irene Leotta but a symbol of the Bestia people, the beast's natural shapeshifting has molded her in their image. Irene is physically indistinguishable from an adult Bestia male. Her magical capability is utterly minimal, rendering her incapable of controlling this ability beyond the default setting chosen by the Goddess.

Extras:
An enthusiastic movie nut with many guilty pleasures committed to memory.
Tends to see the world with a directorial eye. Calm, observant, sometimes forgets that other people know she's there.