Races of this world include some of the typical fantasy races one would find; humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, demons, goblins, etc. etc. However, it should be noted that each of these races is separated with Orcs occupying the deserts south of the Baldock, elves inhabiting the vasts forests even further south than that, and dwarves generally scattered in their keeps all around the various mountains of the continent. With that said, here is a list of races that are available for players to choose from.

Humans
Humans are, perhaps, one of the most adaptable races found throughout the continent and by far more numerous than the dwarves and elves, only rivalled by the orcs. They are primary species of Baldock and have adapted to the harsh cold that persists in that north, showing their determination to survive in nearly any climate that they set their minds to. Yet, they do not boast the strength of the orcs, the perception and dexterity of the elves, or the hardy and long-lived nature of the dwarf.

Orcs
Orcs are a scattered people, strong and unwilling to cooperate with most other races unless it advances their own honor throughout the world. This has led to a particular rivalry between the imperialistic humans who seek to oppress them and use them as strong labor in their fields. Orcs are proud and live by the traditions of the desert where one must be strong and have the endurance to survive the brutal heat. This has led to a general consensus that the orcs are less learned than the other species, but they hold the same ability to learn as the humans and dwarves. They are the second most common species in Baldock, though still operate as a significantly lesser minority, a majority having been brought in to be used a small workforce.

Dwarves
Dwarves, perhaps, are some of the most long-lived and least common species to be found in Baldock as they remain as independent nations states within the two mountains that occupy the countryside, Narhoul, and Dogrear. They hold and technological edge over the humans, though as of late they have entered into a stagnancy in their development with their plates of armor and weapons, while still better than most of what humans can make, are merely maintained from generation to generation at this time. They are a rare sight outside of their mountain-forts, only coming out to trade or in dire cases, to raid.

Elves
Elves, like humans, are perhaps a moderately adaptable race, but they find it much harder to get around from their forested south as they are much frailer than even humans. To make up for their frail and sickly nature, they have evolved higher reflexes and have an increased perception, namely in the form of sight and hearing. They are not seen as trustworthy by humans and dwarves as many of them tend to cause trouble, or rather they tend to get blamed for trouble, whenever they are around.

Half-Bloods
While Half-Bloods are not unheard of between the races, whenever one comes about, it is very prejudiced as they are seen as lesser from both sides of their lineage, being “unclean” and more abomination than a person. Whether it be Orc and Elf, Human and Dwarf, they are generally neutered, or what is more common, put to death despite taking on aspects from both of their parents, though in a lesser and more moderate degree. Additionally, Half-Bloods do not have the ability to reproduce, whether or not this is because the gods look down on such creations is up for debate.

Dalton
Dalton is the capital of the Kingdom of Baldock, having a population of nearly 745,000 souls, it is one of the largest cities on the continent and home to the family of Bright, the ruling family of the nation. Being one of the only cities in Baldock with a proper dock, it has grown into a prominent trading hub in the Northern Sea and is lucrative in supporting the massive population that lives there. This city has massive, stone walls said to be built by ancient dwarves hired to construct such a monument, through the slums of the city have spilled out of the protection of these walls long ago. Additionally, the city is home to the only professional magician school, designed to teach students about the dangers of magic rather than having the students practice their powers.

Malcast
Long has this city been on such peculiar grounds that the curse that now haunts it was not originally perceived as great a threat as one may think. The city is the home of the Lochborne family, who rules the city with debauchery and sin as their power, reinforced by the King, is abused to increase their own power and not provide for its people. Such autocracy and ruthlessness is assumed to be why the curse came to be, but given the curse affects all, it is still unknown, though it has rallied the peasants and freemen to protest the rule of the Lochborne. Malcast, having no port of its own and only relying on the yearly harvest of the Lochborne Estate, is now suffering a food shortage, adding to the suffering of the people.

The Lochborne Estate
Nearly 60 miles away from the city of Malcast, the Estate consists of sprawling farms and a large fortified mansion in a hilly countryside. The weather there now is abhorrent as dark clouds block the sunlight and the curse kills the land of the estate. In the generations of the Lochborne family living there, why now has the curse just came up?


The history of Baldock is a long a tenuous one founded in the blood and rebellion from the Great Empire of Tara nearly a thousand years ago. The Dukes and Lords that lived within the region had been prosecuted for their growing power and eventually, when the now declining power of the Great Empire of Tara had begun to suffer a string of large rebellions that began to pick away at its insides, the nation of Baldock managed to rip free the chains of oppression that held them down, allying with Dwarven Lords, Elven Matriarchs, and Orc Chieftain alike as they toppled the great power. Under such duress, the Empire of Tara collapsed, its forces stretched thin and troops being routed on all fronts. This was the birth of the proud nation that is still dwarfed in size by the Empire of Tara.

In the peace that ensued, Baldock expanded south and established a vassal to act as a border against the Empire of Tara, the vassalage of Fenlia. Such a vassal has proved used in deterring the armies of Tara from future wars as it attempted to reclaim what power it could, as the Wars of Deterrence raged after poultry thirty years after what was supposed to be great peace. This war, however, did not play out as easily for Baldock as it had in the past as the nation had become the primary focus of the Imperial Army. Pitched battles and ambushes raged throughout the countryside of Fenlia and no winner was determined from the war as Empire of Tara was forced to retreat and winter at home, allowing for the new lords of Baldock to lick their own wounds.

Summer after summer and winter after winter, the Empire of Tara attempted to break through Fenlia but never have they been able to get the decisive battle that they needed. As such, Bardock was able to reinforce it’s armies and adopted military traditions that improved its own logistical capabilities and tactics to better suit the northern hills that it would commonly fight in. Though, such wars are hardly talked about anymore, as the Empire of Tara eventually consolidated its power and signed a white peace with lords that make up Bardock. However, with the Empire finding a defeat once more, it was decided that holding onto the northern territories was more of a hassle than it was worth and allowed those nations to be free after its forces were brought back to proper imperial lands.

The raving orc bands of the deserts declared their own independence from Tara, offering a further buffer between Baldock and the Empire, but making the frontier territories a dangerous land to be. Many expeditions were sent into those orcish warbands to claim more land, but they suffered a defeat that sent the Kingdom reeling. Unknowing true defeat, the King of Baldock has since made such a large invasion into those lands, instead of focusing to fight to its east and west with the newly formed nations of Yolotco to its east and Kunizu to its west.

While wars were fought, little land was gained, leaving Baldock to consolidate its power and make sure that its vassal to continue to stay under the rule of its northern lords. However, such wars were fought many, many times and Fenlia became known as the ‘Land of Rebellion’ as Fenlian lords who desired independence constantly rose and fell making the region all the more unstable.


The culture of Baldock is that of military and pride, much like the Taran culture to the south. The Baldock boy seeks to ready himself to be called to a life of war, lest he is called a coward and ousted from society. Until his honor be regained on the field of battle, or he prove himself worthy in the eyes of a noble, there is no salvation until he has died. The boy will go out to become a man or he will die and rid the nation of a burden that cannot serve to forward the King’s wishes.

The land rewards the hardworking Baldock, too, of course. They stalk game with bow and arrow; they forage their forests; they net the bogs for iron, and pull up minerals from the skin of the earth: nickel, jet, coal, amber-gold. But these are the realms of old, fearful men, men who have lost their luck and whose spirits have gone to ash. The sea belongs to those with spirits still ablaze. It makes fishermen of the smallest of them. Many again are traders in fat times and plunderers in lean, buying meat or stealing it from other lands when their own has yielded none, taking only enough slaves to see their chores done back home. A decent living is always easy to earn on the lakes and rivers, too: the demand never dries up for young, strong workers to portage ships, loaded with casks and weapons, from water to water. But the greatest of these men, the ones with infernos inside, they go hunting.

Magic, within the confines of this setting, is a double edged sword as whatever spells that may be cast by a magician who may be touched with the ability to harness such a power, will touch the caster as well. A healer who tends to a wounded party member may find that those wounds burn into the skin of the healer and cause immense pain until they would be normally healed. A magician who seeks to launch a ball of fire at their enemy would find that they have been set on fire by their own magic and may very well die. However, such drawbacks are often random in their intensity, but the mere fact that such drawbacks exist make many wary of even using the “gift”.

It is due to this fact alone that there is no centralized magical circle, save for the school in Dalton who only seeks to deter the use of magic rather than encourage it. With such, there are no commonly used spells or knowledge that is passed down from mage to mage as those would want to teach it have likely died from their own spells. Additionally, those who openly use magic in Baldock, are typically seen as fools and are commonly avoided lest they see a fool kill themselves wielding a power not reserved for the mortal being.

Heed not the fools, for the magician will always die in their youth.

I would say that this is a pretty damn good review, very in-depth in the backstory and it was enough for me to feel sadness for her plight. Though with every good, comes a nitpick from me as I have seen some portions of the backstory that could have a bit more explanation or even a new tale that would bring even more light to an already great sheet. Additionally, two of the spells that I had found did not have a clear drawback as every spell does have, such as the expense of using magic that no matter how small a spell may be or how insignificant a drawback is, there always is a drawback. I would say to focus down on that backstory section and hammer out those details a bit more and this sheet will be looking even more lovely!

Gender: Female
Age: 30’s
Race: Human
Profession: Scholar



Detailed Appearance:
A woman with features vaguely reminiscent of the Taran southerners, with tan skin from a heritage by the deserts, and voluminous, coal-black, hair that nevertheless has been shortened to end as her neck does. Her face is well-defined and dominated by a sharp nose and strong cheekbones. Furthermore, the right side of her face has been permanently marked with an archaic tattoo, the meaning of which is lost to those who do not burrow themselves in books. It skids around the bottom of her eye, drawing attention to her vigilant brown iris. Likewise, a solid line has been permanently inked over the middle of her lips, running down under her chin.

She dresses primarily in traveler’s cloaks, thick articles to resist weather and sun, though the baggy sleeves of a considerably nicer undershirt can be observed. When she is not bogged down by cowls and cloaks, her clothes are strapped close to her body and fitted for mobility and breathability. She is by no means an imposing figure, barely a thumb taller than your average Baldock lady, but the robes belie the figure beneath all the same; certainly athletic for a purported scholar.

Bronze fittings embellish her arms and legs, clipping shut the baggy sleeves and pantaloons. She wears the shoes of a cobbler’s daughter; pragmatic, cheap, and without fanfare.

Detailed Backstory:

With a quiet rasp of flint, the paper sparks and catches a small flame. The woman lights the candle and blows the paper out, before stowing it back from whence it came. “So, you asked who I am? My story is a long and arduous one, my friend, but I can see in your eyes now that you are no man to back away from a tale to be heard.
Perhaps the honest truth is where we should begin? With a risk of boring you, friend, the simple truth is that I am no one special. My parents were simple people, living each day as the sun rose. For many years, we tended my father’s goats, my brother’s geese. That is the finest life, you see, to smile as it rains, laugh with your family, and wonder what lies beyond the horizon. Even know I can see clearly before me the smile of my brother, Razhal. Hear the laughter of Avi, my mother. Rarely will you see a man in the city full of glee for another day, a magistrate with time for his wife, or a scribe with wonder left in his eyes. Such were the eyes of Al-Qadir, my father. I did not understand it then, but the simple life was not for him, as it is no longer for me. But you need not ask the question, comrade, I know already what you wonder; why would I extol the virtues of a simple life far from this place, yet sit here before you?

Such is the fickleness of the simple life, it shall forever be unaware of what lurks beyond the dune, whether it be riches or war. With such a life, the ignorance of the simple man cannot be blamed when he becomes a victim of circumstance. Likewise can we no more blame the passion of the warrior, whose blood runs hot in his veins for glory, vengeance, or justice. Nor the commander, who sits in his tent, tired eyes focused on the pieces upon his map – a world where only the marked pawns matter. It must be a terrible life, to worry in that way. But the world does not care. Death, is death. Our blood looks the same as the goat’s blood, just as the geese. Under the sun, the simple man’s blood is no different from that of the soldier over the hill. Perhaps it is an easy mistake to make, with such in mind.

Do not give me that pity that now builds within you, my friend, decades have passed and the sun has seen much blood spilled since that fateful day. I am simply here because my mother hid me under all our linens as the men came down the hill. A random, panicked act, perhaps. Or perhaps the deal Avi made with the world, their lives for mine. The world is cruel, and the world is random, comrade. I can see now that my father knew this. Perhaps that is why he armed my brother and tried to resist the soldiers. Perhaps if he had knelt as they commanded, I would not be here today, but tending to a child and to my goats. These are things we cannot know.

That is the second trouble of the simple life; it can be taken away, and like accidentally insulting the king to his face, the life you had can never be returned to. We are different from who we were yesterday. Indeed, you are different for simply listening to me now. You may deny it all you wish, but like all words, like all actions, this day will linger in the back of your mind. As that day did in mine, as I wandered the land. When you come from the simple life, you do what you can to cling to it. You know it is the best life that can be had. But as I said, life can not be returned to. I could no longer smile at the sun, reminded of a better time. I no longer had a family to laugh with. I could however, released from my bonds, find out what wonders lay beyond the horizon.

I see you looking at the insignia under my eye. Like my origins, it is not a riveting tale. At the sun’s first light at the end of the week, a restless soul found me defeated by heat and hunger. I had surrendered to the fickleness of nature even after my mother’s trade, such was my weakness. The traveler, perhaps understanding more of the world than I, denied me such a paltry surrender. He claimed to know my father, but I had never seen him near our farm. Nor had I heard the name Ihsan in the stories my father had regaled me with. But the choices are not many for a girl with no life. Trust the man in the desert with inscriptions on his face, or run and die. Perhaps you can imagine then, that with a mere drink of water, death seemed like a difficult choice to make. He whisked me away to a land of musty tomes, star-maps and learned talk. To me, it was as though we crossed the entire world, and before we reached his citadel, we had put much of the Empire beneath our feet. Hm? Yes, Tara, of course. Despite what you have heard, it is still the jewel of the world, of this there can be no discussion. In my journey from west to east, I had many glorious days of wonder, the first of many tastes of what lay beyond the hills.

He spoke to me only rarely. He did not have the patience for my questions or my sorrow. Instead, he would only offer me questions about the nature of the world. Parables and riddles to be solved. I had no mind for it, I am after all from the simple life. To worry about the nature of water, the heat of fire or the span of a man’s life, these are not things that bring comfort. I had seen comfort, but it could never be returned. When we reached his home, I saw that he was not alone in his worries. Likeminded men and women filled the halls. A monastery of learning, where worrying about the state of everything was as natural as feeding your animals. My choice was to leave, or learn.

So I worried about the nature of the stars. Pondered the significance of ancient texts. With my new family of worried scribes, I searched for the answers to all the wonders of the simple life. With each answer, as I knew, the life I longed for grew more and more distant. The simple life was unfulfilling. Tame. This is the curse of knowledge, my friend. To know is to worry. And I knew many things. I worried so much that this blemish on my face – yes, under my eye – was a necessity. Do not ask me why, even though I see you wish it. Knowing it will not help you. Today I can say only that my life at the monastery was a blur. In this new world, knowledge and oration was popularity. Friends were by your side as long as you were right. Most of my new family were too old to care for anything but my young body. What remained was to be right, and know everything.

Only the perils of the unnatural remained a true mystery. Like you, the curiosities of what I do not know catches my heart. That is our remnants from the simple life, the wonder from beyond the horizon. Knowledge comes with a great cost, my friend. It is like power, money, and laying with your husband; it evokes a lust. A yearning for more. Again, I had only a singular path ahead of me. To know everything. I came to this land, Baldock, for the prestigious school of the learned. The unnatural arts. You have heard of it? Good. Unfortunately, my disappointment was immeasurable.

Unlike my new family, there was no knowledge there. Only worrying. No debates, no true studies. Only the inevitable failure of arrogant men trying to stifle the curiosities of the simple life. But I had travelled too far. I had left a second family behind. Instead, I resolved I would learn the wonders of this new land. Perhaps find a third family to eventually leave for the answers on the far side of the hill. And that is what I have done, my friend. If you wished to know who I met along the way, it would be fair to say we would be here all the week. But there is a new mystery, for you, for me.

That is why we are both here, is it not? Just as you, I am here because of who I have smiled at, spoken to, curtsied for. It is some time ago now, that I regaled a lord's son with my stories. Talked to him about the real wonders of the world, outside the stuffy academy in Baldock. As I said before, my friend, knowledge is intoxicating. First I had to know, and now he does. Perhaps you do, as well? Who am I to deny a powerful man my eyes, my knowledge, my stories? I hope you understand a little better, now, that I am no one special.

What else can I hope to be, among the wonders of the world?”



Weapons: Arming knife
Armor: Quilted cloth
General Provisions: Enough talismans and trinkets to fill a year’s worth of stories. Rations for a few days.
Magical Items:



Magical Affinity: Javiyah has an innate understanding of the world and magic (or so it would seem) and appears to have a deep affinity for the unnatural arts, whether through symbology or innate ability is anyone’s guess.

Spells:

Wisdom of the Diamond Eye – After reproducing archaic symbols and chanting in a strange language, Javiyah’s tattoo glows and her eye appears to harden and gleam as though it were a diamond. Those unlucky enough to stare at her markings or eye find themselves rooted in place, unable to command their body. Staring for too long at the diamond eye invites maddening visions of a mirrored version of the world, where grass is crystallized and bleak, and the world’s features has been replaced by crystalline structures. Those foolish enough to maintain their gaze might find the landscape permanently changed. Likewise, using her eye in this manner strikes Javiyah with blindness both during and after the fact. Perhaps permanently, if she uses it with enough abandon.

Curse of Knowledge – Quite literally a curse, Javiyah chants a seemingly endless string of words that follow no modern conventions or reason, which by their very nature appear to catch the attention of listeners around her, no matter their race, creed or even species. The results are random, and dangerous. Those hearing enough of the words might be driven temporarily or permanently mad, enraged, fall into despair, or simply drop to the ground screaming. They partake in some fundamental truth of the universe, driven by Javiyah’s own need to know everything. Javiyah herself is entirely immobile during this experience and is by no means immune to outside influence. Furthermore, she is not immune to it’s effects, although it’s effect on her soul might not be so immediately apparent.

The Simple Life – Perhaps the easiest spell to stomach in Javiyah’s repertoire, this simple incantation requires that the woman physically touch her target while chanting her inane soliloquies. When struck in this manner, the unfortunate target of her attentions is gripped by a sudden stupor, forgetting what they were doing and dropping all previous matters to stare vacantly ahead of them. Interacting with them will jostle most people from this temporary curse, though the longer they are left alone, the harder it becomes to pull them from the day-dream. Again, this spell has no immediate outside effect on Javiyah, though her soul and mind are forever warped ever more. Her mood dims and she falls deeper into despair at knowing what could have been.

Gender:Male
Age:25
Race:Human
Profession: Auric is a blacksmith by way of trade,a mercenary by way of necessity, and a wanderer by preference.



Detailed Appearance: Auric is a sturdy young man just under six feet tall, he gets plenty of comments to the effect of being built like a buildings door. What he has taken people to mean is that he is broad of shoulder and square of frame, meaning he has little in the way of what on a woman might be called an hour glass figure. With arms and legs proportional to his torso he is well built for physical combat, and his prowess has marked his body with both lithe and rigid muscle.

Despite his shape and size, Auric carries himself with a degree of natural grace not often seen in untrained fighters, he is therefore often mistaken for a professional soldier. The fact that he is often found with fresh from the road grime, and stubble upon his face does not deter people from that impression of him. Scars mar his face, his arms and his torso, though most are not from teaching himself blade work, rather they are memories of his life as a blacksmith of his apprenticeship.

Deep blue eyes tinted with gradients of emerald green hide beneath his oft furrowed brow,the scars crossing his face and his perpetual fight with his emotion etching deep scowl lines into his otherwise young face. Medium length often scraggly hair sometimes hides the war within his eyes, when it is not tucked behind his ears or tied back. That hair long ago was bled of color a consequence of the seeds of magic, which haven't tainted his life for all these long years, when not stained black by road grime, he actively dies his hair a dark blue green a mix of dyes he has long since mastered the recipe for.

The most telling mark on Auric’s body, what you might call an identifying mark, is a criminals brand on his right shoulder twice struck through by scars and ink.The mark is both a telling sign of a magical crime, and a reminder to the young man of the life he lost to the curse of his emotions. The mark for all its stigma is worn openly, the right arm of his leather armored coat since removed, his forearm wrapped in thick strips of leather with small metal plates to defend his blade arm below the elbow. His hand covered in finger-less leather gloves, reveal the scars of trade and war.The armored leather coat has been bleached and re-bleached until it is snow white, the strips of leather and his pants a matching jet black, and his boots white leather calf boots padded for protection and comfort.

Detailed Backstory: Auric was born in a small town, the town was impoverished by comparison to a city, but it was capable of providing all its residents with what they might need should they only work for it. His father was a carpenter, and his mother tended the family plot of vegetables and herbs and traded her knowledge of herbs and remedies for small luxuries. As soon as he was old enough he was taken among the tradesmen, and when one finally sparked the boys interests and apprenticeship was arranged, the fees paid through a combination of his fathers trade and his mothers talent.

For many years the boy, had an uneventful apprenticeship he found joy in the forges, working the billows and even during the early days when he first was allowed to begin working with metals. Things slowly begin to shift when he starts puberty, frustration and anger at being teased and in competition with the other apprentices at their slights and petty cruelty, began to manifest, fires he works burning to bright, ingots he is hammering shattering unexpectedly, and injuries he cant explain to pair with each strange occurrence.

As is often the way with such things, the other apprentices noticed, and took it up as ammunition to use against him. This slowly simmered building for years, and as he worked through his apprenticeship he accumulated scars and injuries never fully able to explain them or the occurrences leading to them. In the year of his eighteenth birthday he completed his apprenticeship, ten years of working the forge and continuing despite the set backs and still he completed his graduation project, he created for his father and part of his final test a set of exquisite wood workers tools, a sign of what he had learned despite his inconsistency.

For all the joy that day started with, it ended in tragedy, when another journeyman disdainful of his progress and that he had succeeded despite the taunting and the sabotage of the other apprentices tasked with returning the tools from the master to Auric, decided that he would return them destroyed. This action stoked a fury within Auric unlike anything he had ever felt before, a rage like the burning heat of the bellows, and from that anger the seed of his magic once again bloomed into life. Fire and heat whipped around the freshly graduated blacksmith,burning at his arms even as shards of metal caught in the spell storm cut at him searing closed as quickly as they sliced the flesh. Unfocused rage burnt around the boy as his anger and an innate talent for magic unrealized tried to consume him, and then the other young man, the one who had set this in motion acted, a sound of disgust and distress and turning to flee.

In that moment Auric’s anger crystallized in focus and all the rage snapped, and with that shift of focus and fury, the pain the young man had put Auric through, emotional and physical was manifested upon him by magic all at once, even as Auric relived every moment of it revisited upon him by the magic as it burnt itself out. Both young men would survive, one by a miracle, the other Auric in this case, by what he felt had been a curse. The truth was much simpler, Auric simply had run out of fuel for his magic, it had consumed his rage and died down, leaving both boys forever scarred by the incident, and Auric’s life forever changed.

With that incident came the brand, and exile from his village, though he was allowed a single mercy, three days in the forge to shape himself a chance at new life. He had not killed with magic, and so he would not be put to death. Especially since it came out what had been being done to him for his whole apprenticeship. For those three days he worked the forges alone, responsible for keeping the fires stoked as he worked upon the tools which would hopefully be his salvation.

He crafted for himself two implements each rough wrought, but each of a single ingot of steel, one a medium length sword with a single bladed edge and a thick heavy spine, no guard to speak of but a hilt of double the length and a pommel left empty but with room for a stone. With this blade he would defend himself, and with the other implement he would feed himself and eek out a living. His second tool then would be a spear unlike many such tools which blended the boons of wood and metal he chose to make his of solid steel, a heavy tool which would force him to become stronger and faster to survive and make use of it. It was near identical in design to any similar wooden tool, except he made of its blade a wedge like triangular blade brutally sharp along both edges, and at the other end a ball like protrusion of concentrated weight.

His mercy ended, Auric’s exile began, and with it his new life. At first he subsisted hunting and eating what he hunted, making new clothing where he could from the skins without the time to turn it into real leather or fur, and using the bones as tools to supplement, but in time he found himself with two things, a desire for more and a desire to wander. These eventually resulted in him trading with villages, he hid his brand during these days, and traded furs, skins and kills for things he wanted, eventually obtaining the armored coat he still wears dyed white as snow, the sheathe to his sword custom made as such things should be. Quality boots to make such things as travel easier. Day by day month by month his life got better, but his fear of his emotions prevented him from settling so he moved ever onward till one day he came across a battlefield, years of hunting by blade and spear had honed his instincts and his body, and when he was inevitably confused for a combatant he found he had a natural talent for physical combat, he struck down his attacker with the cold efficiency of a hunter, and offered him the same mercy he would offer a beast.

From that day onward though, he offered his services not only as a hunter of beasts, but as a slayer of men, and from that one incident his road had erred not one step but lead him true unto a truth, that with the same training he had employed upon his body, he might also tame his emotions and in doing so kill his fear of himself. Since then his path has lead him forward, but also into ever more dangerous situations and this new venture to help quell the curse was no exception.



Weapons: A single edged broad sword wrought of a single piece of steel forged by his own hand,its hilt of unusual length and wrapped in the strips of leather and fur gathered from his hunting conquests, the pommel stone eventually filled with a blue lapis.

A spear wrought blade and shaft of one piece of worked steel rolled and twisted despite its added weight,the weapon resembles a common hunting spear but for its singular construction and material. The wedge like blade is slightly broader and longer and its blades are kept wickedly sharp.The weight at the far end is polished to a high shine and it is often employed as a skull cracker as readily as a counter weight. The haft has several punched holes to facilitate the wrapping of two sections in soft leather and hide to ensure his grip should not slip.

Armor:A snow white coat of armored leather, the right sleeve is missing, the metal plates which reinforce the other wise flimsy protection of the leather designed for easy replacement should they be sundered, and for maintained flexibility at the cost of some possible protection. Additionally padded leather pants gloves and armored leather boots make up the ensemble.He lacks the protection of heavy infantry such as plate, or light infantry such as chain, and opts for a scouts or vanguards armor choices fitting his style of movement and combat.

General Provisions: In terms of food the hunter is well off, having pouches of freshly roasted meats, the morning of, or the night before, as well as some of smoked trail rations. He carries little coinage, spending what he gets and bartering for what he needs when he doesn't have it.He carries a sack with a hammock and fire starting tools, as well as a hammer a blacksmiths tool well worn by the years a memento of his past but also a tool as he often barters for time with the forges to repair his gear.

Magical Items: (leave this blank at the start)



Magical Affinity: Auric has a strong affinity for or gift of magic, though he has no control and no particular desire to learn. He considers the gift an actual curse upon his emotions. His talent produces effects derived from his emotion and proportional to what he feels, with the normal repercussions. Additionally outbursts of magic result in emotional exhaustion as the gift consumes the emotion which triggered it in addition to whatever damage it does to Auric and the person his emotions were directed at.

Spells: Minor Outburst - This corresponds to an outburst of Auric’s emotions, such as a bout of frustration, or an angry response to a snide comment, as the emotional response if not particularly severe the effect of the magic is fairly minor, such as if he is angry something on his person or the other person catching fire,or if he is frustrated something breaking normally something of his since frustration is normally internalized, but it has been known to be aimed at other people.For whatever effect his magic causes, it is revisited upon him proportionally if something catches fire he is burnt regardless of who it belonged to, if something breaks he suffers minor fractures or dislocations.

Major Outburst - These are rare and correspond to the types of emotions you experience during life altering situations, the pain of traumatic injury, the fear of death, the anger at witnessing true horror, frustration born of true impotence, and grief born of the loss of a loved one or companion. Auric has only ever experienced a small number of these events, the first of which saw him cast out of his village on the eve of his ascent into adulthood and into success as a blacksmith, and result was a storm of fire and steel wrought of years of repressed anger and frustration, and for the one moment his emotion crystallized around another it nearly killed them both. These effects are unpredictable and severe, correspond to the emotion he is feeling and each has a good chance of killing him depending on how his emotions are spent and whether the spell wrought of those emotions comes to fruition.

Gender: Woman
Age: 57
Race: Elf
Homeland: Kingdom of Baldock
Profession: Medic



Detailed Appearance: Aemma's appearance is far from foreboding. She stands much shorter than most of her kind. Her lithe shape, old age, and declining physical prowess have left her hunched over slightly most of the time. Even still, buried beneath mounds of ragged clothes, an overcoat and hood, there is a roguish streak about her. Her skin, the color of cinnamon spices, is tough and wrinkled. Calloused hands from years of service as a combat medic are still her best ally despite their slight shakiness. Aemma's weary eyes are a deep black, but made somehow more soft nestled between crows-feet and bags. Her smile is warm, but even at her happiest there is a melancholy she carries with her.

Typically her linen are without color, a dull grey. Her overcoat and hood are a mix of steel grey and black. She wears knee high boots leather boots. On her person at all time are a number of medicinal supplies and recipes stored in pouches and pockets that line her clothing. Torn gloves do little to hide the bandages that wrap around her hands and wrists beneath. Her tattered coat flows to her shins, and her hood obscures most of her white whittling hair save for parts of her bangs.

Aemma's body is scarred nearly everywhere because of her healing magic. Her face has finer scars, save for a healed gash on her cheek, as most people who have injuries to the head either don't survive them or don't have injuries that practical medicine can't fix. Lining most of her body are stab wounds, burns, gashes, and other manner of scars from injuries she never personally received. The clothing manages to hide most of them save for the occasional wrist or neck scar.

Detailed Personality:Aemma's experiences never really changed who she was, not really. Rather, they only exaggerated many of the traits she'd had. Of course her naivete has been stripped away with age, but she still remains hopeful of better tomorrows. There is a melancholy that shadows Aemma most days. She is thoughtful- sometimes noticeably so. She often gazes longingly ahead of her. Reflection and introspection are important to Aemma, and she finds it hard to respect those incapable of facing their own faults. Aemma is very protective, not just of friends, but of everyone she deems to be innocent or good. She isn't loud or brash, but is sharp. She doesn't use wit or clever barbs to interact with undesirables. Instead, her persistent calmness, compassion, and wisdom tend to win out. She usually has an answer for most things. Even if it isn't the correct one.

She believes in treating everyone with a basic level of respect until they do something to warrant taking away said respect. She is often rather sweet, and enjoys humming elven hymns. She is a terrible cook, but enjoys it all the same. She often laughs at others being unwilling to tell her how awful her food tastes for fear of upsetting her. Not much offends her, but she is quick to defend someone who might be hurt by words. Perhaps the darkest side of Aemma is her fixation with order in the face of disaster. She will murmur spells and medical recipes to herself obsessively in times of crisis, and unfortunately may lash out at others in dire situations should they get something wrong. This isn't out of anger, but out of a compulsion no doubt brought on by her trauma.

Aemma is a caretaker above all else. She doesn't like being looked after or pitied, especially in her old age. She tends to get impatient when people pay her too much attention. She'd much rather listen- to a friend, a stranger, or a gentle breeze- than talk about herself. Her input is almost usually advice, anecdotal or otherwise. She enjoys the company of people. She likes crowds and feels safest surrounded by others- especially strangers.

---

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

Like most born in Baldock, I was a child forged by blood oaths and swords. An empire who accounted not for souls, for people, but for the shields they'd soon carry. I suppose that explains the naivete of my mother and father, Maker keep them. They were elves born to foreign lands poor and tired of rule under the Elven Matriarchs. They'd hoped Baldock would be different. Tis often I reflect on the failings of old wisdom, and how comfortable it is to simply exist. Consistency. That is what Myrran and Paeral sought in foreign lands. A sense of normalcy away from the realities of home. A neutral peace.

For a time that is what they had. I was born on the eve of the latest excursion into Orc territory. Myrran, my mother, had taken to working as a handmaiden to petty nobles. Paeral, my father, was a sheep herder. Our humble home stored one bed with a kitchen no larger than a merchant stand. I remember my father would read me stories of their homeland. Of the triumphs of our elven ancestors. He never had the courage to tell my mother that he regretted coming here. My mother was a stern women so, for that, I could not fault my father. She spent much time away from our cottage. Still, she always managed to return home with fresh bread and a new lecture.

Of all of the lessons she imparted there remained one constant. Keep your nose down, and stay out of trouble. I was never great at listening. I had little want for keeping to the shadows of the world that was. It was a different kind of naivete than my parents'. I would see the soldiers coming back from failed excursions. I watched as the physicians treated them with leeches and controlled magic. It was the same kind of power that I possessed. I could feel their life force humming in their hands.

In this world very few are blessed with the tools to change their circumstances. By the time I was old enough, I traveled into the city of Dalton. I'd heard of their academy, and I had already learned to use the magic I possessed in small ways. My father pleaded that I reconsider. My mother refused every time I begged. I'd trail behind her every morning on her way into the city. It took months of my pestering, but eventually she permitted me to go.

The things I learned in that school were not at all what I expected. Instead of a place to harness my power it was a place of fear-mongering. A place that taught me to fear my capabilities rather than teach me how to use them safely. Luckily there were those in the city who disagreed with such methods of teaching. I learned what I could from them, and from the academy. I trained closely with Dalton physicians. Suturing, bloodletting, needling, alchemy, barrier projection, and of course calling on magic as treatment. I'd even managed to see a trepanning procedure before it fell out of practice. I couldn't mentor under a doctor in any official capacity, of course, I was an academy student. I was not meant to be taking lessons from mages outside of the orthodoxy. Nevertheless more practical doctors would allow me to assist them, fetch supplies, and take notes. I do remember an older physician. I never learned of his name. I remember I'd sit high on the fences overlooking the marketplace watching him work. He was the fastest I'd ever seen. I wanted so badly to speak with him. I never got the chance.

All of my greatest lessons came from my work as a medic in combat. I served as doctor to soldiers in the field. Fear of bleeding out leaves little room for error or for nerves. It was here that I would meet my husband. Lambert the Toad Knight, they called him. The old fool was a novice in soldier's armor. I think back on those days with a bittersweet nostalgia. I can remember the sting of desert sun against my youthful face. There was one particular night, I remember braving the Badlands. Our camp was forced to fall back for another water source. I remember coming face-to-face with an orcish unit- it was my first time. The orcs ripped through half of our party in minutes. We were lucky that any of us managed to escape the ambush. I remember Lambert sitting with me beneath the stars all night, after it was over. He took a hard fall, and was hardly great company. Even still, that was the night I fell in love with him. Love didn't make him a better warrior. Among my amputee patients, those with plague or rashes, was almost always Lamber with some new injury. It was how I came to know him so well. He was under my tent more than I was. I watched the fire fall from his eyes when the injuries never stopped coming. It wasn't long before he was forced to retire his sword. After returning home to him I found little reason to endanger myself again in direct combat. I saw how the Orcs brutalized our forces. At the time I had hated their kind, for it. Seeing men ripped asunder time after time will break you in ways unimaginable to most. Even the most righteous men seem monsters when they cast large shadows.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

There was another reason I chose to stay home. I was with child. I moved from my parents' cottage into the city with Lambert. My mother was overjoyed to see me settled down. But she would never see her wishes for me fulfilled. She passed away a fortnight before I delivered my son, Orym. Named for one of the fabled elven mages in the stories his grandfather read to me as a child. My mother's death left my father touched. He locked himself away in their cottage. Lambert and I ensured that the livestock, and my father, kept from starving. Eventually my father refused to eat. He passed on when Orym was but four months old. With my parents gone I was left feeling empty. I buried myself in research, and in doing so was confronted with the vision of the world I once had. I'd settled for comfort. For the world the way it was. I enlisted as a medic when Orym was seven months old.

Like my mother before me I spent most of my time away from home. I worked in the barracks, mostly. I treated soldiers returning home, but I also treated war prisoners when they got sick. It was in caring for these patients that I met some of my closest friends. Somehow it was easier forming bonds with people who never really got better. There is wisdom in a waning soul. Especially in one that had seen what they'd seen. One such Orc prisoner, Xalen, was a scholar before Baldock forces pushed into orc lands. He told me of the beautiful vistas to the south. Of his home, and of his family. The reasons he fought. Xalen was resilient. He was a brutish figure, but as the wrinkles thickened on our faces so too did our health decline. The conditions wore him down. It was a cough first, and then lesions next. I applied the treatments I'd given to every sick prisoner brought into the ward. What they ordered me to give them. It never changed much. They always lost their fight, in the end.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

Xalen soon lost his fight too. The assistant physicians carried him off like so many others. But he wasn't the others. He was one of the brightest men I'd ever met. I refused to let his body be burned without given him a prayer to our Maker. I went to the morgue at midnight. What I saw changed me forever. Xalen's body, among the other orcs, was bloated and the lesions where gangrenous. I studied his body for what felt like hours. I never studied orc physiology, but I knew what poison looked like. The reality was that I already had my answer. I wasn't studying them for some other explanation. I was trying to justify what I'd done. The orders I followed. We were't treating these people. We were killing them.

In my fumbling I was sloppy, careless. I was found by night patrol guards, and imprisoned. I knew the barracks and the cells better than any of them. By the time I escaped however, it was too late. I'd returned home to a house rummaged through. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. I found my Orym, just shy of twenty, ran through on the floor. His coughs were dry and hoarse. He was burning up. I knew I needed to stop the bleeding and bring down his fever. I used my magic to try to close his wounds. As the hole in his chest closed I felt a tearing and burning at my own chest. The pain was unbearable. Through that I managed to close most of the wound, but he still was choking up blood. He'd become ill. In that moment I thought of my Orym laying there for hours crying for his mother. Shaking the thought I searched for the ingredients to try and soothe him.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk. Most of my equipment and supplies was smashed on the floor. No doubt Orym tried to fight back. A fool just as his father was. I'd managed to scrape some of the elfroot from the floor, and I had a spare bundle of swamp-seeds. In that moment I was panicked. I was careless.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk, and Nightshade. Maker, I swear I could never forget it again.

I couldn't save my son. I certainly couldn't cut through armed guards and save my husband. I contemplated residing myself to the same fate as my father. That's what my mind commanded me to do. Unfortunately, I was never great at listening.

Now I wander the realm using my body and my magic to set things right. I will atone for my mistakes. I am a healer to the sick and the oppressed. Each scar that curses this withering body is a small redemption for the lives I took. Never did I think my newfound purpose would bring me back to the Kingdom of Baldock willingly, no less under the employ of a noble family. The Lochborne's offered me clemency to move freely through their hold in return for my services. A darkness is coming.

I will not fail these people. I cannot.



Weapons: Taran Jade- Aemma was never a skilled swordsman, but daggers were quick and discreet. A Taran dagger stolen from a patrol near the Orcish border. It's green hilt is covered by tattered bandages stained with old blood.
Armor: Tattered Redeemer's Robes-Aemma's robes are worn, but offer protection from the elements. She wants for little, and needs only her tools.
Armor: Wanderer's Coat-A sturdy overcoat, tattered and stained with dust. Its hood offers discretion in areas Aemma is better off unseen.

General Provisions:Medical Supplies- Aemma's coat and clothes are adorned with a number of pockets and pouches that hold a number of medicinal herbs and supplies. Small scrolls line her pockets as well. She keeps record of every recipe on her person, and can quickly refer to whichever one is needed in a given situation. Sutures, bandages, a small sterile blade, and other first aid essentials are among her supplies.
Magical Items:



Magical Affinity: Aemma has very little offensive capability. Her magic is mostly used to heal the party, but can be used defensively to warn off attackers.

Spells:

Healing Hands: Aemma's primary minor healing ability. A minor spell that can heal small ailments quickly. This is particularly useful in combat as it has a very short cast time. While this ability can be used reliably, upon each use Aemma suffers from greater pain. This usually takes the form of migraines that become quite intense of repeated use. This can be enough to wear her down physically if she isn't careful.

Healer's Oath: The more potent of Aemma's healing capabilities. This is a sustained spell that can heal grave and potentially fatal wounds. There are a number of downsides to this spell. The spell has a longer cast time, and Aemma sustains damage when healing someone. Closing wounds on another may create the wound on her own body. She heals faster from these wounds than an actual injury, but still requires rest after using it.

Second Wind: A spell that allows Aemma to lend her magic to an ally. In this state the target has bolstered attack and defenses as well as limited replenished health. This comes at a harsh cost for Aemma who is rendered near immobile (often only mobile enough to try to find cover). This ability drains her of most of her magic for some time afterwards. She is also more vulnerable to attacks in this state, and has far weaker defenses in this state.