Name: Arleon Baristol
Title: None
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Class: Dread Necromancer

Physical Appearance
Arleon is clad in masterwork quality scale mail with a dark hood over his head. His hair is middle-length, touching the back of his neck with a couple of locks draping over his left eye. He bears a spear with a dark metal tip and a solid dark wood staff. He is pale with slightly sunken eyes bearing the vision of exhaustion along the base of his eyes. His eyes are a deep sea blue with darker blue cores around the center black pupil.

Personality
Arleon is driven by a desire to command and master his own fate. The concept of servitude is appalling unless it serves the purpose of helping him along to his own goal. In such cases, he will tolerate a chain of command or even an organization with resources. He finds pleasure in solitude and enjoys researching his art, dark as it may be to some. The study of corpses and the dead brings a fascination one could exclaim to a child near candy.

Motivation
Arleon desires to achieve his own sense of immortality through mastering the powers of the necromantic arts.

History
Arleon was an orphan child from parents slaughtered by raiders. He was taken in by a violent and disturbed magician who fancied himself fantastic in his ways. Using the desperation of a youthful Arleon, this man traveled far to perform as Arleon stole a coin from the onlooking crowds. No rings, necklaces, of fanciful things. Simply coin. Straight and simple.

On one fateful day, Arleon happened to steal from a person who was also being murdered by the man next to him. In the panic-stricken crowd, Arleon was found with the weapon at his feet and blood on his hands, though the small boy had actually tried to help. He was disowned by the magician and carried off by the guard.

Per the laws of the state, Arleon was fifteen and well over their considered age of concession. He was sentenced to die in two days. During his time in his cell, be found himself praying to whoever would listen. Pleading for mercy at any cost. The morning before his fate drew to a close, a young woman who had taken pity on him sought to bring him one last meal.

Before her arrival, Arleon woke to the presence of a spear in his cell with a marking upon it as if burned into the wood. He did not question and simply obtained the weapon, ready to strike and flee. As the door opened, his spear struck true...through the woman's chest and through her heart.

A tear rolled down her cheek as he caught her. What mere moments she had left we spent looking into his sorrow filled, guilt-ridden eyes. She whispered 'run' into his ear, knowing his folly was true without a vindictive nature and wishing to see him succeed in freeing himself from his wrongful imprisonment.

After she passed, he grasped the spear and ran in a rage. As he cut down two guards along the way, the spear seemed to collect the blood but he paid no attention. As he reached the back border wall, he faced solid stone between himself and freedom. With so many deaths, he would be certain. A whisper riddled in his ear and, for one many would call folly, he struck at the stone with the spear. The stone erupted in an explosion as the blood soaked into the weapon.

Realizing the spear was no simply gift...and the cost of his freedom...Arleon fled with every intention to learn more of this dark power and pray to whoever brought him his freedom. However, his faith in such religion did not last. During his tenure within the order, Arleon was dismissed many times for his questioning. Eventually, he left the order, swearing to serve their dark god, but in his own way.

Equipment
- Masterwork Scale Mail
- Masterwork Longspear
- Pouch of silver and copper coin
- Trinkets, survival gear, general equipment

Strengths
An intimidating force he uses to his advantage on the battlefield and in negotiations.
Moderate melee combat skills coupled with moderate arcane magic.

Weakness
Not a tank
Not a sorcerer
Not a negotiator
Will not harm women unless they strike first

Relationshis
None

Name: Andrew Whitwood
Title: Baron
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Species: Half-elf
Class: Rouge

Physical Appearance
Andrew dresses differently based on the role he is trying play. From street rat to minor noble. He likes to wear bright and colorful clothing. When he can. He is tall with black hair and brown eyes. He is very human looking with a enough elf to make him look exotic.

Personality
Andrew can be very charming and manipulative. He is driven by the desire to reclaim his family’s land and title. He is a cheater at games of chance. He would slap you on the back and steel your wallet. He is constantly measuring the odds of any action he takes.

Motivation
Is driven by the desire to reclaim his title, which he believes would only occur through assassinating his younger step-brother who is a full elf. He was easily lead to this cause as it to would hurt his dear step-brother. The ability to learn more magic and the darker arts needed for his roguish ways appeal to him.

History
Born in an elven Barony. A child born of an elf father and a human mother. His mother died when he was young. His father remarried, well bedded an elven serving girl who bore his step brother. To his shock, he became the bastard son. Once Titled, educated, and discharged like a watermelon seed is spited out. He found himself wandering with his things.

In a larger training community, he found his new calling. He learned from “team” the art of the con. An old bard taught him to put on different faces through makeup and wigs, and to act and watch. He learned to tell a joke and be a clown, singing was not his gift. From the rouge he learned to forge, to work the person up to maximize the take, and the routine thieving skills that are needed. He was good at forging.

He hated to wear the dresses they put him in. Shaving his arms, chest and back.

Equipment
- Elven leather armor.
- Thieves tools (masterwork)
- elven dagger and short sword.
- forgery supplies with paper from different places.
- a donkey with saddle bags with disguises.
- Good common clothes.

Strengths
Disarming charm and manors
Fast of hand
Acting
Knife throwing
moderate
Sword play
Bowery
Weakness
Not a tank
Not a magic user yet
Will negotiate and try to Bargain first. (Normally takes the first hit)

Relationship
His younger step brother - Luvon
Fitz Greenbuck - old guild master and drinking buddy.

Name: Durzul “Zul” The Wild
Title: None
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Species: Half-Orc, Quarter Human, Quarter Elf
Class: Barbarian

Physical Appearance
Being an amalgamation of several races, Zul certainly has an interesting appearance. Though her features are obviously dominated by her Orc blood she still has hints of Elf and Human traits that make it hard for her to pass as a pure Orc. At a towering 6’6”, she is generally taller than most human men but shorter than most full-blooded Orc. Thick muscles line her body, toned from years of harsh survival and fighting. Her skin is pale gray and crisscrossed with various scars. The most notable of these marks is a huge knotted gash that runs across her back from her upper right shoulder to her left hip.

Zul’s face is where the most notable hints of her mixed lineage surface. She has the prominent jaw of her mother’s race but lacks the signature protruding Orcish teeth. Instead, she has tiny nubs of fangs that just barely peek up from her bottom lip. The mixture of Elf and Human in her has done much to soften her features. While still nowhere near the fairness of an Elf, Zul has a unique beauty all her own. High cheekbones, large red eyes, and slightly elongated ears all balance out her somewhat manish appearance. If she had a more feminine hairstyle she might be considered somewhat pretty. Instead, Zul wears the typical braids of an Orc warrior. Intertwined in the black twists of thick hair are various silver rings and beads.

Personality
Bloodlust is not the reason Durzul rejoices at the thought of battle. She loves the exhilaration of danger, the chaos of blades clashing like shimmering waves, the comradery one can only find between brothers and sisters in arms. Since she is not one to crave simple death and destruction, Zul doesn't pick pointless fights with just anyone. However, if challenged outright she is more than happy to oblige.

That being said, Zul's rage is a force to be reckoned with. Thanks to a lively, if not crude, sense of humor she can take most ribbing jokes without becoming angered. If one were to question her ability in battle or her dedication to her company, then one better be prepared to dodge a few axe blows as well. Her lack of patience is what causes her the most trouble. Often times the long waits between fights will leave her antsy or moody.

An oddity of her otherwise harsh personality is her love of the arts. Be it musical, spoken word, or fine craftsmanship. Zul's bard father left his mark on her and she continues to admire those with the gift of gab. Something she does not possess. In diplomatic moments, Zul tends to keep silent and listen. Her bluntness is not always appreciated when there is a need for tactful words. This brooding quiet gives her an air of mystery to some but she sees it as knowing her place. She's a warrior, not a diplomat.


Motivation
Know what’s bad business for sellswords? Peace treaties. Zul enjoyed her time when the Farhelgur and Eshhire were at each other's throats and once talks of peace started she lamented over her loss of sport. She was approached about a certain mission to circumvent this treaty and immediately signed up. However, she doesn’t understand why they don’t just lop off the envoys' heads and be done with it.

History
There once was a very, very brave bard. He was traveling the land and got himself caught in a blizzard, nearly freezing to death. He was rescued by Urzul, a banished Orc woman who had made her home in the wild north. The two spent a long winter snowed in Urzul’s tiny cabin.

By the time spring had melted the last of the stubborn snow, Durzul was born. For years it was just the three of them in their mountain home. Though looking back on memories, Durzul believes her father stayed more out of fear of her mother than love. He always did dote upon Durzul and taught her to appreciate the music and beauty of the world around her. His gift of storytelling was her only eye to the world beyond their remote cabin.

Durzul’s mother refused to let her daughter become soft with music and stories. In true Orcish fashion, Zul went through relentless training from a young age. Her mother often saying that she had to make up for her weak blood. It was around her tenth birthday that her father disappeared, after arguing with Urzul over the recently broken bones of their only child. Whether he finally escaped or Urzul killed him is still a mystery.

The harsh instruction of Durzul continued for some years. Finally, she had enough. She yearned to see the land beyond the snowy forests. One morning she confronted her mother with her plans to leave and was immediately struck to the ground. The two struggled for what seemed like hours. As things seemed to be going poorly for Durzul, her mother spat at her and remarked that she was as weak as her father. A sudden, blinding rage engulfed Durzul and she renewed the battle with her mother. Finally, she slammed the blade of a woodcutting axe deep into her mother's chest. The battle was over.

After giving her mother a proper burial and taking what supplies she could, Durzul set out to make her mark on the world.

It wasn’t long before she got herself tangled up in a bit of a mess. Drunk and naive to the ways of the world, Durzul ended up shanghaied into serving in the military. While her success in battle and popularity with her comrades were obvious, she often challenged the authority of those over her. Superiors said that if they could simply remove her personality then they would have the perfect soldier. After nearly shattering the humerus of an officer, Zul was dishonorably discharged from service. She would have been arrested and charged had she not taken out a good number of men before making a hasty escape.

With her taste for war ignited, Zul started her own mercenary group. The War Hounds were very successful in their start but just as things were going well, disaster struck. Peace talks began between the Farhelgur and Eshhire leaving the future of the conflict uncertain.

Equipment
Thick leather armor
Dual wield war axes
Short bow with 10 Arrows
Metal gauntlet covering left forearm and hand.
Travel pack with survival gear and minor healing items.
Flask of rotgut rum.
A miniature kalimba, a gift from her father

Strengths
Physical Strength
Battle Prowess
Menacing Appearance
Survival
Rage
Darkvision

Weaknesses
No magical abilities
Prone to anger
Low stealth
No negotiations
Criminal past

Relationship
Former service buddies and members of The War Hounds. No living family that she knows of.

Note: I've never played D&D (always wanted to) so I had to do a lot of research for this. If I need to fix something let me know!