Name: Fleuri Jodeau

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:

Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor.

Personality:
The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During his time as a tournament competitor, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He still craves the thrill of tournament combat, and would not be above participating to aid the church again, but for now, he has more important duties.

Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep.

Brief Backstory:
The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the serfs that worked them, both to prove his lack of materialism and to demonstrate his devotion to the church's opposition to slavery. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their impoverished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church.

Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus groomed to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. When he was knighted, shortly after the end of Phoran Cal's rebellion, he set out into the world to serve as a knight-errant, spreading the word of Reon.

During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, he became increasingly successful on the tourney grounds. At the same time however, he began to drift from his original purpose and turned his mind to fame and wealth. He stopped aiding those he passed, and began planning his journeys solely for the purpose of competing in tourneys.

While traveling to one such competition, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn.

During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully.

Equipment:
Fleuri owns two suits of armor. The first is the suit he started out with and is normally seen wearing. It was originally a tarnished, battered hand-me-down, but he has added onto and improved it until very little of the original armor remains. The second is his tournament attire, a heavier and more protective suit that bears the livery of the Reonite church, rarely used outside of competitions. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat.

Skills:
Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a cavalry lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in.

Name: Lothar Indrau, The Crippled Lion
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:

His more formal is largely the same but with more vibrantly dyed blue and white leathers and a great deal less steel.

Personality:
Indrau is bitter, in constant pain and hates the moniker that he has been given him. Even so, he can be kind in his own way and is selflessly devoted to his friends. He has a gallantry streak that extends only as far as actions go though even this has a limit. The knight also has a sharp mind but is content to sit quietly and hold his ideas to himself unless he feels them to be very important.

Brief Backstory:
Indrau's short career as a knight errant was bloody and fast moving, drastically changing his outlook on life after he was badly wounded in battle and left for dead.

A younger, more naive man left home with just a sword and armor, trained by his fathers household knight but untested in battle. Given his familial lands position on the northern coast and the frequency of raids hitting under their protection it would only have been a short time before he would have come into battle naturally.

But Indrau was impatient, incontent with being a third born son there as was little glory that might come to him naturally. He found his worth soon enough in a large town set upon be a band of deserters. The young knight first bloodied his sword against these enemies while townsfolk fled. Indraus withdrew and rallied the survivors of the attack and struck back against the raiders. He was captured in their first engagement and spent three days being beaten before they dumped him in the crossroads outside of the town with both of his legs broken.

Inspired and enraged, the townsfolk fought a battle of attrition until the invaders were driven from their homes. Fewer than half of the townsfolk survived, a statistic that Indrau mourns to this day. His left leg was too badly damaged to heal properly and he lost an eye. For his part in the battle the towns lord, who was away at the time granted him an apprenticeship in the trade of his choice given that he was no longer able to fight.

Indrau discovered a talent for magic, metalwork and a love of problem solving. He excelled at his studies, throwing himself into them in an attempt to distract himself from his disability and the slaughter that had occurred. In the end, after completing his final piece as a student and mastering the art he felt dissatisfied. It wasn't his place in life to create things in a workshop. Indrau was a man of action, a knight. He donned his armor once more and picked up a blade to set out on a new path.

He found himself with the Iron Roses, and organization that appealed to his youthful ideals of righteousness and chivalry.
Equipment:
Silence - Indraus Masterpiece and personal blade. To prove his mastery of Runic magic he has adorned the blade with a complex series of two hundred runes that deaden magic and slice through spells. The sword draws off of its own reserve of mana that can be added to by a mage.
Cane - This is a simple cane with a more minor runic enhancement that grants sure footedness.
Armor - His leg no longer able to bear the weight of a full set of plate, he wears a brigandine vest under a long leather coat with vambraces and greaves.

Skills:
Runic Magic - Instead of traditional words and gestures, Runic magic uses sigils charged with the will and mana of the caster. A sequence of runes comprising of a single spell must be performed all at once with unceasing concentration as the image in the mages mind serves to refine the physical aspect. A working as complex as Silence might take as long as 30 hours to create. To use a runic weapon requires nothing from the user provided the fuel requirement for the spell is already met. If such a weapon runs out of mana it is usually destroyed.

Other:
He is an accomplished horseman but his preferred method of fighting is on foot with a planted stance that serves well on the deck of a ship, owing to his families modest navy. The immobile nature is easier on his leg than a more dynamic style.

Name: Alyssa Eleanora
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Appearance:

Personality:

Alyssa is a determined and selfless individual. Ever so kind and respectful to those around her. She tries to maintain a serious mindset when approached with a subject, but she is not above goofing around with her friends if there is no harm in it. During the journey with her mentor, she developed somewhat of a laid-back attitude and familiarized herself with taverns. A place she once thought was a gateway to hell and a gathering of morons. She proudly became one of them after her lips touched booze for the first time. It turns out she is not a very strong drinker.

In battle, her primary objective is to support and re-energize others in between engagements whenever rest does not avail itself. While she is not a renowned fighter like the majority of her peers, she doesn't hesitate to rush into combat and aid her comrades, out of concern for their safety. She is always willing to heal and protect her allies, no matter how severe the wounds or how difficult the battle is.

Brief Backstory:

Born into a noble family with middling prestige, Alyssa is the fourth and youngest child of the Eleanora bloodline. The family is heavily magic focused, and she was widely regarded as the least potential candidate to earn the title of mage. This is because, Alyssa surprisingly had a lower internal source of mana compared to her siblings. Nobody from the house believed she could keep up with her studies and offered remedial education. Their lack of faith in her only motivated young Alyssa, it urged her to work harder than any of them.

Unsatisfied with her remedial lessons, Alyssa sought for a private tutor of her own. Preferably one whom shared a similar misfortune. One day, a priestess of Mayon, accompanied by her would-be mentor, answered her call. They provided Alyssa an alternative path. A path which would eventually led her to become a member of the Iron Rose Knights. Of course, Alyssa wasn't aware of the bright future ahead of her. At the time, her family intended to marry Alyssa off in order to advance their social status. Which she was heavily against, but they didn't give her much of a choice due to the lack of progress in her magical abilities.

And so, Alyssa decided to leave her noble life behind and embarked on a journey with her mentor. As expected, she is shunned by the noble society and greatly embarrassed her parents for her abrupt departure, with someone who lacked any significant social status, no less. Since then, she devoted herself to follow the footsteps of her mentor and help those in need, regardless of social standing.

Equipment:

-Short sword for attack. No enchantments.
-Kite Shield for protect. Minor durability enchantment.
-An emergency dagger, if she ever gets disarmed. No enchantments.
-An enchanted small wand strapped to her belt, for exclusively enhancing her healing spells. Entirely made out of wood, very easy to repair or replace if damaged. Unfortunately, requires charging after a few spells.
-Iron Rose light armor for extra mobility. No enchantments.
-A satchel containing various medical herbs and ingredients, if she cannot perform healing magic for whatever reason. Though, limited in supply.


Skills:

Alyssa practiced with a sword and shield during her youth. It is her preferred style, but she has dipped into using a lance and various staves. Believing if she honed her physical abilities then it would increase her mana capacity. It was well known in the house that she was the most physically active among her siblings. Though, they saw it as nothing more than compensation and often pitied her for it.

Healing arts is her primary focus and she excels at it, thanks to her extensive training with her mentor. Her healing spells range from mending minor scratches to reattaching limbs. All of which she can perform while on the battlefield. She also knows minor enchantment and defensive based spells. In case if she ever finds herself in the middle of combat.

Due to this combined knowledge, she was established as a front-line healer. Although, she does possess skills unrelated to combat. For one, she is a competent cook. A basic survival skill she once lacked during her noble years. Now, she can confidently and proudly provide her allies with nourishment whenever it is required. Cooking is tied with her foraging/herbalist skills, which she primarily uses for medical purposes. Additionally, she has knowledge to translate foreign language or decrypt ancient text at an intermediate level.

Of course, Alyssa is not without her notable flaws. Riding horses or any kind of beast for that matter, makes her highly uncomfortable, but still well trained. She prefers to travel on foot when given the choice, unless the task is urgent or required. Her archery skill is unreliable, she often used traps for hunting in the wild. Lastly, Alyssa's bartering skill cripples her financially.

Name: Ciern Perelion
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Appearance:



Often seen in armour, full-clad and training, many are surprised by Ciern's voice and androgynous appearance, having no facial hair, and sharp facial features. He has short red hair and a rough complexion, with large blue eyes, steady but often seeing far beyond.
Ciern's build is on the shorter, thinner side. He bears a quite a few bruises and scars, particularily burns along his left arm from abusing his fire magic too much. He does his best to cover it up with bandages and give off a clean look, trying to live up to the finer standards of the Iron Roses. It's unclear if it is really effective at hiding, or if his real reason is that he cannot bear the sight of them himself.
He smiles often out of courtesy, and his default expression is a peaceful but sombre smile. But careful observers will realize that he rarely does truely smile, and from time to time Ciern can be seen spacing out and looking off into the distance. Despite so, he insists it's nothing to worry about and simply that he is tired from travelling around.

Personality:
In a contrast to his past reputation, Ciern is a passive and soft-spoken knight. He reserves judgement and deliberates in many decisions in favour of listening to all opinions first. He is careful to not offend anyone, and generally avoids confrontation with allies or peers. Fiercely loyal to the Order and even more so to the Knight Commander, if pressed, Ciern is willing to fight to protect the Order and serve his purpose.
Ciern also suffers from a near debilitating levels of low self-esteem, and rarely rises to defend himself from insults, abuse or accusations. He can't take compliments and will have no idea how to respond to affection or praise, becoming confused or ignoring it entirely. His sense of guilt and inadequacy often prevents him from taking the initiative and acting out of line, and he feels it's best if it stays that way.
Others could mistake Ciern for someone with a weak will, but it's quite the opposite. Having survived several battles and years on the run, Ciern's determination and zealous pursuit is unrivalled; akin to a fading fire, dying but never fully extinguished. He believes that if life was hell, then he must live it to repent for what he had done, no matter how much hardship he must endure.
Otherwise, Ciern likes coffee and muffins, and thinks it's sacrilege to put raisins in any muffin, especially if it's the chocolate kind.

Brief Backstory:
Former knight of an smaller, lesser known order called the Order of Obsidian Judgement. The Order mostly kept to itself, fighting for the protection of a sacred mountain shrine. Although Ciern was still an initiate, not used to the Order's strict rules in his profoundly young age of 14, he was spoken of as a prodigy for his prowess as a spellsword, wielding both close combat and arcane spells with devastating efficiency.
But for unknown reasons, the Obsidian Judgement ceased to communicate with the outside world. After a while, a scouting party was sent to investigate the silence; and found the Judgement's keep destroyed in a catacalysmic battle with no survivors. Further investigation found one note - that Ciern had set the keep on fire and destroyed the Order "to make an example", and that he was still alive and had escaped the battle.
After a few years, the former knight as captured. Although his sins were grave and Ciern refused to discuss his motivations for his actions, his skills as a fighter and genuine regret let him a special condition for the Order. In exchange for a life of fealty to the Iron Roses and pious repentance, Ciern was granted a shaky membership in this Order, though it was still a controversial decision viewed on many as too trusting of a former criminal.



Equipment:
Ciern's armor is a combination of a knight's plate armor and a mage's leather tunic, sacrificing outright protection in favour of a stronger affinity to magic and higher mobility. Its silver gleam and simple red decorations are devoid of any flair, save for the Iron Rose crest on its breastplate. It is polished and clean, if not scratched and well-worn from long term use. His left gauntlet is replaced with a glove with indents and channeling runes to serve as a focus for his spells, as well as handle more delicate objects. Ciern also carries a standard-issue sidesword and estoc on his horse with no outstanding modifications, save for inscription "Paramortis" scratched on the wood of the hilt.
He also carries a dagger for general purposes.
Though Ciern has memorized the incantations for his spells, he keeps a tough parchment and pen to note down new incantations he comes across.

Skills:
As a spellsword, Ciern is trained extensively in both swordsmanship and arcane arts - and weaving the two together in one fluid style, he is a devastating, chaotic combatant and lends credance to those who considered him a prodigy. Ciern's fighting style is a mixture of both observation and aggression. Although he will attempt to learn and study his opponents before making committing moves, he has no trouble switching quickly to an aggressive style once he had adequately learnt his opponent. He will relentlessly pressure his opponents with quick parries and ripostes, attempting to outmaneavour his enemies and give them no time to retaliate.
Ciern's spells focus the chaotic spectrum of magic, specifically, fire and lightning. High in pure destructive power but also carrying risks of self-injury and mana upkeep, Ciern mostly limits himself to small-scale projectiles in conjunction with his swordplay to further add pressure to his opponents. However, Ciern is reluctant to use offensive magic and has since abstained from using magic unless truly desperate.

Other than battles, Ciern is fantastic at cleaning and general housework, having put on household duties several times when he was a part of the Obsidian Judgement because of his magic having the tendancy of being a little too destructive. He seems a little embarrassed of this, but will not object if asked to employ his skills.

Appearance:
Standing at a surprising 6'3", Aria stands tall over most knights be they male or female. Her most notable features are that of her bloodline: scorching red hair, bright auburn eyes, and great height. Concealed beneath her armour are dozens of scars. While many of the scars have faded over the years, many of them still remain as reminders of the battle. While she would be considered as attractive by most standards, most people are alienated by an overwhelming sense of smugness and conceit that is shown on her face.

Personality:
Conceited. Brash. Passionate. Those three words perfectly describe Aria. She acts with a passionate fervor in everything that she does. Her status growing up had lead to her becoming rather conceited. She has a constant need to be considered the best and to break from the shackles of her name. Though, she would rather be called a Larette than her well-known moniker of Bloody Aria. She is a staunch traditionalist, believing in the values and ethics of yore are greater and more important than any new-age belief.

Brief Backstory:
There are few that do not know the name "Larette". Among the most noble families, the Larette commands lordship over a large region of Thaln. Their auburn eyes, red-hair, and impressive stature are the most notable features of the family. This, however, had unfortunately added to their already dire reputation. While they are one of the most powerful noble families, they also attract the ire of most other families. Their reputation isn't unearned; the family had previously committed dozens of acts bordering on cruelty and illegality to accrue so much land and power. The only reason why they have not been attacked by other nobles for their past injustices is because of their staunch support of the Iron Rose Knights and the kingdom. But as the saying goes, only a Larette would look down on the king.

Aria wasn't born a heiress. While she was a daughter of Lord Larette, she was only a middle daughter. Her eldest brother and sister were much closer to inherit her father's titles, so Aria had two choices: she could either become a damsel and be married for the sake of politics, or she could become a knight and fight in service of the Iron Rose and the kingdom. A fiery blaze of youthful vigor, the young Aria had taken the ladder option. She went through the usual motions, becoming a page and then a squire.

It wasn't soon that war broke out. Lord Cal and the king waged a brutal war. Aria had joined the kingdom's army and fought under a knight banneret. She gained her first unfortunate nickname and title at that point: "Red" Aria. She was a Larette. That's all she amounted to. She loathed this nickname. Every single battle that she had fought in, she continued to prove herself. Not because of ambition, no. That blasted nickname cursed at her every time she heard it. She would do her damnedest to rid herself of that name. Then the Battle of the Butcher's Bridge happened.

Nobody called her Red Aria ever again.

The knight and those fighting under him were forced to retreat. They had lost their horses and were being chased down by a much larger force. It was a death sentence. The knight had managed to cross a bridge and, to ensure that the majority of his men would survive, left a small group of soldiers to slow down the enemy force as much as they could. The rapids below the bridge were impossible to be forded. It was the best possible choke point. It was eighty against twelve.

So began the nickname "Bloody" Aria.

Out of those who fought at the bridge, sixty-seven had died. By percentage, it was one of the most bloody and deadly battles of the war. On Aria's side, there were four survivors. On their enemy's side, there were fifty-nine had perished. Aria and her surviving allies had been found by reinforcements. Wounded dozens of times and drenched head to toe in blood, they had protected the knight and those who hadn't volunteered to make their last stand.

For her service and sacrifice in the war, she was knighted by the king. She joined the knights afterwards. After all, she was a warrior through and through. That and the name Bloody Aria would never escape her.

Equipment:
Aria wields a heirloom spear enchanted with the ability to 'pierce'. Through cloth, leather, and steel, the tip of the spear will pass unimpeded so long as it strikes true. This doesn't mean that the spear is unstoppable. One can still grab the shaft or attempt to deflect the tip to glance armour. In both cases, the spear will not be able to pierce.

Her blade and shield are unenchanted, but of great quality. Befitting of a noble knight, they are pristine in their construction and maintenance.

Her armour is well made and perfect for her. The most accurate way to describe it is artisanal. Despite their engravings, the steel plate over her gambison is of great defensive quality. The armour is enchanted to be as durable and lightweight as possible, allowing Aria to move and sprint even faster than a standard knight.

Skills:
Aria is a master spear-user. The bane of swordsmen, her talent in keeping foes far is a feat of great martial prowess. Her speed and accuracy with a spear is befitting of one in the Larette family; it is mostly unmatched by other, less noble knights. Her swordsmanship is experienced, but rough in comparison. In a battle of blades, Aria is most likely to lose against veterans. Blades are much more suitable as an emergency backup than her primary weapon.

Besides being good at standard knightly talents such as riding and archery, she is rather talentless. At best, she can make food that one can survive on. They wouldn't take any pleasure eating it, though.

Appearance:

On the smaller side for an armed combatant, Narcissa standing at a petite 5’ 3.” She has dark hair, with a noble tint of blue, matching azure eyes, pale skin, and an impeccable, smug posture that seems to compensate for an otherwise diminutive frame.
Personality: Narcissa is a woman that is ambitious, conceited, and not quite humble at all. Nonetheless, she was raised well, and honoring the principles of noblesse oblige, offers an honorable and generous disposition when obliged, and otherwise shows an educated upbringing in her demeanor and manner of speech.

Although she carries the tainted name of her family house, she remains proud of her heritage and works hard to restore its name to its former standing. Despite her subtly grating personality and a preponderance towards self-promotion, her true intentions can be a tough nut to crack. It’s not entirely wrong to say that her allegiances and motivations are influenced more by political expediency rather than a true devotion to a cause or order. She is unafraid to use morally gray, although not necessarily evil, means to an end either in support of herself or even of the principals she serves to uphold, and when these cracks show through, does little to help the cause of restoring her good name.

Brief Backstory:

House Rauthier was an influential noble family that held a significant marquessate on the Thaln-Velt border. For hundreds of years, they were the stewards of this border region, known for their quality of their knights and the bustling trade city that was the seat of the Marquess of Rauthier. Born of high birth, Narcissa was the third child of the marquess; while she would not be heir to her father’s titles, she was still groomed as a knight and protector of realm, a tradition of the family in favor of simply just marrying off their daughters for political prestige.

In the War of the Red Flag, House Rauthier threw in their lot with Phoran Cal, lending their substantial forces to his cause. Some say the Marquess was tricked into aiding the rebellious lord, while others say or he was corrupted or blackmailed, but the truth was that the Marquess had simply been won over by promises of greater power and land. In the end, he and his family were crushed and destroyed in the closing months of the war, with his lands sacked and seized in the subsequent sieges.

Narcissa had always remained skeptical of the rebellion, preferring peace and the status quo, but pursuant to her father’s request, and initially won over by the cause, Narcissa fought with them against the Kingdom. As the war continued on, she became disillusioned by the breadth of the treachery involved within her family and the rebels and tried unsuccessfully to convince the rest of her family to cease their support. Seeing the writing on the wall, she defected back to the Kingdom and fighting on their side to the conclusion of the war. In the hopes of preserving the honor of her family name and titles, she entered the order of Iron Rose Knights to redeem both herself, the reputation of her family, and to restore the seat that would now be otherwise her glory. Although it is clear she has dubious motivations, she acquits herself well of the Order’s cause, and shows no reason for anybody to doubt her loyalties.

Equipment:

Narcissa holds a lance that ran in her family for many generations as her primary weapon. It is a thin spear made of a lightweight metal alloy that has, according to some smiths, since been lost to recent memory. It has a robust anti-magic enchantment that is able to temporarily disrupt any low to medium level magic that it touches, be it a magic shield, rune, or another magic enchantment on a weapon.

She also has a kite-shield, proudly adorned with her family crest. It has a similar enchantment as her lance, but is a mere facsimile of the original enchantment and only has a minor effect against magic.

Her sidearms of choice are an arming sword of good quality and a simple dirk hidden away, but they otherwise have no notable provenance or ability aside from their workmanship.

Given her smaller frame, her preferred armor is comparatively light compared to other knights for better speed and mobility, forgoing full torso and upper leg armor for a small breastplate over a gambeson and chainmail. This equipment is enchanted for durability and additional stopping power, providing a better approximation to full plate than it otherwise would.

She has additional, heavier armor to make up a full suit if the situation calls for it, but aside from respectable quality, is unremarkable in any respect.

She also has a horse, it’s white and likes maple syrup crystals.

Skills:

Narcissa is a respectably trained knight, with reasonable skill in wielding both axes and swords of most variety. Her true skill lies in the polearm, however, learned with impeccable technique and footwork and with a small flair for the dramatic. She’s a competent on a horseback, and while isn’t particularly gifted at magic, has a keen sense of detecting when or where magic has been used. She also fancies herself a reasonable stateswoman, but really hasn’t had much of a chance to put that to the test.

Name: Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:


Stands tall at about 6'2. Is well-muscled and broad of shoulder.

Personality:
Focused and keen, Renar is a man who knows what he wants and how to acquire it. And if he can't acquire it yet, he'll find a way. From his days as a child, he'd possessed a chip on his shoulder about his status as a bastard, ever seeking to prove himself and win glory. So long as one doesn't throw his natural born origins in his face, Renar is unbothered, but anyone who attempts to degrade him by insulting his birth status wins themselves a grudge. His primary goal is to win enough prestige in order to rise above his bastard status, either becoming legitimized and taking his father's name or being allowed to start his own noble house.

Renar is more cunning than he is chivalrous, willing to take actions that nobler knights would balk at. After all, he's already a bastard. He'd only be living down to what was expected of him. So why not abuse that to his advantage? In his mind, a knight is a trained killer first and foremost, and any pretensions to honor and chivalry are coping mechanisms to convince oneself of their cause. Still, even he has his limits, and he would not stand for harming children or one's spouse or paramour.

Despite his craftiness, Renar can't help himself when it comes to personal challenges. Whether it be a formal duel or a single combat in the midst of battle, he is easily goaded into one-on-one battles, eagerly wishing to prove himself over another.

Brief Backstory:
Born as a bastard of the House of Brias to his lord father and a commoner mother, Renar was nonetheless allowed to reside within his family's castle and be raised alongside his trueborn siblings. The Brias family had martial origins, originally being a knightly house before winning lands and glory a century ago. Nonetheless, they were still only a minor house, and even a bastard could be of use to them. By the time Renar was capable of walking and talking, his eldest half-brother was already a grown man. Nonetheless, another son could always win more prestige for the family, despite his bastard status. He would never bear the family name, but he could certainly create his own dynasty.

Renar was raised much the same as his half-siblings were, given a formal education as well as training at arms. He had a fair head for numbers and proved himself adequate in matters of administration, but Renar's talents skewed far more towards the training yard. Castle Brias's master-of-arms was noted to have remarked that of all of Lord Brias's sons, the bastard was by far the most skilled in the knightly arts.

Once he'd completed his squiring and his training, Renar took to the battlefield in the hopes of earning his knighthood. A bastard had no place on the tourney circuit, and so real combat was his only chance to prove himself worthy. While it only took a few skirmishes for his trueborn brothers to be knighted, Renar served under a banneret for a number of years before finally seizing his opportunity during a defense against an orcish raid into Thaln. After a brutal battle, Renar slew the orcs' warchief in single combat, claiming the raid leader's mantle as a trophy and distinguishing himself in the process, earning both a knighthood and a recruitment into the Iron Rose Knights.

Equipment:
Renar's armor is rugged and well-worn, but solid and dependable. His set of full plate appears to be a hodgepodge of whatever pieces he determined both fit him well and provided the best protection. He bears a cavalry lance for use on horseback, but prefers using a poleaxe on foot. His sidearms consist of an arming sword and a dagger, both sheathed on his belt. Renar wears a fur-lined mantle into battle, it once belonging to an orcish raid leader he'd slain in single combat and kept as a trophy. His steed is a simple brown charger.

Skills:
Renar is skilled and well-rounded in the knightly arts. Despite the fact that he rides well enough and would likely place a decent ranking in a joust, he prefers fighting on foot as an infantryman and is a far better infantry fighter than he is a cavalryman. He has been trained in most martial weapons, and can fight well enough with a sword. However, his true ability lies in fighting with polearms and quarterstaves, enjoying the reach and versatility a pole weapon affords him.

However, Renar is a terrible shot with a bow and has zero ability for magic. He attempts to compensate for these shortcomings with sheer physical might, exercising and training constantly in order to improve his strength and agility.

Off the battlefield, Renar has a surprising head for numbers and accounting for a knight, being rather adept at financial administration.

---

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:

Joss stands around six feet tall and weighs in at 170 pounds. The young man has a solid build, with the long limbs of a runner. His platinum blond hair is always unruly and spikes every which way. Joss's eyes are deep blue color that reminds him of clear, tropical ocean water. Besides a few scars that mark him as a seasoned warrior, the only other noteworthy aspect of his appearance is the fact that both of his ears have four gold cuffs pierced through them.

Personality:
Before the Pits, Joss was a rather carefree, optimistic fellow. He was quick to smile and snapped off witty jokes like he was the king's jester. People considered him to be a charismatic sort of guy, though they thought him to be a little soft and naive. His time in the military and the Pits changed him into an almost unrecognizable version of himself. Those in the Iron Roses only know the new Joss. The best word to describe him now would be: intense. He's showed himself to be quite cunning and observant, and seems like he's ready to slip into fight or flight mode the second a potential danger enters his perception. His temper is much shorter and his aggression can go through the roof if provoked. His friend Arthur, who knows some of the Roses warns that Joss left a piece of himself in his past and anger seems to have filled the void left behind. When exposed to actual danger Joss becomes almost feral, and sinks into the mindset he had in the Pits, which is something along the lines of - survive and kill! Outside of combat, Joss has a strong moral code, believing that the sole reason he survived the Pits was to rid the world of as much evil as possible. He's not unapproachable, he's just, intense. He became an all or nothing sort of guy, either he trusts you and is willing to give his life for you (i.e. Arthur) or he despises you and won't give you the time of day. He's a very polarizing guy now, most likely you either find his intensity admirable or annoying, and he doesn't care which one you pick as long as you make a decision for Reon's sake!


Equipment: In combat, Joss wears full plate armor, made of Dwarven alloys, enchanted to increase mobility uncharacteristic of full plate armor. Though he's covered head to toe in plate, Joss moves as though he's wearing leather armor. He normally keeps a canteen and spare rations on his person. He carries a boot knife for every day use, seeing as his Rusty knife isn't the most sanitary piece of equipment. Joss also owns a black horse that's recognized by a white stripe on its nose.

Skills:
Joss has the formal training of the military as well as the guerrilla type fighting he was forced to use in the Pits. Joss will use anything and anything as a weapon and won't stop attacking until his last breath is ripped from his lungs. Despite having used a variety of weapons, he prefers to fight with a spear, enjoying its range and piercing ability. Joss is observant to a fault now, and will use all of his senses to gain as much knowledge of his opponents as possible. Though he's less interested in it now than he was when he was younger, Joss has a head for politics and government, and is actually quite the negotiator. Had he stayed the heir to House Corbyn his parents probably would have never ended up in debt.

Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Appearance: A sundry of tattoos flow down his face, diving under a well-groomed beard, woven through horse-bone beads and charms. The color seems to be absent from his eyes; they’re only hues of grey, black and white. Jerel is tall and muscled, with hair the colour of old oak logs, and hands coated in calluses.

Ter, Jerel’s large, magical falcon, has plumage of brilliant blue, orange on the underbelly, and white around the eyes. Small feathers stick up either side of his head, looking like horns or ears. His tail feathers are long and trailing.

Personality: Jerel is slow to anger and slower still to judge. His inquisitive and curious nature takes him far afield or long into books in the mazes of libraries. Happy just to explore and learn, Jerel often scratches notes into travel books when the day has drawn to a close. Despite his affinity for solitary activity, he is quite sociable and as much at home among people as he is alone. He holds a view of knightly virtue coloured by romanticism, and tries his hardest to uphold that.

Brief Backstory:
In the vast grassy seas of Velt, Jerel was born in his family’s tent. They were the leading family of a nomadic tribe, their wealth was horses, and they roamed to graze and water them. As early as Jerel could run, he was being taught to ride. He learnt the language of horses, told through their ears and eyes and breath, how they move, and the sounds they make. Hunting was vital, and he would ride out with the more experienced hunters to learn from them, how to first shoot a bow, and then where to shoot to kill quickly. At age five he claimed his first life: a young deer that was still alive and helplessly frantic by the time they reached it, unable to do anything but watch with wild eyes as its life pooled around it, staining the grass red. Simple traps were set up every night near the camp, and every child knew how to make these from a young age. By age six, his father had gifted him a rare falcon, a gift from a mountain lord after a great trade, and he named it Ter. The falconers in the tribe taught him how to hunt smaller prey with it, too skittish or small for the bow. Watching Ter fly filled Jerel with awe and envy.

His father and many others taught him skills to keep the tribe safe and the herd well-fed: how to read the land, the animals, and the weather through all manner of interlinked subtleties. The dangers of men were taught to him, as were how to spot, avoid or deal with them; swordplay and archery from horseback were among these, though Jerel took a far greater shining to the latter. He battled a handful of times with rival tribes, though these were small skirmishes in his earlier years as a time of peace settled upon the plains after new agreements were made at a decennial meet. Fletching and craft were taught to him. He learnt how to play a two-stringed instrument. His mother made him memorise simple herbal remedies and which plants were good to eat and which would turn you ill or kill you from the inside. He loved his tribe and their traditions, but every time they came close to civilisation he was filled with a curiosity that wove tightly inside his chest at tugged at him.

On his seventeenth birthday an opportunity came, dressed as a man in blood and abandon. Jerel found him whilst out with Ter, huddled by a dead horse, raving. He brought the fever-clutched man back to camp, and after he was nursed back to health it transpired that he was a knight. Jerel asked his father and the knight to leave and journey with the man, and surprisingly, both parties agreed.

After that he travelled a while with the knight, Sir Lored. They shared stories, Sir Lored intrigued, Jerel amazed. The virtues of knighthood sparked Jerel’s imagination like flame to dry grass. They saw all manner of towns and cities, and Jerel was educated, often harshly, by the world and its people.

Battles with bandits and monsters reinforced frequent training, enough to become proficient but never masterful with the blade. The bow, however, was at home in his hand, and he taught his teacher in turn some of its many secrets.

They spent some time in Thaln's capital, where Jerel learnt to read and write whilst Sir Lored was on business there. When they left, Jerel was officially Sir Lored’s squire. It was at this time Jerel discovered a new love: books. Stories and history, trapped in paper with ink, was as much a wonder as the magic of the realm. Sir Lored paid for a few enchantments on Jerel’s bow, “an investment'' he called it.

It was not until the War of the Red Flag that Jerel truly cut his teeth in combat, beholden to the horrors of war on a scale he’d never seen before. It was also here that Jerel distinguished himself at the battle of Three Rills, venturing into the woods to convince a powerful fairy to aid a losing battle by creating an illusion of reinforcements charging in, for the price of the colour from his eyes and a favour in the future. The route of the Phoran Cal forces that day was solely due to his bargain. For his role throughout the war he was knighted, and awarded a small stead in Thaln.

Since then, in the time of relative peace, Jerel has taken full advantage of his access to vast libraries, consuming books whenever can find the time. He hunts, trains, travels, and meets with Sir Lored on the odd occasion. He also tends rookeries at the Iron Rose Knights’ base in Thaln’s capital, and is involved in communications, mostly non-magical, because of that. Though he understands these birds less than he does Ter, he still has his favourites and names for each of them.

Equipment:
Bow (Enchanted) - A recurve bow of horn, sinew and red oak. Two runes are etched in gold and lacquer, above and below the grip; tapping one will imbue the next arrow fired with increased power and speed, increasing range and lethality, tapping the other will cause the next arrow fired to explode upon impact.

Armour - Jerel has two sets of armour: a basic platemail with scant decoration marking it as of the Iron Rose Knights and a helm styled after a bird, and a set of leather that he wears far more frequently.

Basic equipment - Jerel has access to a variety of unexceptional weapons and gear, such as swords and quivers.

Animals - His three horses and falcon, Ter. Ter has rune-etched collar made from a thin strip of leather that allows Jerel to sense the bird’s surface emotional state.

Skills:
Archery and Horsearchery - Jerel is an exceptional archer, and is able to fire from horseback and retain control of arrow and horse, a skill passed to him from his tribe and honed by time.

Hunting and tracking - Skills again passed on at first by his tribe, and them from Sir Lored. Jerel can track animals for leagues and move stealthily to avoid startling them. He can dress his kills with expertise.

Animal handling - Interacting with horses is almost second nature to Jerel, and his bond with Ter as deep as the ocean of the night sky, and from this Jerel has a mostly accurate intuition when dealing with animals. He is a master horserider and falconer in part because of this.

Melee - Jerel’s skill with melee weapons is just about passable for a knight, since he trains with other knights not quite as regularly as he should.

Name: [Lady] Forina Vindramael
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Appearance: Nobility and grace bleed through Forina's well-kept appearance. Only the gruesome nature of the battlefield seems capable of changing such images for her. Standing at a notable five feet and nine inches, Forina is fairly tall for a lady, and it adds to her already dominating and demanding visage. Despite the propensity for a lady-like grace, underneath Forina's rarely-unworn armor is a toned physique lending to her quest for power and respect.
Personality:
Prideful, harsh, strict.

Any mere nobility could produce an individual that conducts themselves properly whenever they so desired, but only a true aristocrat understood the importance of behaving at all times. In this Order of knights, Forina sees children and their chaos, unfit to hold a sword no matter how skilled they professed themselves to be. In times of war, those units which exerted the greatest discretion and self-control were the ones who truly struck fear into their enemies. Those which strode across the battlefield clad in faceless helms, and killed with a controlled violence.

This is who Forina strives to be, and what she is certain she embodies better than most in the order. To the noblewoman, a freedom to be eccentric and unconventional is what plagues the Iron Rose Knights most. Forina knows that she cannot simply dismiss such characters, but looks down upon them with no less disappointment. And yet, despite all of her favoring cohesiveness and structure, Forina takes towards a bold and independent nature on the battlefield, trusting most in herself than the help others can offer. If it weren't the case that she could handle things on her own, then her sense of superiority would surely be a lie, wouldn't it?

Even as she characterizes herself as a selfish and arrogant noble, Forina is extraordinarily fond of her immediate family, and seems poised to ensure they attain all and as much glory as she can achieve in her life. More than the Roses, more than her country, more than her life, Forina is driven by the quest to enhance the status and power of House Vindramael.

Brief Backstory:
"The very fact that you hold a blade, even alongside me, is proof enough that the aloof nature of our Order has lost sight. There are no signs of things ever changing for us, or for the world, and I shall see to it that we are not caught off guard by the inevitability of war. One day... you may not be alongside me as you are."

The Vindramael family is one of the most powerful in all of Thaln, having lived through the century through patience, cunning, and the artful manipulations of a long-deceased member honored as the "Lord of Betrothals". Due to a genetic predisposition, the men of House Vindramael are oft to produce female heirs, normally a curse to the future prospects of retaining power. However, early on in the then-middling noble house, a man existed who had guided them upwards through sheer planning and intelligence. The Lord of Betrothals, as he was so called, had managed countless beneficial marriages between the aristocracy, all to careful shift the balance under the radar of other houses. Even as he set to heightening the status of House Vindramael, his apparent knowledge had prompted other lords to ask for his consultation. Though he would bring them success, he would always do so with the hidden pretense of ensuring it would always come back to House Vindramael.

And so, the powerful family had risen through the ranks through the power of marriage. From then on, this inherent connection between so many other important houses allowed Vindramael to retain its power whilst it turned to other mediums to continue accruing strength. Today it yet remains at the very top of Thaln society, its hand dipped into the businesses of everything that lives and breaths within its borders. But such wasn't enough for a young Forina, heir to the Vindramael head seat. She saw an opportunity for more, and devoted herself to the cause.

During the War of the Red Flag, House Vindramael of course sided with the Monarchy, and Forina struck fiercely into the rebellion as the captain of a small banneret. They were, however, never cruel. Comprised entirely of individuals from the Vindramael family, they carried out a very focused campaign to simultaneously fend off those of the rebellion whilst maintaining good relations with the local populace. They never once sacked a city or town, and strictly followed a code of honor. Victories were followed immediately by building rapport with liberated locales, as well as by heavily promoting the already established Mayonite religion.

Though allied with many other houses under the sitting king of Thaln, House Vindramael continuously and purposefully used Forina's banneret, by word or sword, to undermine the image of other fighting groups as violent and brutish, especially in House Larette.

After the war, Forina dissolved the banneret. Eldest sister of six other red-haired female siblings, Forina abdicated from her position as next in line, granting it to her immediate junior, Marianne Vindramael, a lady who would surely have the penchant for statecraft that Forina had sometimes struggled with. Instead, Forina enlisted in the Order of the Iron Roses, seeking opportunity both as a knight and a prospective military leader. Her family name behind her and with ambition and clear skill, Forina pushed into the Order's ranks with ease. The time is ripe to use her status and position to make change, though one may question if her allegiances lie not in the Order's thriving, but in something more personal...

Equipment:
Modestly armored, but not totally vulnerable, Forina is the spitting image of an appearance-centric noble family. One would, however, be foolish to assume such an expensive woman was not also layered in the most expensive enchantments money could buy. Multiple protective wards extend defensive ability not only to the metallic surfaces of her plate, but even to the leather and cloth portions.

Her longsword, named Tress Vindrmir, was passed down through generations since the very first knight who had formed the Vindramael family itself. Over the century-plus of its lifetime, it has been modified and blessed by its wielders and the fortune of the family supporting them. Its mere appearance seems to instill a kind of courage and fervor in those allies who look upon its risen form. The exact nature of it is unknown even to Forina.

Skills:
An insight early on in her age had started Forina training very young. The single-minded determination she exhibited lent to childhood and young adult years spent honing the swordsman craft she now so expertly demonstrates. Though very restricted in her martial diversity, Forina's skill with the sword is unbridled and exceptional. The single weapon, devoid of a protective shield in her other hand, is the style which her eldest ancestor had brought to the family forevermore.

She is herself incapable of any magical feats, but enjoys the support of her wide family, which can supply her with all manner of enchanted objects to enhance her fighting prowess.

Name: Jorm of Pharn
Age: Very old.
Gender: Male
Race: Half-Giant (Dark Elf)

Appearance: From his size alone, many would assume Jorm to be a full blooded giant than a half-breed. Standing at close to 14', his elvish heritage expresses itself in both his greater height and his slightly thinner physique. Course, most people wouldn't be able to tell the difference given the rarity of meeting a Giant in Thaln. Another sign of his elvish heritage would be the glow that occasionally lights up his body and eyes as mana courses through him.

Jorm does have a set of armor ready to be worn. It's not uncomfortable to wear constantly, but the slight clinks that inevitably occur grow annoying when they are a constant companion.

Personality
Somewhat detached from the troubles that many of the Order's members plague themselves with such as social status or position, Jorm's primary drive seems to be maintaining the peace and ensuring that the Order's purpose is never lost. The loss of association with the Church is unfortunate, but more so from a practical side as Jorm views it. Those devoted to Mayon simply seemed to uphold the tenants that the Order was founded upon. Since it became more open in its recruitment, he's seen many join up simply to associate themselves with the prestige the Iron Roses hold.

Still, if they can serve to stomp out the evils that might plague Thaln then so be it. Though it can be hard to instruct for many given the differences in physique, he nonetheless serves to pass on knowledge and techniques accumulated over his life time. He prides himself in the martial prowess he has developed, and very much sticks to it within the Order. Dealing with the politics that have become more entwined as nobles and parties worm their way into the Order is very much something he disdains, but puts up with. He might be old, but he isn't important in the same way they are.

Brief Backstory
Born and raised beneath the frozen lands to the far North, Jorm occasionally leaves for them to visit family and friends. He may be old among the Order, but compared to his father and the rest of Nu-Gorath he might as well still be a teenager searching for his place in the world. Though his departure from the subterranean city wasn't the most diplomatic, their relations are largely amicable at this point.

His relationship with the Order is something of ancient news, hardly relevant to those who still serve it today. When the Order was still young and its numbers lacking, he sought out their aid in saving one of his brethren from the shackles of magic. Despite the magic being successfully dispelled, the damage left on the victim's mind were permanent and scarring. Perhaps the High Elves could have done more, but the Order was there and willing to help. It was not enough to make Jorm kneel and pledge himself, but it was the planting of a seed.

With the years came more brushes with the Order as he passed through Thaln or its surrounding lands. Not always for the best as some didn't approve of an outsider's involvement, but he could appreciate the ones that saw the practical use for a half-giant like himself. Slowly but surely, he grew to become more than a passing ally. When he had at long last sated his wanderlust, he turned to the capital to see if he had made himself useful enough to the Order. He'd come to see Nu-Gorath as a home of sorts by then, but damn was it still dim and cramped.

The first few generations were when Jorm made a name for himself among the Order. Plagued by open conflicts in which he could wade in and crush the opposition, the half-giant racked up a bloody count through the many battles the Order saw itself involved in. As new blood replaced the old and familiar faces and peace settled through Thaln, he saw himself hanging back from the battles. Giving others a chance to bloody their blades and test their mettle in combat.

Nowadays, Jorm only really fights when there's slavers abound given his ire for the ilk. He'll occasionally accompany a group on its tasking as oversight, but the actual fighting and job is left to the new blood. They'll need deeds and fame of their own if they want to rise up in the Order, though it only helps to a point. A point of contention in recent times, and one he's pointedly avoided weighing in on. No need to pour fuel to the fire.

Equipment: A variety of weapons of dwarven make that have then been enchanted to boast great durability. Finding anyone capable of forging weapons for someone of his physique is enough of a challenge, and their size alone makes enchanting them heavily all but an impossibility.

Jorm also possesses a mana reservoir. Originally an invention of the High Elves before Dark Elves copied it for their own use, these are objects that an user can store mana in to be withdrawn at a later time to fuel their spells or replenish flagging reserves. Given his lack of magical aptitude, Jorm carries this around as a boon to allies who may travel alongside him. A jagged black crystal when empty, it gradually fills with a multitude of dancing lights as more and more mana is stored within.

Skills: As befitting as a half-giant and veteran of the Order, Jorm is a dangerous and skilled opponent. With years to hone his abilities with a myriad of weapons, he's moved past just using his physical might to overwhelm and pairs it with genuine technique and understanding. To that end, he serves as something of a drill sergeant for the Order and concerns himself with the martial skill of all involved.

Though he doesn't travel as often nowadays, having mostly settled down, Jorm's skill as a woodsman haven't diminished terribly. The years spent roaming the land to sate his wanderlust have left a permanent mark on him, and he welcomes the wilderness once the hustle and bustle of a packed city have faded away. In the same vein, he tends to provide for himself out of simple necessity. Though there are cooks and serfs that serve the Order, he would not burden them with the difficulty of feeding him or looking out for his other needs.

Lastly, despite his size, the reputation Dark Elves hold is not completely lost on Jorm. He moves with an eerie silence when he wishes to and coupled with his ability to see in the darkness just fine, he can be easier to miss in the dark than most would expect.

Name: Jarde Devaron
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Race: Human



Personality:
Jarde is a playful person that gets a kick in lightening the mood and cracking jokes. A man of unity and harmony, he dislikes it when tensions boil up and will try to dispel it with a precise, well-crafted joke or humorous remark. However, even this friendliness has limits and will generally avoid the company of foul people.

He likes to give people nicknames but very rarely calls people derogatory terms, even if they are getting on his nerves. Those words are reserved for those who anger him greatly. And nothing angers him more greatly than harm, physical or emotional, coming to those he loves. Speaking of his love, he knows he doesn't know what to say to her or how to act around her but keeps himself calm by reminding himself of reality.

In battle, he tends to be quiet and focuses much of his thoughts into the situation. This is so because battles are matters of life and death and screwing up in one could lead to very painful regrets.

Brief Backstory:
Jarde is a regular commoner in Thaln born to a farmer family. Still, that did not stop young Jarde from hearing and dreaming of the great knights of Thaln, especially the Iron Rose Knights. However, his status as a mere commoner regularly reminded him that it was unlikely for him to rise above his station.

However, one festival in a city and he saw a girl whose beauty captured his heart. Unfortunately, she was of noble birth, making it almost impossible for young Jarde to talk to her. But another noble in birth but not noble in soul, proudly declared that he was going to make the young lady his as if she was property. This angered Jarde greatly and the commoner boy publicly challenged the young, haughty noble some time later.

Jarde thought the fates were on his side. After all, was he not defending the dignity of the young lady? But he was wrong. Skill and prowess triumphed over righteousness. Still, young Jarde put up a decent fight but his opponent's words stung at him:

'Even if you win, do you think she can be with you?'.

Those words sapped the will from the young farmer and lead to his loss. Disappointed, battered and embittered, Jarde made way for home.

But not before an old man stopped him. The aged person observed Jarde fight and deduced he had talent that can be enhanced with skill and training. And training was offered and Jarde accepted. The old man's lessons were hard but the farmer boy endured. His body shaped to fit and his mind honed to let go of his bitterness. Several years later, Jarde was a capable fighter. Not one that relied on strength but one that relied on speed.

Then the old man suggested something unthinkable for Jarde:

'You should try to join the Iron Rose Knights.'

The former farmer protested but the old man was adamant, saying that status did not matter to the order. Somewhere between reluctance and eagerness, Jarde learned more about the Iron Rose Knights to find out how he could properly join. As he dug through, he saw someone familiar, or rather, easily recognized as she never left his mind ever since he saw her. It was then he learned the name of the young lady now leader of the Iron Rose Knights:

Fanilly Danbalion.

Equipment:
- Twin Kusarigamas: A gift from the old man. They are a pair of sickles from the East. These are Jarde's main weapons.
- Gladius: A gift from Jarde's village. This expensive but sturdy blade comes handy when the Eastern sickles fail.
- Throwing Knives: A set of seven daggers. Light but sharp, perfect for hurling at short to medium distances.
- The Essence Of Koril: This strange purple gem attached to a necklace appear to bend space a bit, enough for arrows and other fast projectiles to slightly miss their mark. However, it only ever activates once and when Jarde does not see it coming.

Skills:
Jarde is very fast and can easily evade average swings and projectiles slower than an arrow from a bow. He strikes quick and at weak points in the enemy and will not hesitate to fight dirty if the going gets tough. However, his strength is lacking and he would need to get creative when facing heavily-armored or protected foes.

Being a former farmer out in the wilds, he also knows some knowledge about plants and how to track animals.

Name: Gillian Reynaud

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Gill is a gangly young man standing at 5’11, with a lithe frame that seems ill suited to armor or the feats of raw strength he often performs. His arms are artificial and strange interlocking plates of insectoid looking silvered metal of unknown origin and composition with a softly glowing blue membrane beneath. They are overly long and thin even in comparison to his body, as though sized for someone much taller than himself and all together more alien. His palms hang comfortably at his knees. While handsome, he does cut a rather...uncanny figure to those not expecting him.

Personality: Gillian values honesty, simplicity and trust. All of which he feels are impossible to find in any sufficiently large group of people. A loner by nature, he prefers not to speak too much, especially on matters of nobility. He can be very defensive when dealing with intimate issues (or those dealing with his condition), and as such avoids them as much as possible except with those he considers close friends. What few friends he keeps are treated to a watchfulness most attack dogs would envy and the occasional stroke of melancholic humor when he’s in his more ‘peppy’ moments.

He has an open disregard for some of the traditions of the Roses, a bad habit inherited from his mentor. He will gladly fight dirty if it means winning and saving more people and considers the tradition of choosing a child as their leader to be insane at best.

Backstory:

Gillian was born in the township of La Reine, located on the Velt-Thaln boarder just off a rarely traveled caravan trail. The only truly notable thing about it was the local superstition that a powerful witch resided in the local woods, though this was mostly to scare children into staying in doors at night as far as Gillian ever knew. His parents were both local hunters, trading much needed food and pelts to travelers and locals during the winter months. It was a quiet place to grow up, much of the day spent hunting or practicing with the town militia (which consisted of little more than a few men armed with makeshift spears). For the first fourteen years of his life, Gillian faced few hurtles aside from the normal trials of a rural hunter and the occasional disorganized Orc warband attempting a raid.

In the fall of his fifteenth year, a small caravan accompanied by a squad of Iron Rose Knights rolled into town. Their commanding officer, Seige Parnella, was investigating reports that the local orc bands had gone utterly quiet. Parnella cut a disturbing figure, a once exceptional beauty now massively scared in ways few in the town could identify and with long strange legs made of blackened metal that seems to chill the grown she walked on.

The people of La Reine, Gillian included, were eager to believe the Orcs had simply vanished, eager to remove this strange visitor from their home as quickly as possible. But Parnella was not so easily removed and ordered her squad to occupy the town. Parnella’s suspicions held true and within the week the town was under siege by an impressive warband, seemingly brought together by an ambitious and skilled young Orc. The Knights, even while bolstered by the town militia, could barely hold back the attack. Being young and untrained, Gillian broke rank quickly, fleeing into the forest, seeking sanctuary in deep in the heart of the forest. He soon discovered that he was followed by an orc on boarback, who hunted the boy seemingly for the pure sport of it, side swiping his prey and letting his boards tusk slowly gore the young man, narrowly missing and tearing a swath of his arm’s flesh away. After many wild and halpless wings, he eventually managed to land a blow on the rider’s saddle, sending the orc tumbling over the side of his awkward to the merciless hooves that awaited him below. As the Orc lay dead or dying, the cripple Gillian limped and eventually collapsed in the hollow base of a tree.

Parnella greeted him in the morning rather unpleasantly, but kicking him awake. A rather unpleasant method at the best of times made all the worse by the still white hot pain in his gored arm. She was mostly alone, save for another knight of her small company who spoke little and made just as much of an impression. The two of them half escorted, half dragged him back to the village...or what little remained at least.

The battle had ended in a victory for the knights and militia, though not without intense casualties on all sides. A good half if not more of the town were piled at the village center, his parents among them. Parnella seemed quite pleased with the result and Gillian would have attacked her (for what little it would have done) had she not immediately followed up with informing him about how his fleeing caused the militia to nearly route before the battle even really began.

The guilt cowed him quickly, the urge to insult the woman overwhelmed by the realization that no small amount of the death before him was his fault alone. Parnella seemed to have little time for his self pity, declaring the town a loss and advising the remaining villagers to grab what they could and flee to one of the larger and more fortified towns to the west.

Gillian opted not to join his fellow villagers, his family was all but dead and, while definitely the minority, some villagers seemed to share in Parnella’s assessment of the battle and were all to happy to lay the blame at his feet. Instead, he decided shadowed Parnella’s group back to the capital. He didn’t really have a reason and Parnella didn’t seem interested even if he had one.

It was a long walk back to the capital, but Gill busied himself with aiding the knights with whatever trivial tasks they needed doing and nursing an arm which still shot with pain. Most of the knights tolerated his presence but...Parnella seemed to enjoy it. If only in a sort of sadistic way. At times she would pile on meaningless chores for him, especially ones too difficult to do with one arm. Other times she would ‘train’ him, an act largely consisting of literally kicking the tar out of him and deciding what note the noise he made was. He was pretty sure he never manage to land even a single hit on the woman, but she never seemed dissatisfied with the results.

Asking the other knights about his new ‘mentor’ (A title she gave herself he might add) revealed atleast a few things. One, yes she was ALWAYS like this and frankly they were all just happy that she was taking it out on him. Two, that she was one of the few Living Reliquaries of the order.

A Reliquary, in this case, being a holy artifact, generally made in the appearance of a major organ or limb. Which was rather relieving because, while nobody put it past Parnella to beat someone to death with the long desiccated body part of a saint in a vial of oil, nobody really seemed able to put it past her.

Back to the point, Reliquaries were a scarce commodity within the Iron Roses, though it was hardly due to a shortage of artifacts. Biology is a fairly fickle mistress, even where magic is involved, and would often physically reject the grafted organ quickly. The host, of course, would die in the process. But in those would could play host to such artifacts were immensely powerful, even with relatively little training. And most knights considered it to be...less than tasteful. A shortcut to strength that many took years to train up to (that said training was expensive and far outside of the realm of possibility for most folks being left unsaid). At the time, only four such knights had undergone the process (all voluntary of course) and as such there were...certain allowances given to their behavior.

Eager to hope that Parnella perhaps saw something in him, he asked her if she knew if he could be a Living Reliquary like her and if that was why she was attempting to train him. After finally getting her to stop laughing the Knight told him plainly she had, quote, “No fucking clue if you are. And even if you were, you’re too chicken shit to do it. Mayon’s tits if you were and were dumb enough to volunteer to get hacked up even more than you are now I’ll eat my loincloth and train you myself!”

Her dismissal hurt, if only she had robbed him of what little he saw he could do to redeem himself for his cowardice. He was tempted to part ways with this sadistic little fucking goblin of a woman and her merry bad of steel clad tag alongs then and there, but he didn’t. Just because Parnella didn’t know didn’t mean someone else didn’t, and (as petty as it might be) he’d die before letting Parnella be right about him.

The next few weeks were spent as usual and of little note. Mostly days spent trudging along trails and suffering through his insufferable ‘mentors’ childish antics. By the time they’d made it to the capital, Gillian was willing to cut his arm off just to shut the old hag up for a day or two.

When the healers at Candaeln took a look at him they were practically beside themselves, due to both his general health, how badly infected his arm was, the sheer amount of neglect he’d been put through by his ‘mentor’, and the fact that a child was asking them to cut things off and stick only vaguely understood magical nicknacks inside of him. Parnella laughed it off, enjoying the chaos of their collective fury with an ease that only comes from having been through it (and probably the cause of it) several times already.
Her mood darkened when they asked if she knew he was an acceptable candidate.

Gill had never seen Parnella serious before or since. The normally bright, if disturbed, woman leered at him like a predator. Ready to kill and devour him if there was even a moment of opportunity.

She didn’t lie about what he would be facing the next few years. It would take two years to recover from the physical trauma, easily. It could easily take two more if they cut major limbs off, as he would need to learn how to live day to day with arms or legs with no sensation beyond vague pressure. And teaching him how to fight, if she even could help with that? She couldn’t begin to guess.
But more so than all of that, she told him that if he did commit to this, then it was a life sentence. There was no way to remove a Reliquary once it was implanted without its host being dead. And the phantom pains that came with it would never go away. So if she needed to know if he was serious. That there was no shame in saying he wasn’t and walking away.

Gill asked if she wanted her loincloth cooked or raw.

Equipment:

Twined Arms of Dawn and Grace: A set Reliquary arms that have replaced Gillian’s own. Attached at the shoulder with a thin set of plates arranged along the spine, these silvered arms end in a three fingered clawed hand with engraved iconography of Reon etched along their surface. There is no sensation of touch in them beyond a vague sensation of weight and pressure. They are finely crafted and he often leaves them uncovered, as armoring them seems to make no real difference. They also provide the following benefits.

Passive Effects: Gillian’s physical strength is well beyond human, able to punch and tear his way through stone and metal with an ease belied by his svelte figure. He is also immune to the fire he conjures when using the arms as a focus for spells.

Active Effects: Gillian is able to wreath his arms and body in white hot flame, adding some extra offensive capability to his already deavistating strength. While not a magical effect, the clawed hands can be used to climb sheer surfaces easily.

If a defensive solution is needed, Gill can form a small shield of energy in front of himself. The shield can withstand most physical attacks for a short duration but is heavily draining to maintain. It does not, however, stop magically created effects or projectiles.

Finally, Gill is able to place a sigil on another creature for 12 hours. The Sigil oozes harmless, but highly luminescent, fluid constantly for the duration. The Sigil can be removed with any commonly available method of removing minor curses.

Armor:Being fairly poor in comparison to many of the knights with who he travels, Gillian’s armor is a bit of a hodge podge. While it is all well fitted, it largely consists of old leather armor, with modest amounts of chainmail and the odd piece of plate to supplement weaker areas. While it offers more mobility and reduced weight, it sadly lacks the greater amounts of protection a proper suit could afford.

Skills:
Gillian is a capable hunter and tracker, having spent many years as a furrier in his youth. There are few Knights of the order who can track a bleeding Orc from a day old trail in the wilds of Thaln, and Gillian is one of those proud few.

While trained in how to use a sword, Gill eschews most weapons in favor of his Reliquary, often fighting hand to hand and ripping shields and armor out of his way through sheer strength and ferocity. He likes to get in quick and strike hard, overwhelming an opponent with sheer intensity and unpredictability.

Name: Maritza (Mari for short) Verenna

Age: 28 (assuming standard human lifespan)

Gender: Female

Race: Naga

Appearance:
13 ft in total length, Mari's human half is 3 ft from her waist to the top of her head and her tail half is 10 ft in length. Mari has tanned skin, short black hair, golden eyes and pale olive green scales. When out of armor, Mari regularly wears a simple sleeveless tunic and belt over a sarashi-esque waist & chest wrap.

Personality:
Mari is an odd duck. Half nomadic wild child, half daughter of the church, the Naga is as sophisticated & eloquent as she is blunt & plain-spoken. While she is a firm believer in the core tenets of the church, Mari will quite often interpret them through the harsh & pragmatic lens of a survivalist; frequently leading her to decisions that put her at odds with those who had more 'civilized' upbringings.

Brief Backstory:
Born & raised as part of a nomadic tribe in the scrub-lands & savanna to the east of Thaln, Mari was kidnapped by slavers in her early-mid teens. After a short but brutal experience with slavery, the young demi-human was freed by Mayonite paladins. Taking pity on the young Naga, Mari was taken in by the church; an action that was met with mixed results. On one hand, Mari took to the core tenets of the dual church like a fish to water. On the other, she constantly fought with the rigidity of it's structure and by extension the structure of 'civilized' society.

Naturally combative by nature, Mari began training with the resident Mayonite paladins as soon as she was able. When the War of the Red Flag broke out, Mari saw action on multiple battlefields, serving as the squire of a Mayonite paladin in the service of the Iron Rose Knights. Shortly after the conclusion of the war, Mari was granted her knighthood in which she swore her oath of loyalty to the Iron Rose Knights.

Equipment:
- For armor Mari has a gambeson, partial steel plate covering her upper torso, arms & head and partial chain-mail over the rest of the exposed gambeson. For her helmet she has a sallet with a bevor. She currently has pair of heavy leather gloves as she currently can't afford a proper set of fully articulated steel gauntlets.
- For weapons Mari has a quarterstaff with a small flanged mace head at either end. She carries a long knife and a hand axe balanced for throwing as backup weapons. In addition she has a long bow, though she usually doesn't carry it unless requested. Her weighted quarterstaff is also mildly enchanted for increased durability.

Skills:
- A talented tracker, hunter and survivalist on account of her nomadic youth.
- Skilled in combat with more utilitarian weapons; spears, staves, axes, bows and to a lesser extent hammers & knives. While she can use traditional blades, they are hands down the weapon that she's the least proficient with.

Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Personality: Ferocity and strength are the driving factors which balances his appreciation for combat. Through such an encompassing presence, it's actually fairly easy to get along with Rowan. A stout believer of justice and charity, he is the one who lives through the ideals of a man of gentle in disposition yet strong in body. In fact, regardless of his initial appearance, Rowan has a very playful and carefree outlook on life, though he is very much devoted to his craft when it comes to battle and work. He could be recognized as responsible, although flimsily so. Brave, compassionate and likable young man who is said to be a demon in the battlefield. He's easily influenced by sob-stories, and could offer spear and body to any who require his help. Loyalty and truth are regarded to its highest degree by Rowan. He wishes to live a life full of wonders and one where he could live without a single amount of regret. If there's anything that Rowan appreciates more than combat is fishing, hunting, horse riding and woman. A charismatic presence, although clumsy at times, he can be recognized as a genuine soul simply looking for something that can fill his life with joy.

Brief Backstory: Rowan story is nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps being selected to become a Knight of the Iron Roses was something which was destined for him, rather than a far of dream. He excelled at his ability with the spear, even going far enough to impress even the knight guards at his home town. Rowan grew much like the other children, somewhere in the middle of the kingdom where all you could see was perhaps a few lavished mountains, a myriad of animals and even more rules that you can account for. One or two fairy-tales about a big dragon living in the woods and how good boys should be in bed before sun-down if not a litch would take them to their dungeon. Rowan was a part of all of this. Both his parents were retired guards who later became farmers. Rowan grew with many friends and adventures, where he got a few more than deserved spankings from his mama. During those years he took up a spear, hunting with his father became a hobby. The bow and arrow were like handing a spoon to a man with no thumbs. He was clumsy and flushed every time he attempted to hit his target, but when his spear was in hand it was another story entirely.

It was almost as if he was born with it, cut to wield it to beyond perfection, he could throw it with precision and strength. Soon it became his only weapon of choice and developed for both close and mid range battle. In here, it was also where he met his first love, and where he lost her as well after a few months because he wasn't tall enough to satisfy her requirements. Only at the age of thirteen, did he realize heartbreak and how painful it was, just to get over it after realizing that there was another girl who lived a few houses away that thought he was cute. After much devotion, he applied to become a knight and grew to believe that he was destined for something greater in life, that perhaps he could do more with this gift.

This feeling was increased when somewhere during his 20th birthday he and his father were attacked in their usual run to deliver good to the nearest trade center. This was nothing out of the ordinary, regular bandits attempting to steal valuables from coming carriages. But the man who were among them held skills he felt were at par with his own. Perhaps his growth was limited, and he found himself struggling with the numbers. His father took a hit which left him partially immobile. He stumbles every now and again, leading him to search for strength.

What better way to do so than to join the Iron Roses? And as such, a dream was born.

Equipment: Plated armor with breathable chainmail for ease of movement. The plating is positioned freely across the vital areas, freeing the joints so that the soldier can utilize their athleticism without much restraint. Fairly standard spear of ebony steel weighted to his liking.

Skills: Exuberantly patient: This skill in itself might not seem like much, but it is the most critical aspect of battle. Rowan is able to steady his breathing to the point where his body becomes a single flow, all movements are with purpose and steadiness. Ready to utter the next strike without pause. With such patience, he can predict, move, react and outsmart his opponents due to his clearness of mind. Although it is not an invincible ability, one can always do much more if they are far more agile or stronger than Rowan, with such patience he has changed the outcome of battle and turn the tides before larger opponents. He becomes less exhausted as a result outlasting is also a means to gain the upper hand.