Name: Lord Galahad Wildemont Caradoc of Midgar
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Sollan
Origin: Edren

Class: Dragoon
Weapon:
In combat Galahad wields the fearsome Wyrmfang, a dragonslayer's polearm crafted for him by the Caradoc family artisans. No mere spear, this dragon killer's arm is an ornate halberd, featuring a hefty, sweeping blade and spike, and a broad but sharp spearhead. Despite its size and weight, Galahad hefts the weapon with ease, spinning, cutting and stabbing with practiced dexterity. While designed to slay dragons, it can face man and beast alike.
Inventory:

• Royal Dragoon Armor [+]

  Evoking the imagery of dragons, Galahad's armor is a finely crafted set of plate armor, painted and set with the Caradoc sigil. While plates protect important regions of the body, the rest of the body is covered in durable and tough dragon leather, and reinforced with dragon scale, in order to retain mobility while still protecting the body from harm. It is accented with a royal blue sash, and belt pouches have been added for additional functionality.
• Traveling clothes
• A few potions
• A bundle of javelins
• Korin, pack chocobo - A calm, well mannered chocobo that doesn't scare easily, but isn't suitable for fighting. A combination pack animal, riding beast, and travel Companion. Korin also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
  
  • Korin's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 50 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a few spare javelin heads, a lantern and spare bottle of oil, a few days worth of provisions for Galahad as well as his chocobo. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas.

Materia:

• Lightning
• Elemental

Limit Breaks: Lightning and Thunder - Galahad leaps a great distance into the air, channeling a great amount of lightning into his weapon before hurling towards the ground with cratering force. Moments later, Galahad follows his weapon, impacting the ground as well, causing damage to both himself and the enemy.

Appearance Details:
Tall, lithe, elegant. Standing in a head taller than most other sollan, closer in height to faye, Galahad is a lithe and sinewy individual with the appearance of one who is used to continuous physical exertion, without some of the bulk of his fellow knights. His physique is in excellent shape, and his frame is akin to what might be expected of an athlete or career soldier. His skin is a light and fair and is relatively unscathed and unscarred. His light hair falls in graceful waves around his head, effortlessly framing his sharp facial features. His eyes are a cool, icey blue, and he'll often adorn himself with jewelry.

Personality:
Cool and level headed, yet confident and gallant, Galahad acts as one might expect from a member of nobility. Despite his more menacing reputation, Galahad possesses a generally amicable air with an easygoing and relaxed demeanor, and is kind hearted and gentle, if a bit stiff when it comes to ceremony. Care should be taken not to mistake his good manners and calm sensibilities for weakness however, for when the times call for it, Galahad is as daring and brave as the best of them, more than willing to risk life and limb for those that matter to him.

Galahad mingles well with those of genteel birth, and easily works his way through aristocrats and knights alike, though he has difficulty relating to those of poorer circumstances. While generally peaceful, notes of a deep seated sadness can occasionally be seen behind his eyes, and he's sometimes prone to bouts of wistfulnes.

Biography:
Lord Galahad Wildemont Caradoc, first of his name, nineteenth in line for the crown, oldest son of Duke Artorias Oris Caradoc, Lord of Midgar, uncle to High Lord Leonhart, seventh of his name. Hailing from noble lineage, Galahad and his brothers were afforded practically any and every luxury available to him at a young age. However, like most people of Midgar, pampered he was not. Galahad's childhood was strict and rigid, and consisted of private lessons, tutors, martial training, and statescraft among other things.

Unsurprisingly, Galahad, like most Midgar natives, never took well to politics, instead finding his place in the thrill of battle and the hunt. Unlike the peaceful rolling hills and forest of the southlands of Edren, the northern mountains were dangerous and inhospitable, with dragons roaming the skies and peaks, and Osprey just across the ridge. Galahad became a squire of one of Midgar's famed Dragoons, serving, learning and training until he became of age himself. Dragoon inductees trained near endlessly. Some would train for decades before they were able to slay a dragon and take up the mantle of Dragoon.

So dedicated was he, that Galahad, at the ripe young age of 17, slew his first dragon, making him the youngest Dragoon in recent history. He would go on to slay several more, cementing himself within the ranks of Edren's Dragoons, to this day holding a near peerless record of 3 dragons slain in single combat.

However, dragons were not to be his only foe. When war with the northern neighbor of Osprey broke out, Galahad and his peers were among those sent to fight. There were hard lessons learned- Dragoons were primarily monster hunters, not soldiers, but they eventually learned. From behind the front lines, Edren Dragoons would leap into the fray, disrupting the lines of the Osprean armies, before leaping away to new targets. The chaos they sowed would disorient and and break up the enemy lines enough so that when Edren's heavy chocobo cavalry crashed into them, their formations would break and crumple.

Galahad and his Dragoons developed into specialist shock troopers, akin to commandos, disrupting enemy logistics, destroying command structures, and taking key personnel, jumping away before the enemy could react. The Ospreans had to either divert forces from their main line to defend the rear- thereby making the main line vulnerable to Edren assault, or leave the Dragoons to take their objectives uncontested. Other times, the Dragoons would join the frontlines, leaping into enemy formations even as heavy cavalry charged into them, their heavy polearms meant for killing dragons easily sundering enemy shields and armor. When the enemy retreated, Dragoons leapt after them, when archers ambushed them from high ground, Dragoons leapt up to them. With a few exceptions, the Ospreans were ultimately unable to adapt quickly or effectively enough to the fast pace set by Edren's forces, and eventually capitulated.

Galahad entered the war a young man, and left it a veteran, steadfast despite his harrowing experiences. His younger brother Gerant was not as lucky, slain during Osprey's last stand. Despite the conflict, he held no ill will towards the people of Osprey, at least as individuals. Returning to Midgar, he would continue protecting the city from dragons, now a well known face and one of the few elite that survived the bloody war from start to finish. From his mountain peaks, he saw Valheim encroach upon old Osprey, the once proud nation falling into ruin under its thumb.

What concerns he may have had for Osprey and it's new Valheim lords was quickly dashed away as the Blight made itself present. He didn't know from where it came, but even in the mountains of Edren he felt its presence. The beasts and dragons grew bolder, more vicious, more malicious. Dragons were dangerous creatures certainly, but they weren't inherently evil- but the Blight made them cruel, and more powerful as well. It came to the point that Midgar felt like it was being beset by beasts every other week, under siege from vicious dragons and vile monsters warped by the Blight. Still, in spite of adversity Midgar held. Barely, but it held.

When Galahad's cousin, the king, Lord Leonhart VII called upon the champions of Ibros to help him stand against the Blight, Galahad felt as though there was no other choice. Answering the call, he set off from Midgar, entrusting the city's defense to his family and brethren, hoping they could hold until he returned. If he returned.
Traits:

• Posseses a rather calming aura
• Hobbies consist of fishing, carving and poetry - by all accounts an amazing angler, but a terrible poet
• Will often hum along to music while at camp or during travels
• Occasionally stares off into the sky

Relationships:

• Younger cousin to the King, Leonhart VII
• A fairly well known dragonslayer, mostly to those of Edren origins.
• TBD

GENERAL INFORMATION

Name: Izayoi Furuya

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Race: Mystrel

Origin: Osprey

COMBAT INFORMATION

Class: Samurai

Weapon: Wields a daisho pair consisting of a katana and a wakizashi. Typically wields only the long blade, reserving the short blade as a backup weapon. Is capable of fighting in a dual-blade style, but doesn't favor it unless the situation is especially advantageous for the tactic.

Inventory:

• Daisho pair
• Traveling robes
• Potions
• Adventurer's kit
• Rations

Materia:

• Time
• Wind

Limit Breaks:

• Shin-Zantetsuken: Charge forward, unleashing a two-step iaijutsu strike. The first is a singular iai cleave of immense speed and force. The force of the draw creates a vacuum effect that draws in nearby enemies and readies them for the second step, in which the user uses the momentum of the first strike to spin around and deliver a second massive blow before their charge leads them to dash past their foe.
• Storm, Swell, Sword: Encircle the target at speeds high enough to leave a trio of afterimages behind. Close in at once, seemingly striking from three separate directions simultaneously so as to leave no room for escape. Currently unable to be used without overtaxing Izayoi's body.
• Ranbu: Overload Time and Gravity materia to achieve godspeed, disappearing into a flurry of slashes lashing out in every direction. Currently unable to be used without overtaxing Izayoi's body.

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Appearance Details:
At 5'7", Izayoi is quite tall compared to other Mystrel women. Her body is lean and toned from healthy living and her years as a samurai, but her musculature has declined from her prime after years of not holding a sword or extensive training. Where once she wore war plate, now she wears the robes of a wanderer, with only slight pieces of her remaining armor to guard her hands, shoulder, and chest. Izayoi is often seen wearing a straw hat with her robes, specially made to accomodate her ears.

Personality:
Once, Ranbu no Izayoi's blood ran hot, and her passions fierce. She thought of little beyond the next battle, and how to win it. Thrill and victory were all that mattered to her, until she suffered what she believed to be her final defeat.

Then, Furuya Izayoi laid down her sword and found peace, becoming a devoted spouse and parent. She believed her eyes awoken to the pointlessness of the blood she'd shed, all in the name of pride and bloodlust.

Now, Izayoi is a bitter, cynical woman, having her world torn out from under her twice over in the span of five years. Her bloodlust returned, but not as it was before. Where once she relished challenge and adversity, now anything in her path was simply an obstacle to be disposed of. Still, her retirement has served to temper her, bringing caution and wisdom where once there was only aggression. Her hatred of Valheim is such that even her previous antagonism towards Edren in the war has been all but set aside in the face of what she believes to be the bigger threat.

Biography:
By all accounts, little is known of the childhood years of Izayoi of the Wild Dance. When pressed, all she would say was that she'd lost her family at a young age and was taken in by a wandering swordmaster. Presumably, Izayoi spent the majority of her childhood and teenage years learning the art of the sword from this person, but anyone with a similar sword style to hers has never been seen or heard from by the time her name was known among the masses.

The first known sighting of Izayoi was when she'd appeared at an open competition held by a major Osprean lord by the name of Kaien. The lord was searching for new additions to his retinue, and offered to employ the winner of his tourney. It was here that a nineteen year-old Mystrel with only the given name of Izayoi dominated the tourney, swiftly defeating any opponent placed before her, including one of Lord Kaien's own samurai. Kaien proved as good as his word, and honored his promise to take the winner as his new retainer. Izayoi's star only grew from here. Within three years of joining Kaien's retinue, she was known across Osprey with the title of Ranbu, the Wild Dance, from the ferocity and swiftness of her swordplay. Within seven years, she'd risen to becoming the captain of Lord Kaien's personal guard, receiving training in how to lead men while learning further from observing her lord do the same on a larger scale.

Nine years after Ranbu no Izayoi's first appearance, the war with Edren came. Izayoi followed her lord into war, but in the first battle, Lord Kaien fell to the enemy's bullets. With his forces in panic and on the verge of causing Osprey's entire left flank to break, she took action. Stories are still told five years later of how Ranbu no Izayoi granted mercy to her dying steed before countercharging the enemy cavalry on foot. Her blade butchered the Edren chocobo knights until they broke, rallying Kaien's troops and saving the battle from becoming a rout. For her role in the battle, Izayoi was brought before the Emperor of Osprey himself, who honored her with the rank of general, despite her commoner status. For the duration of the war, Izayoi proved to be one of the fiercest foes Edren would have to contend with, slaughtering champions, commanders, and entire units in personal combat while engaging in tactics both unconventional and unbecoming of any proper Osprean lord. Poison, assassination, and sabotage ensured that her own theater of war held, even as the other generals of Osprey were either pushed back or defeated altogether.

By the final weeks of the war, defeat was evident. But Izayoi would not go quietly. On a mountain pass close to Edren's border, near a remote village, Izayoi and her personal forces made their final stand, blocking Edren's armies from marching onward to Kugane. The battle lasted for hours, the dead piling up along the pass. But in the end, Izayoi fell, a final gunshot tearing through her shoulder as she staggered back and fell, her unconscious frame sliding down the hillside and into the woods. In the interest of making up for lost time on the march to Kugane, Edren's forces didn't bother to confirm her death or search for a corpse, and moved on.

Izayoi never expected to awaken weeks after, having been rescued and tended to by the local doctor of the village at the foot of the mountain. During her convalescence, news of Osprey's surrender reached even this remote mountain, and she despaired at realizing the last decade of her life had all been for nothing. All the blood she'd shed, the lives she'd destroyed. Meaningless. With her life's work come crashing down around her and with nowhere else to go, Izayoi stayed in the village she'd awoken in. Over the next few months, the doctor who'd rescued her visited often to check up on his former patient, and the two eventually fell in love and married, with a daughter born nine months later. If she couldn't live for the sword any longer, Izayoi resolved to live for her newfound family, and settled into village life, hiding her blades away.

When Valheim invaded, the only warning the village had was the sudden stop of news and travelers for some time. Nevertheless, life continued on as it had for some months after. On one morning, Izayoi left her toddler daughter in the care of her husband while she headed up the mountain to pick herbs for his medicinal ointments and poultices. It was halfway up the climb that the hauntingly familiar sounds of battle and slaughter began to reach her. Eyes wide with panic, Izayoi turned and looked down the mountain to see smoke, flames, and an unfamiliar blob of soldiers in the village. Even after five years of retirement, Izayoi still kept up a basic exercise regimen, and she'd made it back down the mountain in record time. But it was still too late. The village was in ruins, the inhabitants slaughtered, and what treasures it had were looted. When she'd returned to her own home, the corpses of her husband and daughter greeted her. For the second time in half a decade, Izayoi had lost everything again.

Days later, after mourning and giving her family their last rites, Izayoi returned to the foot of the mountain and dug up her blades. Then, she left the remains of what had been her home for five years and began to roam Osprey, searching for the perpetrators. It didn't take long before she learned of Valheim's occupation, and of the Blight, The dots practically connected themselves in her head. Of course Valheim was responsible for the vanishing of the Light. It offered them every advantage, weakening Ibros for invasion. These godless foreigners had taken advantage of Osprey's weakness after the war to invade here first, and it wouldn't be long before they nipped at the borders of the rest of the continent. While she had no love lost for Edren, at least they hadn't resorted to Blight or outright conquering her homeland.

For the next few months, Izayoi took the fight to the occupation in a savage, one-woman guerrila war. She'd attempted to search for active resistance groups first, but found none, beliving that either she lacked the contacts to reach out or that Osprey's spirit was simply crushed. Ranbu no Izayoi returned, ambushing patrol squadrons and beheading officers and magistrates in their sleep. But nothing she did served to even make a dent in Valheim's forces. What allies she could manage to recruit were never able to keep up with her, and died meaningless deaths while trying to match Izayoi's relentless pace. Eventually, she was forced to admit that what she was doing simply wasn't working. On the verge of contemplating her life's second run at suicide, news reached her of Leonhart VII's proclamation, and Izayoi decided to answer the call. At this point, she had nothing left to lose, and she was still convinced that Valheim was behind the Blight. Stop one, and the other would fall as well. With her goal set, Ranbu no Izayoi set out to step foot in the nation of her old enemy once more.

Traits:

• Nosy, and gets in people's business.
• Feels an undue sense of responsibility towards close companions, and tends to mother them.
• Has a basic understanding of medicine and how to make remedies thanks to her husband.
• Enjoys fishing. Oily fish simmered in soy and ginger is her favorite food.
• Detests alcohol, refuses to imbibe.
• Collects novels and fiction to read in her downtime.
• Is out of practice from years of retirement. While still more skilled compared to the majority of warriors, it will take time, training, and battle for her to return to the absolute mastery of swordplay she once commanded.

Relationships:
Known to anyone who was involved in the war between Osprey and Edren. Has a reputation as both a ruthless general and a peerless blademaster. Is assumed dead by most who knew of her during the war.

• Isshin Furuya (Deceased): Izayoi's husband and the father of her daughter, Suzume. Was the local doctor of the village of Atsu, until its destruction at the hands of an unknown unit of Valheim soldiers.
• Hien Rijin: Lord Kaien's son and successor. Izayoi has known him since he was a boy, and helped protect and train him as he grew from a child to a young man. While Izayoi had to leave the Rijin clan's service following her ascension to general, the two kept in touch until the war's end. Likely believes her dead.
• Kurogane: An old smith living on the outskirts of Kugane. Forged the blades of both Izayoi and her master. Rated as one of the greatest smiths in the nation, but refuses to forge blades for all but the most worthy of swordmasters.

EXTRA

Voice actor: Anne Yatco
Theme song: Somehow, it's not Bury the Light.

Name:

♡ Arbora Silasdottir ♥

Age:

➁ 28 ➇

Gender:

♀ Female, She/Her ♀

Race:

⇖ Viera ⇗

Origin:

❅ Edren, A Village Near Lunaris ❅

Class:

⍲ Summoner ⍲

Weapon:

⌨ Tablet. Her everything. Catalog, spellbook, schematics, friend list, wikipedia.
❂ Drone. A companion that does nothing without direct input from Arbora's tablet. Incapable of many tasks. Very capable of acting as the conduit for her spellcasting.

Inventory:

⊶ Materia Field Collection Kit
⊷ Potion
⊶ Antidote
⊷ Goblin Shell (x3)
⊶ Tinkering Tools
⊷ Nomadic Survival Kit

Materia:

❄ Ice ❄
〘 Binding 〙

Limit Breaks:

⌬ Mass Production ⌬
Double the quantity of current and future summons for a brief period of time, even without excess shells.

Appearance Details:

"Hey! What you see is what you get -- and don't you dare ask for more!"

Personality:

"Let's see. . . I'm not much one to hide anything, but that doesn't mean I'll tell you everything. I've been told that when meeting someone, I can be very standoffish and uninterested. That's not really true, you know! I just kinda need to log everything around me, including all the different cultures and people! I guess that's how I show my love for life. Everyone is worth remembering.

"My friends and family have said that once you get to know me, I can be very intimate. Huh?" Gasp! "No, not in that way!! I just like everyone to feel as special as they are so I will spend as much time around others as I can, hopefully give them one of my special projects to show how much they mean to me. I mean, yeah, I'll still be using my tablet, but there are so many important things I have to keep up with! Just spending time with people and their presence is all I really need.

"Enemies? Well, I try to not make any. Everyone has their reasons for doing things, sometimes illogical sure, but there's a cause and effect to everything! I believe in defending myself when it comes down to it, and monsters are no exception. Happiness and safety should be all of our top concerns as we adventure together, and spread the same to all! Or at least try before we unleash unholy wrath." Giggles!

Biography:

"I followed in the footsteps of Silas, my mamma. She is a Vefreet, or matriarch advisor of our clan, and executes most of the arbitration and self-sustaining functions of our semi-nomadic clan. Because of her, we were one of the first to integrate the progressive technologies found in Balmung. Too busy with her work, she delegated the task of learning to me: how to use, craft, and repair newer machina. Thanks to this, I was eventually able to automate a lot of our manual processes such as record-keeping and farming!

"You see, I wanted to incorporate a bit of mamma's past work as the clan summoner into the whole thing. With a bit of schematic drawing and friendly blacksmith bantering, I forged the first goblinoid shells! When I call up an elemental spirit, they will take the likeness of whatever shell I make for them, infusing materia with machina. They aren't especially stronger than their shell-less cousins, but it does give me ideas on how to help them improve their vessels and then we'll be really rolling!" She continues rambling about automation and esoteric patterns for some time.

Traits:

☀ Optimistic. Tends to look for the silver lining, sometimes literally over metaphorically.
‰ Empirical. Everything is science, science is everything. If it exists, it can be cataloged.
♡ Bisexual/Sapiosexual. Attracted to anyone that demonstrates a stimulating and educated dialogue.
☹ Resting Sad Face. While terminally connected to her tablet, one may view her as sad or upset.
❝ ❞ Chatty. Once a knowledgeable topic is chosen, Arbora can rattle on and on until the subject, or target, is exhausted.
〄 Monophobic. Never seen alone, even if must be her empty goblin shells. You don't want to see her talking to her empty goblin shells.

Relationships:

⍨ No player friends yet. Hopefully to expand her friend list soon!
웃 Silas Monadottir. Mamma to Arbora, Vefreet to the Snowshoe Clan.
웃 Laufey Ebbadottir. Snowshoe Blacksmith. Supplier of Arbora's raw materials. Yang to Arbora's Yin. Or maybe the other way around.

Nenio?!
Das Theme

Name: Zeidgram Wündelleá (pron:Wynn-delle-eA)

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Race: Sollan

Origin: Lunaris (Edren)



Class: Red Mage

Weapon: Kiltia (Double-edged epée)

Inventory:

Waterskin
Rations
Small metal bowl
Small mirror
Silk rope
Grappling hook
Locket containing portrait of his parents and himself as a child.
Coinpouch (Enough coin for lodging and food for one month)


Materia: Summoning, Teleportation

Limit Breaks: Redlight Restriction: Zeidgram shoots out homing beams of red light towards his target(s), these rays themselves deal no pain or physical harm. But it draws the mana and the very lifeforces out of those hit by it, and pulls it back towards Zeidgram as if he would become it's vessel. Before unleashing all the energy out from himself in the shape of homing orbs of red light.

In the case of there being only a single enemy, his limitbreak is very very weak compared to others. Whereof if he faces several or a larger amount of enemies it significantly increases in power to become truly destructive as he would have then gathered more energy to unleash. Great for fighting large amounts of foes, but not very effective against a lone target.



Appearance Details: Wears a red longcoat with a set of black and gold shoulderpads, he wears a white long scarf around his neck, his pants are also white, his undershirt is black, he sports a pair of black and gold gauntlets. The back of his long hair is tied up in a broad ponytail which hangs down along his back, ending just above his rear end.

Personality: A cautious, calculating and steadfast individual. There are many ways to describe the red mage, to some he is regarded as dangerous, infuriating and cowardly. In other cases he may be regarded highly for his insightful words, his ability to discern the nature of people and his way with words. Zeidgram is someone who gets along well with people who are submissive, calm and those who view life in a darker way, while on the other hand he doesn't get along well with hotheaded, impulsive and in-your-face personalities.

As far as he is concerned, those who have no order in their mind and heart are inferior to those which do. He respects those who show patience, willingness to listen and share their innermost feelings and thoughts. People who refuse to heed his words, or display recklessness or display signs of secrecy are regarded in a much more negative light. While he respects people's privacy and will not press overly much to have people tell him what he desires to know, he is still highly intrigued in learning about people.

Perhaps it is due to his desire to find like-minded individuals. While he almost never admit to his wrongdoings he does acknowledge them when they occur, he is for example not as hungry for knowledge as he were in his younger years, now he is more cautious and plays in his own mind various possibilities and scenarios, in an attempt to foresee what lies beyond the present.

Biography: Zeidgram is a native to the settlement known as Lunaris, born and raised in the place by his parents. His father was a white mage which was highly respected and influencial in Lunaris due to his ability to cure ailments and bring relief to many who could find no curatives in the mundane ways. He was also in charge of a cathedral dedicated to Danube, and that's where his father first met with Zeidgram's mother, a scholar who shared his faith and was investigating the old ruins near Lunaris. As the years passed, the white mage and the scholar brought a child into the world, and it was common belief amidst the close circle of the duo that this boy were surely meant to bring about great things for Lunaris and Edren as a whole.

The boy's parents saw to giving their child a good upbringing, his father passing along his own trade to his son, teaching him how to heal and remove ailments, among other defensive magics. But due to his son's early craving for knowledge, saw to pass along offensive white magic aswell. Albeit with some reluctance, the father realized that it would surely be good if his son could defend himself if the need would arise. Nontheless the white mage did what was within his power to make certain that his son could someday take over his work at the cathedral. While the boy's mother had other plans entirely, for she saw her son's craving for knowledge in a similar light to her own craving to learn about old trinkets and places. Thus the boy also came to practice scholarly ways of thinking, debating, philosophies and ways to understand the past of not only Edren, but even a few things beyond it's borders. Both parents had their own desire for the boy's future, yet were it their place to chose it for him? When he became 16 years of age, the boy found himself overlooking the old ruins near Lunaris, and while he was gazing over it, someone else was gazing over at him. A man. A man who were around his father's age, yet his stature and overall aura was reeking of power.

This man, Dranek was a local nobleman, a lord of a large amount of land in Lunaris. While Zeidgram were not impressed by fancy titles nor about material wealth, the boy found a mentor in the older man. Lord Dranek Volkazas, was no ordinary nobleman. He was in fact a black mage, not just any black mage but one who had once in a time been a companion to his mother, a lover of the past. Much like his mother, Dranek was intrigued by the old ruins near Lunaris, believing some great power was hidden within it, just waiting for the right kind of person to find. To Zeidgram, the ruins had always been in the back of his mind, the source of much intrigue, yet he had never gone there, on the request of both his parents.

It wasn't as he was dreading the place like many others, but neither was he foolish enough to hurl himself into a dark pit. He was young. Not a fool. Perhaps it was traces of his mother that the black mage saw in him, or the resemblence of the man which had beaten him in the game of love. Lord Volkazas took the young man as a student, teaching him about things which his father would not, could not teach him. The dark arts. He had only heard his father mention it, and how it were something to stay clear of. Yet much like a moth to the flame, he was drawn to learn more about it. Knowing just one half of the puzzle was simply not going to do it, he had to delve into the more tabbooed dark arts. Rid himself of any doubts.

He was the wielder of the power, it would not ever rule over him. It was his knowledge and his choice in life to take, to tread upon the greyed out path between the light and the dark. Perhaps by doing so he would understand the world better... As the years passed and the young man became an adult, he was now the second in command of the cathedral under his father, but in secret he was also the closest retainer to Lord Volkazas. During ten years time he was studying the very thing his father had warned him about, and he had gotten good at calling forth the dark arts much to a similar manner as his white magic. But his dual-treaded path would soon find itself and obstacle.

His mother who were studying the ruins finally took the leap and joined an expedition to explore it's depths, without having notified Zeidgram nor his father of doing so. When the matter finally dawned on them, his father commanded the now 26 year old to stay in the cathedral and forbade him from following him. It lasted for a few moments, then the man left for his mentor Lord Volkazas and notified him of what had just happened. The teacher and the student quickly left towards the ruins, getting to it's border just in time to collide with the white mage.

Then began a short hurling of words between the two men, his mentor who blamed his father for allowing his wife to enter the place, and the father blamed the black mage for having had a hand in it. Was it fate that caused the both men to instantly begin to unleash their respective magics upon each other. The explosions caused the settlement to notice and they dispatched many men and women to investigate. What they witnessed was a clash of the light and dark, until their duel engulfed both of them in fire. When the dust finally settled, amidst the craters and the scorched earth he found his father's lifeless body, his hand clenching his staff. Next to him a locket containing a picture of himself, his wife and child. Not too far away stood the black mage, his mentor, mortally wounded but still standing.

The people gazed upon the black mage with fear, for what they had seen had been how one of the local lords had now struck down a man they respected, who had helped many of them. It were with determined steps that Zeidgram had strode forth towards his teacher, the tip of the blade found itself sliding into the chest of the mage. His larger body began to slump forwards, over the younger man. It were with sorrowful words that the younger man lamented what he had to do, but before the black mage's life went out of him. Zeidgram parted a few words close to his mentor's ear which only he could hear, they were words of gratefulness and with the promise that someday his efforts would not be in vain. That someday. The secret of those ruins would be uncovered, and that it would be thanks to his teachings. And that the student would become a master himself.

To the people of Lunaris, they now had a champion in the new head of the cathedral of Danube, he who struck down the black mage and avenged the respected white mage. It did not come to him as a surprise that a new generation sought to learn the path of the white mage so that they someday could defend Lunaris from a similar threat. Their enthusiasm was admirable, as were their eagerness to learn. But their view of what had happened had been wrong, light was as blinding as the darkest of voids. As far as Zeidgram was concerned, only someone who walked upon the edge of the coin could properly judge both sides of it. Thus it came to be, that the student became a teacher to the young and old alike, to the degree that a new faction rose in Lunaris known as the Order of the Red Moon. It was their duty to track down black mages anywhere they could be found and bring them in to the cathedral to be interrogated and incarcerated by Zeidgram. Many of these mages were never heard from again, it was rumored that they were deported to faraway lands or possibly sealed away in some prison underneath the old cathedral.

Whereof the truth of the matter were that these suspected black mages were in fact recruited by Zeidgram himself and turned into an underground movement dedicated to gather magical devices, old tomes and trinkets. They became known as Vigilants of Vol, and in secrecy they begun to pull strings and practices in the dark. Amidst the workings of the light and dark, each unaware of the other, it was only Zeidgram who had the view of the full picture.

It were also around this time that the man found himself a confidant, a local master of the sword, Trieyne Throne. While the two men were certainly of different origins, and quite different personalities alltogether, they seemed to get along well. Zeidgram received someone who could train him to better master the sword, so that it wouldn't just be a decoration piece but a viable weapon. Even if he had already struck down his mentor with it, he had formerly never truly relied on it. Nor had he felt the need to do so, as he was adept with his words alone. But his comeradeship with Trieyne did change his mind and he took the offer. In return he offered the more martial minded man some advice so that he could solve his own life's issues. In the end, Trieyne became his right hand man and was left in charge of the underground movement whenever he was absent. The cathedral was left in the temporary care of a senior student in return.

Several years would pass, and the red mage would grow both in knowledge of the world, people and the magic that were at his beck and call. Gradually he felt that he was getting a few steps closer towards his dream. However when the blight made itself known across the land, Zeidgram was naturally bothered by such a thing and sought to find out the truth about it, perhaps it held some connection to the ruins of his dreams. So it was only natural that he answered Lord Leonhart's call for champions. Perhaps he could find some people which would dare venture into the place alongside him? Only time would tell.



Traits:

- Mentor mentality. Tends to preach as if he were hundreds of years old, even in the presence of older folks.
- Calculating. There's always a plan in motion inside his head.
- Doesn't indulge in alcohol at all.
- Capable swordsman.
- Corruptive philosophies. Like sweet poison, this man's honeyed words are seductive as they are sedative.
- Conversation craving.
- Guarded. Will check all things for poison. Light sleeper. Has weapon close-by. Distrusts people and believes only in that they will abide by their individual nature.
- Knowledge of flora and fauna. Knows what to eat and survive in the wilds. Also will check for poisons.
- Can read old magical scriptures and tomes.
- Knowledge how to handle magical devices.
- Dislikes bards, fishing and people who talk to themselves.

Relationships:

Trieyne Throne: Swordsman of Lunaris, close confidant and right hand. In charge of the Vigilants of Vol in Zeidgram's absence.
Zurman Wündelleá (Deceased): Father. Former leader of the Cathedral of Danube in Lunaris. Taught his son how to use white magic. Died in a clash with his son's mentor.
Laulie Wündelleá (Missing): Mother. Scholar and archeologist investigating old ruins near Lunaris.
Lord Dranek Volkazas (Deceased): Mentor. Taught him the dark arts (black magic) and was a close confidant. Was mortally wounded in a battle with Zeidgram's father and finally put to death by the son.

Name: Arton Yule

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Race: Sollan

Origin: Skael




Class: Swordsman

Weapon: Arton bears a longsword and metal shield gifted to him by his late master. They never seem to leave his side. These weapons are plain-looking and lightly decorated, but are masterfully crafted.

Inventory:

• Plain Clothes
• Canteen & Salted Meat
• Emerald Silver-ring
• Amethyst Silver-necklace
• Armor & Weapon Maintenance kit
• Depleted Potion Flasks
• Worn First-aid kit

Materia:

• HP Plus
• Barrier

Limit Breaks:

• All-out Assault - Arton utilizes his shield as secondary weapon in flurry of blows against his opponent, using the blunt force to stun his target.

Appearance Details:
Arton stands at roughly 6'3" with deep blue eyes the color of the sea. He maintains a sturdy physique of dense muscle that is often hidden under his typical garb. Whether studded leather padding or his steel chestplate, Arton rarely goes anywhere without some form of armor. His face, while youthful, bears a few old scars on the left side of his face.

Personality:
You would be hard-pressed to find a day when Arton lacks a smile on his face. He persists to remain optimistic even in the most grim of situations with the determination to never surrender to despair. It is safe to say that Arton often thinks with his heart instead of his head and often makes rash decisions.

He is more than happy to listen to the tales and woes of others, but keeps any information about himself close to his chest typically replying with: "I'm not all that interesting." or something similar. Instances of injustice are often taken personally, especially if it is physical violence, and his reaction borders on berserk.

Arton strives to be of assistance in any form he can no matter how tedious the work may be. Chores or other menial labor is often done without so much as a word from him.

Biography:
Arton hails from a small town in the nation of Skael on the outskirts of the capital. He has not returned to its borders in many years. Little is known about him from before his departure from his homeland and he appear intent on keeping it that way. He arrived in Edren as war erupted between it and neighboring Osprey, equipped with little more than some basic adventuring gear. Arton had traveled from village to village completing small quests before moving onto the next, always operating alone. He often would hitch rides on caravans, getting off on whatever its next destination was. Arton found many acquiantances this way, but he never let anyone underneath the surface of friendly conversation. This gained him a small amount of fame among the common folk as a mysterious, but helpful, wanderer. He began taking on more and more dangerous tasks as his confidence and skill increased.

Despite operating in Edren as a sellsword of sorts, Arton avoided the war altogether. Lacking his own direction, he didn't want to involve himself in the ambitions of something so grand-scale. Instead, he focused on assisting the villages and small town neglected throughout the conflict. A path that had its fair share of hardship. This often meant taking on infestations of monsters and other creatures trying to prey on their weakness. While he sometimes grouped up with a small party, Arton completed many of these tasks alone as it was the most many villages could afford. This grew his fame and influence even further that many inns that recognized him let him stay for free. The devastation left in the wake of the war increased his growing apathy to try to make any kind of change.

The Blight turned that life upside down. Nothing was going to turn back the tide if people like him sat back. Whatever it took, he was going to make a difference against this scourge of suffering. Arton showed up in the capital shortly after the call from the king reached the village he had been protecting. He vowed to return to the village after the blight had ended, but the look in both his eyes and the elder's knew they might never get the chance. Perhaps this was the purpose he had been searching for?

Traits:

• Talented Smith
• Brash
• Empathetic
• Cheerful
• Reserved
• First-aid expert

Relationships:

• Cyth - Arton's mentor and guardian
• Furi - Childhood friend
• Neve - Arton considers Neve a friend and feels a personal responsibility to keep her safe in battle. He finds talking to her easy and natural with their outlook on life similar.
• Galahad - The Dragoon feels like an older brother to Arton and he trusts in Galahad's judgement. This is why Arton is quick to follow Galahad's lead into battle.
• Izayoi - He is eager to learn from the samurai following their first battle with the blight-beasts. Arton is trying to grasp the rationale behind such a fierce warrior and hopefully integrate the mentality into his own style.
• Eliane - Every action has been taken to avoid a direct conversation with Eliane. He wishes to avoid broaching any topic about their homeland for worry it might drudge up some uncomfortable questions.
• Miina -
• Esben -
• Rudolf -
• Eve -
• Robin -

GENERAL INFORMATION

Name: Ciradyl Ianthyra

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Race: Faye

Origin: Osprey

COMBAT INFORMATION

Class: Bard

Weapon:
Heart-String
Heaven's Chorus

Inventory:

• A few potion flasks.
• Quiver & Arrows
• Spare bow strings
• Swimsuit
• Elegant Dress
• Plain clothes
• Dried Fruit

Materia:

• Sense
• Long Range

Limit Breaks:
A Dreamer's Requiem - A soothing, captivating melody is played on the violin that reinvigorates the stamina of nearby allies. This increases their speed, strength, and resistance to mind-altering effects for a short time. The song may be played for longer to increase the duration of its effect.

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Appearance Details:
Ciradyl possesses an hourglass-like figure and is somewhat short for a Faye at 6'1". Her snow-white hair is often kept up in a ponytail when she is travelling but will leave it down when resting at a town or city. She has mint-colored eyes that are normally the most expressive part of her features. Ciradyl's skin nearly matches her hair and only serves to make her typically vibrant choice of clothing more distinctive. She lacks the muscle definition of a typical soldier or adventurer but is in good, general fitness.

Personality:
Ciradyl is a melancholic Faye that rarely shows her true feelings through expressions or pitches in her tone. The hints of emotion are subtle and require a keen eye or some time spent with her. She is a confident speaker and has no trouble acting as the center of attention. Despite her typical coldness, Ciradyl easily dons any type of mask to suit her purposes though she will not do so around those who have earned her trust. The nature of her actions has led this trust to be hard to acquire.

The best way to understand Ciradyl is to listen to her play. When not performing in front of a crowd, her music is a reflection of her very thoughts and feelings. She feels as though there expressing them any other way is a waste of energy and willpower. Ciradyl is skeptical and pessimistic of most situations leading her to be cautious and plan her movements several steps in advance. There is nothing she detests more than being surprised.

Biography:
The only child of a wealthy merchant family, Ciradyl's parents immigrated to Osprey from Draanu Asnaeu shortly before she was born. They were quite strict with the young Faye, especially her father, about retaining the culture of their homeland. Countless sunrises were spent in the woods learning how to track and take down prey with a bow. Ciradyl fondly remembers these hunts despite the harsh methods in which she was taught. Her mother instructed her on proper etiquette befitting their position and pushed her to pursue the arts. One such trip to theatre in Kugane. It was her first true taste of the culture of Osprey and the performance ignited the spark that would push her to become a musician.

Her parents were quick to recognize their daughter's gift, a blessing from the heavens they came to believe from Etro herself. The mere act of listening to her singing seemed to imbue those who listened with a deeper and more acute understanding of their surroundings, as if the sound of her voice opened up their minds. Ciradyl first performed near a street closest to her house and quickly drew in a crowd. She performed music from Osprey and Draanu Asnaeu at first but as time went on she began to blend the two cultures into her own unique style. The performing arts became her main obsession and she learned many techniques from various masters to elevate her performances.

Taverns across Kugane began to hire her to perform which allowed her popularity to snowball. She would pack every tavern that she performed as they all tried to see the Faye Beauty with the voice of a goddess. Ciradyl continued to hunt with her father as her free time grew shorter and shorter. She shared everything with him and was her way to relax and unwind. Her mother attended nearly every show and was not afraid to gush about her talented daughter to anyone that would listen.

The war with Edren broke out shortly after Ciradyl landed a contract with a notable theatre. She performed as normal at first, the crowd often hosting a number of warriors either returning or leaving for the frontlines. Ciradyl poured her heart and soul into every performance, feeling as thought it was her duty to alleviate the worries of her patrons. This tranquil period did not last as the war began to turn against Osprey's favor. Her shows became less frequent and she began volunteering at hospitals to assist in the war effort, giving her insight into just how ugly the world could be.

The depression that fell upon the kingdom after their defeat at the hands of Edren tore at her heartstrings. Valheim's invasion soon after shredded them. War that had felt like a distant horror was now running amok in her home. Ciradyl did not think such acts of evil could be done but the Valheimians showed her the error of her naivety. Her parents were both killed in the collateral damage and most of their fortune was pillaged by Valheim save for what Ciradyl could carry. Osprey had lost before it had known it was under attack. She, however, would carry on the fight in her own way.

Ciradyl spent the next years establishing a network of spies and informants within the city of Kugane and establishing herself as a popular figure among the occupation force. Officers to foot soldiers came to see her performances with some attempting to court the Faye. This proved to be a useful source of information that Ciradyl expanded upon with time. Her fight would be one of subtlety and subterfuge, waiting for the day when they could overthrow their occupiers under a true leader.

Traits:

• Loves the outdoors
• Meticulous and organized
• Tea-connoisseur
• Habitual reader.
• Hopeless romantic
• Broken optimist
• Often lost in her own thoughts

Relationships:

Feron Ianythra - Ciradyl's father and main instructor for the bow. He was killed during the defense of Kugane after refusing to surrender his home.

• Irella Ianythra - Ciradyl's mother and number one supporter of her music. She was slaughtered after refusing to allow a Valheimian officer to take over their manor.
• Ciradyl is well-known in Kugane and surrounding areas, thought her name is not well known outside of Osprey
• Izayoi - A close acquaintance leading up to the war with Edren.

---

Name: Aelphis Vres-Lii

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Race: Faye

Origin: Edren

---

Class: Black Mage

Weapon: Circe, a simple stave fondly named after a witch from a bygone era. Dotted with motifs of piglets and even adorned with a boar's skull at the head of the staff, this stave is attuned to spells that incur afflictions or curses upon the mage's foes. Has a single slot that allows for the embedding of materia.

Inventory:

• Robes
• A multitude of books that center around the theory and practice of magic, alongside a few other books that relate to alchemy and herbalism.
• Collapsible portable chemistry lab for rudimentary alchemy
• Herbalist's satchel
• Potions in syringes (x3)
• Ether Distiller, a device hooked up to Aelphis's arm. Allows for the intravenous consumption of Ether as needed to compensate for diminished mana reserves. (x5 doses)
• A shiny pebble

Materia:

• MP Turbo (embedded within stave)
• Frog (frog)

Limit Breaks: Penultima
An offshoot of what is said to be the strongest form of Black Magic in all of Artimis. An all-out offensive spell, Aelphis conjures a blast of raw black magic that can shatter through all defenses... However, this spell only bears a fraction of the original's power output, incapable of piercing through certain powerful defenses. Proof of Aelphis's magical talent... or perhaps the expectation to master such a spell alludes more to the high expectations his "mother" had for him.

---

Appearance Details:
Short for a Faye, Aelphis stands at a measly 5'4", bearing a slim and almost malnourished build. His jet-black hair is kept at a short length, and his skin is rather pale, outlining his sunken crimson eyes. Aelphis's body is marked with small cuts and bruises, all scars of experimentation, some self-inflicted. Aelphis appears rather timid and unassuming, his hands trembling especially as he casts his incantations. Between his general demeanor and his boyish looks, many would underestimate the young Black Mage at first glance.

Personality:
The child prodigy who grew up into a burnout. Aelphis carries a multitude of burdens, many of which he hides under a mask of cynicism and desire for solitude. Acquiescing to the rumors of his kind, the Black Mage is more than content to live the rest of his days as the dreaded "Witch of the Chocobo Forest" if it means he will be left alone. Much of his motivations in life have been squashed, replaced with a simple desire to fulfill his own bodily needs. This includes his addiction to Ether, something he has grown an unhealthy dependency on to numb the pains that come from his upbringing. Even his research has been dedicated towards this physical need, studying ways to extend and increase the effects of Ether for a longer-lasting high.

Despite these issues, Aelphis still carries a burning curiosity to learn more about the world around him, a fragment of his former love of learning. This curiosity burns especially bright when it comes to uncovering the true mystery surrounding the darkness that plagues the world. Not for any altruistic reasons, of course. It would be just a bit easier to score some Ether if all of Ibros didn't blame him for the light fading away. Now that he started thinking about it, it'd be nice to be a "hero," too, if it means everyone would get off his case...

Biography:
There are many stories surrounding the "Witch of Chocobo Forest." Some say she is a terrible hag who drinks the blood of children who stray too far into the woods, drinking their blood to stay eternally young. Others say that anyone who wanders too far into her domain would be turned into a toad. There are even a few sinister rumors that this witch even had a hand in bringing about the vanishing of the Light! Of course, these rumors are, in the end, mere rumors meant to scare children from going into the Chocobo Forest alone... well, except for the toad part. That part has some truth to it.

The true identity of this "witch" is none other than a young Faye Black Mage named Aelphis, who merely wishes to be left alone. To the lost traveler who would find themselves near his humble abode, Aelphis would simply give them directions, in exchange for ether or coin for more ether... and to those eager witch-hunters who read too deply into the rumors, they would enjoy the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be green and slimy for just long enough to be punted to the other side of the forest.

Aelphis was not always a "witch." There was a time when he was just simply a boy who had also gotten himself lost in the woods one day, lured by a whisper in the wind as his latent magical talent awakened. There, he met someone who would more correctly be called a witch; a strange woman with a big hat. This woman had realized Aelphis's potential not long after their chance encounter, and quickly took him under her fold, informing the boy of his aptitudes and enticing the young Faye her own magic. With promises to teach him such mystical wonders, Aelphis was more than happy to learn from this witch.

This was but one of many mistakes Aelphis would make in his life.

The witch's lessons were harsh and heavy-handed, with lessons of both black magic and alchemy hammered into Aelphis's mind. When he wasn't learning magic or otherwise running errands, the strange woman had performed many peculiar experiments on the boy ranging from testing the limits of his mana to seeing how different toxins and drugs would affect his ability to manipulate his aether. It was this ordeal that had caused Aelphis's addition to ether in the first place, the witch using it as both a way to quickly restore his magical reserves for more experimentation as well as a way to control the boy to further her aims.

This went on for almost a decade until suddenly, the witch had vanished on the eve of the War. It was a struggle for Aelphis to cope alone and without the woman for a time. Despite the abuse he had suffered under her tutelage, she was also something of a parent to the boy. It didn't help that he had been slowly weaned off of the witch's supply of ether. After another half decade of monotony and a gradually declining store of ether, Aelphis realized that staying around in his surrogate mother's abode would be, as she put it, "a waste of his talents." Not wanting to be nagged by her during her eventual return, Aelphis would set off, following any call of adventure he would come across...

Traits:

• Tends to ramble and complain when it comes to heavy physical exertion such as hiking long distances.
• Hates small talk. Prefers to speak only when it concerns important things, like how walking sucks.
• Enjoys spicy foods. Dislikes sour foods.
• Sports a surprising green thumb.
• Allergic to chocobo feathers. Aelphis is very happy he is away from home.
• Polyglot, despite being sheltered for so long.
• Does not have a Oedipal complex, please stop asking.

Relationships:

• Witch (?) - Surrogate Mother. Teacher. Has a nice, big hat. Studious, stern, probably sadistic. Status unknown. Aelphis isn't even sure she was a true mage from the amount of materia she had.
• Viper (27) - Magical Reagents dealer. Roves around Edren. Has ether... for money. A bit of a drama queen.

Dame Commander
1st Household Guards Battalion of Skael

25 | ♀ | Sollan



Class:

Gunbreaker

Weapon:

A long, thin gunblade, crafted in the style and weighting of a sabre. Lightweight but durable, as a custom-made weapon, it prioritizes the same melee fighting form and function of its more simple gunless sister. Thusly, it lacks accuracy or punch at range, unless explosive shells are used. It shares the same ammunition as a standard Skaelic longarm.

Inventory:

• Spare arms. Éliane carries, in a special dual-slotted strap slung across her shoulder, a spare standard-issue combat sabre and battle rifle. The blade sees little use, but she uses the firearm regularly for hunting, or when the situation demands a little more accuracy and discretion.
• Dagger. A basic third weapon hidden in her boot. Éliane likes her backup weapons.
• Traveling cloak. A long, thick garment that can cover her body down to just above her ankles. Color matched to the navy blues of her uniform.
• Leather satchel. Contains essentials, including basic traveling supplies, spare ammunition, and tools for maintaining her weapons. Includes a coinpurse with enough expenses for a couple months of travel.
• Potions. x3. Basic potions for whenever one might need them.
• Coffee. She can’t go without it.

Materia:

Fire.
Wind.

Limit Breaks:

Conflagration. Éliane has no idea why this needs to be explained. It’s a big, directed explosion with piercing qualities made by charging and simultaneously firing all rounds in her gunblade. It makes a big boom commensurate to the level you’d expect from a limit break.

Appearance Details:

Éliane stands at about 5’ 4” tall, with a slender, though fit build. She keeps her pinkish-red hair generally short. Her eyes, matching the color of her hair, are intense. She generally keeps to wearing her uniform even outside of Skael, seeing as her travels are in service to her country. When out of it, she wears simple, comfortable clothing that are easy to move in, and always at least with one weapon.

Personality:

Expressive. Intense. Slightly unhinged. Polite, to a degree. Friendly, nonetheless. Those are all words to describe the force of nature that is Éliane Laruelle. A battle junkie that doesn’t shy away when violence is needed, she has her head half in the clouds at times. Youthful, boisterous and energetic, she has no issue with commanding attention. Despite her rank and role, she is neither a particularly exceptional leader nor a very effective law keeper. A strong believer in pragmatism and might makes right, she nonetheless maintains a mostly moral, if practical outlook.

Has a penchant for accidental collateral damage. If the Seeds of the Garden are the scalpel, then Éliane and the others that were under her command are the big, unsubtle hammer that proudly trumpets the presence of Skael.

Biography:

Éliane’s story has humble origins. Her parents were both bakers; her mother from a long line of bakers, and her father, a guard captain that took up the family business later in life. For commoners, they did well for themselves, with a well-trafficked bakery on main street that has stood for generations. Growing up, she learned to bake, helping out in the family store in the early mornings. In the afternoons, her father, after closing up the shop, would teach her some of the skills he had picked up as a guardsman to protect herself.

It turned out she was far better with cold weapons and firearms than handling hot pie tins.

Not that her baking skills were subpar, mind, but Éliane simply never had the temperament to take up the family business. When she was of age, using her father’s connections, she joined the Garden, leaving her younger sister to take up the family business. Her time there was relatively brief, though fruitful. She quickly distinguished herself with the skill of her sword arm and the accuracy of her shot, but equally developed a reputation for bungling covert operations with risky maneuvers and high-profile attacks.

Nonetheless, her skills drew the attention and patronage of one of the seven great Houses. Thus, while still in her late teens, she was sworn into service to House Silvain, a relationship that turned out to be rather fruitful when Lord Silvester Silvain was elected Overseer. Still under service to the House, Éliane joined the Household Guards, the elite corps of soldiers tasked to protect the ruling Overseer and his administration and carry out missions of state. She remained at her position in this capacity after Silvain's four-year term was up, subsequently serving under Overseer Baramoux.

Éliane was a pivotal actor in the Conspiracy of Solitude’s Rest, an attempt to overthrow or assassinate Baramoux backed by a cartel of merchants slighted by isolationist policies. While she was not the one to uncover the plot, there are few that aren’t aware of the high-profile running battle between the Household Guards and the forces of the conspirators on the rooftops and spires of Solitude. There, Éliane dueled and personally defeated the corrupt lord that was the ringleader of the plot, for which she received a Knighthood and a promotion.

With the appearance of the Blight and the proclamation of Leonhart VII, and in the face of an unprecedented threat to her nation, Éliane led a small delegation to Balmung to show the flag… and, by the grace of Etro, nip the problem in the bud before it truly reached the lands of the far south.

She did not, however, expect everybody else in her delegation to keel over and die in the castle during a surprise attack.

Traits:

• Enjoys baking, despite not taking up the family business.
• Lives off caffeine. Heavily prefers coffee, but will gladly partake of tea or other caffeinated substitutes.
• Likes dueling. Recreational or otherwise.
• Fan of pubs and bars. Sometimes to the point of waking up in unfamiliar beds. She considers that a plus.
• Takes the titles and trust placed in her seriously. Despite not being the best student, she will take the time and study until she is knowledgeable in a required subject.

Relationships:

• Lord Silvester Silvain. She maintains a good relationship with the former Overseer and his family, despite parting ways as his retainer.
• Overseer Baramoux. Her current boss. She disagrees with some of his policies, but keeps things professional.
• Marianne, Oliver, and Therese Laruelle. Her parents and younger sister, respectively, at the Laruelle Bakery in Solitude where she will still occasionally help out.
• 1st Household Guards. She cares for and dotes on her small squad, which she’s left behind in Solitude to put out any fires in her absence.
• Solitude/Skael. Well known for putting out the incipient rebellion in Solitude. A somewhat divisive character, considering having a battle on the rooftops of the capital is a rather reckless endeavor.
• TBD.

---

Name: Esben Mathiassen, heir of Baron Cadon

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Sollan

Origin: Skael

---

Class: Rogue

Weapon: A trusty sidesword. Well made, well balanced, but understated in appearance—there's no need to be gaudy with a weapon that you actually intend to use.

Inventory:

• A pair of old daggers. It's always worthwhile to have a backup, especially for those cases where they want you to check your sword at the door. Each is suited to a different use—adaptability is important!
• A curiously designed ringed buckler—from the front it appears perfectly normal, however, there are a pair of firearm barrels on the reverse running the width of the small shield, similar to the more common gunblades used among many of Skael's warriors. The handle of the buckler is in fact two pieces, a very stiff (for safety purposes; can't have the sears releasing when the buckler is used as a buckler, after all) compression trigger to fire off both of the barrels.
• Generalized travelling gear. Hard-wearing clothes, a proper bedroll, canvas tarp, water resistant cloak, rations, things of that nature.
• Spare set of dress clothes. Pictured above. Appearances can prove important, and looking like a regular traveller does not always open up the necessary doors.
• Traditional Skaeller costume. Almost never wears it. Mother made him take it with him in case he found people celebrating Skaeller holidays where he might be expected to wear it. Sometimes wears it when having to launder the rest of his clothing.
• Preserved comfort foods from home. Don't judge him.
• Akvavit.
• Coinpurse.
• One potion. He makes a point to avoid getting in situations where he may need to use it.
• Spare ammunition.

Materia:

• Luck Up
• Parry

Limit Breaks:

• Double Tap. Adopting what looks like a standard guard position, Esben shifts the buckler in his grip and squeezes the two halves of the handle together, firing off both barrels into his target.

---

Appearance Details: Tall and lithe, possessed of a thin frame that belies the wiry musculature that benefits his chosen occupation. He may be a noble, one expected to eventually return to an administrative role, but he is not soft. Curiously, he bears fewer scars from training and fighting than one would expect of a graduate of a military academy such as the Garden—but bears more than would be expected that have the appearance and location of resulting from corporal punishment.

Personality: At first glance, Esben appears to be an unassuming young man. His boyish looks are disarming, and he is very forthright and genuine in everything. To some extent, this is an intentional behavior; his stature could seem imposing on anyone who did not foster such a non-threatening personality, but instead he seems to shrink away, sliding into the background, where he can sit in his own quiet counsel, alternately observing those around him and introspecting when his own thoughts take precedence over what he sees and hears.

To assume that such is the sum total of his being is a mistake that has benefited him and his goals multiple times, and with any luck, will continue to do so.

He is a man of strong moral fiber. The actions he takes in service to Skael are an unfortunate necessity, but even then there are some things he will refuse to do.; he goes out of his way to avoid saying even the most innocuous white lie, and never hestitates to rectify it if he is forced to lie, and otherwise is utterly honest about everything he can be. He will refuse to engage in torture even if valuable information could be obtained by it, and he will exhaust every opportunity he can to get others to voluntarily give him or tell him what he needs before he'll resort to thieving it.

Alongside his forthrightness and honesty, he is extremely blunt, with little to no respect for the station of whoever he is speaking to. Another trait inherited from his father, though due to the clear devotion his family has always held to their land and duties, they've managed to avoid making many enemies within Skael's borders acting as they do.

He is not, however, soft at all; as stated, the actions he has to undertake are an unfortunate necessity, but he will see them through. If necessary, he will not hesitate to kill. He has no qualms against making threats and demands and seeing them through if the situation necessitates it, and is utterly inured to violence and pain both, courtesy of his education at the Garden.

Biography: (Bullet points because I'm feeling too lazy to write a narrative for this.)

• Born to the Baron Cadon and his wife. Given a comprehensive education from an early age, including in how to manage his family's fief, dealing with people of all stripes, combat, and more, with extensive input from his father directly.
• Per the recommendation of his swordsmanship instructor and his father's wishes, sent to the Garden shortly after his sixteenth birthday to continue his education.
• His skills are gradually drawn out by the instructors at the Garden, especially by Herr Anders; however, the strong sense of right and wrong instilled in him by his father clashes with some of the teachings he is expected to incorporate, leading to multiple disciplinary sentences before his graduation.
• Witnesses the battle on the rooftops of Solitude when conspirators intended to assassinate the Overseer. Privately wonders what would have come about if they were successful.
• Despite the various infractions, still graduates in the upper third of his class at the Garden. Is quickly assigned to a fact finding mission and sent northward, leading up to the present day.

Traits:

• Extremely strong moral fiber. Never lies if he can help it. Always tries to rectify it later if he does.
• Introspective.
• Blunt.
• Very limited emotive capacity.
• Gives everybody nicknames.
• Big eater and drinker—despite growing up on some of the best food one could obtain in Skael, he hasn't turned out picky. He just desires to feast at every meal he can.

Relationships:

• Mathias Felixssen, Baron Cadon—Esben's father and role model. The true guiding force behind the man Esben has become and wants to be; while he did not teach his son many of the skills he uses on a day to day basis, he did form the base of his character.
• Ada Eyvindsdatter, Baroness Cadon—Esben's mother. A force of personality to rival the scions of any of the great houses of Skael, if she cared to attempt it. She doesn't—there are better things to waste life on than politics.
• Lene Mathiassdatter Cadon—Esben's younger sister. Possibly even sharper than he is...at least when it comes to things more suited to handling the family's holdings, he's very out of practice at that. Has never shied away from making jokes that she's "The Spare" for the family, it makes their parents somewhat uncomfortable. Other than at his graduation from the Garden, Esben hasn't seen his family since he first left to study. He doesn't want to be reminded that Lene is an adult now.
• Overseer Baramoux—The big boss. Esben's opinion on the overseer is relatively neutral, but he knows that is the person he ultimately operates under, and there's always the chance that his reports end up on the man's desk.
• Herr Anders—An older, retired member of the lesser nobility, the hereditary knighthood (Ridderskapet), hired as Esben's personal instructor in swordsmanship as soon as the boy could hold one. Later, he learned that Anders's primary occupation was as an instructor for the Garden, covering far more than just swordsmanship. Esben still doesn't know his actual family name.
• Dame Commander Éliane Laruelle—She dueled a conspirator atop the roof of the apartment he was staying at while he studied at the Garden. She also put a hole in said roof, and that room was drafty ever since, although that's as much the landlord's fault for a poor repair as hers for making the hole. He was curious to meet her after he graduated and ask about the conspiracy and who uncovered it, but given that his assignment after graduation sent him outside of Skael entirely as a Seed with even more clandestine orders than most, he's mostly given up on that idea.

---

Name: Miina Malina

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Race: Mystrel

Origin: Drana Asnaeu (Nameless tribal hamlet)

---

Class: Red Mage

Weapon: Schiavona. When trying to replace the damaged weapon she was training on... well, it had to have a cutting edge, right? That's what swords are for! And the appeal of having an entire basket rather than just a few metal bars, well... there are probably worse things to base your sword choice on.

Inventory:

• Camping Supplies
• A surprisingly sharp knife in particular, for how dull it is and how pitted the blade is starting to get, along with how tatty the wrapping on the handle is.
• More sewing supplies and spare bits of fabric than seems quite rational for someone whose job has nothing to do with sewing.
• A pile of disorganised notes on numerous topics, in terrible handwriting, with bad spelling.
• Two changes of clothes that are not only vastly less fancy, they're rather geared for balmier weather. One of them's at least more covering but... still only part of the reason wearing it now would be embarrassing. Even if, in most regards, it would be more comfortable than her proper outfit.

Materia:

• EXP Plus
• Exit

Limit Breaks: Winter Blossom: Stabbing her sword into the enemy, Miina grows a crystal of ice starting inside their body. Making it a tasteful bloodtinged flower rather than a fractal pattern doesn't contribute at all to the damage, but it's pretty.

---

Appearance Details: Miina doesn't even quite reach five feet with the ears. She's a small cat, tries to make up for it in clothes and hair volume.

Personality: For all that she's a talented little thing, especially since the majority of her current skills are self taught, Miina is almost devoid of confidence, particularly around other people. So what if she can heal some things, or just conjure fire, or swing a sword a little? There are so many others--and she's really started to meet a lot of them since she started travelling--that can do any one of those and do it so much better! What good is being able to do lots of things if you do them all badly? It's even worse when someone thinks that it's somehow praiseworthy...

Even if her abilities aren't in question, there's just the matter of... fitting in. No matter where she goes, the settlements seem to be bigger, even if the people in them just say "oh, this is just a small backwater". It's intimidating, and the culture is always unfamiliar, especially in the cities. As much as she likes the look of her clothing--there's a certain joy in actually having enough fabric around to flounce--it's really hard to say... well, it doesn't feel like it sits right. Is she standing right? Fidgeting too much? Is it too over the top? How out of her depth Miina is feels like something that shines through.

Of course, as panicky as she is internally, she's actually pretty composed until she opens her mouth, so she's probably overthinking it a bit.

Biography: Miina's life got off to a bad start: her mother died. On the plus side, this didn't really leave her as an orphan or all the isolated--in such a tiny village as hers, everyone was more or less family, and she still had her father and Zeke. It fell mostly to the latter to raise her, her brother encouraging her interests in... well, anything, really, especially after she showed not only an aptitude for magic but an interest and talent in all magic. It would have been easy enough for him to encourage his younger sister to follow in his footsteps exactly regardless of her desires, or take a more specialised path and focus on white magic that would benefit the village as a whole… but he told her to just do whatever came naturally, and he'd teach her what she wanted as best he could.

Naturally, this is where the tribal custom of driving out adult men came to be a problem. Just turned eleven, and now her closest friend and general source of encouragement had left--maybe if he'd been a white mage the rules could have been broken, but someone whose specialty was destructive? It was occasionally handy for them, but not that much.

Throughout adolescence, Miina grew generally more awkward and reserved, even while focusing impressively--especially given the limited resources they had, particularly with a tendency to moving the entire village until she was old enough to convincingly argue that she was free to leave. Her goal? To find her big brother, naturally.

Heading for Costa del Sol, Miina picked up a sword when a rather down-on-his-luck seeming brigand thought she'd make an acceptable target... pretty desparate to think she'd have anything of worth, but that added another thing for her to practice with. It made her stick out even more at her destination: a shabby, barefoot forest mage with a dinged up sword stumbling her way through even a basic conversation.

So, she started picking up odd jobs where she could... she might not have much in the way of social skills, but she did have magic, and particularly healing, along with a pretty athletic build and a whole host of minor skills, particularly if anyone needed something that might mean a trek back out into the jungle. Eventually, through mostly continuing to be a strange forest hobo, she saved up enough to buy some better clothing... and got into a whole extra world of confusion.

Where there's trade, there tends to be crime. Being a naive idiot, Miina got in rather deep without noticing it--and it was while speaking to a tailor about at least getting some nice clothes that some 'nice people' she'd worked with paid a visit. One thing lead to another, and the Mystrel came to the only reasonable conclusion: she needed to clean up after herself to not get in trouble and apologise. Even if this was really dangerous, and probably not well planned.

As attested to by her continued survival, Miina succeeded. It wasn't the biggest gang, but it was still impressive enough to get some acknowledgement in the port city by the authorities... and admonishment for having been so easily pulled into a gang in the first place without even realising. The tailor, partly out of thanks but largely paid with some of the harder-to-return proceeds from the bust, made most of her new outfit and set her up with a smith to make the rest and get a proper sword.

Miina had no reason to think the call to Balmung would appreciate her contribution--dealing with a small criminal matter isn't fate-of-the-world type stuff--and instead set out once again to try and follow Zeke's ever-cooling trail, although with more contacts than before. Last she heard, he was probably up in Osprey...?

Traits:

• In Miina's mind, the best thing about all this big culture stuff is the easy availability of alcohol. It's not that she's any more confident, it's just... much less stressful.
• Has a stutter. Quite noticeably too.
• Considerably better than she gives herself credit for, despite being often self-taught--just always comparing to focused experts.
• As above, a lot of her skills (especially magically) don't have formal instruction.
• Very bad at not getting caught staring at large busts.
• Doesn't actually like wearing shoes, effective pauper that she was raised as, but she's not impractical about it. Until given an excuse to climb a tree.

Relationships:

• Zeke Malina: Miina's beloved older brother. An odd case of another red mage, especially in the same family, she hasn't seen him in eight years--although she's been asking around for rumours, so he does seem to be still alive, as far as she's aware.
• Tailor: She's got a standing invitation to come back and get her clothes patched up or replaced at a slight discount, if they get too beaten up.
• Costa del Sol Criminal Underworld: Quite the bad reputation amongst this, now.
• Home Village: Although welcome back, the fact that her father went along with tradition and kicked out the one person she was fully relaxed around has not done her many favours in asking to return. But she does still know how to get back, and knows a few others around the area where people left to.

---

GENERAL INFORMATION

Name: Rudolf Shilage Sagramore

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Race: Sollan

Origin: Edren

COMBAT INFORMATION

Class: Vagrant

Weapon: A Greatsword of clear quality and balance rests easily on Rudolf's back, but never sees use aside from nighttime drills and provision of a subject for frustrated grumbles under the breath. With some prying, he'll mopingly give up the ghost— for all its dreamlike handling in the grip of even a novice, no matter the power he or anyone else puts behind a swing, the metal is dead. Won't even cut twine. The pair of more standard, unremarkable swords on his hip do the real work, uncomfortable as it is.

Inventory:

• Armoring. Worn often on the road, in the twinned spirits of comfort moving around in what you plan to fight in and in never lacking protection from Nasty Surprises. The trip northward has seen a high mask and pointy, brimmed hat adorn Rudolf's pale face and locks, two parts protection from sun and sand and three parts "always liking a nice hat". His cloak and hat have since been lost. Much of the armoring has been eschewed for concerns of heat and humidity in the (sub)tropical climate of Drana Asnaeu.
• Greatsword
• Longsword
• Shortsword
• Crane Wings, a paired set of short, weighty single-edged blades ideal for chopping. Said to bring good fortune provided the pair remain whole, and each blade be allowed to return to the other.
• Sagramore Rondel, A heavy-duty dagger some fourteen or fifteen inches in length, with a sturdy, stiff blade and diamond-shaped point. Ideal for punching through tough hides, maille hauberks, or the gap between an unfortunate knight's gorget and his throat, warriors of the swordsman village unilaterally receive these knives upon fighting age. The pommel, by tradition, is fashioned from the fang of a sabertooth— though some braver souls may bring back yet sturdier trophies or rarer steels to the master's forge.
  
  A trustworthy sidearm and utilitarian tool, the reliable construction can stand up to any test the hard-nosed Sagramori throw at it— be its use as an impromptu handhold once plunged into the side of a struggling beast, or in delivering strikes with their prized strength and speed behind the piercing tip. Rudolf habitually sharpens his false edge enough for camp life purposes, and prefers to otherwise keep things "by the book"— close quarters, icepick grip, and anything beyond that a last resort.
• Knife, Knife, Knife (for cooking)
• Oil, Whetstone, other such upkeep tools. Included among them are sheets of parchment and charcoal, ostensibly for drafting, oftentimes for sketching. He won't make a living off his portraits any time soon, but he's got a charming sense of expression and meticulously hatched shading.
• Adventuring Gear. Your standard backpack replete with rations, bedroll, canteen, and rope. Road boots, and heavy cloak the color of dried blood to throw over it all on a windy day.
• Casual wear. We all need something for the day-to-day.

Materia: Gravity, Shield (Now in Arton's possession.)

Limit Breaks:

• Svalinn : Inky mists coalesce before Rudolf's outstretched palm, a roiling mass of shadow and flame swirling, burning, driving towards a lone point in space— then blossoming outwards into a multi-layered shield of magic that blocks fire, blocks the arcane, blocks an oncoming avalanche, all without fail. Your one get out of jail free card.

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Appearance Details: As if at odds with the small arsenal strapped to his person, Rudolf is a fresh-faced and young man of short, wiry build. Scrawny, in his own words, barely cresting 5'8 with his grown-out mop of platinum blonde. His eyes are his mother's gold rather than his father's brown, but carry a similarly dimmed luster— though less stoicism in his case, and more wary insecurity. He carries himself accordingly, the clash of heavy-hammered military training and a meek demeanor evident if one looks closely.

Personality: At first blush, a confident and composed warrior, keen as any of the blades on his person and near as keen with his tongue. He'll speak clearly, hold eye contact, exude a sense of strength as well as any son of uplifted military can be taught— but scratch that surface, and time will tell you the truth of things. The boy's facade will waver, and inevitably chip to reveal the messier picture under the hood. Easily intimidated, awkward, prone to childish sensitivity, no amount of the remarkable strength packed into his slight frame seems to have quite gotten the message to his mind, still disappointing disowned middle child, still the runt of the litter. Once his guard is down around you, you'd be shocked he ever pulled the mask off in the first place.

But nobody exists with one facet.

Beneath this high-strung ball of defense mechanisms and weak points is, by all accounts, an affable, friendly, even driven young man. He's a people pleaser at heart, his upbringing leaving him with a hatred of feeling like he's let anyone down, desperately seeking to avoid it even if it gets him in a situation he hates every second of. He enjoys being helpful, rarely balks at hard work, and understands well the feeling of being abandoned to one's fate, something he refuses to be the cause of. It's part of why his sturdy soldier's veneer gained the polish it did— he's quite studious and was surrounded by fine teachers in the older men of his family, however harsh they were with him. He wishes with all his being to meet the expectations set for him by those he considers important— that same dented confidence a tireless engine to stop being the weakling he can't help but see himself as.

Provided he isn't double-checking his back for the next dark streak of luck that comes his way, his concentration and focus are admirable both in and out of battle. He inherited a desire to cut through to the structure of things he needs to understand, tracking process and tendency to find threads to pull and gaps to prod. His spartan upbringing left him with many of the classical Midgar-adjacent gaps in intuition, taking a while to read people as well as he reads combat and making a real mess of relationships that don't feel like brotherhood, but he never considers getting to know someone a waste of time— if anything, a rare privilege he had as a common villager compared to even the least of a knightly house.

Biography: Born second in a family of career soldiers uplifted to Knighthood just two generations before, Rudolf was always expected to follow in the footsteps of his forefathers in the Shilage creed— "All that is held by blood, shall too be earned by blood." Theirs was a history of consistently decorated service, like many from their ancestral home in Midgar, and though he was never expected to succeed his father István (shoes that the firstborn Otto already seemed to be gracefully filling), he was nonetheless trained from the moment he could walk in the many arts of war, administration, and culture. Their designs on climbing the ladder certainly had ample room for distinguished commanders, savvy political alliances, stalwart, fierce, and reputable knights. Inheritance was the king, but only a fool would neglect making use of the full board. For now, they and their little slice of paradise carved in the open plains between the Midgar Peaks and Chocobo Forest would act as crucible for the next generation, no matter their birthright.

Fate had, as it so often does, other plans for little Rudi.

In spite of his immersion in the most thorough developmental programs new money and a long history in the martial field could provide, Rudolf lagged behind as a warrior, even being outstripped in time by Imre, the youngest of them. For all his hard work and focus, for all his earnest desire to catch up and enjoy sparring with his brothers and peers, he seemed to plainly be bereft of the natural aptitude for soldiery that served them so well. Where they grew tall and strong, he remained scrawny, an eternal step behind. Taking after your mother, then? So be it. Double your training menu, boy.

Desperate and dutiful, his efforts did indeed redouble.

The passage of time brought little reprieve from a widening gap, both between he and his brothers as well as between he and his stern, brutal patriarch. On his best day an oppressive cliff face, Istvan's methods grew increasingly heavy-handed before, eventually, stopping altogether. The tireless mental machine that rose to prominence as leader of some of the finest expeditionary corps in the nation had reached his wits' end— and war was brewing upon their doorstep. Opportunity's clarion call was not left to hang in still air— as The Shilage Raiders departed for the North, a stalwart young Otto in tow, arrangements were made for Rudolf to be sent away, a smidge too young and a slab too roughshod to join the war effort.

A month of travel brough him west, onto the doorstep of one Earl Cadmon Demet outside Lunaris. A scholarly man that had kept his father on retainer in his youth, Cadmon knew well the customary trade of favors in play here— it having been Istvan himself that passed down the teachings of Edric Demet onto him, after the old lord's untimely passing left an unprepared teen to fill his shoes. Rudolf was summarily made squire, and spent the wartime years furthering his knowledge of both sword and pen beneath the watch of the old ruins. The Earl was a far gentler, kinder man than his father, even if he provided the boy with all the work he could handle— and that mentorship would soon prove an invaluable windfall.

He knew how to gauge his own progress. He had been watching it hawkishly for more than a decade. Even putting aside Imre's visits that unilaterally ended in a sound trouncing, he knew that as Osprey made its final stand high in the mountains, Istvan and Otto were soon to return home as part of the triumph, and he would be found yet wanting. Weak, too weak by half, and paralyzed by his weakness, he would wait for the moon to lift high into the night and stalk the perimeter of the Lunarian ruins, alone with these thoughts. By now a common sight here at the Earl's suggestion, for both study and sparring, few paid the young noble much heed.

Then the ruins began to call to him. Voices in the darkness, answering his unspoken prayers for strength, with a bargain— just a bit of luck, equal in measure to the power he lacked. They had watched him and heard him for years now, and believed their covenant a fair win for both parties. The question was, did he?

His return to the Shilage household, and reunion with father and brother, were short-lived in their joy. A burst of black flame erupting from his palm during a spar "for old times' sake" saw him swiftly thrown out like yesterday's trash, his only boon from the war effort an inscrutable, dull greatsword his furious father had poached from the hands of a rogue landsknecht— one that could cut nothing, no matter the skill of the wielder. Magic and a contract with the shadows themselves— a shame upon them twice over. He had no use for Rudolf any more, as he had, clearly, turned his back on the Mothercrystal's Light. He had not earned this strength through Blood.

With the dulled sword tossed to his feet before the heavy gates slammed shut, the message was as clear as the rain overhead— For your sins, you never will again.

He returned to Lord Demet, now as nothing else but wayward squire, and begged forgiveness, redemption, shelter at least. Seeing a desperate boy for what he was but needing a deft hand to maintain their familial ties, Cadmon instructed the former Shilage to take residence in the warrior settlement of Sagramore at the interior edge of his domain, where he had been sent to train from time to time among their many swordsmen and swordsmiths alike. They knew him chiefly as the Earl's understudy; provided he could lid those signs of the covenant, they would accept him readily as a familiar face. Perhaps they could turn their shared obsessions over to the puzzling sword as well, while Rudolf gathered the shattered remnants of his life back into a little pile.

He would remain there for five years, taking the village as surname and joining the Sagramori in leasing out services of monster-hunting (hating it every time) and armed escort for the many scholars that studied the ruins (hating it every time for different reasons), known for sometimes being swallowed by the labyrinth. When the Blight hit, he and they were among the frontliners in the sudden war against the newfound aggression of the savage beasts. Word of Leonhart's call to arms had made its way in short order to Earl Demet, who passed it on down to the village with a single word of advice for his miserable fool of a squire, once an honest, hopeful boy.

"Go."

Traits:

• Reliably unlucky. Will drop his coins down the grate. Will strike no truer than his ability. Will draw the short straw or have a ladder fall on his head.
• Believes that honor is "the refuge of the strong".
• Does not believe in his own strength.
• Nonetheless, faultlessly will be found presenting arms before a spar or duel. Gives both their proper respect, actually seems to enjoy them once they get going.
• Finds a meditative calm in the many rituals of upkeep. Feels similarly about the rhythm of crosshatching with his charcoal.
• Is a fair hand at preparing road food like stews and grilled meats. No gourmand, but not half bad for a castle boy.
• Has a fondness for eccentric hats. The swankier, the better.
• Can sketch a quite flattering portrait, provided you're okay with it.
• Inherited his father's taste for coffee. Prefers it with a splash of cream, and a pinch of cardamom.
• Mildly easy to talk into things. Incredibly easy to drag into them.
• Doing his best, alright? Be nice!

Relationships:

• House Shilage: Estranged. Outcast. It's as complicated as it is simple. His father's final message eclipsed even words, and was the first time he had seen true fury on the man's granite slab face. They aren't on speaking terms. His brothers stand head and shoulders above him in both men's standings. All involved share the wish that he could be a little more like them. He is the least of them, but he used to still be one of them.
• Earl Cadmon Demet: A savvy, understanding Uncle in all but blood. For a while, possibly the only friend in the world Rudi had— despite the taciturn message that foisted this quest onto his squire, Earl Demet maintains regular written correspondence, watching over the boy from afar, advice never far down the page.
• The village of Sagramore: Proud warriors that train their bodies to be strong, fast, and tough as any armor, they are singularly responsible for keeping him sane at his nadir, by providing a constant stream of training, jobs, and most of all, something like a home away from home. A place to be almost normal. He's not one of them, but he stands among them all the same.
• Sir Galahad, Knight of the Crown: It's a rare red-blooded young Edreni man, especially one with Midgar ancestry, who hasn't heard of the dragonslaying prodigy, the gallant veteran of the War in Osprey. In many ways Galahad's tales are every bit the inspiration that Otto was. After his many facades have been shattered by fate, this relationship is strained, tense, and cautious— but even then, they owe it to one another's shows of faith that they keep pushing the Kirins forward. It sucks that it turned out this way. But they're both still here, fighting for the cause.
• Izayoi Furuya: Worst case scenario. Avoid at all costs. If she's in the area, leave the area. If you can't leave the area, stay out of sight. If you can't stay out of sight, don't make eye contact. If she demands you converse, play dumb and abuse the fact that you look a lot more like Mom than Dad. If you can't avoid a fight, cheat like a bastard. Call in the other end of the deal. Worry about people knowing about that later, while you still have a head that isn't paying for Dad's exploits. A life worth saving. Even after all this. Even after they are known to one another. If nothing else, for the sake of the mission. If anything else, so she need not be mourned another time.

Name: Robin Fey

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Race: Sollan

Origin: Edren





Class: Swords(wo)man

Weapon: A spada da lato, broader then a rapier but still quite slender, for swift thrusting and slashing attacks. She also possesses a small side-dagger for emergencies, but prefers the far flashier and larger blade.

Inventory:

• Her spada da lato and dagger
• Potions
• Rations
• Travelling Kit
• Surprisingly Warm Cape
• Spare Clothes

Materia:

• Light(used to create flashes and bursts of damaging light along her sword)
• Cover

Limit Breaks: Flash Rose: A series of swift and near-simultaneous sword-thrusts, four in total targeting the upper right, upper left, lower right, and lower left of the target. The final strike is a vertical slash which briefly lingers as a shimmering line of light before bursting, the end result vaguely resembling a rose for a single instant.



Appearance Details: At roughly 154 cm/5'1, Robin doesn't stand particularly tall at all. However, her slender build, taste in fashion, and androgynous appearance and voice all result in many who meet her to mistake her for a short young man as opposed to a young lady. Her high-speed and agility-focused swordplay techniques leave her athletic but not heavily muscled, possessing a very slim physique.

Personality: Robin seeks the adoration and attention of the masses. Not by being bard of great fame or other sort of performer. No, she wants her earn the adoration of the people by becoming a hero of the people. Possessed of a deep affinity towards heroic tales of ages past, Robin styles herself as a flashy and heroic figure, intervening whenever possible for the sake of the innocent. In her eyes, she can become a hero by helping others, by stopping those who would engage in wicked acts towards the innocent.

Confident in herself and her capabilities, Robin throws herself wholly into this mindset. When there are eyes on her, she conducts herself in a theatrical and flashy manner, practically impossible to miss. It isn't merely an act, however, this style of heroic figure is entirely who Robin aspires to be. Helper of the downtrodden, defender of the weak, and a shining figure who embraces justice.

However, when she's alone, it may become far more clear that Robin harbors doubts in herself she tries to ignore. Deep inside, a small part of her fears that rather then seeking to be a hero for the sake of others, she instead seeks to be a hero entirely for her own sake. Her love of praise and adoration certainly drives many of her actions. Is it possible that she's simply tricking herself into thinking that she wants to be a hero for genuine reasons?

Regardless, Robin loves stories of heroism, and is quite a gregarious and talkative person most of the time. Indeed, Robin dislikes being alone, and will become despondent when faced with loneliness. She prefers men's fashion, though this is at least in part because she is very self-conscious of her own appearance and believes she doesn't look good in more feminine wear. She is quite passionate about food, but is a terrible cook herself(much to her dismay).

While she will do her best to charm others, she is almost entirely oblivious to the affects this can have. To put it simply, anyone attempting to flirt would have to beat her over the head with it.

Biography: Robin's first clear memories were of being cold and alone. Not a single eye fell upon her. Few people acknowledged her existence at all. Clad in nothing but rags, she wandered aimlessly, dully, clinging to vague images of barely-remembered smiles. Despite her very young age, some part of her had long since concluded that she likely wouldn't survive much longer.

It was in this state of dull, mindless resignation that hope suddenly entered her life.

A man reached out to her and took her hand, picking her up in his remaining arm, and bringing her to safety. Over the next few weeks, he nursed the malnourished and nearly dead young girl back to health, giving her the first warm food she could ever remember tasting and tending to her various injuries.

Given this was the first kindness she could remember experiencing, beyond vague images of happy smiles, Robin's first words to him were wondering why he had done this.

The one-armed man never explained. He did introduce himself, however, as Ardor Fey, and continued to care for her. During this time, where she could barely leave bed, he regaled her with tales of heroes of ages past. Robin could only conclude that he was one of these heroes as well.

Over time, she grew stronger, and could soon leave bed and explore her surroundings. The small house that she had been brought to was just outside of a large village, where she would occasionally venture to run errands.

Having long since noticed the weapons and armor Ardor kept in his home, with the memories of the heroes of old and the adoration directed towards them filling her mind, Robin begged to be taught how to fight.

Reluctantly, he ultimately agreed, and gave her daily instruction.

With each day that passed by, Robin proved that she took to her adoptive father's training like it was practically her life's purpose. Each night, fantasies of heroism played out in her mind. Of the love and adoration of the people, of never having to face the cold and dark alone.

All these years later, those fantasies have never faded.

Ardor was not a young man when he saved Robin's life, and he had now become quite aged. But he didn't wish to halt his daughter in her desire to do good for other people.

He bid her to lead a life better then he had.

Robin took these words to heart. She would strive to help others, and make a name for herself. To earn the adoration and praise of the masses.

Following a vague trail of 'wherever she thinks she can perform the most heroics' has given her a minor name for herself, but only within a limited area. From chasing down criminals to slaying hazardous creatures, at least some people in the region may know the name 'Robin Fey'.

Traits:

• Prefers men's fashion, in part due to being self-conscious over her looks.
• The military nature of her outfit has no real significance, beyond Robin finding it to be flashy and cool-looking.
• Cannot hold her alcohol at all.
• Has a tendency to use her Light Materia to create small sparkles around her as she introduces herself or enters as scene.
• Criminally incapable of subterfuge, unless it makes her entrance more dramatic.
• Will always take the most theatrical route to doing something, though not to the point of impracticality. She was properly trained, after all.
• Her showboating nature is backed up by genuine skill, Ardor's teachings having instilled his techniques quite thoroughly into her while simultaneously encouraging her to develop her own style.

Relationships:

• Ardor Fey: A one-armed man, now entering his 70s, and Robin's adoptive father. Robin struck out on her adventure to make a name for herself at his urging. Appears to have some form of military background and considerable skill with a blade, but he never explained his origins to his adopted daughter.
• People of Ezta: The townsfolk of the village Robin and Ardor lived just outside of. They know her quite well, as she frequently entered the village to run errands.
• Various people in the Northeast of Edren: Having spent her time doing all she could to make a name for herself, a handful of people whom she has assisted or who saw her fight exist in various locations.