Name: Namar.
Age: 43
Race: Dhampir
Height; 6"1'
Weight; 189 lbs
Class: Unchained Monk
Appearance:
Personality: Namar tends to be very passive, and speaks no more than he thinks necessary. He values actions over words, and is more inclined to show than tell.

Biography: It was an ordinary day for the Monks at Wind's Peak Monastery, when there was a knock at the large doors. When a Monk answered the door, all he found was an infant, wrapped in a blanket inside of a basket. This infant would be named Namar, and would be raised as a Monk. Soon, however, the child grew long fangs, and was thought to be a Vampire. Tossing the child into the sun, they waited for the evil child to die. But instead of burning, the child simply sat, and played in the grass. Deciding he was of no harm, they looked into what this child could be. The child was revealed to be a Dayborn Dhampir, a half vampire born under the sun, with a weaker connection to their vampiric side.

As such he was disciplined to resist his undead temptations, and to live like a human. Namar has no desire for blood, and spent much of his time outdoors in the sun, usually tending to plants and such.

At first, Namar had no desire to fight, and refused training from the monks. He instead worked with the gardens, and even learned to bake. He made friends with many of the Monks, despite his heritage. One day, however, he was tasked with leaving the Monastery to go to a nearby village to get some tools repaired. He and another Monk made their way, but were attacked by a pair of bandits. Forced to defend himself, Namar had little idea on how to fight, and had to resort to using the fangs left to him by his father.

Realizing the world outside is dangerous, Namar accepted training, and learned to fight. After a few years, however, Namar was told that he would have to leave the Monastery. There was only so much that training could do, and that he would need to go into the "real world" to earn actual experience.

Namar reluctantly agreed, took a backpack full of supplies, and headed north to a walled town, where he would begin his adventure.

Hex: 9e0b0f

FAQ
AC: 15
Attack: Unarmed Strike. +6 to hit, 1d6+4 damage
Special Traits: level drain immunity, +2 to resist mind affecting effects and diseases.
Senses: Darkvision
Skills- Perception (+8), Sense Motive(+6), and Intimidate(+6)
Link: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/11Vxgu…

Name: Zezazu
Age: 21
Race: Gnoll (savant variant)
Height; 6’2 ft
Weight; 210lbs
Class: Druid
Appearance:
Personality:
Zezazu’s personality reflects the wilderness he lives in. Callous without being cruel, he’s as apathetic, uncompromising and fierce as nature itself. He tends to be secretive and wary of others. Not seeing the world in terms of good and evil, but rather survival of the fittest. He views civilization as arrogant and decadent, and is a zealot for his beliefs.

Biography:
Zezazu was born in the city. Growing up, he was told he was marked for greatness. His hairless skin meant his purpose was to bring success and prosperity to his tribe. His parents however were mere workers, living in relative squalor. And they weren't the only ones. Zezazu saw many of his fellow Gnolls in the city were forced to labour in poverty. He knew this should not be so. Once upon a time his people roamed from place to place, taking what they needed. The work was left to slaves, and the strong reigned over the weak as they should. Not like the baseless class system that was developing in the city. Gnolls were not meant to settle. There were just too many tribes in one place, and in typical gnoll fashion, all the surrounding resources were being exhausted and not replenished, But the comfortable majority cared little. Zezazu knew this would eventually degenerate into disaster. They belonged in the wilds, hunting with the sun on their backs. He was witnessing the death of his culture, and he became convinced his destiny was to tear down the city so his people would return to their nomadic ways. He knew the structure would need to crumble from within, and began preaching of the old ways to the discontented, but few were receptive to his message. When words failed, he took action, stirring up trouble. This culminated in an incident where to send a message, he took a branding iron, and attacked a public figure, who owned much of the workforce in his tribe, with it. Accusing the gnoll of enslaving his own people, and meeting out the appropriate punishment. For his crimes, Zezazu himself was branded, and sentenced to exile.

Cast out of the city, he fled to the forests near the mountains of his home, where he wandered the wild, bitterly contemplating vengeance on those destroying his people’s way of life. He felt drawn deeper and deeper into the forest, until one day he bizarrely came upon a Verzogen amongst the trees. Deciding it would make a good meal, he attacked. But before his eyes it transformed into a fearsome beast. Instead of just eating him however, it beat him until he submitted. It explained that the power of Dargonal had drawn him here, and offered to show him the true power of the wilderness. Under his new master, he learned the dark ways of the druid. He found a new tribe, that was united as one, though scattered far and wide. Eventually the time came for his trial. He had to prove he was strong enough to take the wilderness for his own. He decided he would claim one of the mighty roc that dwelled in the area. In a trek that took many days, he stole high into the mountains, and snatched an egg from the a roc's nest. His intrusion did not go unnoticed however, and he would likely have been eaten, or starved to death hiding in cracks and crevices if not for a chance encounter with a traveling wizard, whose aid allowed him to finally shake off the furious parent. The wizard had no reason to help him, but had taken a great risk and done so anyway. Zezazu knew he owed the traveller his life and swore to one day repay the favour. He waited for the egg to hatch, then with his training complete, he parted ways from his master, ready to make his own path.

Hex: 8dc73f

FAQ
AC: 17
Attack: Scimitar +3 (1d6+3), Sling +2 (1d3+3)
Senses: Darkvision 60ft
Skills: Nature (+5), Handle Animal (+5), survival (+9), Perception (+9), Sense Motive (+6), Intimidate (+6)
Link: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1e6eJF…

Name: Morien, son of Uthyr, of the village Wyllt
Age: 25
Race: Tocadre
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 155 lbs
Class: Wizard
Appearance: Link
Personality: Morien is a man with irrepressible ideals, and a habit of experimenting with medicinal substances--which is mostly unrelated to his attitude. He believes that knowledge, magic and other forms of power can and should be applied rather than amassed, and that compassion and reason are the best tools by which to improve the world. With that in mind, it isn't very surprising that his demeanor is like a floating cloud: soft, airy, and susceptible to becoming very dour when the conditions are right.

Biography: Morien was not always a wizard, nor had he ever dreamed of becoming one. He had always aspired to become a physician like his father; however not for the reasons that would motivate him later in life.

Throughout his childhood, a reputation for cleverness (or "too clever"-ness, depending on who you ask) followed him, and for good reason: his strong aptitude for learning made for rapid comprehension of complex subject matter, which lead to similarly exceptional application of rudimentary principles. Understandably, his education in medicine would be accelerated, albeit undeniably provincial. Regardless, Morien's life as his father's apprentice would end before he even came of age.

It was midsummer when the King of Caer Leon and his men passed by Wyllt on their grand hunt. At the time, Morien payed it little mind. The rich and powerful could hunt all the magical beasts they want, but all the village would care for was the brief economic upturn. His disregard would be overturned, however, when they returned. Because during the hunt, the king had been poisoned by an assassin's spear, and it was on Morien and his father to make sure the man survived the night.

...Or rather, it was on Morien alone to make sure the man survived. His father had been drinking with friends that night, and Morien had a hunch he wouldn't have known how to cure it in the first place; the poison used was quite obscure and exotic. But neither exotic nor obscure enough to prevent the erudite young man from putting together the necessary antidote. After ensuring that everything was properly dealt with, the visitors left and Morien thought his life would return to normal.

Of course, he was wrong. The king, who decided Morien's abilities would be a waste so far from "proper" civilization, would send for him some time after to begin an apprenticeship under the royal physician. And that was how the brunt of the peasant's youth would be spent within the deadly and decadent network of Tocadre royalty.

This stage of life would come to an end not long after Morien reached adulthood. It was at this point he'd decided it would be in his best interests to vanish. So he did. He wrote a note, and left to travel the world, freely plying his craft along the way for those who needed it. Morien has been doing so for the better part of six years. He still considers himself indebted to those who uplifted him--his mentor and his former liege--but he knows returning may be difficult.

The final turning point in his life came with news of an excavation gone awry. In the region, an expeditionary group had tried to excavate an ancient, infamous ruin called Benmur. As a result of their actions, disease began to spread across the villages that lay to the south. It left those infected dead, or worse: caught a state of "half-death".

The plague was bad when Morien got there, and it only got worse as he kept redoubling and redoubling his efforts again and again. The pressure mounted. The bodies piled up. The stress was getting to him. The plague was getting to him. When he wasn't working futilely, he was praying to whatever would answer. Gods, pseudogods, folk-saints, spirits, demons--none would answer the endless call. Until something did.

One year ago, Morien left behind a quiet field hospital in a dead land. Today he finds himself heading to the north, spurred on by missive issued by his shadowy patron.

He has been freeloading for the past few weeks.

Hex: bc8dbf

Name: Kolibri
Age: 23
Race: Verzogen
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 150 Ib
Class: Cleric

Appearance:

Named for the birthmark on her neck, Kolibri has a mark vaguely shaped like a hummingbird. Marked as a Verzogen with her pewter blue skin and a scar riddled body, Kolibri is rarely seen without clothing to conceal her corrupt heritage. Long sleeved tunics and breeches are adorned underneath her clerical garments and paired with gloves so as to shelter any indication of her race from others. A burial shroud is rarely adorned in a way that doesn’t cover the vast majority of her face, and is typically wrapped around her neck and fitted to her like a balaclava. In the off chance that she deviates from the way she wears her burial shroud, one might be privy to witness desaturated turquoise strands of hair, leeched of color similar to the nature of her Verzogen skin. Long hair is plaited into intricate braids and pulled away from her face with a leather cord.

Personality:
Kolibri is insecure and self-conscious, often finding her own skin uncomfortable and repulsive due to past experiences. Self shame and doubt frequently plague her for being born a Verzogen. Initially reserved and timid, Kolibri is passionate about her interests and values. She has an easier time speaking her mind regarding others and her beliefs than she does for herself. With a strong sense of duty towards the dead, her training in the Temple of Dolthur often dictates her words and actions. Even though Kolibri has excommunicated herself from the temple, she has a difficult time with separating herself from its teachings.

Biography:
The Temple of Dolthur had been Kolibri’s home since she was an infant. Shortly after she was born, she was found in a dilapidated settlement where it was presumed to have been inhabited by Verzogen. An acolyte passed by the ruins while returning to the temple and was mystified that the place seemed to be simultaneously vacant while showing signs of being recently inhabited.

Within the temple walls, Kolibri became more accustomed to being surrounded by bones and dead corpses than living people. A sympathy for Undead was born from a lifetime of seeing the disparity in the way the bodies were handled. It was no surprise that funeral rites from different cultures were observed, but matter of the Undead was something else entirely. Unable to support Dolthur's disdain of the Undead, Kolibri's kinship with them ultimately lead to her leaving the Temple.

After venturing outside of the temple walls, Kolibri has spent recent months in an attempt to uncover the circumstances around her family abandoning her. With so few clues to retrace her lineage, she has made no headway in her efforts to discern the truth.

Hex: #6699cc

FAQ
AC: 12
Attack: Shortbow; +2(1d6); Piercing; 60 ft; Crit x3

Senses: Low Light Vision: see twice as far in conditions of dim light.
Skills: Diplomacy (5), Knowledge: Local (1), Knowledge: Religion (7)
Link: Full CS