ＢＡＳＩＣ ＩＮＦＯ

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ᴿᴼᴬᴺ | ²⁹ | ᴴᵁᴹᴬᴺ | ᴹᴬᴸᴱ

ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ

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ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ

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What can be said about Roan? His personality is pretty stock standard when one thinks about his up-bringing. He has been characterized as a gentle bastard by some of his more... unpleasant acquaintances, but don't be discouraged! He can be very accommodating if he's in a good mood. This usually happens after clearing a quest or making it big in one of the capital's many gambling dens he so loves to patronize - mostly they love him instead but that's a story for another time...

Aside from that, though, Roan is a decent communicator and as far as humor is concerned... let's just say that he tends to keep his wit about him around new people. To his friends and close ones, however, he's very open and straightforward, not beating around the bush when it comes to serious matters and pretty good company when it's time to be merry.

ＢＲＩＥＦ ＢＡＣＫＳＴＯＲＹ

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Roan was born in a pretty peaceful village close to the eastern border of Estival. His family consisted of his mother, Lea, his father Grezen, and his two siblings Trey and Calum, 4 and 5 years younger than Roan respectively. His father worked as the sole blacksmith of their village, supporting his family of four decently well. Despite the fact that with the money his father earned, he could be the sole earner of the family and they still would not have problems living a respectable life, Roan's mother insisted that everyone should contribute however they could. Due to this, Roan and his siblings learned the value of work at a very young age.

By the age of 12 he had become an apprentice in his father's smithy, helping around and learning from him the art of the blacksmith. Of course, his father's skills would never measure up to the standards of dwarven metallurgy, but Roan nevertheless loved doing what he did and, or course, his father loved teaching him. This peaceful life lasted for about 4 more years before the incident happened.

The incident is what Roan has dubbed the sudden disappearance of his mother and his two siblings. One fateful day, the then 16 year old Roan returned from the smithy to celebrate the end of his apprenticeship, only to find his home ransacked and empty. The front door had been broken down, the inside of the medium-sized house vandalized and his family members where nowhere to be found.

The incident changed Grezen, and Roan saw a side of his father that he had never seen before. From the proud, stalwart man that treated everyone around him with kindness and hearty laughter, Grezen turned into a deadbeat alcoholic that squandered all their money to feed his newfound gambling addiction. Roan pained to see his father in such a state, however, and tried his everything to keep a semblance of the life they previously had. Since his father had quit working the forge, Roan took up the mantle of village blacksmith. For a few years, he supported his father and himself with his work, and even managed to repair all the damage that their house had been subjected to. Alas, fate had more in store for Roan, however, as one day his father decided to leave as well. Suddenly, one day while he and his father were eating dinner in silence, as they always did after the disappearance, his father pushed his chair back, stood up and walked out the door, never to be seen again.

For several days after, Roan functioned almost mechanically, waking up in the morning and going to work before returning home. He made dinner for himself, ate it in silence and went to sleep. Rinse and repeat. Finally, one day he too realized that he had nothing tying him to the village anymore. His family was gone and the blacksmith position could be easily replaced by someone from the capital.

He boarded up the house and the smithy, bundled up a set of clothing, collected the last bits of gold he had and one of the swords he had made and took off as well. He wandered around, traveled to multiple towns, cities and villages within the borders of Estival, and eventually he found himself passing through the gates of the country's capital. He made his way to the Adventurer Guild's building and joined up. The rest is history...

ＥＱＵＩＰＭＥＮＴ ＆ ＳＫＩＬＬＳ

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In battle, Roan is used to being lightly-armored, just enough to have the basic protection needed in order to adventure. Below his hooded cloak and clothing he wears a stiff chain-mail vest that has protects his vital points. His sword, made of good quality steel, is one he had made himself years ago and had yet to fail him. Of course, he takes good care of it and thus it's still razor sharp despite its age. Aside from his weapons and armor, he also has a backpack with assorted adventuring items.

Roan is a Rank 5 Sword adventurer. He has been a part of the Guild for over 8 years and has built up some decent reputation as a quality swordsman. Although having received the basic training the Guild provides to all new adventurers, he's realistically all but learned his swordsmanship through the battles he's faced as an adventurer, slowly growing into the man he is today. He is agile and quick on his feet, able to jump from enemy to enemy with relative ease, while his years of training as a smith has built up a body full of strength, giving him the ability to explode with power whenever he needs to overcome a difficult opponent. His style of swordsmanship is one of relative unpredictability as he's always on the look to exploit a moment of weakness in his enemy's defense in order to finish the battle as fast as possible.

Aside from his fighting abilities, he's an actual quality blacksmith by trade, despite not really practicing the profession all that much in the last few years. His eyes still retain the keenness of one who knows his way around metal, and thus he can identify if a weapon or armor is of good quality from just looking at them for a few moments.

He is also a very bad gambler, but I don't know if this counts a skill or not... he certainly impresses those that run those gambling dens he frequents, he's basically a walking money bag for them, the gift that keeps on giving!

• Name: Nehir Rasim
• Age: 19
• Gender: Male
• Race: Nem
• Rank: 5 of Wands
• Appearance:
  At a standing height of 3'3, Nehir is actually on the shorter side of most Nem. He is often somewhat underkempt, clothes somewhat threadbare and cheaply made. He hates most shoes and would prefer to be bare foot when possible. However, the life of an adventurer often requires proper footwear, sadly all he can afford are sandals.
• Personality: Nehir is an ambitious and inquisitive mind, often sporadically hopping from topic to topic excitedly. He loves to speak and is always eager to waggle the ear of any soul kind enough to listen (or unfortunately trapped in the same space as him, depending on how you feel), especially those who, like himself, specialize in area of effect spells. Outside of work he is quiet the social butterfly, always happen to lend a hand or spare some coin to fix whatever broken odds or ends around the guild. He is also known for having a...unique presence in battle. Laughing with a mad giddiness as he rains down a veritable blizzard on the battle field. Given this record, it is common knowledge in the guild to never /ever/ allow Nehir to drink alcohol.
• Brief Backstory: Nehir was born in Estival and has lived within its boarders for all of his life. Initially his family (mother, two elder brothers and sister) made their home in a medium sized logging town two days west of Venne, his mother plying her trade as a merchant for a sizable paper mill in the area, traveling into and out of the capital on an almost monthly basis.
  
  Nehir never really had any interest in following his mother's footsteps, finding the idea of sales meetings to be deathly boring. In what few times he ventured to the capital with her for work, it was often a struggle to stay awake during most of her meetings. But there was a bright spot. The Mage's College of Venne was a long standing client of the mill and, to Nehir at least, the single most beautiful place in the world. He wanted nothing more than to drop everything and start the first time he laid eyes on its halls.
  
  His mother refused, neither wanting her child to enter what she saw as such a dangerous field of study and adamant that he should follow in the family business.
  
  Magic infatuated Nehir, far more than the idea of selling paper ever could. Over a few years he managed to cobble together the basics of the art through a combination of sneakily buying books whenever he went to Venne (a task easier said than done...) and his own experimentation by a creek near his home. By age 16 he had the basics down, if heavily unrefined. He knew it wasn't by any means prodigious progress. But he had hoped it was enough to worm his way into the college, running away from home in the dead of night, intent on only returning when he was an accomplished mage.
  
  It...it didn't work out. For a number of reasons. While they appreciated his enthusiasm for the craft they found his methods...lacking for a better term. To the point that what few teachers who would even look his way suggested (albiet kindly) suggested he perhaps give up entirely. What teachers didn't say that knew who his mother was and knew of her objections to his attendance and refused flatly on those grounds instead.
  
  Embarrassed at his failure and too stubborn to return home, Nehir spent the next few months idling in the capital, practically burning through what little money he'd managed to save in that time. One day, wallowing in his new poverty and long standing embarrassment, he accidentally wandered near the grounds of the Guild hall, the air suddenly rocked by an explosion.
  
  At first he thought it was an attack of some sort, but the thunderous laughter that followed quickly broke that illusion. Peeking through the iron bars he saw of the wisp of ozone and wavering air indicative a strong fire spell and the mage who casted it.
  
  That explosion probably saved his life. He practically begged the guild to give him a job, starting as a lowly scribe. For the next three years he spent much of his daylight hours doing the accounting work he spent the bulk of his childhood avoiding and at night he spent his time on the training field. Honing whatever limited talent he had, not into the refined elegant tapestry of the arcane that was taught in the college. Instead he trade elegance for raw, devastating power.
  
  When he finally asked for field duty, he was warmly welcomed to it.
• Equipment: As a mage, Nehir keeps his equipment load fairly light. He carries some modest camping equipment (Nem sized unfortunately for you taller sorts.) as a small assortment of pots and pans for cooking on the road.
  His most prized possession is his wand. A scepter of heavy brass intricately etched with runes and topped with a dendrite quartz sphere. The scepter was built to reduce incantation times for his spells enough to make them usable in combat while still being able to handle the strain of it's users rather....bombastic spell choices. Sadly, there was little room for any augments for accuracy.
• Skills: