[hider=Volodar Naesandoral]
Name: Volodar Naesandoral
Gender: Male
Age: 450ish
Nationality: Imperial
Appearance:
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[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/566882842261585950/1306818344510423160/Unbekannt_-_Captain_Peter_Strasser_German_airship_fleet_commander_World_War_I_1916-1918_1933_-_28MeisterDrucke-72190829.png?ex=67380cec&is=6736bb6c&hm=15ac0125a1df2d77fe63c8ad54eb163b38f750e2db592ce229eb53933cc44ad1&[/img]
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Personal Effects: 6 Makarios C94 Pistols and web-gear, a Haltian Cavalry Sabre, a bear-skin hat, several books and manuscripts in Elgan, a small collection of jewelry and trinkets from around the world.

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[b]Background:[/b] 

What is your job: Airship Pilot
Backstory: Volodar was born approximately 200 years before the Hasikos were restored to their imperial throne, and spent most of that time serving in the cavalry of the old Haltian armies that once dominated the battlefields north of the Circle Sea. With sympathies towards the reformist groups within the Empire, he remained within what is now the Imburian Empire after the Haitian defeats during the War of the Five Emperors and joined the newly established Imperial House Cavalry and served the Iburians in various functions, both on the field and in the barracks and palaces.

After a few decades of service with the Hasikos, Volodar resigned his commission with the Hastikos and decided to join the Monchian efforts to settle what would become the NordIsles in the Gulf of Equaterra, and managed to secure a governorship on one of the smaller island, more through conquest than appointment, despite little experience with government. This was arguably one of Volodar’s most productive ventures, as he effectively owned several plantations growing cash crops therefore improving the economic prospects of the island via what he viewed as an innovative workforce retention program and strict discipline of the laborers. He would eventually tender his resignation with grace in face of increasing demands from Vich.

Undeterred in his new situation, he turned his attention southward to the Calarian colonies in Equaterra in an attempt to weaken his old enemy, and found himself swept in with the spirit of revolution simmering through the region. Providing both money and expertise, he helped equip and build the Equaterran cavalry force, and lead a squadron through the revolutionary war. He found himself well suited to the guerilla nature of the war, although he was wounded by shrapnel twice and shot on one occasion. While recovering from his wounds, and a bout of tropical disease, he rested for a few years while enjoying his status as a minor hero and lived on a pension and accumulated plunder. Volodar made a comfortable life on the coast and served in a minor government post, before leaving Equaterra due to a scandal involving the President’s wife and another cavalryman.

From there, Volodar returned home to Imburia and Haltia for a few years due to the demands of certain family situations and to allocate his accumulated wealth towards projects at home. Here, he lived well and lived easy, enjoying frequent social events and balls as he reconnected with old circles and refreshed his lists of human contacts in Inbur. Such calm was not to remain, as his restlessness soon caught up to him again after two decades or so. 

An era of increasing industrialization and a second wave of exploration greeted Volodar as he took on the mantle of adventuring again. The first flights of fancy were to the arctic and the ice sheets north of Frosseland. Rumor had it that it may be a navigable passage connecting the two seas, at least during the summer months. To say this expedition was a failure would be an understatement. The ships broke against the ice not long after departure from the northern trading posts in Frosseland, and the survivors of the ships had to make a perilous journey back to civilized territory through hellish colds and ice. They survived on good will from the natives, and whatever meat and pelts they managed to scavenge.

His second venture during this period was to chart some of the jungles far to the south of Finiquia and Sahk in the search for signs of an ancient civilization. Sailing up a mosquito infested river, tropical diseases plagued the expedition while hostile locals whittled down their numbers. It wasn’t all for naught though, because, after a 23 day trek through the jungle, he found a tribe of strange bird-like people, who he bartered with. Trading pelts, guns, and liquor for jewelry, artifacts, and coins, he obtained the proof that he sought and made the trek back home. 

Once more, Volodar settled down in Inbur for a few more decades, and took up a rather stereotypical hobby: breeding and racing horses. This was a moderately successful venture for him, although a questionable financial decision as he invested quite a bit of funds but never produced a truly spectacular horse. Such is the nature of passion products.

Then an inventor approached him specifically, touting a new design for a machine. A machine that could enable one to fly like the birds through the heavens above, the airplane that promised heavier than air-flight. The concept enamored Volodar, who had previously been in a hot air balloon several times, and he eagerly funded its development and badgered the man to test fly the design once it had been finished, but the inventor held fast.

Dragged out to a flat along the coast of Inbur, the wooden and canvas craft sat gloriously in the middle of the field, and the crew started up the engine. Volodar watched with amazement as the man’s craft successfully lifted itself off the ground and climbed to about 100 feet, before it spectacularly crashed after the inventor lost control.  The coinciding development of the rigid lighter-than-air craft also caught the Elga’s desire for flight, and offered a far safer and practical alternative which he funneled some funds into. Aiding such developments allowed him to take roles in the maiden flights of a few craft, an experience he very much enjoyed from both a physical and mental exercise and a flaunt of his own wealth.


The invasion of Inbur from the Calarians, once it began, posed an existential threat to the rather wealthy Elgan, who soon looked for means to flee the surrounding city. Upon seeing the craft tethered to the Imperial Palace, an idea crossed the old cavalryman’s mind. A bold idea that promised adventure, and gallantry.
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[hider=Mitunbaal Vasiliou]
Name: Mitunbaal Vasiliou
Gender: Female
Age: 29
Nationality: Inburian Shariq
Appearance: 
[hider=My Hider][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/581256269713768458/1309029261104906292/openart-c8996644-62d8-4255-975e-8cb5fb1278b3.jpeg?ex=67421240&is=6740c0c0&hm=f9f9c9d70bbb76a8052c4a5d4c74c177ccdb4098f233b1a98b993a8538824d9b&[/img]
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Personal Effects: A small collection of artifacts and trinkets from the formerly blighted territories, a Shariq prayer book, a few books, an icon of the Dawnbringer and Empress Andronika. She keeps a traditional dagger tucked under her smock.

Background: Academic. De-facto Ship’s medic

Backstory: Mitunbaal was born the eldest child to an upper-middle class Shariq family in Neapol, which she claims she can trace back to a noble family before the blight, and received a quality education due to the privilege. The young woman took to history from a young age, and found herself fascinated with the tales of her people before their exodus from the blight with its dreaded orcs. Better still were the tales during their triumphant return under the sword of the Dawnbringer, the heroics of man and elga against the ultimate evil with a noble and just cause from God himself.

It was half legend, of course, and Mitunbaal knew and understood that well even at a young age. That knowledge did not stop her from seeking formal study on the matter at the university in Neapol, focusing on both history and the archeology of the Shariq’s ancestral homelands. For as much as Mitunball enjoyed combing through tomes and what written accounts survived the collapse, she jumped at the opportunity to go on field expeditions throughout the territory.

While nature did recover from the blight and the orcs are extinct as far as the Shariq know, the scars still run deep in certain areas of the countries. This, naturally, draws curious sorts out to the unsettled, somewhat-unnatural country. It also does an explorer deep in central Shariq well to be armed, advice which one of the archeologists in her party did not heed while on camping. While relieving himself, the archeologist was assailed by a blighted beast. The beast, best described as a rabbit with fangs, the antlers of a deer, and a pair of useless wings had bitten and gored the poor man several times. It was dispatched by a load of shot from a double-barrelled shotgun that had been brought along.

For Mitunball, this served as an awakening. Between the poor man’s anguished cries, and hissing from the beast during the attack, and the wet blood, she felt a power rise inside her as she laid hands on the man. Like a legend of old, she felt a warmth flow from her hands as she wiped down one of the open wounds and, awestruck, watched the wound rapidly knit itself closed.

She had an undeniable gift from God that was almost unheard of in the modern era, the gift of healing magic. 

Unfortunately, the remainder of this first expedition was mundane in comparison. They had merely found remnants of pottery. Useful, but not groundbreaking.

Once back in the Inburian Empire, she set off for Inbur instead of returning home. Her plan was to delve into the library of University of Constaninos II in search of books and manuscripts on magic and the blight that may have survived the fall of the city to the Haltians. 

Unsurprisingly, the search was mostly an exercise in futility due to a lack of study and the sacks and sieges of Inbur. Additional research would need to be done in the former blighted territory, and pieced together with what records are available between Neapol and Inbur. 

Bouncing between the two major metropolises when free also broadened the woman’s circles, and she found herself increasingly engaging with Shariq nationalists when not in the field or researching. Her experience, faith, and research mingled with those types of political rhetoric has since developed peculiar if not mystic views on Shariq nationalism. Their chosen one was Favian, not Shariq, and was a close companion to the Empress during the Hasiko restoration. To Mitunbaal, was that not God’s blessing on the house to rule the Empire and the Shariqs? 

Naturally, this pro-Imperial, pro-Hasiko strain of Shariq nationalism proved unpopular with most Shariq nationalist, although Mitunbaal has published some articles in support of her fringe views under a pen-name.

More recently, Mitunbaal has found herself back in Inbur after a trip to mountains in the north of Shariq land, believed to be the starting point of the old blight, with the scarred land and mutated flora and fauna to prove it. Standing at the foot of the mountain where all that madness had started was humbling in a sense. Being at the epicenter of the near doom of her people carried a message of how small she was in the grand scheme that struck home harder than any book. 

The question of why still gnawed at her, and she pushed herself to move further, to discover, to learn. To understand. Her companions, meanwhile, understood that venturing into or up a mountain that once held a true evil that killed untold people was likely not the greatest idea for their continued existence. With a struggle more verbal than physical, the party pulled Mitunbaal back to camp.

In Inbur, the rising tensions never bothered Mitunbaal’s own little world beyond uneasy dinners and increased political debate, until the Calarians finally crossed the border. Then the university exploded like a bomb. Young students swore for both sides turning the dormitories into brawling rings as quickly formed gangs targeted rivals. Archivists, including Mitunbaal, scrambled to evacuate reference material as the Calarians approached. She was in the libraries as the first shells landed in the city center.

Scrambling out of the building, she joined the mass of civilians trying to leave with what belongings she could carry. Evading the communalists, their infiltrators, and the fighting the best she could. She worked her way through side streets, until she found herself cornered by two insurrectionists. Muttering a prayer to herself, Mitunbaal closed her eyes while the sounds of hoofbeats grew closer and closer. A pistol shot shattered the tension, followed by another scream and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Without hesitation, she rushed the cavalryman and mounted before he could say a word. With barely a nod of an acknowledgment, he slowly brought his horse back up to a cantor.

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