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Blunt ⬗ Confrontational ⬗ Haughty ⬗ Insecure ⬗ Sarcastic ⬗ Stubborn

A description indicating a character's trained skills and magical aptitude if they were awakened before seeking out to become a Warden of the Glade.

Kazran "Kaz" Harrond was the third born of seven children, born to the lowest caste of the Kingdom of Itenaire. The family at large worked various jobs, taking up what work they could to serve their lords and various merchant families. Kaz's eldest sister took a position as a maid for the Bonderal Merchant Family, while his older brother toiled in the fields as a simple farmhand in the fields. But Kaz, from birth, was a large boy. He was strong, tall, and skilled with his hands. It is no surprise he was scouted as a competent apprentice at a young age.

Wesley Daur was the premiere blacksmith of the Bonderal family, crafting everything from fine cutlery to horseshoes to even arms and armor for brave men and women who would keep the rich safe from the poor. Wesley saw in Kaz the same clever deftness in the boy that his own mentor had seen in him years ago. So it was that Kaz became an apprentice blacksmith, and proved to be quite skilled at this craft.

The only thing he wasn't skilled at, however, was keeping his heart guarded.

Everything changed when Isabella Bonderal, the youngest daughter of Alphonse Bonderal, stopped in at Wesley Daur's smithy to pick up a custom order of cutlery for the family. In a life of toiling day to day just to make ends meet, her smile cut through Kaz's core. Since they were 13, she would stop by on a monthly basis to watch the apprentice work. They would talk as he toiled, but an unspoken divide always remained between the two. For three and a half years, they continued their ritual in relative secrecy.

Of course, things shifted as Kaz grew older. There was only one means by which anyone in Iteniare could even hope to attain a little upward mobility: martial prowess. His days were spent in the smithy, while his nights were spent honing and training his body and form. Isabella managed to sneak him books teaching form and technique, while Wesley and his sons sparred opposite of Kaz. Before long, it was clear that Kaz's sheer strength, speed, and persistence had made him remarkably skilled. He had even quit his apprenticeship to enlist and train as a foot-soldier in the army. But Alphonse Bonderal has some considerable sway, and rumors of the Blacksmith's apprentice had even managed to pierce his ears. So, Kaz has set out for his last chance to attain some semblance of status and meaning in Atutania with a few parting gifts from his master: a hammer, a shield, and a breastplate.

His goal is simple: Follow in the footsteps of the great peasant hero (at least, thats how his mother described the Hero of the Glades) to earn a respect no man can deny.

After all, how could Alphonse refuse to recognize a Warden?

Blunt ⬗ Caring ⬗ Creative ⬗ Persistent ⬗ Reckless ⬗ Stubborn

Kazran Harrond is a remarkably skilled martial fighter. Having grown up doing back-breaking labor since he was old enough to walk, Kaz is exceptionally strong and in peak physical condition. He has spent several years honing his reflexes and skill with weapons, outside of the less serious training most children partake in within Itenaire.

Being a Blacksmith's apprentice, and being the size of a grown man for several years, Kaz has had the opportunity to grow comfortable with armor and shields, without it becoming a detriment to his athletic capabilities. Combined with a deep well of stamina, Kaz is what a soldier dreams of having their back when things get rough. He is the wall meant to stem the tides.

All that being said... Kaz's greatest weakness does come from some mobility issues due to his armor. Combined with the fact he has not had his magical awakening, and it is exceptionally clear that strength and stamina can only get you so far. Beyond that, Kaz is not battle-tested nor knowledgeable on how to work as a team. He is a workhorse without a driver.

Among the Elves, there are few things that hold higher value than one's own kin. The great clans that traverse the Viridian Sea are each bound together by ties of loyalty, ties of honor, and ties of blood -- ties so deeply ingrained into their culture as to be nigh-unbreakable. Families consist not simply of parent of child, but of countless aunts, uncles, cousins, grandsires, and great grandsires, comprising countless vast and meticulously recorded family trees, as numerous as the trees of the greatwood they call home.

Into such a culture, Sternwyss was cast adrift at a young age. Born to a mother of ailing health and ill repute, whose other children had all perished in the womb, she entered the world not long after her father had already abandoned her mother and returned to his own clan. She never beheld his face, and, to her knowledge, he never even learned her name. And when her mother Adalyr perished when she was only nine years old, Sternwyss thus was left in the peculiar situation of having absolutely no living relatives. Or at least, if they existed, there were none who would claim her.

So it was that she came into the care of her tribe's Druid, Ailín, a stern but wise teacher who offered solace to the grieving orphan of the ill-liked and ill-fated Adalyr, despite protests from the clan elders. He taught the young Sternwyss to honor the trees of the wood, taught her how to find her way even beneath its thickest branches, where the starlight for which she was named could never reach. He taught her the stories of the Dynion's exodus, and of the world of men which they had left behind. And, when one day, she too felt the breath of the forest on the wind, felt its pulsing lifeblood in the roots beneath her feet... Ailín taught her how to become one with the world, and to make the world one with herself.

Ascending from a pariah to a prodigy, Sternwyss became the youngest and most accomplished of Ailín's apprentices, demonstrating a remarkable aptitude for Spirit Invocation within just a few short years of first awakening. She accompanied her master everywhere, walking with him in his rounds of the forest and even accompanying him to meet with delegations from the menfolk who lived beyond the woods. He instructed her in the arts of trade and negotiation... though she took to this pursuit with a great deal less enthusiasm than her study of magic.

These "Humans" were truly reprehensible beings. It was not simply their loud mouths and overly familiar attitudes -- it was that they were entirely too ready to put on a charming face to cover up their ugly thoughts. Although she had few friends among her own people, at least her fellow Elves did not bother to mask their disdain, but expressed it openly. Not so with humans, who would smile and laugh and jest and flatter until they thought they were out of earshot, then just as quickly deride their hosts as primitive fools stuck in their ancient ways. But they had steel and the Elves did not -- and so, to procure the tools that were necessary to maintain their way of life, trade was essential.

Sternwyss did not understand why Ailín bothered teaching her such things. But she soon learned of his intentions when talks arose of sending a delegate to the Menfolk. Trade was growing difficult, as those merchants upon whom they had once relied turned their ventures to seeking greater profits elsewhere. What was more, there had been dark tidings of late -- matters of black magic of which the Druids felt it prudent to be wary.

In ancient days, one of their number had walked alongside the hero. Now, it seemed, a deal had been struck without her knowing -- one that would, now that she had come of age, require her to do the same. After all, who could be better suited for such a task than one with her unique qualifications?

It was a joke. A scandal. A mockery. A farce. Ailín could call it an honor or an opportunity as much as he liked, but the fact of the matter was plain for her to see. Though she was clad in the ceremonial arms and armor of her ancient kindred from the days when the Elves and Menfolk had waged war together against a common foe, though she was supposedly honored as an emissary of not only her tribe, but the whole of the Dynion...

She was being cast out.

Arrogant ⬗ Eloquent ⬗ Guarded ⬗ Honest ⬗ Perfectionist ⬗

Though she wields a sword, Sternwyss does so with no particular skill, having been trained more in performative arts such as sword dances and traditional kata than in preparation for real combat. Likewise, the armor she wears is more or less purely ceremonial in its design, offering little in the way of actual protection.

But this is not to say that the arms she bears are useless. Set with countless arcane crystals crafted with an ancient Elven technique, her jeweled armor and glimmering Manablade serve as conduits for her own elementally inert lifeforce, and the power she holds therein.

Human Magic is the outward expression of internal spirit, in a form and substance that reflects the balance of the user's own soul. Elven Spirit Invocation, on the other hand, infuses internal spirit into any pre-existing form and substance with which the user makes contact. Harnessing the air itself, she shapes earthen dust, pressurized air and water, and ambient heat into a blade of lambent light. Manipulating its form, she can extend and contract that blade, causing it to strike like a javelin or even coil like a serpent mid-swing. Likewise, the air itself conveys her person, allowing her to dart across the battlefield with uncanny swiftness thanks to the mana-storing crystals adorning her ceremonial armor. In areas close to nature, she's even capable of manipulating the terrain itself, splitting the earth, harnessing the winds, loosing the tides, or sprouting roots and vines to assail her opponents from all quarters -- more than making up for her lack of physical experience with a mix of latent cunning, prodigious talent, and arcane ingenuity.

However, utilizing this technique comes with extreme difficulty, as the user must carefully control their breathing and enter an almost meditative state, taking in free-flowing mana from the world around them to replenish that which they expend from their own vital force. If unable to commune with her surroundings in this way, overuse of her techniques can tax her body well beyond its limits, causing fatigue or internal injuries due to the strain placed upon her soul. As such, both to keep her trump cards hidden from prying human eyes, and for her own safety, she keeps the broader applications of her techniques a closely-guarded secret, relying on them only when she has no other choice.

Ionna was born with knighthood in her blood. For centuries, the Rielle family has served the Order of the Glade with loyalty, dignity, and an unwavering commitment to duty. While certainly not the oldest of the Order’s noble lineages, from their first knight the Rielle’s wasted no time in establishing themselves as worthy. Tracing their family line one finds no shortage of military accolades, diplomatic achievements, and martial renown. Some of the most famous duels in recent history were fought and won by Rielle knights, lauded for their swordsmanship, and to this day they are often among the first to be called upon when a matter would have to be settled with more pointed negotiations.

Ionna was shaping to be no different. Her mother and father, both accomplished knights, started her training early. The Rielles were a large family and so they often tutored among themselves, having developed a style of swordplay over the generations that served them well. Ionna happened to win the lottery; they assigned her older sister, Liura, as her mentor.

Of every Rielle branch, Liura was the most promising. She was only thirteen—eight years Ionna’s senior—when they were paired, and she was already outclassing the youths of other families within the order. She was talented, outgoing, always striving to better herself, but most of all she was kind. She never gloated, never condescended, and always took others at their word whether they deserved it or not. Friends came easily to her, even and especially among opponents. Liura Love, they called her, and it stuck.

When Liura ascended to knighthood—one of the youngest in the Order’s history to do so—she took Ionna as her familial squire, and their training continued. Ionna accompanied her sister across Lacorron, settling disputes from Itenaire to Hahral, and seeing first hand why their family was revered. Though she had yet to awaken an elemental affinity, she watched with awe when Liura would harness the power of the storm itself, moving like lightning, striking like thunder. But confrontations like that were rare. When it came to a fight, Liura settled most everything with just her sword, but the lion’s share of their work, Ionna came to find, was diplomatic. Violence was a last resort, and if it could be helped, it was always better to handle matters with words. You made more friends that way.

Ionna tried that. As was the way of Rielle squires, she was gradually allowed to engage in the negotiations, and quickly found that she did not have her sister's social prowess. Attachment, empathy, these things did not come so naturally to her, and early on she found herself—with Liura's permission—having to answer for her faux pas with duels. It was frustrating. She could win disputes at the end of a sword without trouble, but more and more she found herself wishing she could disarm her opponents in Liura's way, making allies of them before they even knew they ought to have been enemies.

Everywhere they journeyed, Liura seemed to leave more beloved than before. By the time Ionna was seventeen, she hadn’t seen her sister duel for almost a year. They traveled, they negotiated, they made friends and heard stories, they learned dances and songs and recipes that neither of them could execute particularly well. With almost two decades behind her, only now did she finally feel she was beginning to learn again. Her social slips were fewer and fewer, and when they passed familiar places, people occasionally remembered her with a similar fondness as her sister. Understanding and connecting with those they met became easier, more fulfilling. Liura was right, and she did make more friends.

Ionna had put off her own trials for knighthood—much to the annoyance of her father and mother—content for now to stay with Liura. The titles and glory, she realized, meant much less to her than the duty itself.

In her eighteenth year, Ionna returned to Atutania alone, with her sister's sword and her affinity awakened. Liura was dead, killed on the road from Itenaire. She had died heroically, and been avenged, but when her grief-stricken parents pressed, Ionna said nothing more. For a long time there was bitter silence within their branch.

She went on to squire for a cousin, who had not much cared for Liura, noting often and with annoyance how much Ionna reminded him of her. She was not deterred, and continued to spread her sister’s cheer and camaraderie wherever they traveled, until he eventually went to her parents and demanded she be dismissed. She obliged, and agreed with them that she had put off her duty long enough. It was time to live up to her family name. It was time To Become a Knight.

Even if she didn’t quite know what that meant anymore.

Convivial ⬗ Dense ⬗ Driven ⬗ Empathetic ⬗ Optimistic ⬗ Trusting

Like all Rielle children, Ionna could keep a sword steady before she could properly hold a fork. Her first blanket was an oil-stained blade cloth, her first toy was a whetstone. Very normal. Under her sister’s tutelage, her family did what it did best—it fostered prodigy.

Now Ionna wields a sword with the ease and grace of a seasoned knight, which is fitting as she’s spent most of her life fighting them. From friendly spars and squirely disputes, to diplomatic duels, she has a habit of seeking out challenges and an aptitude for conquering them. Untested in a large-scale battlefield, Ionna abhors chaos and much prefers the Order’s penchant for smaller-scale, more delicate conflicts, which she has seen ended with words as often as she has with blades.

Though her spiritual affinity is inexplicably dark, she approaches her magic with a stifling level of control. The arcane arts are relatively new to her, and even with the Rielles’ continued mentorship she’s skittish to use it. When she does, it manifests in much the same way as her sister, which is to say, inwardly. Rather than hurl bolts of lightning, Ionna focuses on herself, infusing her body with elemental authority. This grants her incredible speed and thunderous power, making a veritable living storm out of her.

Or it could, perhaps, with time and training. As it stands, Ionna will hardly allow herself to tap her awakened affinity. She can manage some bolting steps, maybe a charged blow or two, but quickly her grip on the power tightens into a stranglehold and chokes it away. Like any weapon, it must be used to be learned, and until Ionna pushes through her own blockade, she’s unlikely to make any progress.