Full Name and Aliases (if any): Karuhar 'the Scholar'

Race: Asur (High Elf)

Homeland: While Lothern and their wider Kingdom of Eataine are perhaps the most famous Elvish kingdom to outsiders of Ulthuan, there can be no doubt that it is the hardy folk of coastal Cothique who truly rule the waves around the island-nation and beyond – it is from within these sea-soaked borders that Karuhar hails, the wanderlust bred into him by his people and seafaring ancestors more-or-less guaranteeing that he could not remain on Ulthuan forever.

Faith: The High Elf pantheon is Karuhar's religious foundation, as a student of magic and seeker of knowledge he worships above others Hoeth the Lord of Wisdom, and as an Elf from the seafaring kingdom of Cothique he is extremely well acquainted with Mathlann, the Lord of the Deeps.

Sex: Male (though he's an Elf, so it's hit or miss really)

Appearance: Karuhar matches quite well to the popular image of a High Elf, being at least a head taller than most humans, possessed of a willowy body type and slender shape, and being almost impossible to tell the gender of at first glance because of his sharp and quite androgynous facial features.

What sets him apart somewhat is his long brown hair, something unfamiliar to most humans, who would probably assume all Asur are blonde and blue-eyed, this isn't helped by his almost solid black eyes that give him an alien appearance and a seemingly bottomless gaze.

Sometimes the scholar may seem somewhat effeminate, his movements graceful to the extreme, and his speech measured and precise, but he is no pushover psychically and there are many who made the error of misjudging him and regretting it... those that lived anyway.

The Bait: Cothique can be seen amongst the Elves to be the most outward facing of all the islands kingdoms, the mariners of that half-sunken realm traversing the globe in enchanted vessels of purest white, more to hunt their enemies and for exploration than the tradesmen of Lothern commonly seen in Marienburg or Altdorf.

Karuhar was born amidst these audacious people, spending the first century or so of his life accompanying his father, brothers and uncles on seafaring voyages and seeing much of the world, only bringing it all to an end when a desire for deep knowledge took him – something that could only be found in the magical realm of Saphery and the Tower of Hoeth.

For the next two and a half centuries he expanded his mind and his burgeoning magical abilities with the mages and intellectuals of the Tower, gaining a thorough grounding in Elvish sorcery (otherwise known as 'High' or 'True' Magic, sometimes referred to as the lore of Qhaysh) that would make most human mages seem inexperienced at the least, his mental faculties rising simultaneously, with both his skills-at-arms and further magical training leaving something to be worked on.

It was in his three-hundredth-and-fifty-second year that he was given the opportunity to travel to the Old World with a coterie of other Asur, by decree of the Phoenix King himself, in order to judge the current situation there and record all he could of the goings on; being a studious observer of peoples, Karuhar was given the task of transcribing whatever anthropological and ethnographic observations he could.

Set sail they did shortly after, arriving in Marienburg on a rain-sodden day, each member of the new arrivals setting about their tasks with gusto!

It was almost pure chance that Karuhar was approached by a cagey individual while resting in Ubersreik, a man who claimed to be part of an organisation dedicated to fighting evil in the Old World wherever it reared its ugly head, offering the young Elf a chance to join the so-called 'Black Badges'.

Most Asur are 'good' innately, for they have shed more blood defending the world than any others can claim, the scholar-elf well aware of the insipid evils of Chaos and the murderous hordes of the Greenskin menace, Ulthuan having been permanently marked by numerous threats from beyond its shores enough times over, so given the chance to help forestall apparent doom and work closely with the lesser races at the same time, what else could Karuhar say but yes?

The Catch: One may say that Karuhar is the ideal candidate for a clandestine organisation dedicated to fighting the good fight, for he is an Elf first of all, a magic using one at that, and one that can act as mage, warrior or scribe/record keeper when the need comes upon he and his compatriots. He can also speak multiple languages, and is senior to most others at the middle-age of three-hundred-and-fifty-three mortal years, it is hard to see why the Badges would not wish him in their ranks.

Initial Possessions: In garb and armament this Asur gives off what he considers to be a balance between fighter and student, dressing mostly in an altered bottom layer of white Elvish robes bordered with aquamarine blue – the sleeves tied shut at the wrists, and the calf-length lower half girded by a stout human-made leather belt – his equally loose (some might say baggy or flowing) white trousers tucked into a sturdy pair of knee-high travelling boots.

Over this he wears a robust Elven cuirass, the shoulder guards curving out to protect those vulnerable parts, his limbs left mostly unprotected.

Over all of this he will wear a brown hooded travelling cloak if the need or the weather calls for it, it being human made and something of a sentimental keepsake from his initial landing in Marienburg and his first step into the Old World.

In terms of weapons and equipment he carries little, making do with a strong but slender longsword at his waist, a simple staff of wood topped with an artists rendition of a Black Leviathan head in gold and with a bronze spike at the bottom, as well as several reams of replaceable parchment and basic writing tools strapped to his person usually carried on his back or at his side.

Unlike many Asur, at least those in Ulthuan, he makes do with tying his shoulder-length hair into a simple ponytail with a strip of leather engraved with Eltharin lettering.

Current Possessions: For now, mirrored with the above.

Full Name and Aliases (if any): Erwin Sauer

Race: Human

Homeland: Erwin hails from a village by the name of Basdahl in Middenland in the heart of the Empire of Man.

Faith: Devout follower of Morr, the God of the Dead and Prophecy

Sex: Male

Appearance: Erwin is a nondescript male Human, an Imperial of 5’10” (177 cm) and with a thin, lithe build, weighing in at no more than 140 lbs. Despite his appearance, he does have some muscle, albeit without much mass and none of it toned. It seems to be more borne out of practicality and daily labor than any form of actual concerted effort to bulk up. His hair is a sandy blonde, kept in short style and shaved down on the sides, seemingly allowed to grow only on top of his head. He keeps a beard, darker in shade than his hair and well-trimmed at a middling length. His eyes are a pale greenish-hazel, notably changing between the two with the change of seasons. His face under the beard seems rather gaunt and long, but his absence of wrinkles puts his age as likely only in his mid-thirties at best.


The Bait: Erwin was born in the Grand Duchy of Middenland some years ago, the child of an undertaker and his wife, destined for mundane things such as carpentry of coffins and the burial of the dead. His father, close to the local Conclave of the Shroud in the city of Brockel-Guthugel, was an associate of the Cult of Morr and thus the spiritual and practical advisor of all things concerning the dead.

Erwin was a happy child, but once he was seven or eight, a malady struck him. He would often wake drenched in sweat, screaming and crying for mother about a bony face, nightmares of mist and cold, damp catacombs. His father assured him it was nothing, but still he prayed to Morr to keep his faith strong.

It was when a plague came into the village of Basdahl that the father’s faith was tested. He soon after perished burying bodies of the deceased, as did Erwin’s mother, who cared for his father in the final moments. Erwin was spared, yet three quarters of the village died out. It was when the Shroud’s representatives visited weeks later that they decided to take in the young orphan and give him a life in the Conclave.

Erwin was judged to be a good pick on the part of the representatives. From a young age he was stone-faced on the matters concerning the deceased, yet could show empathy and spiritual guidance when that too was required of him. But his one strongest trait: singular hatred for the Plague Lord. From the time he heard Nurgle’s name uttered, he felt a deep hatred for that which took his parents from him. In his time growing in the Conclave, he learned from its master fencers the way of the lange messer and shield, and from others the proper carpentry of a coffin, rites of cremation, and all the minor incantations a guardian of the Portal would need to dispel corruption in death, wherever it would be found.

It was on his twentieth birthday that he was given the opportunity to make the pilgrimage to Luccini on the Tilean Peninsula with the chosen representatives of the Conclave. On the nearly year-long trip south, Erwin was exposed to cultures from the decadent high nobles of Altdorf to the creative and progressive peoples of Tilea. Their domain was providing funerals wherever they could on their trek, giving Erwin a unique insight into the various Electorates and their constituents, and served to mellow his internal turmoil with the plague.

Their trip back took twice as long, and Erwin was nearly twenty-five by the time they set foot in the Conclave of Guthugel. He was changed from the quiet observer and the obedient guardian, he was inquisitive and more outspoken. He’d taken to hobbies foreign to the majority of the Conclave. While this rarely bothered his peers, the followers who singularly devoted themselves to worship, swordsmanship, and stewardship, those who strived for the Black Guard, felt that such a character would bring shame to their Conclave. The Abbot agreed, and Erwin was sent on a six-year exile.

During his exile, he basked in the difference of other cultures in the places to which he traveled. The years passed by without incident, the now-jovial man that was Erwin pursuing his calling with glee, even if he was cast out by his Conclave. This persisted until once again he clashed with his old enemy: Plague. An outbreak in Talabecland made his services required as he stayed there.

He fled in the night. His old enemy bested him not physically, as it had bested his parents, but on the field of the mind. An act which, if found out, could damn him eternally to never walk the Gardens of Morr, he strives to do penance for his crime, and as a renegade priest and now hunter of necromancers and Chaotic corruption, he has lobbied for membership to the Black Badges.

The Catch: Erwin is a fully fledged member of the Cult of Morr and thus knows their incantations and a baseline of their divine lore. He can commune with the spirits of the deceased in a way others cannot, and his singular knowledge of the processes of death make him a shoe-in as an investigator of all things dead, whether it be homicides or deaths by other causes. He is not completely useless in combat, however. He is quick with a messer and shield, and sharp enough to take advantage of circumstances in combat.

As for why he was attracted to the Black Badges, it was part necessity, as he needed something to belong to else his communion with the God of the Dead would be impossible. The other part is his own vendetta. As a simple priest he was tired of sitting idly by as people died, especially from the plagues which had taken things dear to him. Now he can take out his anger on corruption everywhere.

Initial Possessions:

• A messer, a small, broad-blade single-handed shortsword, carried in a leather sheathe on his left hip above his robes.
• A Tilean dagger made of steel and in a leather sheathe on his right hip, just below his robes.
• A square wrist-shield akin to a buckler in purpose, made for fighting paired with a messer and emblazoned with an effigy of a raven, the symbol of Morr. Fits over the grip and upper end of the sheathe of his messer and can be worn comfortably as such, but it often is left behind unless battle is expected.
• A set of street clothing, namely some hosen and bourgeois clothing such as a thigh-length tunic and a feathered brim hat.
• His normal black robes, worn over a set of leathers which offer a small amount of protection from cutting strikes (albeit not the kinetic impact).
• A bandolier of finely sharpened wooden stakes worn around the waist under his robes.
• Tome of Morr, which is guarded with his life and never leaves the leather book case at his side.
• A canvas haversack with two nights’ provisions between stops, a bedroll, and a miniature wash-basin.

Current Possessions: Mirrored above.

Name: Galadred

Current Aliases: The Lion

Race: Asur

Homeland: Galadred, like many White Lions, was born, raised, and trained in Chrace, a relatively small, beautifully-wooded, yet war-torn kingdom at the northernmost point of the island of Ulthuan. However, after his training, he moved through multiple kingdoms, serving as a bodyguard for several lords, until he entered the service of his final (and most regrettable) charge. As such, he has lived in much of Ulthuan.

Faith: Like most Asur males who grew up in Chrace, Galadred is a skilled hunter. Therefore, while he reveres and respects the entire Asur pantheon, he holds a special place in his heart for Kurnous, the God of the Hunt. However, as a warrior and a studious practitioner of martial combat, Galadred also venerates Khaine, the Bloody-Handed god of war and violence. The latter of these two deities Galadred worships in private, and only on occasions before an upcoming battle.

Sex: Male

Appearance: Like any high elf, Galadred is tall and graceful in his movement, with handsome angular features to his fair-skinned face. However, the similarities end there. He is well-toned and strong in appearance, barely retaining the lithe physique of his kin for all of his muscle. The left side of his face is marred by three claw marks that run straight down from his forehead to his chin, scarring the left side of his nose and slightly clefting his lip, the result of his fight with the white lion. His ithilmar armour is a few pieces shy of the full set, giving Galadred a sort of uneven and worn, yet undeniably noble look. His beautifully blond hair is cut short and unkempt, in a permanent state of "bed-head," something rarely seen on an elf, as the length of their hair is often as important to them as the beard is to a dwarf. Even when out of his armour, Galadred is rarely seen without his white lion pelt cloak. The cloak itself is massive, thick, and heavy, with the lion's head resting on Galadred's left shoulder like a pauldron. Galadred's overall appearance evokes past glories, dimmed by shame and exile, but still bright enough to be worthy of note.

The Bait: After spending many years flitting from noble to noble and making a name for himself as one of the greatest up-and-coming bodyguards in Ulthuan, Galadred fell in love with the scion of one of the noble houses he was meant to be protecting. It was forbidden, as the noble was bound in arranged marriage to another. However, the attraction was mutual, and Galadrad and the other noble began a clandestine affair. The affair lasted for a long time, with Galadred becoming the personally appointed guard of the noble's family and head of their security detail. Despite the dishonour of keeping their relationship hidden, it worked well for nearly a century, until a Dark Elf raid on the noble family's compound forced Galadred to choose between saving his lover's life, or that of the noble's family. Resources would not allow for both. Galadred chose his lover, and after he and his contingent of White Lions had saved the young noble, they pushed the Druchii to route and secured the compound.

However, the Dark Elves had not left empty-handed. They had taken the noble's family, likely to work as slaves until death, as was the dark elf way. Galadred's noble lover was furious. Wracked with guilt, and lacking any vent, he turned on Galadred. Galadred's awful choice was revealed to the Phoenix Court, and in the fashion of high elven politics, the scandal was revealed. The Noble blamed Galadred for all of it, claiming that he had been coerced by Galadred, and that his advances were unwanted. Galadred pleaded his case as best he could, but it was his word against the scion of a noble house who had the ear of the Phoenix King. So, Galadred lost his hereditary title, his place among the White Lions, and even his place in Ulthuan. He was only allowed to keep his family's axe, as there were no other heirs to wield it, and his equipment from his time as a Lion. So, with only that in hand, he set off to the Old World, bitter and scornful, never to return to Ulthuan.

Galadred spent nearly a half-century in the Empire, moving from job to job, one week working as an armed escort to a merchant caravan, the next as a glorified bouncer at an inn. His martial prowess, intimidating visage, and experience in defensive tactics gradually increased his fame, and he began to be relatively well-known as a reliable, stalwart guardian-for-hire, becoming so famous as to be given a nickname; The Lion.

However, despite his rising fame, and the steadily-improving quality of his employment, Galadred couldn't shake the shame and depression that followed him from his exile. He viewed his time in the Old World as a punishment, and the hole that Ulthuan left in his heart could not be filled... or so he thought. When he learned of the Black Badges, and by extension, the prospect of joining something far larger than himself once-again, the fire in his heart was rekindled, and he leapt at the opportunity. The fact that he may never have to suffer through the ordeal of kicking a piss-soaked drunk out of an Altdorf tavern again may also have had something to do with his accepting of the offer.

The Catch: Not only does an elven warrior have to display considerable valour and skill in battle to even apply for the position of White Lion, but every candidate has to hunt, kill, and skin one of these before he can join the ranks of the White Lions. The order is renowned for it's fierce protectors, and peerless warriors. Simply being what he is is enough to catch the attention of any group who knows anything at all about Ulthuan

Yet Galadred has much more to offer. He has consistently demonstrated an exceptional aptitude for command, strategic defense, and small-unit tactics, and has also been garnering a reputation in the Empire as "the best damned bodyguard gold can buy." It's only natural that such a warrior would draw the attention of an organization who needs a strong arm tempered by a sound mind, and the experience that only the lifespan of an elf could bring.

Initial Possessions: Argent Roar is Galadred's signature weapon. The ancestral battleaxe of his family, passed down through generations of White Lions, each adding their own flair and enchantments to the weapon, as is the custom. The blade is formed of Ithilmar, and the weapon is thus extremely light and wieldy. At a command from it's wielder, the axe's blade can be magically 'ignited,' causing it to glow with a brilliant radiance. When swung in this state, the axe seems to roar as it cuts the wind, this is the enchantment for which the weapon gained its name. Aside from this enchantment, the weapon has countless enchantments of sharpening and preservation, ensuring that even to this day, despite centuries of use, it is as pristine and sharp as ever.

Galadred keeps a small, ordinary steel dagger at his belt.

Galadred wears an incomplete set of Ithilmar Armour in the style of the White Lions, though with his family's noble heraldry and any signs or marks of his merit in service to the Phoenix Court removed, and without the tall helm which is another signature of the order. Currently, his set consists of one pauldron (The side without the Lion's head,) a chest-plate, grieves, and vambraces. The rest of his gear is sturdy linen and leathers.

Lastly, Galadred's ensemble is completed by the pelt of the white lion. Despite his exile from Ulthuan, it serves as a testament to his past exploits and skill. In a more utilitarian manner, the thick pelt can be used to great effect to tangle, catch, and deflect light missiles such as arrows and small arms fire.

Current Possessions: Same as above, currently.

Full Name and Aliases (if any): Elric Thorn

Race: Human

Homeland: Hergig, the capital of the Grand Barony of Hochland.

Faith: Elric pains homage to all gods of the Empire of Man, but none moreso than Ulric.

Sex: Male

Appearance: Elric is a gruff and rugged man, fitting in with the usual stock and fair among the huntsmen and foresters of Hochland. Standing in at five feet ten inches tall, with a stocky 180 pounds of muscle and and a fair bit of fat. He keeps his dark hair shaped into a solid beard and long hair bound up in a loose binding to keep it from obscuring his eyes and ears. His fair skin is almost never without a fine layer of forest grime, dirt, and the occasional bit of blood, and faint scar tissue marks various parts of his body.

The Bait: The Imperial province of Hochland is well-known for its foresters and huntsman, expert marksmen who favor the longbow and the signature gunpowder weapon of the land, the Hochland Long Rifle. Elric Thorn counts himself among their number, and has for much of his life. His father was a huntsman of the Barony, and his father before him, a family lineage traceable back to the days before the Empire itself. As such, Elric has spent his entire life trawling and traveling through the forests of the Barony, and much of the surrounding Empire. For the most part, his duties as he grew and learned consisted of the general fare of the Emperor's Huntsmen. Tracking and killing the monsters, mutants, bandits and criminals to be found deep in the wilds of the Empire's untamed lands. While his skill at traveling and tracking were honed and sharpened into mental weapons in their own right, nothing could match Elric's skills with his most prized possession, the Thorn Family Rifle given to him by his father, the original owner.

Elric's career as a Huntsman was never marred by significant despair or tragedy. Sure, comrades came and went, were slain or destroyed by man and beast alike, and life and limb were risked. But none of that was ever much bother for Elric Thorn. His firm belief in his own skill and the gods of Man getting him through some of the roughest times, and hearty drink and merrymaking through the rest. The lands of the Empire are but one part of the known world plagued by such beasts and mortals, however, and so approached with the offer of the Black Badges, the simple prospect of doing what he does best the world over, making a fair amount of coinage, and enjoying it all the same was enough to get him to agree.

The Catch: Elric Thorn is a well-learned and experienced Huntsman of the Empire, and a masterful marksman with his Thorn Family Rifle, a Hochland Long Rifle of expert craftsmanship and design. His knowledge of surviving and thriving in the wilderness, when paired with his skills in the art of marksmanship and skirmisher combat make him a threat to most any foe. He is a simple man, with little in the way of wants or needs, and is more than content to live in the shadows with his deeds, so long as his belly is full, his aim is true, and his coinpurse never light.

Initial Possessions: Elric Thorn's single most prized possession is his weapon of choice, the Thorn Family Hochland Long Rifle. A master-crafted example of gunsmithing and telescope equipment, this weapon is known for being one of the greatest marksman weapons in the Old World, and the finest infantry gun the Empire can muster. Along with his rifle, and the equipment needed to keep it maintained and functional in the wild, he packs a fair amount of powder and shot.

Beyond that, his primary garb is a rugged form of forester gear consisting of drab clothing of greens, browns and blacks, with padding and leather designed to provide a fair amount of protection without sacrificing comfort and stealth. Survival equipment consisting of a sleeping roll, fire kit, hatchet, dagger, rope, waterskin, long travel rations, and a satchel to bear it all in.

Current Possessions: For now, mirrored with the above.