Name: Lady Olivia, once of House Blackmoore
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 26



Bio:
Olivia's service to Count Blackmoore was decided at birth. Her father was their lord's favored champion and, as such, was often sent far afield to represent his interests. During the brief periods he was home, he trained his daughter in swordsmanship and extolled the virtues of service to a worthy master. When he was away, tutors lectured her on letters, etiquette, and the history of House Blackmoore.
Her years as a squire were hard and rewarding, but as Olivia came into her own, her father's age and war wounds began to take their toll. Finally, fate caught up with the aged champion and he died quietly in his sleep. In the wake of his death, rumors began quitely spreading amongst the servants and common folk of sinister plots and mysterious lights emanating from the lord's manor. It was during this period of mistrust and slander that Olivia was granted knighthood and a place at her lord's side.
The darkness growing within House Blackmoore revealed itself in small ways. Overly vocal servants were quickly and quietly replaced with complaint ones, dissidents that would have been handled with diplomacy were instead put to the sword, and Count Blackmoore himself was seen less and less even by his newest champion. Eventually, the bubble burst.
Whether by design or accident, no one knows, but one evening, a horde of undead monstrosities tore their way out of the manor's cellar and slaughtered their way through the servants and retainers. In a desperate bid to save her lord, Olivia fought her way to his study, only to find a magic circle that still glowed with the energies of whatever ritual had taken place. An open tome on the desk detailed a ritual that promised to grant everlasting unlife to the caster, but at considerable cost of human life.
Incensed at being made to serve a master that would gleefully sacrifice his loyal subordinates for something so pointless as immortality, Olivia carved a bloody path through the monsters that had ravaged her childhood home and searched extensively for her traitorous lord. Perhaps the ritual had backfired, or maybe he had been spirited away by unknown allies, but no trace of him or his body were ever found.
With no lord to tie her down, and no taste for remaining in the accursed manor house, Olivia turned her back on a life of privilege and has instead been searching for a worthy cause to lend her blade to. As fate would have it, she found the Bloodrose Irregulars.
In the months since joining, she quickly became a squad leader and has even been called upon to offer advice regarding the nobility. Since being granted command, her unit has suffered nearly no casualties and no fatalities, owing to her stalwart defense of those under her and her rigorous training regime.

Fighting Style: Sword 'n' Board

Equipment:
- Gilded Platemail: A symbol of her fallen lord's favor, the elegantly decorated suit of platemail possesses enchantments to protect against blades, arrows, and fire.
- The Black Blade: Taken as a reminder of her service, the gleaming sword of the Blackmoore family has a long, bloody history and even now bears the subtle stink of undeath.
- Blackmoore Family Shield: A masterfully crafted shield bearing the Blackmoore family's crest that has been enchanted to protect the bearer against death magic.

Skills/Abilities:
- Stand Tall, Stand Firm: When others would falter or break, Olivia holds fast against impossible odds and certain doom.
- Knight's Challenge: Olivia may issue a personal challenge to noteworthy enemies such as champions or commanders. Only dishonorable cowards with no pride would dare refuse such a challenge.
- Black Knight: The Knights of House Blackmoore have a long history as mage-killers, as such, Olivia is resistant to direct magical attacks.

Other Information:

Name: Kaeciel Sinclair
Race: Beastmen Leporidae
Gender: Biologically Male
Age: 20


Fighting Style: Crossbow Marksmanship, Fencing

Equipment
- 'Rogue Custom' - A set of form-fitting black leather armor commissioned for Kaeci by his former master. Its design contains many shortcomings in practicality and was mostly intended for aesthetic purposes, though the sturdy material and craftsmanship makes for a quality defence...where the armor actually covers. (Details in Appearance)
- 'The Hunter's Crutch' - A repeating crossbow of Dwarven design fitted with a foregrip to add leverage for its sophisticated lever-action priming system. The build focuses on speed and reliability.
- 'Black Ambers' - His deceased master's favorite rapier and now Kaeciel's treasure.

Skills/Abilities
- Demihuman Traits - Tall, keen ears that are remarkably sensitive to sound and eyes capable of cutting through twilight make beastmen like Kaeciel exceptional at playing roles as a scout or watchman. While his type is hardly physically formidable, their evolution forced a greater focus on evading danger than outwardly dealing with it.
- Lithe - Impressively flexible and capable of partial dislocation and relocation of joints, Kaeci has much experience with fitting in tight spaces. They're no contortionist by any means, but their size has its benefits, and this skill only accentuates the utility of their stature. Great at hiding...maybe a tiny bit claustrophobic, though. Useful for slipping out of restraints or just grossing people out a little.
- A Servant's Slight - Life experience of being a slave to House Sinclair has gifted Kaeciel with culinary skills as well as an attention to detail and a deceptively sharp wit and empathetic intuition. He often portrays himself as being more meek and naive than he truly is, though he is still vastly unfamiliar with the doings of life beyond the walls.

Other Information:

1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC

Tall by human standards, and especially for women, Iroyn is roughly 6 foot; though she has a slighter, more ‘Elven’ build. Despite her apparent build, she is remarkably strong, a fact which has come as a rude shock to numerous opponents in tavern brawls. Her golden eyes and pointed ears mark her out as someone of elven blood, and even though it causes her trouble from time to time, it’s never been something she’s tried to hide or deny. She keeps her hair cut short to deny any opponent something to grab onto; and so far no-one who’s managed to get that close has lasted long enough to try and grab her.
The only thing she knows for certain about her parents is that one was a human and the other was a high elf, and that her birth was probably a great scandal, beyond that it’s all supposition.

She was found as a baby, still in swaddling, when a small Imperial detachment raided and destroyed a large bandit encampment along the southwestern coast of the Empire, not far from the borders with the Black Desert. She was found amongst several women and girls who’d been taken as slave, but when questioned, all any of them could say was that the bandits had just left her with them several weeks prior; how they’d gotten her was unknown and any bandits that may have known all died in the fighting.

During the trip back to civilization, the local Earl’s Master-at-Arms, who’d been leading the raid, took a shine to the little girl and with his Lord’s permission, he adopted and named her. Ser Balan Varo, as her father was known, was widower who had recently lost his wife and young son to disease and so he set to ease his grief by caring for little Iroryn. Growing up on the edges of the Earl’s court, she received a good tutoring in reading, writing and such, while her own father taught her the finer points of sword-play. Once her magical talents began to show themselves, she was also tutored by the court mage on how to use and hone her powers. Her peers, at first, began to taunt her about her half-breed status as they got old enough to notice such things, but they generally also learned to keep such thoughts to themselves as she was quick with her fists and could hit much harder than her waif-ish appearance might imply.

As she grew older, she grew stronger and more skilled with both spell and blade and wished to put her talents to use. At first she’d intended to do so at her father’s side in the Earl’s service; but the old Earl passed away before she was old enough and his heir would not have a ‘half-breed’ in his service. It was with a tearful goodbye she bid her father farewell and set out to make her own way; she moved from Company to Company, trying to find somewhere that ‘fit’ to no avail. Recently she has signed onto the Bloodrose Irregulars; their reputation giving her hope that this may be a Company to stick with.

---

• Jack-of-Plates (Shown) - A series of leather bound iron plates worn over a tightly woven cloth coat and trousers. While it’s not the most protective armour, it’s relative lightness and flexibility make it handier in avoiding hits.
• Relic Arming Sword (Worn across the back) - A treasure she took in lieu of payment while with a previous Company. It has a Soul Stone mounted in the hilt, which she uses as to augment her own powers
• Grimorie (Right side, hip) - Not just a collection of spells, it is also her journal, tracking the various things she’s done and notes about places she’s been. This is her third book, the others she has sent back to her father (Though she is careful to transcribe any spells into the new one)
• Mana Potions (Pouch below Grimoire) - Several small restoratives to boost her mana should she over exert herself in a fight. They’re expensive enough for her to really only want to use them as a last resort.

• Armsman - Her father’s instructions with the blade, and her own experience, has made her a formidable opponent.
• Brawler - Subject to teasing or harassment due to her heritage has made her quick and effective with her fists, for those times when a blade or magic are a bit too much.
• Elven Blood - While not the same as a full-blooded Elf, her nature means she’s not only a fair bit stronger than one might expect, but she also has a deeper stamina reserve and rarely, if ever, gets sick.
• Relic Sword
  
  
  • Ice Shock - Upon sword contact, a point blank blast of super-cooled air that can temporarily blind or disrupt an opponent to create an opening.
  • Tempest - A horizontal slash produces a short lived super-cooled maelstrom along the arc of the slash extending out about 3 meter.
• Grimorie
  
  
  • Ice Shard - Launches a dagger sized spike of ice at roughly the same speed as an arrow. Can pierce most soft armours.
  • Ice Storm - A short range stream of super-cooled air.
  • Reaver - Strips moisture from a 1 meter area of effect.
  • Water Whip - Forms a tendril out of a pre-existing water source, which can be used to attack/manipulate the environment.

Rings of feather falling were crafted with an intricate feather pattern around the whole ring. Although not required for their construction, the rings were often decorated with malachite, because common folk believed (erroneously) that the stone had gravitational intervention powers.
The Ring allows the wearer to slow their rate of descent when falling. When the wearer falls more than five feet suddenly, their decent slows to that of a feather. Hence the name and design. Glyndan wears his on his left middle finger.

(Wind Magic)

Every ten minutes, the ring of regeneration emitted a burst of recuperative magic, restoring part of the health of its attuned wearer. It was also capable of regenerating lost limbs, in a process that took a few days.
Glyndan wears his on his right ring finger.

(Life Magic)

The exact use of the Celestial Chest is unknown, as many of the mechanisms within it have yet to be activated. It is some form of puzzle, that Glyndan has not been able to solve. He received it as a parting gift when he started his life of adventure, and the only thing he has figured out is that it can trap non-corporeal entities within it. He often leaves it at the Bloodrose Headquarters.

(Arcane Magic)

Glyndan's Grimoire. It not only contains the spells he knows but is also enchanted to protect it from wear and tear, as well as people trying to steal his spells.

(Arcane Magic)

This wand is imbued with a spell known only as Rot. It emits a purple bolt that causes things to decay.

(Death Magic)

This wand is imbued with a spell that causes plants to grow from where the green bolt struck. Is the target was already a lant, then the existing plant would grow bigger, but if no plant was present, a random plant would grow.

(Nature/Life Magic)

1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the O

1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC

Name: Selova Ajes 'the Yellow Wolf'
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Appearance: Selova is a young but tall girl, with long golden hair that is tied to a braid. Her pale skin makes her dark grey eyes distinctive. She often wears her riding cloak and seen on a horseback. And she has countless calluses along her forearms from the use of her weapon.


Bio:
Selovia was born as the eldest daughter of a local lord. From young she was trained as a squire and trained in the way of her sword. As a noble, Selovia had been leading a rather easy and comfortable life. She was not good in her studies, but she had been more keen interest in her swordplay. She had learnt magic, but had barely scraped past the theory concepts. As the eldest of the 3 children of the Local lord he had spent more time looking after her two siblings. Her younger sister is the one that she often gets along with.

Her younger sister was a more patient as compared to her teachers, and managed to get learning on the concept of magic. That was until her father passed away from an sudden illness.

She was left to her own after her dad's passing, and there was a dispute regarding the succession of her father’s title. But that would mean her abandoning her dreams of being raised to a Knight, and the worst of all, putting down her sword that she had swung for her whole life. After a couple of weeks of deliberations, she decided to let her younger sister succeed the title instead.

But that had also made her lose her edge on her sword. The family crest had always made her remind of her own family. She picked up the spear instead, upon joining the Bloodrose Irregulars as a mercenary. Despite the fact that she would have to throw away her title as a high lady, she felt that it was more worth than to be stuck in a room with administrative duties.

For her two years as a mercenary, Selova became known as the Yellow Wolf. Dedicated at her job, but known to be impatient and rash at times.

Fighting Style
Lady Ajes uses her spear mainly when it comes to fighting. She often uses magic together with her spear, and the lightning from the spear gave her the nickname the Yellow Wolf. Her style resembles more of a sword than a spear.

Equipment: Relic Spear – A relic spear that allows her to extend the spear range with her lightning magic.
Skills/Abilities: Lightning Lance – A shot of lightning that extrudes from the tip of her Relic Spear, it’s the only technique of magic that Selovia knows how to use, being poorly versed in this field.

Selova is also good at taming horses, having to tend horses as a child.

The man in the modern day, the one who rarely looks you in the eyes, whose mind is constantly running thought to thought with no end. The guy that always seems like a tightly-wound coil at all hours and whose eyes never find enough rest. He was a child at some point, too. Not all lives are so glamorous, nor are they all so dark. Ash has a past that is less storied and mysterious, more fearful and manic. Ups and downs, every life has them. One just has to work and earn those ups; bright sides and good endings don’t find the lazy, the lost, or the clueless.

Not a coin, a cloth, or a heritage in any sense to his name. Ashdane's earliest memories are of rooms of orphans, scents of sweat and body odor, and simple instructions here or there. Out at the Golden Shores, Ash ran with small-time thieving crews, earning his weight in food and clothing. There would always be someone in charge, with one idea or another. Ideas that would land other thieves in danger, detainment, or death. Ash himself would be the first to admit, he was nothing special. Pick a pocket, keep an ear out, don’t lie to the man feeding you for today. If you got a beating, you deserved it no matter what you thought. If there was a heavy purse out at the docks, you better find it, because it could be what keeps you alive and fed a little longer. Just make the crewleader happy. Ash probably went through a hundred of them in his youth. The life of a thief was what he’d known from dusk to dawn.

You needed to be aware, be ready, be playing that “what if?” game. What if that guy next to you had a knife? What if your good will with the big guy was running out? What if you got caught on the street with your hands red and it ain’t yours? Ash had an advantage in that department, though he didn’t know it. A hyperactivity disorder is a pretty nifty thing when your continued existence depended on being alert to your surroundings and the people around you. A wild imagination even moreso. Innate curiosity and deft hands make for good partners. What if he could use that? What if he was good at what he did? What if *they* knew? And, hey, how did that thing over there work?

People in crews had some tricks here and there. Some had uses for spare metal bits and pieces. Nothing big or harmful, no. If those things started showing up on the streets, marks would get scared. Targets would stop coming out with so many Soverns. Less pay, more guard patrols, and a city with too many eyes out made for bad business, both in the light and out of it. Looking back, that makes a lot of sense. More sense than a 17 year old lifelong thief on the streets had at the time. But making use of scrap was an opportunity. A good one. One that could, maybe, make you a real important guy in the crew. So what if a few people would get hurt? What if some marks started getting a little paranoid? We’d have more ourselves! That’s all that mattered. Right?

A single little contraption goes off in broad daylight. One noble young buck, with too much money in his purse and too little sense to properly hide it, gets hurt. Not dead, just a few scratches across his pretty face. Boy, those look deep. Maybe too much primer, Ash would have to change his first formula to-what if? What if that kid prattles to his daddy and makes things harder for us to steal? What if we can’t make enough to live another week? What if the guards find any of us? What if…the next one is better? What if the next one goes cleaner? It could happen.

Never got the chance. That noble boy’s scars became an example of just how bad thieving was getting. More guards! Keep a closer eye out! There’s an artificer out there leaving his dangerous toys out and targeting noblemen for coin and virtue and their lives and…what if Ash was no longer useful? What if this had made him a detriment? A marked man? That’s what came next. A wanted artificer, targeting nobles, patrolmen on the look out for any unusual mechanisms and descriptions passing through the areas his crew had frequented. They’d have to give up their hunting grounds. And that description that people were using to find the mad artificer? It matched Ash to a point. He must’ve been seen running with that purse! But his crew would hide him! He would be alright! The guards would never find out who he was and everything would be fine! Except…

What if it wasn’t? His crew didn’t stand with him. He had become a liability. A recognizable face being sought out around the Shores didn’t make for good thieving work. They had turned him in before a week had passed from the event. Now he’d spend the rest of his short days stuck in a cell. Sentenced to execution for terrorism and assault against a member of the noble class. The theft itself wasn’t even on the rap sheet! And here come the guards now! He knew the sound of metal boots and cuisses and plate mail, had run from it too often, had survived by being out of sight from the ones who make it. The cell offered no such cover or methods of concealment. He’d been left out to dry by his crew. The cell, the sentence, the damned cuffs chafing his wrists! If he hadn’t started to trust in this crew, for once, none of this would have happened!

But the man on the other side of the cell door wasn’t the bailiff. He wasn’t the executioner, either. So who was he? This older fellow, he wore no uniform, no guardsman armor, but he had a crest on his doublet. Ash didn’t recognize it. Was this man another noble? Why’s he got a guardsman with him? How important is he? And then he spoke.

“A thief off the streets, playing with toys and surviving by the skin of your teeth. Hardly a terrorist. Come here, boy, let me get a good look at you.” Ash didn’t question the man, but he had a few for him. This mysterious old coot looked him up and down, and watched Ash's eyes closely. To his credit, life on the streets had taught Ash a few things; such as when he was being analyzed in more ways than one. The boy didn’t look this man in his eyes. He diverted his gaze to the left or right, or down to the floor, all the while keeping the old man in his periphery and looking him over as well.

The old man grinned, Ash didn’t know if that was good. “You’d be useful. Plenty of potential in you, yet.” He turned to the guardsman beside him. “Tell your captain I've got a favor. This boy comes with me. Make haste, and be discreet!” The guard looked a mix of surprise and worry as he scampered off, leaving Ash alone with this enigmatic fellow. “You already know what you did wrong with that device that landed you here, yes? Too much primer, too much OOMPH and hurt the boy you were trying to scare. Would’ve worked, if not for that.” The voice of experience, Ash would have guessed.

Ash was released into the old man's custody. The captain had indeed owed him a favor, the nature of which Ash could only guess. As it turned out, the geezer was the commander of a mercenary company, one with rather loose relationship with the law. Ash's previous life was put to the axe (or had it been the gallows?), a replacement made from another unlucky criminal in order to sate the noble he'd scarred. From here on, he would be Ashdane of the Wayward Wolves; the name was a symbol of the company he now belonged to.

Errol was the name of the man who’d taken him, and he himself had been an urchin before. While maintaining ties with the underground, Errol used his ties mainly as a way to get jobs for his mercenary business. Each and every member had been a “rescue" in one form or another, be they a previous convict, or a person trying to better their lot in life. He was a firm, fair, and consistent individual, and over time Ashdane began to see him as a true father. It was through no fault of Errol's own that Ash had trouble trusting and being at ease in the company. A lifestyle of thieving would carve its nature into a person’s bones. His mind stayed racing, he would often flinch in the presence of his comrades, and looking a person in the eye was very difficult for him. Always, Ashdane looked through a person rather than at them, because surely if they weren’t a threat, something or someone nearby was.

Despite his issues, Ashdane would spend the next several years of his life with the Wolves. Errol was as much a leader as he was a teacher, and he was often honest with his men about the contracts they fulfilled to make their living. Even Ash, who hadn’t had an education or an opportunity in his life, was not left out of this process. He was an illiterate teen on the cusp of adulthood, and he knew nothing more than surviving on the streets. And yet, he took to it like a fish to water. Being able to clearly define what was needed to fulfill a contract seemed like a simple expansion to having an objective back as a kid. Pick a pocket, cause some ruckus, kill a monster. Perhaps it wasn’t so simple, now that he could read the once-nonsensical scribble (not that contracts were a large part of thieving, but marks the crewleader would point out were sometimes picked by another, and Ashdane was beginning to figure out how), but it gave a greater degree of certainty in what form of action to take.

By the time he was a man grown, Ashdane could read, write, negotiate, and make a more proper little trap than the one that had landed him in prison. The last of these were taught by Errol directly. He was an old hand at the skill, and took great interest in what few pupils the Wolves could scrounge together. Ash learned and memorized numerous blueprints throughout his few years, and learned to always keep a few pieces of scrap on hand and a few traps ready to set. It had come in handy through a few missions, maybe that was an understatement. He could trap their campsites to provide defenses while his squad slept, could set a stage for a fight that would go heavily in the Wolves' favor, or even detonate directional shrapnel bombs mid-melee. A thief, even one no longer a thief, had to be pragmatic. It was only natural that a tool should be used against something that wanted you dead.

The Wayward Wolves had molded the once-thief into a proper mercenary. And mercenaries knew how to survive. Being one didn’t necessarily mean that you were invincible, or that you were immune to age and decay. Errol’s death is one such example of this. He had been both outlaw and merc. Had taught so many so much. He had been a paternal figure in the lives of many of its members. But all these accomplishments did not make one immortal, it just meant that he passed away surrounded by family. Pride in his pack flushed through his chest until the light finally left his eyes. Ash had been taught another thing in Errol's passing: the pain of losing a beloved parent. This experience, he learned at the age of 26.

The Wayward Wolves dissolved without a leader, unable to elect another. Ashdane's squadmates went their separate ways, either continuing their mercenary lifestyle in another company, or becoming contacts in the underworld for one another. His family all but gone, and reeling from the loss, Ashdane was among those who continued as a free mercenary.

1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC

Name: Markus Reus
Race: Demi-Human
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Appearance:


Bio: Born in Dragon's Maw and raised in a military family with a dad as an known army general from Glaurungs army and a mom as an army secretary. Markus has been raised with a lot of discipline, which he didn't care about too much, which his parents hated him for. Forced to go into the military to become a soldier and climb the ranks, as his dad did. Instead he became a known troublemaker in the military ranks, not following orders, pulling pranks and never being on time.

Eventually he went out of bounds as he got in another fight with another soldier, this time wounding his opponent heavily. Markus got officially kicked out of the army by his own dad, out of shame, as he stated. The only option left was to go in the military band, where learned to play the drums as he had no discipline and patience for any other instruments. Playing weekly with the marching band in different parts of the country, this life seemed to suit Markus a lot better. Music, drinking and girls was more his style, after years he decided to quit when he learned to know an Elf girl, Celeste, a singer in particular.

He met her at a tavern when she was singing with her band on a festive night, he fell in love. Markus joined the band as they still lacked a drummer, as if it was meant to be. He only had one more goal left, just to impress Celeste, he remembered there was a beautiful war drum on the wall at his parents home. When he came back to visit his parents he quickly took it from the wall when his parents weren't looking and ran away, to be never seen again by his parents, as he still was convinced they hated him but did not show it.

On a beautiful summer night, he is planning to show off his new drum to her and his skills on which he trained hard. He told her to come to an open field at midnight, where he will show her the war drum. But drama occurs and some bandits found her alone and when he arrived, all he saw was the bandits and her dead body on the ground. Out of rage he hits the drum with all his might, making the runic signs on the drum glow up, creating a big shock wave killing the closest bandits standing by instantly. The remaining ones get knocked over, as they try to recover, Markus throws off his drum and unsheathes his scimitar.

In a dash he's standing next to the first bandit, which is startled as the ordinary humans are often by his beastly speed. One handed he swings the scimitar from the top down on the back of his neck, cutting his head clean off and he drops to the ground. Dropping his scimitar he now throws his dagger right into the chest of the second bandit making him an easy target as his fist follows up to punch him in the face which sends him flying to the ground. Now, the third and last bandit wants to attack him with a sword, Markus blocks it with his hand. Making the sword cut deep in his hand, but he doesn't care or feel anything. He leans over, pushing the sword back against the bandits body, with tears in Markus eyes, he asks why.... but the bandit never answered as he pushed the sword deeply into his body with the point starting to penetrate his neck, he chokes and falls down to the ground as the last bandit that was standing.

A long time he has wandered around, pointlessly, without goal. He has forgotten how long it has been without Celeste, mainly drinking every day and playing lullabies on street. Sometimes he picks up some mercenary jobs, as a beast will always be wanted for the dirty jobs. This did give him the chance to discover the abilities of the drum and other have noticed them, as he now has been asked to join the Blood Rose Irregulars. As he has nothing to lose, he decided to join. He could use the money, entertainment, and challenge after all those years.

Fighting Style: Animalistic. Based on beastly power, speed and athleticism, but lacking in technique and finesse. Rather fights an Orc than an Elf. He would be no challenge for a skilled fighter, but his raw power and speed will give him a challenge.

Equipment:

Basic: A military scimitar + dagger and a padded military outfit for basic protection.

Special: A family heirloom, which is an old relic in the shape of a war drum which is made clear by the runic signs on the drum head.

Skills/Abilities:

Basic ability: As he enjoyed military training. Markus mastered the basics in fighting, but was never top of the class.

Tail: Markus can use his tail, which can be very handy in some situations.

War drum abilities [Wind element]:

Warbound: Plays the drum to inspire his party and enchant their abilities, will also intimidate the enemy, stronger/bigger enemies will be less or not intimidated by it.

Deafening: Will drum deafeningly loud towards his target, making it impossible to hear any surroundings.

Lullaby: Markus drums very softly and on a slow rythm, which relaxes the target or even possibly put it to sleep.

Shockwave: Focuses all his energy in one big hit on the drum, creating a shock wave around him. Preferably not used when there are any allies around.