• Name:
  Cecilia
• Age:
  23
• Gender:
  Female
• Race:
  Human
• Appearance:
  A cocky grin. A head full of bright, long blond hair tied with a bow and into a braid. Cecilia stands at roughly five foot nine, being a bit on the taller end of the spectrum even if she complains that she feels a lot shorter than she used to for whatever reason. She isn't particularly often dressed in a way one might envision a knight all things considered. More of something like a roguish character out of some fairy tale. A cloak to hide her appearance and keep warm, armor to cover her vitals and help with her archery but otherwise dressed in fairly simple garb.
• Personality:
  A lackadaisical loveable rogue is what she calls herself. Seshaeal calls her a lazy rude miscreant. Both are probably applicable depending on your interpretations and dispositions. Cecilia is the type to let others do her work for her if she can help it, having no discipline whatsoever when it comes to such knightly things...but gone are the days of youth when she caused trouble for entertainment, thieved for her own fun or benefit or fought as a mercenary simply because that was the only thing she ever saw herself as amounting too.
  
  Now, she finds herself uncertain of quite what she wants to do, or if she can even pull off being something more than a petty criminal or mercenary, but she'll definitely try if given the chance.
• Brief Backstory:
  Cecilia's history begins not with her, but with a noble house by the name of Autmere. A well off family and noble house known for producing some of the best archers in the kingdom within their family. A well established family in Thaln, and ones who have always aided the kingdom in their times of need and readily defended the kingdom against the rebels in the War of the Red Flag. A little known secret however, is that the reason the family produced such great archers who could supposedly command the wind themselves was because of the heirloom bow that the family had, which supposedly housed a spirit of the wind that would lend its aide to the family.
  
  This, is not the noble house a young boy named Cecil would be born into.
  
  Cecil was born into a rival house by the name of Estierelli. A now disgraced noble house that supported the rebels in the Red Flag conflict, but before then they were quite an influential merchant family. No is quite certain when they became rivals of Autmere outside of the two families themselves, but the Estierelli's claim that they were thieves and liars, and Cecil grew up hearing such tales of the Autmere's. Perhaps, this was motivation enough for the family to later support the rebels.
  
  Regardless of hows and whys, Cecil was quite the roguish characters growing up getting into all manner of scrapes and run ins with the law. Thievery, being a big one. A spoiled little brat, as one could imagine, and eventually he would come to earn his fathers ire with his antics when it was discovered he was having an affair with the Autmere's daughter. So he was given an ultimatum. He would be disinherited unless he put some actual effort into supporting the family and break things off with the Autmere girl. Eventually, Cecil would come up with the brilliant idea of stealing what he thought the Autmere's had stolen from his family.
  
  Their magical Heirloom bow.
  
  Under the cover of night with help from their daughter, he'd infiltrate their manor and successfully managed to steal away the bow. What he did not expect, however, is that the bow did house a spirit...and one that in fact, seemed to agree with him using it...but not before he was discovered stealing it. With the help of the spirit though, he managed to escape but not before being wounded himself and having to flee into the nearby countryside, taking shelter in a seemingly abandoned stable.
  
  Where, he would later awaken to the fact that he was now a woman and the spirit seemed to be the cause of such a change. Seshaeal, she said her name was, and that this was just simply the consequence of using her abilities and definitely not because she thought it'd be funny. Ignoring the spirits incessant chattering and comments about how cute 'she' was, Cecil headed back to Thaln to discover that the news had spread quickly.
  
  Either he had been murdered by the Autmere's and falsely accused of theft, or that he had stolen the heirloom bow and made an attempted on the Autmere's daughters life.
  
  It was here, he made a decision.
  
  He would quietly disappear. He couldn't go back home like this - like anyone would believe him and even if he did, he'd just be tried for theft. It was no surprise that two years later, when Cecilia was now 18 during the Red Flag War his family ended up siding with the rebels in some misguided attempt for revenge. It was during the war, too, that Cecilia would now make something of a name for herself and eventually earn some recognition as a skilled archer on her own, eventually being recruited into the iron roses.
  
  The life of a knight suits Cecilia just fine. Just don't ask too much about where she came from. She keeps the bow and Seshaeal both underwraps for fear of her past coming back to haunt her.
• Equipment:
  Tempest Spirit bow
  A magic bow inhabited by a spirit of wind by the name of Seshaeal. The bow itself is made of smooth wood and decorated with some sort of green, glass like crystals. Its surprisingly flexible and sturdy. Supposedly one who holds it allows for them to use Wind based magic...only if Seshaeal likes them, of course.
  
  Cecilia can use Seshaeal's blessings in a number of ways, typically in powering up her arrows to fly faster and more accurate. A number of more uses though enable her to use arrows to deliver highly pressurized blasts of air to targets, use arrows to guide extremely powerful gusts of wind, etc, guide multiple arrows at once with air currents. Things of similar nature.
• Skills:

Aside from her ability to channel and use wind-based magics thanks to Seshaeal's blessings and assistance, Cecilia is a skilled archer in her own right. Her fighting style is often quick, dirty, and makes use of somewhat unconventional tactics and her wind-blessed agility so she doesn't have to directly fight most opponents.

Name: Renar Hagen, the Bastard of Brias
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:

Stands tall at about 6'2. Is well-muscled and broad of shoulder. When not in armor, typically wears clothing that is simple in design but well-made. His main concession to vanity is draping himself in a fine cloak or cape.

Personality:
Focused and keen, Renar is a man who knows what he wants and how to acquire it. And if he can't acquire it yet, he'll find a way. From his childhood, he'd possessed a chip on his shoulder about his status as a bastard, ever seeking to prove himself and win glory. So long as one doesn't throw his natural born origins in his face, Renar is unbothered, but anyone who attempts to degrade him by insulting his birth status wins themselves a grudge. His primary goal is to win enough prestige in order to rise above his bastard status, either becoming legitimized and taking his father's name or being allowed to start his own noble house.

Renar is more cunning than he is chivalrous, willing to take actions that nobler knights would balk at. After all, he's already a bastard. He'd only be living down to what was expected of him. So why not abuse that to his advantage? In his mind, a knight is a trained killer first and foremost, and any pretensions to honor and chivalry are coping mechanisms to convince oneself of their cause. Still, even he has his limits, and he would not stand for harming children or one's own spouse or paramour.

Despite his craftiness, Renar can't help himself when it comes to personal challenges. Whether it be a formal duel or a single combat in the midst of battle, he is easily goaded into one-on-one battles, eagerly wishing to prove himself better over another.

Brief Backstory:
Born as a bastard of the House of Brias to his lord father and a commoner mother, Renar was nonetheless allowed to reside within his family's castle and be raised alongside his trueborn siblings. The Brias family had martial origins, originally being a knightly house before winning lands and glory a century ago. Nonetheless, they were still only a minor house, and even a bastard could be of use to them. By the time Renar was capable of walking and talking, his eldest half-brother was already a grown man. Nonetheless, another son could always win more prestige for the family, despite his bastard status. He would never bear the family name, but he could certainly create his own dynasty.

Renar was raised much the same as his half-siblings were, given a formal education as well as training at arms. He had a fair head for numbers and proved himself adequate in matters of administration, but Renar's talents skewed far more towards the training yard. Castle Brias's master-of-arms was noted to have remarked that of all of Lord Brias's sons, the bastard was by far the most skilled in the knightly arts.

Once he'd completed his squiring and his training, the newly christened Sir Renar took to the battlefield in the hopes of earning further advancement and prestige as a knight. Had he been but a few years older, he could have fought in the Red Flag War and won glory for himself that way, but he’d only barely managed to finish his squiring by the conflict’s end, and the knight he’d been squired to had been stationed within the capital for the entirety of the war’s duration. A bastard had no place on the tourney circuit, and so real combat was his only chance to prove himself worthy. While it only took a few skirmishes and tourney placings for his trueborn brothers to be inducted into orders such as the Crown Knights, Renar served under a banneret for three years, fighting outlaws and beasts until an opportunity presented itself at last.

His chance finally came during a defense against an orcish raid into Thaln, and he seized it with all he had. After a brutal battle, Renar slew the orcs' warchief in single combat, having been the only one of his banneret to break through to him without being bogged down by the rest of the raid party. He claimed the raid leader's mantle as a trophy and distinguished himself in the process, earning an offer of recruitment into the Iron Rose Knights.

While some other knightly orders had also extended offers to Renar, he’d ultimately chosen to join the Iron Rose’s ranks for their prestige and their role in general. Being an Iron Rose knight was a far more likely way for him to gain further glory and establish his name than being stationed in a more specialized order. And so he gladly became a knight of the Iron Rose. That had been two years ago, and he still serves with the order to this day.

Equipment:
Renar's armor is rugged and well-worn, but solid and dependable. His set of full plate appears to be a hodgepodge of whatever scavenged pieces he determined both fit him well and provided the best protection. He bears a cavalry lance for use on horseback, but prefers using a poleaxe on foot. His sidearms consist of an arming sword and a dagger, both sheathed on his belt. Renar wears a savage-looking fur-lined mantle into battle, it once belonging to an orcish raid leader he'd slain in single combat and kept as a trophy. His personal steed is a simple brown rouncey.

Skills:
Renar is skilled and well-rounded in the knightly arts. Despite the fact that he rides well enough and would likely place a decent ranking in a joust, he prefers fighting on foot as an infantryman and is a far better infantry fighter than he is a cavalryman. He has been trained in most martial weapons, and can fight well enough with a sword. However, his true ability lies in fighting with polearms and quarterstaves, enjoying the reach and versatility a pole weapon affords him. Renar complements his already formidable skill on foot with a willingness to use dirty tactics, believing that victory on the battlefield washes away all stains of dishonor.

However, Renar is only a passable shot with a bow and has no affinity for magic whatsoever. He attempts to compensate for these shortcomings with sheer physical might, exercising and training constantly in order to improve his strength, agility, and skill.

Off the battlefield, Renar has a surprising head for numbers and accounting for a knight, being rather adept at finances and administration.

Name: Shanil Haddly
Age: 40
Gender: Female
Race: High Elf
Appearance: Shanil looks much as you might expect a young elven woman. Lithe, pretty with a certain look about her. That said, she has a rather dour look about her at most times. The look of a woman that had all but given up on life at some point. The armor she wears at most times doesn’t help change that opinion most would have about her.
Personality: Shanil had come close to ending her own life on a number of occasions in the past and while she has moved past that point, she hasn’t given up on looking like the worst days of her life were but minutes ago. She can’t help but worry about others dying in front of her, or perhaps it would be more proper to say she’s more worried about those that she may come to care for being put to the sword.

To those she meets, however, she comes off as rough and unfriendly as Shanil doesn’t seem to care if she’s rude or not. If one can manage to get past the rude attitude at first, they’ll find that she seems to care greatly for those close to her though she tries her best to convince herself that she doesn’t. They’ll also find that she has a soft spot for children.

Her ultimate goal is the destruction of every last person involved with Anzel Cazt’s rebellion.
Brief Backstory: Shanil was once from beyond the Veil. Her past is something she has only ever elaborated on to one person other than the fact that she was banished for some reason. At the age of twenty, she made her way into Thaln and took to using her skills with the sword and magic to be a bodyguard-for-hire for merchant caravans. Soon enough, she fell into line with one certain family that she took a shine to, the Haddlys.

They were a nice family of four people. A mother, father, young adult son and teenage daughter. Over time, she grew closer to the family, she also grew closer to the son and the two fell in love. They got married and continued to run the family business with the mother and father as the daughter also fell in love with someone and got married.

It took time, but they managed to have a child together. And some years later, a second. They were happy and content to run the business and travel… Until five or so years ago. While they were on a trip delivering wheat and iron. A rather routine sort of business. They had a number of guards hired and Shanil felt safe enough to go hunt for their dinner. After taking a time to hunt, she returned to an awful sight. No one was in sight nor were the horses. She hid in the bushes in case there was something dangerous and she caught sight of movement behind one of the carriages. There was a man moving…. Something. That something turned out to be the body of one of the guards.There was another man rustling in the carriage. It was a long, hard fought battle as she instantly dispatched one and fought two more.

She killed the men and noticed something missing. Her family. She followed where the man took the guard’s body and found them. She shrieked, unable to look straight at what she had seen. Distressed, panicked but above all she felt sorrow.

After some time, she finally calmed herself enough. She couldn’t just leave them here so she took a shovel and dug them all graves, marking a path from the road so she could find them again later. Before burying her husband, she took a necklace from his neck. A present she had bought for him just after her wedding.

After saying her goodbyes, she returned to the caravan and searched the bodies for anything. They didn’t quite seem like bandits and they didn’t fight like it. They seemed a bit like soldiers, if she had to guess but had little information on it. She found a note on them mentioning that supplies were needed and “Lord Cazt”. She wasn’t sure what that meant so she pocketed that and gathered up supplies for the road. With the horses gone, she’d have to walk to town and forsake the goods. She had to survive where her family did not.

On the road, she stopped for the night on the third day of travel by foot when a man in distressing dark armor with skeleton motifs introduced himself as “Terian”, a traveling knight. Skeptical at first, she felt she had nothing to lose, even if the man were to kill her in her sleep so she offered him to sit with her and rest. He asked why she was by herself, so she answered truthfully. At the end, they sat in silence for some time before the knight spoke up. He offered her to join him on his travels. To train in the ways of his Knightage, one which had been basically a secret order of sorts that was all but gone at this point.

With nothing else to her name, she accepted. She had nowhere to go except with her sister-in-law and she didn’t know if she could manage to discuss it with her. Together, her and her new teacher headed off to the city where he formally introduced himself as Reikard. In town, they learned that there was a rebellion fully brewing and Sharil was finally able to put two and two together. Lord Cazt needed supplies for a rebellion so he ransacked merchant convoys. With anger and purpose in her step, she and Reikard moved towards the future as the made guerilla attacks against the rebels where they could.

Eventually, the war was over and Reikard decided it was time for him to retire and he gifted his equipment to his disciple. And from that point, Sharil moved on her own, hunting down rebels that somehow managed to avoid the long arm of the law to feel some purpose in her life.

Equipment: Sharil’s equipment is the very same as that of her teacher. Dark metal with skull and skeleton motifs adorn the armor and her greatsword is fairly ornate though nothing else truly makes it special.

Skills: Her greatest strength is truly her magic. With control over Shadow and Frost Magics, it gives her a great number of things she can do. The first thing to mention is her ice magic because it’s the most simple really. Creating ice, using cold blasts and other things of the sort. Her Shadow magic on the other hand is a bit more special. It’s the magic she learned from her master and he taught her many things to do with it. The first thing she can do is use the shadows inside her armor to magically strengthen herself by using her own shadow to control her body like a puppet of sorts. In addition she can form shadows to use as offensive projectiles, binding a target with her own shadow among other things.

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 trousers, 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, 1.15 meters in length from pommel to tip, with a prominent, deceptively-weighty ring pommel and a slightly curved spatulated guard. He also carries a 30 centimeter (in the blade) rondel dagger, and a smaller (~25cm blade) 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.

Name: Katerina Valentina

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Race: Half-Elf

Appearance:




Standing at 5'11.5" with an athletic build to her, Katerina looks the part of a well-kept knight when in casual attire. Sporting dark viridian hair that reaches down to her mid back, she usually keeps at least part of it braided or tied, out of the way of her emerald eyes. She seems rather attentive even in her neutral pose, as if making mental notes of specific details or another.

Personality:

Katerina held a lifelong suspicion that most people had thought of her as either banal or revolting, through most who had met her as an affable and sharp woman, if possessive of a grim sense of humor. While usually agreeable in small talk and casual conversation, Katerina can get very protective about things she has grown fond of, whether that be her steward approach when dealing with those she considers close to her or her rather territorial approach when she sees her interests being interfered upon. At first, Katerina often views other with some caution, though if there's any consolation in the matter, when she does eventually open up they will likewise find that she values tranquility and periods of independence. She can also be fiercely stubborn, difficult to change her mind or talk her out of something once she's made her mind up.

If one should wish to test out the limits of her defensive posturing, call her a "witch".

Brief Backstory:

Katerina was born on the borderlands of Velt to a human wizard and an elven traveling bard. Her early life was mired with ceaseless household troubles, the result of both her parents free-spirited personae and the chaotic lives with which they both lived brought no shortage of conflicts between the two. The last memory that she had of her father was when she was six years old -- her parents were engaged in one of their usual mutually-drunken arguments, one last remark had seen the two through, and father packed up his belongings and sang to his daughter "Farewell My Darling" while her mother threw shoes at him. In the words of one of her tutors, her mother was, "A good woman who could not be a good mother" -- as Katerina grew up, she commented that this translated as, "A deadbeat mom with extra steps".

Though she had a great natural inclination to magic from a young age, Katerina lived most of her early life in the accompaniment of her mother's bardic troupe -- in practice, this meant flinging her between the houses of friends and acquaintances. Katerina leveraged whatever tutelage she could find for magic, often of dubious safety and highly varying in quality. She had many mentors throughout her early pedagogy, and although she had constantly petitioned her mother to be sent off to a proper magical school, Katerina's mother insisted that she had neither the resources nor the peerage to enroll her. As such, Katerina had to get crafty with her magical studies, and often learned from secondhand sources, such as other magical students around her age, old manuscripts, and the like.

At the onset of the War of the Red Flag, Katerina found herself pressed into service within the ranks of a clerical corps, whom were to travel alongside bands of soldiers to provide care and medical service, after she had been in the study of a pastor for a few weeks. She was less than pleased about the fact at first, but as disaster after disaster ran through the course of the war's chaotic onset, Katerina proved to have an uncanny knack for persevering through sticky situations, as she provided an invaluable bulwark in poorly-organized retreats. When asked about where she received her knowledge of magic, Katerina often jokingly answered, "The College of the Verdant Weald" -- that is to say, witchcraft. Much to her chagrin, she received the moniker, "The Witch Knight" on account that she had never given any consistent answer as to where she received her magical training.

After the war, Katerina would find some difficulties finding permanent employment, even as her mother -- believing that her newfound title had meant she had made quite the amount of fame and fortune -- constantly made attempts to hit her up for currency. She found inglorious work as the bodyguard to a renowned alchemist supplier, and although the postwar realities were rather unkind to his supply chains, Katerina had managed to surprise him time and time again when tasked to protect shipments or retrieve alchemy ingredients. Though he could not offer her much in the way of direct advancement, he saw the displeasure in Katerina at her current life situation, and at his recommendation he had vouched to her that she should join a knightly order. At first, she believed that he had simply grown tired of him and was looking to be rid of her, but soon after came around to the idea and had been ensquired unto the Iron Rose Knights.

Equipment:

Katerina's armor is a simple breastplate adorned atop some mage's robes, now bearing the insignia of the Iron Rose. Accompanying her are a few magical talismans, most evidently include an incense censer and a deck of cards with align themselves with magical insignia. To battle she carries a steel flanged mace, adorned with a spike atop the hammerhead. She also carries a thin, puncturing dagger with a single bladed edge.

Skills:

Kateria's magical education came from whichever sources she was able to find, and has at least a dabbling proficiency with all but the most obscure or profane of magical schools. With such a patchwork field of magical expertise, Katerina has eventually refined her magical skills into proficiency with life magic. In particular, she is quite knowledgeable with healing magic -- of which she has had ample expertise in dealing with since the years of her line of work. She also has some knowledge regarding the application of and dispelling of hexes and curses as a result, though most of the more direct applications of putting curses onto things or people are beyond her area of expertise: Katerina is more used to ridding people of hexes than giving them out. In addition, she's quite the hand with pyromancy and electromancy -- which she's had plenty of time to refine both during and immediately after the war. Although she's quite athletic and in good shape, Katerina has not had much direct weapons training beyond the basics of combat instruction, and instead prefers to utilize a stripped-down array of simple, effective techniques than apply any advanced combat maneuvers.

Outside of battle, Katerina is quite fond of most card games, and dabbles in literature and horticulture. She's also a fantastic cook: Her lamb casserole is to die for.

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| PERSONALITY |

Lein is possibly the furthest you can get from the stereotype of the honourable Hundi. He's sarcastic, disquiet and arrogant, holding no true reverence to no creed nor code and an open displeasure at notions of romantic chivalry. Although he knows when to shut up and sit still when it counts, there's always an undercurrent of wild mischievousness to much of what he does. As soon as Lein's superiors look the other direction, he's always looking for ways to tug the end of his chain, make a quick pocket of coins and slack off when he can't do either.

Despite this usual mischief, Lein does have a strong sense of kinship, however, and though in rather unconventional, round-about ways, Lein always strives to return a favour when he is granted one. He's likely to deflect with a cynical remark when pressed about his loyal side.

In a rather odd turn, he has a strange obsession about always having enough food to eat, even willing to carry more than his fair share of cargo if it means they are well-supplied.

| BACKSTORY |

Of the many banners that adorned the Hundi castles, the blue and gold banner of House Estouls was once counted as among the greatest. Following a strict code of traditionalism and ceremony, those who held its crest were seen as exceptional combatants that frequently 'conquered' smaller Houses through duel-marriage pacts. But this was a long time ago, and decades of political sabotage, mismanagement and inflexibility led to the pitiful decline of the Estouls name.

Lenivicus ves Estouls was the youngest of the House, but for his exceptional talents in marksmanship, was regarded as the future of the House. So it was impressed upon him the value of holding honor above all else, and the weight of his life would be measured in the laurels of the Estouls banner. But as his many siblings were 'conquered' by other Houses one by one, Lenivicus also taught himself the price of that honor, slowly eating away at his family.

And so Lenivicus developed different ideas. He spent much of his nights looking up at the skies and dreaming of claiming dominion over the stars that had thus far been so maligned for his family. His aloofness conflicted with his family's priorities of preservation and tradition, and no amount of cajoling or berating could stop Lein from sneaking out from his training grounds to watch the stars. Ceremonies often devolved to arguments between Lein and the few remaining House members over the point of all the empty seats at the table. When Lenivicus was denied his Rite of Passage and was ordered to remain within the House grounds to train, Lenivicus was outraged at this display of hypocrisy from the 'traditionalist' Estouls. He renounced his House and stormed off in a Rite of his own declaration.

In the next couple of years, 'Lein' made his way through the world, eventually resorting to thievery with the occasional piracy. At this point, Lein's retelling of his next couple of years before he was impressed into the Roses become... messy. On some days, he regales locals about how he fought bears for a living, others he describes in flush detail how he took up work as the bodyguard of a mysterious elven lord. None of these tales explain how he lost his right arm, nor where he even got the prosthetic to replace said arm. Some way or another, he showed up in front of the Knights' keep one day and asked to be taken in, claiming he "lost a bet". After showing off his marksmanship skills, he was inducted into the Knights (though some might say suspiciously too hastily).

Ever since, Lein had become quite good at performative brinkmanship; lax just enough to annoy his superiors but never enough to be kicked off.

| EQUIPMENT |

Enchanted scarf: An enchanted scarf with a series of bells attached to the end of it. Given to Lein as per tribal custom, it has natural cleansing wards that filters any air passed through it. The bells chime at the presence of significant wind in a distinct pattern attributable for each scarf.

Fancy tail brush: For the sophisticated and vain.

Worn Estouls crest: Lein keeps this hidden away, even if he's always tempted to throw it away.

Ironripping shortbow: A reflex bow with high tensile strength, designed for fast knocking and incredible penetrative power at short ranges. Operated with a thumb ring, it can either be loaded with regular arrows or steel darts to further enhance its short-range potential.

Advanced steel arm prosthetic: An astoundingly intricate invention of artificery. Composed of carefully shaped iron and encased in enchanted steel, it is quite durable and only slightly heavier than a regular arm, whilst its rope operated ivory fingers allow for accurate dexterity. It seems far too expensive for some common rogue to get their hands on, but any sign of its maker has been long since scratched off. Hidden compartments contain a few spare steel darts and a small blade.

| SKILLS |

Having been raised as an heir to the Estouls, Lein's not too bad at the standard knightly affairs, being familiar with the ins and outs of horse riding and courtly manners (though it's been quite the while since he's bothered), as well as some familiarity with swords and shields. If someone were to force him to act the part, he probably could.

Lein's marksmanship make quite clear why he was laden with so much expectation from his House; he can knock and fire arrows at a frightening pace, pelting his enemies while maintaining a taunting distance with alacritous dodges. Though his accuracy falls off quickly outside of optimal ranges, Lein's adaptability in grabbing whatever weapons he can improvise with helps mitigate his weaknesses in most bar brawls.

During his wandering days, Lein also picked up some odd connections and skills here and there - though none of these he makes apparent right up until he takes advantage of them. As a regular bar patron at the local haunt the Lonely Frame, Lein's quite good at dice games, especially cheating at them.

| TALES |

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Armoured I Unarmoured

Sergio stands at around 5'11", certainly taller than a lot of his compatriots, but his figure is more so enhanced by his armour, which tends to make him look more imposing. He has an interesting demeanour outside of combat that can't be masked by plate armour, an elegant and emotive style of body language that is still tinged with a trained and experienced sense of alertness. He also makes a point of keeping strong eye contact in conversation, even if armoured. His eyes are a fiery orange, and his hair a blazing red, and he tends to keep his hair long and in a bushy ponytail when not concealed in an arming cap. While not egoistic, Sergio takes pride in his looks, and this shows in his clear skin and well kept hair, where other Knights would have servants pretty them up, Sergio has always taken care of his appearance when out of combat. He has a few scars, but his most notable is a large dark red diamond shaped mark across his abdominal region, rarely seen due to his tendency to use battle wraps.

Personality: About as flowery in demeanour as he is practical in mind. Sergio is a warrior above all else, admiring strength and ingenuity, as well as honour. He also values presentation and appearance, believing a Knight’s duty is to look the part, as well as act it. Pious but by no means preachy, he follows the codes set by his religion and order but does not let them enslave him. Contrary to the more strictly defensive doctrine used by some Mayonite zealots, Sergio believes that the best way to protect the good from the evil is proactivity - put simply, the best defense is a good offense. This attitude and his appearance earned Gherardesca his title of “Knight of the Harvest Moon”, which he embraced in kind. However, his thirst to prove himself as a teenager left a chip on his shoulder that, whilst not visible from an onlooker, affects him in his downtime. He notably dislikes communal meals and prefers to eat alone.

Brief Backstory: Sergio della Gherardesca was born in Southwest Thaln, the first and only son of a family belonging to a minor noble house of the same name. He speaks little of his childhood, only with a fondness and sadness in his eyes when of his father. What is known is that he made an excellent impression on other noble families as a teenager, charming them with his humour and presence, but his mettle was truly tested during the War of the Red Flag, where he was called into action as a squire for a noble of a house of a much higher standing. During his first battle - inside a fort in which they were being besieged he was shocked to realize that the Knight he served was utterly ill equipped and trained, refusing to make plans of attack and resorting to playing passive - a decision that cost their forces heavy losses when the enemy began to cut their supply chains off. Half starving, Sergio disregarded his orders and assembled a sortie of men to raid the enemy camp, the troops in question gladly accepting an actual point of authority. The raid was a huge success, routing the camp and buying enough time to receive proper reinforcements. However, although the troops applauded Sergio’s lead, he was given no commendations for the battle, and to his utter disgust, his actions were credited to the Knight he served. Upset, but now emboldened by the knowledge of his purpose as a warrior, the young man fought tooth and nail during the war, often ignoring the wishes of his useless master and earning the love and admiration of the men he served, his natural charisma raising the morale of the troops massively.

The war forged a strong and fierce leader out of the growing man, and even though he was never awarded a Knighthood for his actions during any of his battles, at the end of the war, he was finally given some minor lands around his ancestral home, and became a landed Knight in turn. After the war he continued his efforts to protect the people that other hand-me-down nobles had failed to, and often led militia to destroy slaver rings or defend against Orc raiders, slowly but surely gaining a true reputation, and sometimes even working with Reonite Paladins to achieve the same goals.

A few years later, his great service to the Kingdom earned him the eye of the Iron Rose Knights, and he was extended a formal invitation, to which he gladly accepted, seeing it as the fruits of his hard work.

Equipment: Sergio wears plate armour into battle, which consists of dark silver metal and some leather elements to help with flexibility, as well as a red fabric tabard across his shoulder. He generally carries a dark silver heater shield, two painted crimson horizontal stripes across the front, with him along with his favoured weapon, his warpick/axe. One side is bladed while the other end is pointed, and he wields it in one hand along with his shield. As a backup he carries a rondel dagger for close quarters.

Skills: Excellent in both one-on-one and general skirmishes, and excels further with crushing weapons in particular. Generally he can use anything bladed, but two handed weapons pose a challenge for him, and he is wholly inexperienced with ranged weapons. He can also play piano proficiently.

Name: Vier Alma, the Sword Sage

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:







Vier stands at 6’ 2”, having a well-built physique and nearly perfect posture. His right hand and left arm are marked with several slash scars and burn marks. He tends to hide his hair under a hat when going out and about.

Personality: Vier is a bit of an oddity. He doesn’t believe that he can be a true hero, so he accepts that he can be a knight with dirty hands. For him, nearly anything goes in a fight, so his code of honor is more a series of guidelines. Outside of fighting, Vier comes off as almost sleepy, although he tends to perk up when he hears an interesting conversation. His loyalty to the Iron Roses is a careful consideration on his part. While he trusts them, he chooses to keep a bit of distance between them and himself, as a way to not make attachments. His code of chivalry is helping people, even if it can be seen as dishonorable. In his eyes, if a solution works, how it was created shouldn’t be a concern. For Vier, a knight saves people regardless of their position or origin. In the same vein, he has a general disgust for the idea that being born in a palace made one better than a peasant. Due to his peasant upbringing, while not all that privy to social situations, Vier’s steadfast nature makes it hard to confuse him or cause him to stumble over his own words. However, it also means that he won’t give up on an issue until it’s solved. He’s got a reputation for rarely playing fair. Whether it comes to games or sparring, he won’t cheat, but his tactics are rarely, if ever straightforward.

Brief Backstory: Any fancy sword can be used by a random man, but a passionate man can be a legend with a stick.

This is one of the first lessons Vier was taught by his father. He grew up in a small town a few weeks north of Aimlenn, having visited the capital on occasion. His town was relatively quiet, with the occasional traveler and nobleman stopping by for a break on the trip to Aimlenn. Vier didn’t know his mother well, her rarely visiting due to her studies in the Mage’s College. His father was no great knight, but a guardsman. He was only a normal man, but Vier saw him as a hero in his own right. He had no riches, influence, or even an heirloom sword, but he wanted to help people. Still, Vier’s father did what he could, teaching him about the world, and passing his knowledge of combat to him. His mother gave him a different lesson. At night, she would teach Vier magic, knowing this was taboo. Even so, she wanted him to have the ability to solve problems without violence

As he grew up and learned more, Vier became stricken with wanderlust. He wanted to see more than his small world, and take a shot at being one of the heroes he read about. One he reached 20, after telling his parents that he’d come back when he was ready, Vier went off to Aimlenn to prove his worth. But the journey would prove more perilous than he had anticipated. Vier nearly died a few days in after being attacked by a group of bandits, only surviving by playing dead. An ironsmith grabbed him and patched Vier up. After hearing Vier’s story, the smith offered to fix his swords and armor in return for helping deal with the bandits the next time they came back. After completing the task, he returned to his journey.

After a few more weeks of travel, he finally finished the trip and began taking the path of true knighthood. At first, Vier took to street fighting as a way to get some coin in his pocket. He even gained a bit of fame as the Sword Sage, using magic to amplify his swordsmanship. But the call of knighthood was always in the back of his head, Ben with his small bit of fame. So when the opportunity came to join the Iron Roses, he leapt at the chance, buying a set of armor and a new pair of swords for the occasion. His honor may be wishy-washy, but his drive to save lives is what makes him a knight.

Equipment: Vier wears a well-made but functional set of plate armor that he wears over leather breeches, the set having come with a sword and shield to match. He has an additional pair of shortswords that he prefers for sparring and dueling, one with a black blade and golden hilt, the other a steel-blue blade and gray hilt.

Skills: The lessons Vier learned from his parents were meant to be used in tandem. While his skill in witchcraft was only slightly above average and his swordsmanship was passable at best, combining them made a style of swordplay that was more than the sum of its parts: Witch Swordcraft. Aside from his combat skills, he is adept at cleaning, whittling and cooking thanks to his parents. While his food isn’t the stuff of stories, it’s palatable, and usually well seasoned. He has a rudimentary grasp on reading and writing, though it doesn’t measure up to any nobleman.

Name: Steffen Gravinir

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Race: Ingvarr

Appearance:
Very tall, towering at 7ft, along with a well-built body and broad shoulders, Steffen would be a giant if other giant races did not exist. But he often concealed that physique through more conservative and sharp styled clothes, giving off a more intellectual aura. He sported a neck-length black hair that had a slights jut out to the side due to his wide and pointy ears. A clear trademark that he would or could not hide from anyone would be his red twisty horns on top of his head. While an intimidating sight to be seen in combat, it did make him resemble a bit like a goat, something people sometimes made fun of him for. His eyes dimmed a mesmerizing amethyst color.

Personality:
Steffen is a gentle and quiet man. He is quite reserved and stoic, but willing to share his learned knowledge with those around him, combined with the contrasting reputation of the Ingvarr people made him quite an eccentric figure for those around him. It would be quite rare to see him raise his voice to someone who is not his enemies, and even less so his allies. He is also a pushover, and while he would refuse anything outright immoral, he found it difficult to say no to any requests for help, nor would he be disagreeable in conversations. In fact, his fellow knights would find him quite pleasant to talk to, having that air of knowledge around him. However, he does tend to keep his past to himself, making some people to wonder or be skeptical to why he is here.

Steffen is quite diligent in his day-to-day life, both on-duty and off-duty. His best effort were derived from satisfaction from accomplishing the smallest of things: a sharp blade, a clean house, or a task well-done. He often took on menial tasks for the other knights, or rather being pushed into doing, as they trusted that he would complete them with satisfactory results. Steffen has nothing really to prove to anyone unless it's required to. All he wanted is to live a low profile, working for the sake of others and enjoying the simple things. He avoids confrontations or challenges, never being the instigator, as he find those to be often times pointless. That is no excuse to push him over the edge, however, as those who were caught at the sharp end of his spear tend to not enjoy that experience.

He is inadvertently good with children, despite not necessarily fond of talking to them. His distinct Ingvarr horns and pointy ears tend to attract the younglings and the curious. Being someone who wouldn't want to refuse others, he would let them play with it.

Brief Backstory:
Ingvarrs are fierce warriors. People in this land knew that, the Ingvarrs knew that, the Gravinir family knew that, and Steffen knew that too. But he consciously chose the life of peace and knowledge, despite his family insisting otherwise. He would not budge. No matter how many combat sessions he had with his father, a renowned warrior in his tribe, how many insistence of family traditions, how many Ingvarr legends that were passed, and how he could become one of them, Steffen was not interested. He liked reading literature, growing flowers and writing instead. Initially he would be looked upon with scorn, but overtime, his parents accepted his path. After all, it was his choice, and he was sticking by it quite admirably, so who were they to force him otherwise. It was still a shame, however, as Steffen is a good warrior in his own right, and could've been a perfect inheritor of the warrior reputation of his ancestors. But solemnly, the head of family title would be passed down to his little brother, Ogand, and he was expected to carry his family's traditions instead.

Ogand, however, did not possess the warrior capability nor the honor that his older brother had. Though he aspired to make a name for himself and his family, he was a middling fighter, could barely persevere with his father's strict training regiments, which became even more strict to shape him. That aspiration slowly grew to resentment. Resentment of his parents for inflicting so much pain on him, resentment on his older brother for handing him that responsibility despite being more than capable of fulfilling it himself. Steffen did occasionally look out for his younger brother, though did not stray away from his chosen path, which only made Ogand's resentment grew even more. It all came to a breaking point when Ogand threw away everything, his honor and aspiration to betray his parents and brother, murdered the former and burned their house down. Steffen luckily was not around when the betrayal happened, but Ogand was going for him next. News of the treachery spread quickly, however, and a kind soul managed to warn Steffen before he suffered the same fate as his parents. The eldest son of the Gravinir family took up the spear that he put down long ago, and the next time the two brothers met, only one would come out alive.

Heartbroken for his beloved parents, and even more so his brother, whose betrayals hurt him personally, Steffen left his tribe, hoping to find peace in solitude. On his travels, he met a nice group of Ingvarr hunters who liked to camp near his area. They befriended one another, and eventually they invited him to live with their tribe. Steffen reluctantly accepted, but soon found comfort in his new tribes. He figured he could settle here and enjoy a stable, mundane life. He even swore a blood oath of brotherhood with one of his close friends there. He was happy for a few years, until it was taken from him again.

Unbeknownst to Steffen, his leader had a dispute with another tribe, something that escalated to a conflict. Their tribe struck first with a raid on his village, one that caught them by surprise. In spite of that, the warriors of his village, including Steffen, managed to resist the invaders, and thus repelling them after hours of gruelling combat. However, many of his friends including his oath-sworn brother were among the fallen. The weight of another tragedy plus superstitions of Steffen by the locals who were aware of what happened to his family, believing the man to be bringing bad luck to the tribes, convinced him to leave his tribe one more time to find another place to live. This time he would go south to Thaln.

He would initially find work here and there in the northern area of Thaln with the locals who were friendly with the Ingvarrs, but a more permanent settlement for him would be further south. People were initially wary of the Ingvarr due to never having seen one before, but suspicions mellowed out a bit overtime as his good deeds accumulated. While he mainly helped the village out with bookkeeping and some botanical works, his Ingvarr super-strength made him flexible to most village commissions.

One day, several knights stumbled into the village, beaten and bloodied, desperate for refuge. The village chief took them in and helped them recover from their wounds. It would be later be revealed that they were the Iron Rose knights, fleeing a lost battle of what would be known as the War of the Red Flag, but not after their recovery, but before by their predators. A band of soldiers from Lord Cainz would stumble into the village to finish off the remnants of the Iron Roses, but was met with a firm refusal from the old village chief, who told off the soldiers that they should be ashamed for trying to hunt down the wounded and the sick. For his kindness though, the village chief would be ran through with a spear. They tried to ransack the village afterwards, but Steffen was there and he, despite not having a proper weapon on-hand, would slaughter the rebels with utter brutality.

The Iron Rose Knights would recover after a few days, explained to the villagers of the war that broke out, helped the leaderless village to set up defence watch against the rebels while they try to reach their Order. Naturally, they worked alongside Steffen mostly, and this outlander proved life-saving in times of desperation, fending off multiple follow-up rebel raids with the knights. Both impressed by his skills, admirable conducts, and lacking in manpower, the knights impromptu roped him into more knightly battles to defend the land, and there he did so with distinction. As the tide of the war gradually turned against the rebels, and more knights were available to reinforce the front, Steffen was phased out and spent the rest of the war defending his village. But for the knights who stumbled into the village on that fateful day, the fearsome warrior was exemplary knightly behavior, more so than some of their own, and readily recommended him to join their Order. He was initially reluctant to be taking up the warrior life again now that the war was over, but after seeing tragedies happen, snatching away his peaceful life one time after another, he was convinced that there would be no peace in this chaotic world if the threats were not to be dealt with. He accepted his invitation this time to the Iron Rose Knights, being one of a few outlander knights of the Order.

Equipment:
Gravinir Spear:
The only relic left of his long dead family, one that he used in the fight with his brother. A box-standard spear of his tribe, nothing too special, but given the inhuman strength of the Ingvarr, they were made almost entirely out of metal in order to withstand the test of might. It stood just as tall as Steffen, topped by a triangular spearhead that could slice or pierce. The back of the spear also is sharpened with a spearhead, though leaf-shaped.

Armor: Plate armor custom-made when he joined the Iron Rose Knights, to replace the haphazard one he had during the war. He does not have a helmet with him, as the smither refused that, citing too much work to do. How the hell do you make a helmet for such a head?

Skills:
His most obvious skill is his inhuman physical strength, capable of bending metal and breaking boulders with relative ease. He can use most conventional weaponry with some degree of familiarity, but his weapon of mastery is the spear. His spearmanship style is defensive, often overcoming opponents with counterattacks, parries that disorient their intended move. He prefers not to make much movement of his own and while more pacifistic, he would not hesitate to be brutal the more serious the threat became. Steffen is also a good martial artist, very well being able to hold his own unarmed, while always presenting the threat of the earth-shattering punch that embodied his physical strength.

Outside the battlefield, Steffen is quite fond of gardening and botany, enjoyed reading and writing literature. His knowledge and advanced literacy allowed him on more important bookkeeping roles for the knights.

Name: Nicomede, formerly Nicomede Durant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:

Personality: A serious man of noble bearing, though the edges have been worn away by long years on the road. The ceremony of his birth is long gone but Nicomede still acts in a way consistent with the respect he intends to show, even if commensurate respect has long been absent in reply. Highborn manners are taught young, and impossible to shake. With those manners comes an unshakable sense of duty followed even at great cost. A task taken is a task completed, and a life under his care is a life preserved. Whether an innocent or a man under his command, it makes little difference. Those who would spite their responsibility are Nicomede’s greatest foe, and Nicomede’s own record a fast route to his anger.

None of this is to say that Nicomede is a humorless man. He has an easy, affable disposition well-suited to making friends. So long outside of the nobility has given him a friendly understanding of the common man, and despite the grace with which he can navigate higher society’s mores he’s grown more comfortable with the rank and file than with those of his own birth. But he doesn’t truly belong in either world, and in his heart he craves nothing more than the respect he was robbed of. The right to remain in one place and hold his head high again. No longer the disowned and unwanted.

True friendship is hard won, best forged in fire and in blood, but Nicomede is unafraid of sharing the wisdom he has garnered with those younger or less experienced. If his friendship is hard won his loyalty is a Herculean task but once earned it will never waver unto even the brink of death.
Brief Backstory: Nicomede, born Nicomede Durante, was once the heir apparent to the current Lord Durante’s titles. The family Durante originated in Velt many generations ago but it was in Thaln that they reached new heights. Lord Durante controls an influential fief in the northwest of Thaln. A key stop in trade between the two kingdoms, bountiful natural resources, and a loyal populace. Nicomede was raised to inherit and trained accordingly in all the matters necessary to be an ideal nobleman. He took to the sword like a duck to water, and magic with only a little less fervor though he emphasized the martial and tactical applications of the art.

As a young adult he lead a part of the fief’s forces against a nearby traitorous lord. His younger brother commanded the rest. Towards the end of the war Nicomede was positioned, with only half his strength after detaching the rest to assist his brother, in a village without fortifications or natural defenses. The force advancing on him outnumbered him significantly. Standing his ground might have succeeded, but would certainly have been bloody and left little of the town intact. Rather than throw his own men, and the town’s population and livelihood into the grinder, Nicomede ordered them to withdraw. His forces regrouped with his brother’s forces and retook the town with a minimum of losses.
Not that any of that mattered to his father. The embarrassment of retreat, the shame that his heir had ordered it, was insurmountable. Face had to be saved, and there was a clear choice.

Nicomede was a coward, he proclaimed, that had run to his younger sibling for help and it was only the work of his brother that the township had been saved. His heir had cut and run rather than face an uncertain battle, unable to face the realities of war. Under the circumstances he had no choice but to disown his eldest son, strip him of his name, and ensure that the title would fall to his more worthy sibling. He traveled to the front lines in person to do just that before the war even ended. The Lord Durante’s men were marshalled to bear witness in the town’s main square, delivered the same decree that had already been sent to every corner of the fief and beyond and watched as the family’s crest was struck from Nicomede’s armor. In the eyes of the Goddesses, the Lord Durante announced, Nicomede had no family name and the Lord had only one son. Henceforth he was banned from setting foot on Durante land.

With no money, no home, and nothing but the gear on his person Nicomede sold his services as a fighter to survive. There was no company that would take in a disgraced noble, by now word of his shameful cowardice in contrast to the kingdom’s grand victory had spread far. Without status or money his reputation was a hindrance more than his arm was a help.

For five years he has roamed alone, fighting to stick to his principles as well as he could. His work paid little, his gear lost its luster, and his face faded further and further from the public consciousness. Not his story, his was a cautionary tale. But within a few years no one could have associated the roaming sellsword with the former heir to Durante.

Certainly the Iron Rose Knight he saved in the course of a job, rescuing the wounded warrior from likely death at bandit hands, couldn’t. If he had he might not have invited Nicomede back to the capital to join the Knights.
Equipment: Nicomede wears what clearly used to be a regal set of gleaming alwhyte plate armor, simple but masterfully crafted with gold trimming as befit his status. Pieces are missing now, lost to battle and too little money to repair them. His torso remains armored, but of the arms and legs only his pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves remain. The pieces that persist are scuffed and dented, the place his family crest once sat scored away before his exile. The arrangement bears more resemblance to a seat of half plate now, thick and durable traveling clothes supplementing the remaining armor.

The spada da lato belted at his side, on the other hand, is immaculately maintained. There is no doubt that it is a functional blade, no mere badge of office, but its craftsmanship remains untouched by rough living. The blade, more slender than a contemporary longsword, runs down towards an intricate swept hilt that nevertheless incorporates a rigid cruciform guard. Some of this durability can be attributed to enchantment upon its crafting, but the rest is thanks to diligent, regular maintenance. Though not an enchantment in and of itself, the blade was forged with careful attention to Nicomede’s preferences and synergy with his applied magic. The blade is supplemented by an offhand dagger, belted on the opposite side. More commonly he has a lantern shield buckled to his left arm, incorporated into his gauntlet and itself containing a blade that can be triggered to swing out and lock in place.

Nicomede’s final possessions are a worn but sturdy leather bag and a durable cloak to combat the elements.
Skills: A gifted duelist, and a talented tactician. Make no mistake there is as much difference between a regulated bout and real combat as there is between wading into a chaotic bloodbath and facing down a single opponent focused on you and no one else. Nicomede has a gift for both, but a true edge when it comes down to his skill and that of an opponent. His training emphasizes thought and flow, seeking or creating the perfect opening rather than battering down a foe’s defenses. His style reflects that, wielding two weapons equally suited to defense and granting the ability to strike effectively at close or medium range. He is familiar with a variety of blades but his sidesword is what he prefers.

Befitting his original inheritance, Nicomede is a deft hand at the game of tactics if not necessarily familiar with the level of strategy. And though not a Paladin himself Nicomede embraced wholeheartedly his Mayonite faith and its affinity for water in the use of his magic. Though possessing nothing but respect for Paladins who see their element differently, Nicomede had never subscribed to the passivity of a Mayonite’s defense versus a Reonite’s fiery offense. Water is strongest of all he believes; what water cannot flow around, water will flow through given enough time. To fight like water is not to be passive, but to flow around and through those who would bring harm. To that end Nicomede has, in addition to more traditional workings of the element, harnessed water’s pressure to punch through enemy armor in a concentrated point in supplement to his spada’s tip. His tutor also instructed him in other applications of magic, in varying degrees.

In addition to his extensive formal education, Nicomede had picked up the skills of surviving on the road with little money. Unfortunately for him, cooking was not one of them.

Nicomede cannot cook better than boiling even if it were to save his own life.