There are some girls who could, perhaps, pass easily as a boy of about the same age. And "Julian" is... just barely one of them, but probably not for the right reasons. She's perhaps the shortest cadet in any of the Four Houses, let alone just her own, and is quite scrawny to boot, in some places having barely any meat on her bones. She stubbornly insists that she'll get taller and she's just a late bloomer, but actually fears that these claims may be true, since she's only recently started growing in ways that, given her current predicament, she'd really rather not. She doesn't need curves, she needs muscle!

But, for the time being at least, just binding her chest and adding some padding around her thin waist has at least managed to fit her into her new uniform without quite looking like a child wearing her father's clothes, so that's... better than nothing. And, given that her cover story of being a street urchin is pretty well known after a rather... memorable debut spar, most people for now write off her frail, petite build as the results of undernourishment. Which, technically speaking... isn't untrue? Yeah, let's just go with that. The best lies always have at least a grain of truth to them, after all.

Her face, thankfully, benefits from rather strongly defined cheekbones, which, with her hair cut short and messed up properly, makes her look at least passably masculine, though her long eyelashes are somewhat less than desirable in this regard. At any rate, she's got a few more years where her youthfulness will help her go unnoticed before her real gender becomes obvious, so she'll surely be able to figure something out in that time... right?

The oddest thing about her appearance, however, is that... well... lustrous golden-blonde hair and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky aren't exactly features one normally associates with commoners, let alone with homeless ruffian children from the frontier. She's scrawny, yes -- but she really doesn't look mangy enough to fit the part she's set out for herself. But then, if she's a disguised noble, why would she look like she got half-starved at some point? Is she secretly an unwanted child of some high aristocrat? Maybe an Alexandrian fugitive on the run from the Sages' Tower? It's just enough of an abnormality that it makes her the source of some... shall we say, unique rumors, but she usually just laughs such things off. After all, that'd be ridiculous, right? Almost as ridiculous as a girl pretending to be a boy as part of some childhood dream of being a hero.

Too unfortunate to be a proper noble, too refined to be some nameless pauper, too honest to sell her lies quite as convincingly as she'd like, and too... female to fulfill her dreams, Julian appears to be many things, while embodying none of them. She isn't what she seems, and is what she doesn't, and just when you might think you know the truth about her... Well, let's just say she's full of surprises.

Whenever the Knights open for recruitment, they always end up with a few odd ducks. Cadets with conveniently unverifiable pasts applying under obvious pseudonyms are more common than one might think, and the order -- despite its reputation for taking all comers -- does its due diligence in confirming that they're not a threat. Cadets are often treated in a very hands-off manner during their initial days in training, to encourage them to relax and let their guard down -- all while being shadowed and observed quite carefully for any signs of danger. Some end up being criminals trying to make a break from their old lives, others spies from foreign countries looking for information on the inner workings of the order -- these undesirables tend to swiftly find their way to a nice, dark cell, and, for the most part, none of their fellows notice that one out of the many has stopped showing up.

Of course, the girl now known by the name "Julian" didn't know any of that. All she knew was that her name, her past, her very self -- such things were more of a burden than they were a blessing. She needed shelter -- a place where nobody would ever find her. A place where she could truly be herself. A place where she could make her dreams come true. In this sense, her motives for joining the Knights were wholly selfish and contemptible... But on the other hand, she really did want to help people -- to make a difference. Her earnest devotion wasn't a lie -- and it was this dedication, perhaps, that stayed the hands of those who would otherwise be inclined to banish a suspicious, noble-looking youth with an obvious fake identity. That's not to say that she isn't still under some degree of scrutiny, or that she's favored by any means, but... well, she has a chance, and though she's blissfully unaware of the full extent of the risks she's already undertaken, she's determined not to waste it.

And so, it was quietly, discreetly passed along. "Julian" is a child from the border regions, and things tend to get lost there. Things... and people. So, it's fine if there's no record of a Julian Baker, or if he can't easily say what town he comes from, or if it turns out that he's fully literate despite only being a baker's second son. Whoever he might be, whatever name he might have borne -- he's Julian Baker now, so until he does something to deserve a second look, we'll humor him for now, and make the best use of him we can. He'll probably drop out anyway, so why worry about it?

If only they knew.

It's a dubious honor, to be sure, but a Null -- the opposite of an Absolute, being someone who doesn't have even a single elemental affinity -- is actually almost as rare! So, in a way, the fact that she can't use any of the four elements is actually pretty unique.

...Look, sometimes, you just have to look on the bright side.

Lord Elidthianis Hawke bears the appearance of a high noble of Grayle… for the most part.

Standing at average height of a male of eastern Grayle for his age, Eli appears to look like a young man who represents his house and country to the best of his abilities. Notably, his once raven-black hair has faded into the color of snow. Those who knew him before the incident might not immediately recognize him due to this, but the same kind smile and determined blue eyes carry in his appearance.

Elidthianis Hawke never asked for his lot in life.

But the cosmos had other plans from the very beginning. Born underneath a shooting star on one of the coldest nights in a unforgiving, harsh winter, the gods almost had announced themselves from the beginning what Eli’s life would entail.

His father, Gandimere Hawke, is the Marquess tasked with protecting the northernmost lands from threats of all kinds to the Kingdom of Grayle, no matter who they should be. They are the least powerful of the four Marquesses who run the Council of Lords underneath the Grand Duke. As the second son born through Gandimere’s marriage to Rimillie Edenbridge, Eli may not have been the heir to all things underneath the northern mountains of Grayle, but it would not take long for the fates to announce themselves to the realm on who he was supposed to be.

But before such an announcement came Eli’s youngest days were in the court of his family’s estate, a castle etched into the mountains known as The Aerie. It would be here that he witnessed his first duel between two knights over the hand of a beautiful young noblewoman. Perhaps it was the fantasy crafted through his young eyes, of seeing the spectacle of steel meeting steel, that drew him to the art of the sword. Perhaps it was his abject loneliness and the lack of his father's presence at home. Whichever the case, it began his earliest interest in the art of swordsmanship. His mother elected a tutor to mentor him in this art and eventually it came to be his passion.

That is, until the incident happened.

At nine-years-old, Eli had become competent enough with swordplay and his escapades of chasing girls his own age (and older) had come to be known. His family fatigued by his antics hoped that something could set him back on the path. However, during an assassination attempt on his family’s life in the summer of that year, something miraculous came to be and changed the entire perception of Eli as not only a Hawke but as a person in general. In the face of awful circumstances, Eli attempted to fight the assassins sent to take his and his family’s lives with not the skill or strength to do so. Realistically, the majority of the Hawke family should have died on that day. Instead, Eli wielded magic for the first time in his life and defeated the agents. Unfortunately, it did not save his mother’s life and the near death experience still rattles in his brain to this day.

When he awoke the once raven-haired noble found his hair as white as snow and his mother gone. The damage to the castle from his untrained magical abilities seemed irreparable and for the first time in some time his father came to his side. After they buried the dead it started a spiral of things for Eli, though suddenly the magnifying glass seemed to be upon him. Experts made certain he was an absolute and he maintained study in the martial arts. Friends came and went, Eli’s first real romances blossomed and wilted, and the pressure of society seemed to grow heavier by the minute. Only one thing remained as his solace: the art of the blade.

It would be this passion that would lead him to be where he feels he belongs.

To be a knight!

TBD

Ah, Lady Luenciel. To say that she cuts a striking figure would be something of an understatement. Much taller than her poor late mother was, she falls nearly to her father's height at an unusual and surprising 174cm. More intriguing is that she looks nothing like either of them, really; where her parents have tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, Luen is none of those things. Whispers throughout the courts told of the Navietas child, born under an unlucky star, bleached of color, and light, and life. Quiet. Watching. Waiting. And everyone knows so little about this ill-fated child. Age, creed, name, even gender; all hazy and indistinct. Her father's reticence is proof: something about the second child of House Navietas is wrong.

Though, that's not quite the truth. As far as Lady Luenciel Navietas knows...she's simply unlucky.

Nobody quite knows why she looks the way she does. Not her family, not the soothsayers her father sought, not the books that she's read. But it's probably not from some kind of magical curse like people assume she has or is. Her ghost-pale skin; her stark icepick-white hair; her narrow eyes, dyed a vivid sanguine crimson; just how she is. A strange, unfortunate twist of fate that would perhaps not be called normal, but...harmless.

Tall, lithe, slender. Stick thin and skinny. While once upon a time she wore them openly, she tends to hide these aspects as best she can now, obscuring them with voluminous, billowing cloaks. Lucky she is indeed that she has very little obviously visible curvature, though underneath her clothing, she wears a well-kept, tightly wrapped sarashi to, as she would put it, "tighten everything up." Always best to ensure no clothing laying oddly on what should be a slender boy's frame gives her away, after all. What an embarrassing way to be exposed that would be. Her long, high cheekbones can give her a haughty, arrogant look that she tries her best to avoid.

Since determining her own fate to be a knight (or at least a cadet), she's had to change the way she carries herself quite a bit. Though she can't avoid the graceful, gliding steps that are so baked into her now, the primness in her bearing has gone the way of her her once-habitual curtsies and urge to take up less space. The urges are still there—one does not simply shrug off the years—but she's become quite practiced at avoiding them now.

...For the most part.

Earl Asceron Navietas, Lord of a military family, is a man stricken by grief. His first child, Dicen, was a fine young man. He would've been eighteen now, by Asceron's reckoning. But he was taken young. Not by fire. Not by war. A strange fever that refused to break ravaged him, turning his tall, fit form into a shivering, wasted thing before finally, mercifully, letting him slip softly away into the night. And that, on top of his wife dying soon after childbirth years before, giving him his second child: a girl, who she named Luenciel before she passed. And a bizarre child she was; from the moment she opened her crimson eyes, Asceron knew that something was strange. And when her hair grew in stark and white, he was ever more concerned for her.

Her strange appearance, and Asceron's grief at Enuiel's passing, caused her life to be sheltered, secluded one from the beginning. And the spreading rumors—no doubt house staff who'd caught glimpses of white hair and red eyes, Asceron thought—convinced him quite well that he was right to do so. The outside wasn't just indifferent to her. It was outright hostile.

For years, she sought solace in her father and her brother. Though...at one point, her uncle came to visit. She'd never seen him before, but...he seemed nice, right? And the rumors hadn't truly found their way to her yet. He saw his niece, one of the very few that Asceron had let see her at all. He was nice. Gave her candy, patted her on the head, went to bed, and...the next morning, tripped and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck. And just like that, dead.

More grief from Asceron. Condolences from Dicen. And...confusion from the seven-year-old Luenciel.

A few years later, an elderly woman who lived next door to their house broke several bones from a fall and couldn't get up. She lived alone, and her voice wasn't loud enough. Unable to move, she stayed there until she died.

A year after that, a vendor hawking his wares in the street below seized, and his movement ceased as his heart stopped beating in his chest.

And then, when she was twelve...Dicen.

So very grief-wracked now, Asceron kept Luen inside not just for her own sake, but for his own. As strange as she looked, she was his last family. He wanted so desperately to keep her close. And though nobles came and went, events were held and released from the manor of the Navietas—though he told her to stay in her room, flashes of her were noticed, just barely, and the rumors intensified—the years passed, and Luen remained.

By now, though, she'd heard the rumors. So, so many of them. Enough that she started to believe them some: that her being around someone put them in danger. So she looked at her father. She looked at his glaive on the wall. She looked inward. Did she really want to be locked away like this for her whole life?

No. No, she wanted to make something of herself. She wanted to see the outside for herself. She wanted to talk to people. She wanted to escape her curse. And as she thought of these things, an ember kindled itself in her chest. What she wanted was...

...To fight.

Two more years passed in the blink of an eye. She trained with her father, learning from him how best to leverage her water magic and creating her bracers. She remained inside. And then, as she packed to leave, she sat down with her father again. She talked to him about names. About how she wouldn't be able to go by hers, and would need to find a man's name. Her father—upset she was leaving, but unable to bring himself to stop her—thought for several minutes as they sat together in silence one last time.

"...Lucien."

And so, Lucien Navietas—scion of the Navietas family and a cursed child born under an ill-fated Star—left her—his—family home. To see. To talk. To escape.

To fight.

Nathaniel Lothwren isn’t much to look at from a first glance. He is a bit tall for his age, and has a lean-muscular build. He keeps his hair short, to avoid it from becoming a nuisance in battle or a potential weakness. His features are a bit sharp in the right light, though a nearly ever-present soft smile helps to smooth away the edges. The most notable feature is noticed when Nathaniel looks in someone’s direction: his irises have a purple hue. It’s subtle enough to be mistaken as blue, but is markedly distinct when viewed in better lighting. Beyond just the color of his eyes, there is an intense focus placed on anything Nate looks at that is remarkably clear on closer examination.

As for his clothes, all of Nathaniel’s limited wardrobe is remarkably well crafted. He is almost always seen wearing fair riding clothes, fine pants, and a blue tunic of fine quality. He sinches his outfit together with belts and straps to ensure everything stays firm, especially before going into combat. His ensemble, once viewed when he is in the height of combat, is also purely utilitarian. His gloves reduce wear on his hands, with bracers designed to hold the gloves in place. Belts and straps keep the tunic loose around joints and his hips without any fear of the clothing sliding or restricting in such a way as to limit mobility. And, of course, Nathaniel is often not seen without his trusty “Sword and a half” Bastard Sword either strapped to his back or held in hand whenever training or duels are at hand. The scabbard for the blade is old and worn leather, whereas the sword itself seems to be in remarkably pristine condition.

Nathaniel Lothwren's birth was deemed important by the falling of three stars in the Southwestern sky, piercing through the sword of Chironis... at least, that's what some sage told his mother. The last time stars fell in this pattern was years and years ago, when one of his forefathers was born: a forefather who was a founding knight serving alongside Arbert Grayle. Back when heroes walked the realm. The meaning of this sign was clear: Nathaniel was born with the rare gift of being able to project a magical aura. Nathaniel's father, whom the boy refuses to name, took this as a sign that his son was meant to surpass him. And thus, the boy's future was set.

As soon as Nathaniel could walk, he was taught to run. As soon as he was able to comprehend language, he was told his destiny by his father: to become a knight to rival the heroes of old. As soon as the boy could stand on his own two feet and hold a sword, he underwent formal drills. He was given access to some of the greatest sword instructors in all of Grandor, and some from outside Grayle proper. Mages also did their best to instruct the boy, and teach him to control his aura. Beyond even just that, they taught him the nature of combative magic. On top of incantations for his personal use, Nathaniel has been taught on instinct what spells to expect to be used against him. When time allowed, Nathaniel's father would draw up mock battles in the study and teach the boy military history. The boy would absorb his father's musings on tactical failures of the past, and over time the boy began to be able to notice strategic flaws all his own. His two younger brothers were not given the same focus, the same singular attention that Nathaniel was. They were only a year and a half and three years younger than himself. They were not neglected, not by any means. They were instead taught alternative lessons: instructed on how to be proper young men, educated and able to command principles of academics and business. They were molded for court, and to be proper nobles. Nathaniel was made for the battlefield.

By the time the boy was 10, even Nathaniel's father recognized a need for socialization. He had drilled the boy in principles of honor, of always fighting fair even in the face of cunning and ruthlessness. But the boy needed to put it into practice. So, the boy was sent off to various sword schools, for a few months at a time. He displayed a great prowess for wielding a blade, and had grown to favor wielding a specific type of sword: a bastard sword. Nathaniel preferred the versatility and flow of switching between one and two handed stances with a hand and a half blade, with some teachers even recommending the use of a buckler in the off-hand to provide extra protection. He would quickly work his way to the top of his classes, and was met with jealousy by the other students. He was bullied and harrassed, and yet Nathaniel's resolve was strong. He would accept whatever scorn was cast his way, and never rose to true anger. That was reserved for those who fought dishonorably and outside of the rules. Those who lacked skill and prowess, and resorted to cheap shots and dirty tricks. They were nothing but cowards, mere rats clawing desperately for survival. Nathaniel reserved his ire for these students, and would systematically tarnish their spirits in technical spars.

That is not to say Nathaniel did not make friends at these schools. The boy with purple eyes earned respect by those who were less skilled and in desperate desire to learn. While it was breaking the rules, Nathaniel would sneak out of the rooms at night many a time with those who desired to squeeze in extra practice by moonlight. Nathaniel would give pointers and suggestions, even in the midst of sparring, with those who were not as skilled as Nathaniel. And by the time Nathaniel left each sword school, his genuine care for those around him was the most notable absence.

Of course, it seems that Nathaniel would be a shoe in for placing as a respectable knight. He passed the preliminary trials offered to noble families, and was slated to duel a mere Baker's boy. Nathaniel took it as a chance to show off his skills against an unknown opponent. Despite all of the training he had, Nathaniel was not expecting one thing: pocket sand. A cheap trick blinded him, and Nathaniel was on his back pinned down and disarmed as he was coughing and furiously trying to blink out the rough sand. In his first truly public duel and display, Nathaniel Lothwren was dishonored and made a laughing stock. While he tries to be all smiles, there is a deep well of ambition and desire to challenge that opponent to a proper duel.

One of these days, Nathaniel will get his rematch with Julian Baker. And when that time comes, he is not going to hold back.

Tall and wiry are the correct words that define Zenshin. Standing in at 5’10 and weighing about 145 lbs, Zen's slim and tall frame along with his vibrant brown complexion often gets him a fair amount of looks here and there. Upon his head lays a tuft of black and brown hair draping down his face and over his ears to meet a pair of soft amber eyes. Zen facial structure possesses strong cheek bones, a sharp jawline, and a small and slim nose that compliments his face nicely.

As far as clothing goes, Zen possesses a rather limited wardrobe featuring a small assortment of cloak and loose fitting clothes of standard quality varying in thickness as he enjoys wearing clothing that don't restrict his movement too much. Coupled along with these cloaks are loose fitting pants along with sandals.

The Ferros family came to settle in Valefor not too long after the war. With their medical contributions and alchemical knowledge, the Ferros family quickly established themselves as a respected and known family in Valefor as well as having small influence within other nations.

Zenshin is the first born of the current Ferros family head Lurantus Ferros and his wife Miriam Ferros, Zenshin is the eldest of 4 kids, 3 boys and 1 girl. From an early age he took part in the same rigorous training and studying that his forefathers has took apart of at an early age but he seemed to always fall short in ability, failing to show alchemical talent worthy of taking notice. His father was rather wary early on in entrusting the boy with the guiding the family in the right path.

When his brother Lionel was of age to partake in studies he showed immediate promise and results, garnering the favor of their father as he began to focus more on his alchemical prodigy. Lionel quickly picked up on the topics that were being taught to him and an advanced understanding at a young age. It wasn’t long before he caught up to his brother whom had 4 years of age on him.

As time went on Lionel’s shadow quickly casted over Zenshin as his younger brother became the talk of the town managing to catch up and surpass Zenshin in his studies. The gap between the two only seemed to grow from there, even worse as the more Zenshin fell short the more he felt disconnected. Word would begin to spread of the Ferros family prodigy. Even his other 2 younger siblings showed more promise than their eldest brother further tanking Zen’s confidence. Along with his relationships went his confidence as well as he developed social anxiety from the constant comparison. This was also roughly around the time where he would begin to find solace within the legend of Grayle, the boy finding amazement within the courage that Grayle possessed to defy the odds. Perhaps he could maybe follow in his footsteps. It was true the stakes were different, while Grayle was destined to be the white knight who would save the world. Zenshin was tasked with being a competent family head and even then he couldn’t do that. Even so a boy could dream.

Around the age of 11, Zenshin would begin spending his free time practicing his magic within the forest outside of his house. He would train extensively as he channeled his strong emotions into his magic, despite not being gifted with alchemical or medical talent the boy did possess control over the element of snow which was a feat in itself. Even so this did not sway his father in any way as their values did not align.

The more Zenshin would train and cultivate his magic the more he would find himself fantasizing about joining the knight order founded by Grayle and making a name for himself. No longer would he be in his brother Lionel’s shadow. No longer the black sheep of the family but a talented child who created his own path. More importantly he’d reclaim the admiration of his father once again.

Alas once he reached a point in his magic he deemed competent he left without a trace. Casting away what seemed like shackles and following his dream on a whim, Zenshin was never more sure about something in his young life.

Despite having trained his magic Zenshin possess 0 combat experience has he only has ever casted his spells on still objects nor has he ever held a weapon of any sorts.

Despite her best efforts, Dot does not strike an imposing figure. She’s short, and still carries a youthful countenance even when she’s glowering. When she must begrudgingly don the long dresses and frilled skirts of nobility, her pale-gray hair and glassy eyes lend her a doll-like appearance. Normally, she can be found wearing simple clothes, plain and well-fitting from shirt to boots, save for the addition of waist or shoulder cloaks.

She moves with incredible grace, calm and measured even when her emotions are high. While not exactly stealthy, her height and the ghostly ease with which she navigates can take her in and out of a room before she’s so much as noticed.

As a result of all this, seeing her heft such a mighty weapon might come as a surprise. Part of her strength undoubtedly comes from her aura, but the majority of it is borne from years of rigorous training. Dot’s stature belies a form of hardened muscle, maintained through determination and routine conditioning, as well as the agile flexibility required of a dancer.

Questions of Dot's parentage travel briefly up the chain of command before being stonewalled. Though her roots in the Grayle bloodline are undeniable, it would seem someone is protecting the identity of her father—or perhaps, protecting themselves.