Name: Gerard Segremors

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:
A man hammered into the shape of violence. Gerard stands at roughly average height for a warrior, somewhere in the nebulous range between 5'10 and 5'11, and upon his well-trained frame he wears the battlefields his amber-colored eyes have seen. His skin is rather fair, but pockmarked with a network of light, faded scars, each its own lesson learned on the job. As one might expect, repeated brushes with death have similarly weathered his gaze, going alight at the prospect of battle and burning like small suns in its midst— only to fade into reservation outside of it. He's not necessarily guarded or unapproachable in his posture— but rather, seems almost content with quietly fading into the throng, as though the pressures of having a face to his name are unexpected, and unfamiliar. His hair is a coarse, happily untamed mat that falls near his eyes, and black like coal. Probably cleans up rather handsomely, in theory, but is better used as a gauge for how tense a room is— if things are brewing, he'll feel it, he'll be ready. His casual wear is all simple, dark colors, but never far from either some weapon or armoring.

Personality: Gerard is seemingly caught in the interstice between his erstwhile profession and the chivlarous future of which he'd dared not dream. At his core, he's still the reserved, idealistic farm boy that grew up on the many tales of Thaln's heroes of ages past, still believing in the ideals of knighthood— Justice, Order, Compassion, Charity, Piety. That the stark realities and cruel injustices of the world exist to be overcome by the chase of heroism. That he's doing the right thing. but mercenary life has checked those ideals with bloodshed, fury, and the many cruelties mankind has endured by its own hand.

The result is a man that seems to be at odds with himself, ever so subtly. He is wholly unfamiliar with courtly manner, brusque and bordering on impertinent with his words, but simultaneously self-effacing, earnestly humble among his peers within the Order, at times even bordering on reverence for knighthood as a concept. While he can join tavern brawls heartily and nestles in right at home in rowdy, bawdy atmospheres like those he shared with his mercenary band, on his own he seems more than a little quiet compared to the stereotypes suggested by his background, indulging in his own contemplation during solitary moments such as training in the yards in the early morning. He would give his life for his fellows— and the cause they undertake.

His conviction, however, is unquestionable. Gerard is devoted to the new life he leads, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. He's seen them all, time and time again, as his chosen trade ground each test of his faith into his body and mind.

Enough for him to, without a second thought, take up the sword once more to put them to an end, to drag evil into Reon's burning light.

One way, or the other.

Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.

And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. Year after year, battle after battle, the weathering took so many things from the boy, now just behind the tip of the spear in each engagement— his illusions of war's glory. His naiveite regarding his purpose, and his future.

Hell, they even got his face. They'd been called "Franz's Faceless" by anyone who knew of them for a reason, despite officially being the much vaguer "Black Regiment".

Regardless, the band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after, the take large enough and pardons convincing enough for the leadership to call it a wrap— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.

Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise). Should his favored weapon be unusable for whatever reason, he has a penchant for making due with whatever he can find. A beggar is never a chooser on the field.

Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable. Vicious, pragmatic, and fully committed, thoughts fall away as the body is taken by a wartime trance. It's no pretty thing, but it's gotten him this far.

In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild moderate problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.

Name: Fionn MacKerracher

Age: Mid Twenties

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Standing slightly shorter than average at 5'9", shrouded within one of the heavy cloaks he often wears Fionn can almost manage to slip beneath observation—were it not for the distinctively good shape he keeps himself in, the result of years of hard work when younger and yet more of battle as he passed into full adulthood, encouraged by an appreciation for keeping himself fighting fit. Below the cloak, more scars become evident, though the exact provenance of each—work, misadventure, or true battle—can't always be ascertained. Beneath the scratches is clear evidence of his line of work; while he remains relatively lithe, the definition of his forearms and back, his thick core, and equally prominent leg muscles all point towards one who has put in a great deal of practice in swordplay and other fighting pursuits, as could be expected of any knight.

His piercing yellow-green eyes set within an angular, slightly-scarred face reveal a clear youthfulness that the rest of his features belie, though before his induction to the Order of the Iron Rose he managed quite well at using his deceptive features to his benefit. His facial hair itself is a clear distinction, kept hard-lined as an affectation. His hair is styled in a glib cut, short on the back and sides and longer on top, though since his raise to knighthood he has taken to keeping it styled up and out of his eyes, rather than allowing the bangs to hang low over his face as he did before. Why, exactly, he has made that change is unknown, although most likely it has something to do with whatever he considers to be "looking properly presentable, for a knight."

His casual wear is a fairly simple tunic and trowsers, belted around the waist with sword and dagger, and with soft leather shoes and some form of patterned cloak to throw over top should inclement weather come into play. He wears something fairly similar in battle, simply adding a helmet, some armour plates for his extremeties, and a coat of maille beneath the cloak.

Personality: In contrast to his size, Fionn certainly possesses what could be called a "larger than life" sort of personality. This isn't to say that he is always loud, outgoing, or the like, but that he is a man of extremes. If he is angry, it is more likely to present as a tide of wrath he is struggling to hold back and control for fear of indirectly causing harm to his comrades. If he is happy, then he is a fount of joy, wishing to spread and share it with everybody who crosses his path. Before joining the Iron Rose Knights he was known not just for these extremes but for having a very mercurial sort of temper, though it seems, for the time being, that he has managed to exert some level of self-control in that respect—or at least in how he shows it.

Those extremes of his temperament extend as well to his service and his comrades. He is deeply devoted to the Moon Goddess Mayon, as well as his mission under Her guidance, something that might seem truly remarkable given that he is a fairly recent convert to Her service. As well, he is very caring towards those he is called to serve and protect, as well as to his comrades in general, nearly always willing to lend a hand to their aid or ensure they are well taken care of if they haven't the means themselves (assuming, of course, he hasn't lost his wallet himself, either as a spendthrift fond of fine food and drink or unwisely donating everythign in his pocket at a moment's notice to someone more in need than himself). However, this may come at odds to the true needs of some around him, depending on whether or not he ever notices; while he is aware that battle can wear on any person's mind and mood, he rarely remembers to take such a thing into account, as he has a possibly-unhealthy fondness for tests of arms and, as it might be put, the fulfilling of his duties.

Battle, of course, being the only field in which his wide-ranging personality narrows down into a singular, careful focus, dedicated to nothing but success.

Brief Backstory: Hailing from the base of the mountains in Velt, Fion MacKerracher was raised on a plot of farmland that had originally been bought by his great-grandfather, who once served as a mercenary in the past and made quite a large purse doing so. While the elder Fearchar and the first generations of his descendants were content to leave war behind, Fionn was always a bit too hot-blooded for his family to easily handle, and stories of his great-grandfather's escapades lodged firmly in his mind from when he was a boy.

So it was, that on the barest cusp of young adulthood, a fifteen year old Fionn gathered up some few possessions and set away from his home, joining first with a group of traders that traveled by boat up and down the Nirinel. This set the stage for some few years of hard work, and more than a few misadventures; it was with them that Fionn was embroiled in his first fight, primarily as some show of boatman bravado, though that set his path from that point on. It was fitting, then, that as he saved up his money to purchase his first sword, one similar to that that still hangs over his family's fireplace, his first hire as a young mercenary was to continue guarding this group of traders as they travelled, and especially as they began to expand to some more land-based trade.

Unfortunately for them—and likely himself and everybody else—Fionn's heart was set on more adventure, to climb to bigger and better things. He terminated his employment with the traders, heading southeast to seek out work on a true battlefield. Signing with a smaller mercenary company beyond the borders, he made some name for himself fighting on the outskirts of the Red Flag War, although he never found his way to the heart of the conflict like his thirst for contest and battle constantly set his mind towards. It was during this time that he finally took steps to become a full member of the Church of Mayon, as before his family (and himself included) had only paid lip service to the Godesses at best. Spurred on by some sort of experience he had on one battlefield, he devoted himself to Mayon, zealously working to safeguard his comrades and trying to earn himself the right to wield a greatsword on the field, to act as a personal guard to those who ensured the careful planning that saw the others in the company protected in turn.

While he never did manage that before the war's end, in its aftermath, his fervor in both battle and worship was noticed, and he was given the offer to join the Order of the Iron Rose. With the possibility to both serve his chosen goddess and earn honour for himself, he rapidly accepted, swearing his vows and being inducted was one of the most junior knights of the order.

Equipment: Fionn's primary weapon is a curiously-designed longsword, 1.2 meters in length from pommel to tip, with a prominent, deceptively-weighty ring pommel and a spatulated guard. He also carries a 30 centimeter rondel dagger, and a smaller utility knife for various needs. His armour is of an atypical design, as other than certain plates over his extremities, he primarily wears maille with padding underneath, and a distinctive, open-faced burgonet, lacking in crest but with a very prominent fixed peak in the front.

Skills: Fionn is dedicated to the arts of swordplay and battle, practicing or exercising at nearly any moment available. Though he is not a master by any means—he is, after all, still a young man, and only recently raised to the knighthood at that—he has demonstrated himself to be quite adept, with a style that is well focused on economy of movement and certain deceptive or outright tricky maneuvers to get around an opponent's blade or cause them to drop their guard entirely; similar, though recognizably different, to styles that are more common in Thaln, as Fionn's is notably less outright offensive compared to what might normally be found practiced among some of the Iron Rose Knights.

Name: Fleuri Jodeau

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:

Unmasked. Fully Armored. Fleuri stands 5'10'' without his armor.

Personality:
The Jodeau family is known for its devotion to Reon, and originally, Fleuri was no exception. Tutored by priestesses and paladins, he was brought up to be honorable, selfless, and devoted. During the last few years, however, he cast many of these values off, becoming proud, materialistic and glory-seeking, desiring above all else to obtain the fame and wealth that his family no longer possessed and to capture the glory that he missed by not being involved in the War of the Red Flag. After being humbled by his near-death experience, he has returned to his old ways as a faithful worshiper of the sun goddess, along with a few pangs of guilt of having fallen so far. He does, however, miss the friends he made in his tournament days, and even if he has parted ways with them and no longer shares their values, he hopes that they'll come to understand his decisions to rededicate himself to Reon and to join the Iron Roses.

Those who have met him can attest that Fleuri is a man of action. He is hot-blooded and quick to act or speak, but not necessarily foolish or impulsive- his experience fighting in tournaments taught him the importance of quick thinking and decisive action when windows of opportunity appear. When he speaks, he never makes claims he cannot back up and never makes promises that he does not believe he can keep.

As an Iron Rose Knight, Fleuri is fiercely loyal to the order, to its customs, and to its captain. Serving in the order is an honored tradition for his family, and he pays no attention to the criticism of the order or its traditions. As far as he's concerned, Fanilly was chosen the goddess just as Elionne was, and one need only look at the deeds and valor of the previous captain- a woman who be enshrined in history as one of Thaln's greatest heroines- as proof that the soundness of their means of selecting a captain.

Brief Backstory:
The Jodeau family is a once powerful, now minor noble family in northern Thaln. Over a century ago, its head at the time, Armand Jodeau, dedicated himself and his house wholly to Reon. As proof of his devotion, he gave most of his family's then-considerable land to the peasants that worked them as a gesture of piety and lack of materialism. Armand would go on to serve a Paladin of Reon and later an Iron Rose Knight before embarking on a quest which he never returned from. Ever since then, the Jodeau family has remained close to the Church of Reon, both to honor Armand and because in their considerably diminished state, they have become reliant on the charity of the church.

Fleuri was the second child of the Jodeau family and was thus raised to become a knight. His family had little in terms of wealth or holdings, but the church provided that which his family could not. Consequently, Fleuri received an education from Reonite priestesses and was trained in knightly combat by Reonite paladins. While the rebellion raged, Fleuri served as the squire and later accompanying knight of a paladin of Reon, battling necromancers that sought to capitalize on the bloodshed and death. As noble as it was, and as important of a duty as it was, he was frustrated by the unsung nature of their behind-the-scenes quest while others were gaining fame and prestige on the battlefield. Their quest would last until shortly after the end of the war, with their final defeat of the necromancer coven taking place just a few days before the final battle. Fleuri was, at the time, greatly distressed at not having been able to participate in such a historical moment for Thaln, all because he was undertaking a quest that few people would ever hear about. After the war ended, he parted ways from his mentor, seeking opportunities for a knight to make a name for himself.

During his travels, he began entering the tournaments in the lands he passed through, where, with many of Thaln's knights dead or disgraced as a result of the war, there was a shortage of contenders. Utilizing the training he had received from the Reonite paladins, Fleuri proved himself a capable tournament fighter, and as time went on, the "Flower of the North" had much success in the competitions. With the winnings, he was able to replace his hand-me-down armor and weapons, and considered buying back some of his family's ancestral lands. He pushed out the virtues and lessons of piety and humility that he had once been taught, and reveled in the attention and prestige of the competitions. He stopped aiding those in need, and became focused solely on gaining fame and money.

While traveling to a major tournament, he fell deathly ill from a fever and sought aid from the Church. As he laid there, tended to by the priestesses, all he could think about was how he had fallen from his path, more concerned with gold and glory than helping others, and now faced the prospect of dying before he could make amends and correct his mistakes. When he recovered, he attributed it to the will of the goddesses. He renewed his vows and vigil at the church, rededicating himself to fighting evil and aiding the innocent, and wrote a letter to his former mentor apologizing for his actions and promising to make things right. Fleuri may not have died, but he was reborn.

During the next tournament, he fought harder than he ever had before, and when the dust settled, he was the last man standing in the infantry melee. Hailed as a champion, and standing on the precipice of fame and glory, he proved himself a changed man when he donated the prize to the church and soon afterward petitioned to join the Iron Rose Knights, following in his ancestor's footsteps. Since ending his tournament career, Fleuri has served the order faithfully.

Equipment:
Fleuri's suit of armor is a dark silver plate harness, purchased with tournament winnings to replace his old hand-me-down armor, and accompanied with a white cape. His primary weapon is a two-handed sword, his preference for which he picked up as a squire, having come to appreciate its effectiveness at dismembering undead that'd otherwise shrug off stab wounds and shallow cuts. His other possessions include a dagger as a backup weapon and a gray warhorse for transportation and mounted combat. When riding into battle, he often additionally carries a cavalry lance and attires his horse with a white caparison, both bearing his family's livery.

Skills:
Fleuri has been trained in the use of a variety of knightly weapons, but he is most experienced and proficient in the wielding of greatswords. He employs an aggressive and surprisingly fast-paced fighting style not atypical for devotees of Reon, moving and attacking far more swiftly than his armor and heavy weapon would suggest. He is additionally skilled in horsemanship and in the use of a lance, owed to frequent travel and the many jousts he has participated in. While he lacks the fire magic of the Reonite clergy that mentored him, he will sometimes carry vials of Reonite holy water if he expects to face undead.