Overview:
The Farrgorm, also called Far and Farrg, are a tall dark skinned species native to the south-western lands of Enduwin. A typical male stands at around six foot tall and females can reach heights as great as seven. Skin tones vary from dark blue to grey and pitch black, depending on the geographical lineage of the individual. Differences in facial features between genders are minimal other than the more protruding jaw of the male and the noticeably pointed ears of the females. As a whole, the Farrgorm are a species that values brain over brawn but there are nonetheless countless exceptions to this rule, despite their somewhat frail nature in comparison to other species such as the dwarves or centaurs. The average lifespan of a Farrgorm is approximately 89 human years, or fifteen Awth-gnúth. The Awth-gnúth is a biological transition which every Farrg goes through roughly every six human years. Over their lives, the cells of the Farrg deteriorate at a much greater rate than those of humans, dwarves or elves. After this six year period, they have reached senility and Awth-gnúth is a three week long process in which cellular regeneration occurs throughout the body very rapidly. Afterwards, the individual will be returned to a condition relatively close to their physical prime. The average times that a single Farrg can do this is 15, hence the expected lifespan. Actual numbers fluctuate between 12 and 17 depending on lifestyle and socio-economic factors. There have been recorded incidents as high as 20. A Farrg going through less than 10 Awth-gnúth is rare enough that it is almost always due to death caused by disease or injury.
Species Traits:
• Rebirth-Regression; The Farrg’s unique biological process and evolution is both a gift and a curse. Each will reach and live through, hopefully, six peaks of physical health and fitness. This period usually lasts for about two and a half human years of the six between each Awth-gnúth. This means the average time a Farrg spends at peak condition is roughly 35-40 human years. However, conversely, they’ll will spend the other 45-50 in a senile state. Essentially there is no ‘middle-age’ within the species and ‘youth’ is a concept only ever associated with 1st cycles.

• Brain Over Brawn; Even shortly after Awth-gnúth, a Farrg is no physical match for a human, let alone a centaur. However, they do obtain impressive intellect and are known to be competent magic users, when the rare circumstance of a true mage being born amongst them does occur. Their biology means they don’t have one youth of experience and one old-age of refelction; they can have over a dozen of each. Thus, after several Awth-gnúth have been undergone they show an unheard of combination of wisdom, ability and enthusiasm. The change can be as much a psychological one as it is physical, and regression through the different inherent mentalities eventually leads to a moulding of the two.

Speciality:
Master Traders; The Farrg are experts when it comes to manipulating the rudimentary economic systems found in the various states across Enduwin. Whether as snake oil salesmen, legitimate goods traders, deceptive merchants or honest tradesmen, the Farrg are known far beyond the bounds of their native Enduwin for their ability to turn a profit.

Government type:

Military:

Economy:

Religion:
The religion major of Enduwin, Nonatheoism, is best described as neo-pantheistic-agnosticism. Everyone knows the tales of the Nonatheon and pays great heed to them but, within everyday life, criticism and analysis of the stories and theories are welcomed. To the Farrgorm their deities have tangible form, communication with Neyav has been recorded and Ifreann is truly thought to exist beneath Enduwin. The criticism comes in the form of explaining these phenomenon, and the deities themselves through theory and postulation based on a mix of science, magic and theology. One of the core beliefs is that the Nine conclusively exist but their nature and status as gods is debatable. There exists churches dedicated both to individual god(ess)s and the Pantheon as a whole. These churches are all overseen by a central organisation known as the Shapayl. Over 98% of Farrg are members of the Shapayl and one’s stature within the organisation is of great importance socially, especially in political terms.

Society:

Ideology:

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Shankee Finscayl : The Storyteller : Old man shank

Sex: Male

Race: Farrgorm

Age: 2nd Stage of 17th Awth-Gnuth (Approx: 99 in human years)

Appearance: Shankee stands at just under seven foot tall. In his 1st stages he strides comfortably and hold his height with a stout gait. However, in his 2nd stages, akin to senility in humans, he relies on a birch walking staff to help him hold himself up. His skin is a dark grey shade, appearing almost black at night only been revealed for its true tone when Solas’ light strikes it at dawn. His skin is fractured and wrinkled in places, especially his brow, which has as many crags as the Olc.
Shankee tends to don a robe of similar colour to his skin, a dirty grey, when he ventures outside. Beneath this he wears soft leather garments that he considers both comfortable and practical. Farrgs’ hair doesn’t deteriorate the same as a humans and his light brown locks offer contrast to the rest of his rather drab appearance. The storyteller’s eyes are deep set within their sockets, yellow in hue and with more than a twinkle of knowledge.

Personality: Currently, as in all his 2nd states, Shankee keeps to himself for the most part, in his humble two storey shack on the foot of the Olcs’ eastern slope, right on the border between the Plains and DuFair. He is by no means an introvert, in fact he most enjoys company and welcomes almost any visitors into his home. However, he is quite eccentric and radical which tends to mean people don’t bother him that much. About once a week he will greet a traveller, either someone looking for refuge or someone who had specifically pilgrimaged to hear word from the storyteller himself.
In his 1st stages the Farrg sets out across Enduwin in search of more lore, more stories and tomes in order to increase his knowledge of the Gods, the origins of Enduwin and the faith of the land he inhabits.

History: Shankee Finscayl was born to average parents in an average town of average Farrgorm in the Zephyr Plains. The second son of three, Shankee was raised in a happy home if somewhat simple home. His father was older than his mother by a couple human years, meaning he would pass into new stages and new Awth-Gnuths many months before his mother. Both of his brothers were born closer in synch with their father’s cycle but Shankee’s was only a few weeks apart from his mothers. The synching of cycles tends to dictate associations and connections within Farrgorm society; those in 1st stages are more likely to share mind-sets and interests with others in the same stage. Although this becomes a much less prominent concept in later Awth-Gnuths, for the first few it is very crucial to the development of young Farrg. Thus, much of Shankee’s youth was spent with his mother. She taught him the arts of reading and writing, and importance and meaning behind them. In his first 2nd stage he quickly became a fluid weaver of tales, factual and fictional. Shankee had a talent for taking information and turning it into art, the very essence of early story tellers. His mother recognised his talents and discussed it with his father. It was his father who suggested that Shankee be given the chance to let his talents prosper.

They were a family of menial labourers, but nonetheless, Shankee’s mother, father and older brother Lloire, all pitched together to pay for Shankee’s tutelage in the local branch of the Bard’s Guild. Shankee was nervous at the prospect of leaving his family behind but equally excited at the idea of getting out of the life he thought had been laid before him. His apprehension quickly diminished when his studies began in earnest. He was afforded a monthly visit home, which at first was a highlight of his months, but quickly became less and less meaningful to him.

At the Guild, Shankee learned of and how to use two other talents he was born with; music and magic. He was a mean lute player, and found the ability to wield some potent magic. Shankee cared little for magical pursuits, and instead gravitate towards his music and his historical knowledge. It wasn’t long before his music and tale weaving were earning him enough of an income to pay for his own tutelage. Three years after he first enrolled, entering his third Awth-Gnuth, he graduated as a fully chartered Bard of the Hullis Bard’s Guild. Returning home, Shankee brought several slivers of pure silver that he had been paid for a commission with, and gave them, along with his lute to his family as repayment for their encouragement and financial support. Shankee apologised for not having visited in nearly a year, and then informed them he was leaving again, likely for good.

Very little information exists about Shankee’s life since then up to the point, twenty one years ago, that he settled in his current abode. In the years that proceeded he quickly gained a significant renown across the plains for being an invaluable source of information, a wise man of sage advice and a beautiful story teller. He seems to not work, or request any payment for his services yet his home is always full of food, complete with a hearty fire. Now he spends in 1st cycles wandering the plains meeting new people, and gathering information and his 2nd cycles in his home resting and relaxing.

Optional Information
Equipment: A six foot birch staff with a gnarled top that smothers a pristine jet jewel.
A simple wooden lute.
A satchel with various writing implements and paper.
His favourite travelling hat.

Faction: Regarded as a Master of the Bard’s Guild. However, the guild has faded recently as has Shankee’s association with it.

Marital Status: Unknown.

Magic: Many people claim to have seen him perform various simple tricks.

WIP
Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Bawzel – Gurtha Skapa (Famine-Bringer) – Lord Of the Underkeep

Sex: Whilst there is no way of determining the Necromancer’s gender, its gait and stature, along with rumours and tradition have led to it being referred to, almost unanimously, as ‘he.’

Race: Another piece of information which is currently indiscernible is of what kin the Necromancer was descended from in life. It is for certain that even when he had a pulse he was a magically potent entity and thus many rumours abound stating he is in fact one of a variety of recently deceased mages or wizards, real or fraudulent.
Ignoring these rumours and only factoring in empirical evidence, it can be assumed he was of the tall races; elf, man, Farrg or the ilk. He was most definitely not a small being in life, as now, in his current state he stands at just over eight feet tall.

Age: Guessing the age of being when it met its end are futile and silly. However, estimating how long it will live for now is a major concern. Most are resigned to the fact that if it raised itself from death once that it can do so again, making it, to the horrorīi of all those in Enduwin, immortal.

Appearance: Like every aspect of the Necromancer, his exact appearance is difficult to ascertain. His form especially so, as those who have been unfortunate enough to gaze upon don’t tend to have an opportunity to speak of it. There are however, as always, some scraps of information abounding as regards to its appearance. Mostly fettered gazes from afar more than eye witness accounts, the claims spread like wildfire. The fact that many of the rumours seem relatively close in what they describe adds significant credence. He is taller than any man by far, and possibly even larger than any Farrg or elf either. His figure is only ever seen shrouded in a multitude of layers of dark cloaks and trailing garments. His face is said to be made of black bone, with little to no skin remaining. Treads of unbound flesh trail from his scalp and head, several feet in length. Two venomous pits of malcontent and malevolence burn a deep red where eyes should be. Metal gauntlets cover his hands and lower arms, daggers where fingers should be. One particular popular account states that it appears to ‘leak’ disdain in tangible form from its body.

An artistic impression created by Jorge Hammentrot, renowned traveller, craftsman and painter


Personality: Discussing the personality of the Necromancer is an especially problematic issue. The only ones who have any kind of verbal contact with Bawzel are those who lead his forces. Orc warchiefs, elven princes and a few human lords. All in all, less than a dozen beings have stood before Bawzel and walked away alive, and all of them were in direct servitude of him either before or after said encounters.

Thus, it is quite difficult to ascertain what kind of psyche the Necromancer has other than a cruel, vindictive and malicious one. It is clear that he has sociopathic tendencies and seems to even revel in the death of others and the destruction and misery which he is responsible for spreading. However, based on the raid targets, efficiency of his forces and ability to stay almost completely hidden for the most part, it can be established that the Necromancer is also a highly intelligent individual. What is extremely unclear is whether it has any primary motives or if it is simply operating out of anarchist madness.

History: It is known that at some previous point in time, the Necromancer wasn’t the Necromancer. That is to say Bawzel was someone other than Bawzel before becoming Bawzel. There are many rumours but no clear indication as to who this previous person was. It is however, evident that it was a being of potent magical energy. It is also assumed that even before becoming Bawzel, this person was a dastardly individual. The previous being died and was cast to Ifreann, deemed by the Nanotheon to have been far too vile to enter Neyav. It is from Ifreann that this previous entity achieved the impossible and for the first time since time began, managed to return to Enduwin.

In his current form, the Necromancer has been on Enduwin for less than a year. Albeit this is a short space of time in the grand scheme of things, every second spent under the tyranny of Bawzel is one to be dreaded. His campaign against the virtuous peoples of Enduwin began when he emerged atop the highest peak of the Olc Cairn and almost immediately found praise and worship directed at him from bands of orcs, hailing him as the An Láv Dúv or, ‘The Hand of Dúv’. It was with this initial influence that lead Bawzel to spreading his grasp across all of the Olc within several weeks. The orcs of Vish’Kar have yet to join the many lesser warbands that now follow the Famine. Spreading south, Bawzel tightened his poisonous clutches around the arrogant High Elves of the Southern DuFair/Northern Zephyr Plains border region. The eleven princes and magistrates were promised wealth and more land, and crumpled under Bawzel’s seductive allure.

To the North of the Olc dozens of small human settlements offered their services to the Famine Spreader, pre-emptively saving themselves through cowardice and evil.
All manner of sellswords, coinblades and mercenaries are flocking to the Olc. There is gold to be got and blood to be spilt.
The raids have been going strong for seven weeks and two days now. Bawzel’s forces strike towns in the Woods, DuFair and the Plains; taking supplies and raw materials, burning houses and slaughtering any in their way. The raids mostly seem concerned with gathering resources, most likely to fuel the construction of the Underkeep.

Optional Information
Equipment: N/A

Faction: N/A

Marital Status:

Magic: Assumedly Arcane; that said, Bawzel’s power is quite disturbing. Not only does it seem to be of a higher degree than anything previously heard of, if Bawzel’s nature is true, and he is indeed a Necromancer who raised himself it means one of two equally worrying things; either Bawzel can actually create life or is capable of existing outside of the life/magic ecosystem. Both are daunting and troubling thoughts which currently haunt the dreams of numerous elders, mages and scholars across Enduwin who are trying in vain to unravel the tangled secrets of the Lord Of The Underkeep.

Skills: Raising the dead, yo.

Character Sheet

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Jovalyn
Sex: F
Race: Human
Age: 26
Appearance: Like many of The Court, Jovalyn is thin and pale, indicative of centuries of inbreeding. Red hair falls onto broad shoulders. Thin lips purse into something less than a smile, but more than frown. Her eyes are diamond like and filled with general dislike for something, you probably. Her long fingers flex and grip in a way that suggests she could most definitely strangle you.

She is neither noble nor common and the way she moves does not suggest a grace delicate, perhaps lithe. If she has any muscle, it is likely tight against her skin. Her outfit is extremely ceremonial and many would come to the conclusion that it should be worn in the forest, with cloth leaf emblems and gold laced sashes and tight leather leggings covered with a pleated green skirt from which dangles several brown pouches. The tunic she wears is loose, almost poofy and held down at the arms by leather arm guards.

If you like pictures!

Personality: A firm believer in victory being equal if not exactly the same as being right, Jovalyn is not a pleasant person if you're on the end she doesn't like. Callous and in some cases cruel, she is more likely to break your legs than resolve things in a more pleasant way. Even given that, she's a great ally to have if you don't mind cutting throats in the dark and the occassional government overthrow, as she values life. Maybe not your life in particular, or your friends, possibly not even your kins. But life all the same.

Open to extreme bouts of emotion and in light terms extremely opinionated on anyone from the lands of Old Cairn (believed to be the antithesis of life), she's certainly passionate. Whether that passion leads to helping a friend or jabbing a blade in the region of the kidney is hard to say.

History: A native of the DuFair jungles, Jovalyn is an experienced trapper and general throat slitter. Trained in finding, following, and generally destroying those seeking the DuFair forest for any reason, she's also been blessed by blood to the forest. She has had this position from a young age, as very few in The Court live as non-militants. Her parents are, like many of the court, related by close lineage.

She has had some special treatment given her status as blessed, which has allowed her the privilige of marrying her second brother as opposed to an (unwilling) outsider. This will of course require a trial by combat and if either survive, they will be allowed marriage.

Optional Information
Equipment: Given that the position of forest guardians is both ceremonial and an actual military position, Jovalyns garb is a mixture of practicality and flouncy sashes. Mostly dyed cloth from the sticky sap of the Dowr trees, it doesn't serve well as armor but provides plenty in the means of free movement. Carries a spear made from hardened blackened wood from a burnt bark and far less fancy shortbow.

Faction (If any): The Court of a Dowr Wood

Marital Status: To be wed to her second brother, by right of combat.

Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Arcane, the forest generally seems to act in her benefit. Grass rises where she steps, hiding passage, leaves and pines cast long shadows to hide her from sight, and vines snap at those would harm her. Of course, this requires her to actually be conscious as the forest actually isn't doing this by itself as much as The Court would like to believe.

Skills: Being a Warden of the Wood, Jovalyn is an experienced tracker and marksman. While certainly capable of swinging a sword or impaling with a spear, she is not a frontline combatant nor is she even the greatest in ability at her work. The Wardens rely on their allies and wits more than individual strength. Given that, her endurance is rather remarkable for her frame and she is capable of functioning and hunting in many environments.

Faction/Organization Sheet

Essential Information
Name: The Court of a Dowr Wood

Location: DuFair

Purpose: The Preservation of DuFair
History: The blood that cakes the fertile ground of DuFair flows into its vines. The throbbing hum of life can be heard by those who have lived long in the cruel fall of collosal highrises and entangling lianas. Few civilizations have thrived here and even fewer have continued to thrive. The settlement of The Court, though lesser known and perhaps mythical to many, has survived through a combination of unerring vigilance and lack of contact with the outside world. Those who have had the rare opportunity (and sometimes misfortune) of meeting them describe a underground network used to ambush invaders and twisting pathways strung from the spire-like trees. This has given them, accurately, a reputation as bandits and terrorists to other local groups.

Convinced they were chosen to guard Naduir's greatest gift to mankind, the DuFair forest, The Court has relatively hostile relations to those inside their sphere of influence. The damage to the Foraiysh woods has not been lost to them and there has been some inner conflict as to whether Foraiysh should be protected to preserve DuFair.

It goes without saying that inbreeding has been extremely common place, besides the odd kidnapping here and there. While this has caused defects in mind, usually revealed as a very particularly psychopathy, it has also preserved a particular form of magic. This magic is unfortunately also tends to come with the psychopathy. The sages believe this to be the divine will of Naduir, who grants her favorite champions a great but fearful boon. This boon makes the user more animal than man.Thankfully this usually actually more helps than hinders their goal, as the cruel thrive in the DuFair shade.

"You would have me bow to your feet, to give myself entirely to your servitude, to make me a pawn to your plans. You would have us all see you as our superior, but allow me to show you the meaning of suffering, for you know nothing of Hell."



Eeiys.
'Exile of The Gate',
'Lost in the Summer'
(And yes, that is pronounced 'Ice')

Sex:
Male

Age:
29

Race:
Human

Appearance:
Eeiys stands at a fairly average height for a warrior of The Gate, just shy of 5’11” with pale skin and dark hair to match his wintery homeland. Muscular and somewhat gruff looking, Eeiys is what some would consider as a fairly typical looking fighting type. However, many would consider a vast majority of these details somewhat irrelevant, as within recent months, Eeiys has become more and more bitter following his Exile. Whenever he is seen, he does not show his face; he prefers instead to keep his armour fully suited at all times, helmet included, which obscures nearly all of his face and makes it hard to notice any distinguishing features.
Although Eeiys takes all necessary precautions to maintain a low profile, he seems remarkably attached to the unique helm of the Winter Knights of The Gate, which he keeps as a reminder of his decades in their service. The design, although rather plain to the untrained eye, is easily recognisable to any knowledgable, academics, or pilgrims to the Far North.
His armour is vastly different to the full plate mail worn by other Winter Knights, even if his set is really only a heavily modified version of such a set. Instead of being covered head-to-toe in Ballaen Steel, Eeiys’ armour is only a partial covering of plate with integrated chainmail in areas, complete with padded leather and furs that enabled mobility and maintenance of warmth on the long, lonely trek southward after his Exile.
Or if you like images!

Personality:
While it is never wise to assume that an Exiled Knight will accept others with open arms and easily connect with those along his way, it would also be foolish to assume that one bad experience, however traumatic, can destroy a man’s will utterly. Some say that Eeiys, like his name would suggest, is as cold as the ice in his homeland. Others will tell you that he still believes in mankind and that they do have a future ahead of them, gods or no; and that he will risk himself to light the spark of independence throughout his race, free from the archaic grip of squabbling beings from an age long forgotten. This leads to a very odd mix of preconceptions about him, that he is unnaturally stoic but still a very wise and level headed man. Nobody can say for sure though, as he never stays in one place for very long and those he surrounds himself with tend to suffer from extremely shortened lives.

History:
Those in Uacteir who are born of notable families, particularly those of the glimmering city of The Gate, are often taken in by the famous and rightly feared Winter Knights, a holy order of warriors, trained nearly from birth, to protect and serve those in the Far North regions of Enduwin. Those within the Winter Knights are known as incredible religious warriors who use their devout zealotry to uphold their city-states and their reputation. Devotion to the gods has always been a core principle to the Winter Knights; an understandable premise, given the close proximity to the haven of the Gods.
This leads to many problems when a respected Winter Knight nurtures thoughts of heresy deep in his soul. Or, if you are like Eeiys, when you reject the Gods entirely. Not express disbelief; reject
Born to the powerful and influential family of Silverstar, Eeiys lost all birthrights and titles bestowed upon him by law when he was taken in by the Winter Knights shortly after his Crystal Baptism, and quickly rose through the lowly ranks through prowess and devotion alone to become one of the most feared Winter Knights of his day. Nobody knows exactly what happened to Eeiys to change his mind in such a radical fashion, or if anything happened at all, but on his 27th Cycle of Solas, he disappeared into the darkness of night, taking with him Frost, one of the holy relics held at the centre spire of The Gate.
After realising such transgressions, the Winter Knights were quick to name him ‘Lost in the Summer’, a derogatory title given to deserters, and on principle, was named an exile of the state. Searches were conducted for months in a vain attempt to find Eeiys and the blade he had taken, but to little avail. Nobody knows where he disappeared to, or why, especially given his promising future. Only he really knows, though it is commonplace to hear in local stories that the Archknight Valius caught Eeiys as he deserted the Winter Knights with Frost in hand, and challenged him to single combat. Nobody knows if such claims are true, and the outcome of the duel if so, but in the shadiest corners of Uacteir Balla, brave individuals will tell you the the Exile Knight forced one of the greatest swordsmen to ever to live to yield before vanishing southward for some unknown purpose…

Optional Information

Equipment:
Altered Ballaen Steel armour, Frost.*

*Frost is a renowned blade, well known among pilgrims and Winter Knights for it’s unusual properties and unknown origin. While it looks extremely mundane, just like any other blade with no noticeable ostentation, Frost is known for being extremely, and almost unnaturally sharp and, as far as anyone knows, unbreakable. It is capable of impacting materials of magical nature in ways that mundane weapons cannot. It is in no way a fancy or elegant weapon, but the latent power of the blade is unexplainable by most. (The blade is also deathly cold to the touch, though it is more than likely just a magical illusion, with no real application.) Some nay-sayers claim it is merely because of an old forge technique lost to time that gives the weapon it’s unusual effectiveness; some say it is down to the wielder. Other, more wild speculators suggest the weapon itself is made from solid Sand of Trayig, though such outrageous claims can only be wild fantasies of dreamers. truthfully, nobody knows why the blade is as it is, but most agree that the blade is in some way magical. Those who have had the rare chance to spend time with Eeiys on his journey almost all know this to be exclusively true, as sometimes, just sometimes, and on the darkest of nights, you can see the frigid blade glow faintly blue from within…

Faction (If any):
Ex Winter Knight

Marital Status:
N/A

Magic (Mundane or Arcane):
Mundane

Skills:
Incredible, master swordsman; known by name to a lot of Enduwin as one of the famed 'Septennian Prodigy', the seven true master swordsmen in the land. Trained in all forms of combat, including how to combat spell casters. Extremely fast with his blade, extremely brutal; will often kill opponents outright before they have a chance to put up a long fight as he tends to strike at critical zones with frightening efficiency. Uses his speed to his advantage, especially against foes wielding larger, clumsier weapons. Master of the Black Ice, Winter Fang and Snowfall combat forms, often merging the three into a whole form of his own.

"Strength out of place is no strength at all,"

The Warriors of Winter, forever standing guard in the Far North are trained to crash against their foes like an avalanche, but always stay as light and free flowing as the snowflakes of a winter drift

The Winter Knights utilise three specific sword fighting styles more so than any others, and they are the three that all Winter Knights are expected to master before they can even be considered Drift Knights:

1: Black Ice Form
A fighting form that focuses on aggressive high parries and using the opponent's strength against them. Often results in very fast kills. Extremely hard to counter.

2: Winter Fang Form
A Secondary fighting form that focuses on the piercing point of the Longsword and using it to make killshots against an opponent's neck. Utilises the Cruciform Guard of the standard Longsword fairly often to disarm foes and contort them into unwieldily positions, making them vulnerable. Often used against foes donning heavy armour, or those who need to be disarmed / dispatched quickly.

3: Snowfall Form
A Tertiary fighting form that requires the warrior to avoid attacks and make deep cuts against the enemy, using both the Knight and the opponent's momentum to much greater effect than the other forms. Often used against foes using heavier weapons.

Faction/Organisation Sheet

Essential Information



The Winter Knights
‘Vanguards of The Gate’
‘Sentinels of Winter’.

Location:
Uacteir Balla, inhabiting nearly every settlement there to some extent, though their power is most prominent in the most northern city-spire: The Gate.

Purpose:
The Winter Knights are a warrior organisation devoted entirely to defending The Gate (both the city-spire and the gigantic wall separating Neyav fron Enduwin) from any and all who would do it harm; as well as any traitors or known heretics. They excel at hunting down those individuals who could be particularly dangerous to the safety of Uacteir Balla, and also at crushing larger forces who come to the Far North seeking glory or riches. The Winter Knights consider themselves to be the rightfully appointed guardians of the Gods and as such they see themselves as the most fearsome warriors in the land, though this is still a point that is up for speculation.
All Winter Knights are trained in a vast number of combat forms and styles, as well as more unusual techniques for unusual situations, such as being trained in combating spellcasters and necromancers, fighting while heavily outnumbered, and techniques for defending oneself against dark influence of Dûv and his followers.

History:
Originally a small band of clerical warriors who were some of the first to inhabit the then-uninhabited land, they had come to the Far North in order to be closer to their faith. With the proximity to what can only be regarded as a true and very real holy place, the clerics’ devotion only grew with time, becoming a totally devout order of warriors within the first century of their occupation of the Far North. Some believe it to be the presence of the Winter Knights that inspired any sort of civilisation to rise up in the frozen wastes in the first place, but the true origins of man in the North are ‘forgotten’, maybe even covered up by the same order who supposedly planted the seed.
Many pilgrims to Uacteir Balla come to see the Winter Knights standing guard eternally at The Gate as a symbol of eternal devotion, and they strive to reach a level of faith that the Winter Knights demonstrate daily. The Sentinels of Winter are surely the pinnacle of faith and ferocity…

Optional Information

Key Members:
Archknight Valius
The leader of the legendary Winter Knights, Archknight Valius is widely regarded as the most devoted religious figure in the modern world, almost taking on a sort of papal role towards pilgrims and the masses alike. Many look up to him for guidance and training considering his vast experience, knowledge and combat skill. His name is known throughout Enduwin, bearing the prestige of being potentially the best swordsman to ever live. Supporters of the Archknight will tell you that he has never been bested in combat and that he has slain true wizards in single combat without breaking a sweat. Though such rumours cannot be true, it does give comfort to the people to believe that such a noble, ferocious figure looks out for them. Those who reject Valius as the demigod he would have you believe, will share stories of an Exiled knight who shamed Valius in combat on the darkest winter night…

Intrius, Curator of the Gallery of Ice
The Gallery of Ice is the legendary hall of relics at the heart of The Gate in Uacteir Balla, a grand collection of magical items from a time long ago, and items claimed by the Winter Knights on their Pale Crusades over the years. Such items include the mystical ‘Siren of Snowfall’, a warhorn supposedly capable of bringing the wrath of Olyaer upon a land, the ‘Icewall’, a mysterious tower shield made entirely of perfectly clear, crystal ice that has so far proven to be incapable of melting, and, most notably, ‘Frost’, a rather mundane looking longsword with a series of particularly potent magical enhancements and a yet undiscovered latent power within. The blade was recently stolen, leading the curator of the Gallery of Ice to near madness with rage.


Advantages:
Famous and world renowned for being extremely proficient and devoted warriors with little mercy for traitors and heretics. They are intimidating in their homeland, but the presence of any force of Winter Knights further south is enough to make even a local lord tremble in his boots.
-Deadly warriors trained to combat conventional fighters and casters / necromancers-

Disadvantages:
The devotion of the majority of the Winter Knights prevents them from taking any action they deem to not be blessed by the Gods.
-Ignore many political affairs, and only involve themselves in situations which directly offend their beliefs, even if they could be fighting for a good cause-

Ranks:
Initiates into the Winter Knights, shortly after their Crystal Baptism, are known by the title: ‘Crystallite’ until their 15th Cycle of Solas, 12th if they show particular affinity with the order. Beyond Crytsallite, the Knights are divided into eight tiers to show respect to the eight gods that are deemed honourable. They are as follows:
1: Drift Knight (254 Drift Knights)
2: Ice Knight (128 Ice Knights)
3: Crystal Knight (64 Crystal Knights)
4: Glacial Knight (32 Glacial Knights)
5: Frozen Knight (16 Frozen Knights)
6: Avalan Uacteir (4 Avalan. Eeiys was a member of this rank)
7: First Knight (2 First Knights)
8: Archknight (1 Archknight)

Each rank is subordinate to the one above.

Rules/Laws:
Each Winter Knight follows the strict orders of his superior ranks. But they also hold the creed of the Gods as their laws, staying true to the teachings of each. The greatest sin one can commit is to reject the gods and show heresy, those who do are swiftly put to death… only one has ever escaped this fate…

Character Sheet

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Khaz
Sex: male
Race: half-elf
Age: 39
Appearance: As anyone of elven ancestry, Khaz is a rather tall man. On the other hand, he is unlike most elves in being coarse of skin, tanned, and visibly strong rather than gracefully slender. What's more, he doesn't at all shave neatly, sporting evident facial hair on both his upper lip and jawline. His hair is coloured a deep brown, as are his eyes; hair cut short for the most part. His ears are distinctly tapered in a corner, if not too sharp.
Personality: Khaz is a quiet man, his ancestry rather visible and cause enough for many to disdain him on principle. His talkative and happier days make him no more pleasant, the half-elf being fond of rough jokes and constant banter. Even in being well-meaning he is distrustful, and values his friends greatly. Kaz has a fondness for alcohol whenever he can get his hands on some.
History: That he was unwanted has always been awfully clear to Khaz, having been abandoned since birth. Defiant and headstrong, he did end up surviving long enough to be able to work for himself. Annoyed with people in general and never the most scrupulous sort, the man ended up becoming a sailor, and later a pirate. It suits him quite well, even if he doesn't quite enjoy it that much.

Optional Information
Equipment: Nothing special, tends to be armed with a sword.
Faction: the highest bidder.
Marital Status: ha, ha. Right. The odd bastard child, maybe. He's not going to try and find out.
Magic: n/a
Skills: good at sailing, fighting, getting by, laying low, and generally everything a rather thuggish loner would need to be able to do.

Essential Information
Name: Alunei.
Location: The Soul.
Purpose: The Alunei are a race of spiritual and enlightened humanoid that avoid conflict and war. They are a healing and nurturing race that tend to the well being of The Soul.
History:
Until the last thirty years most thought the Alunei were only a myth. Told as a bed time story of the winged creatures coming down to shepherd lost souls to Neyav. Though they were only a race that kept hidden within the Soul, tending to the holy lands needs and keeping the balance while staying out of sight. Though thirty years ago Elya, the High Matriarch, decided it was time Enduwin knew of Alunei and try to help the lands with their wisdom. Though they were not entirely well recieved. The rare and beautiful creatures were prized by handsomely within the slave trades for their powers to cure almost any ailment and for more carnal reasons. Their numbers dwindled drastically, most returning to hiding within the Soul.

The Alunei were, and still are, close to extinction. Males had already been a rare occurrence in the Alunei race, a primarily Matriarchal society due to the high volumes of females within the race. When males were born into the race they were used only as a means of procreation. Males were prized possessions though held no political or economical influence over decisions made in the colonies. The Alunei had never been a large population seeing as a male could only procreate once every twenty (20) years. And after the desolation of most of their kind it had only left barely over fifty (50) survivors with only two (2) males; down from one hundred and thirteen (113) with fourteen (14) males.

Optional Information
Key Members: Elya Bithelyn (High Matriarch)
Advantages: Powerful guardians and healers.
Disadvantages: Their aversion to conflict and bloodshed lends them little use in a battle as they avoid killing blows and hesitate when on the offensive.
Average Age Expectancy: One hundred and eighty (180) years old. Their bodies age very slowly after reaching adulthood at thirteen (13).
Ranks:
High Matriarch
Elder
Guardian (This is the rank of Alina)
Colony
Servants (This is where the Males Reside)

Rules/Laws: The Alunei have no written law as all have such a strong sense of right and wrong. And those who do wrong have no punishment other than the physical anguish they feel when committing wrong doings.

Side note....
There is a lot of information I left out as to not bore you all with all the intricacies of the race though if you have any questions feel free to ask.

Name: Goblins, Gobblers, Sand People, Trayiis
Location: Trayig's Soul
Purpose: Survival
Description:
There are two varieties of goblin, though most people would have no way to know this, since one type of them is nearly never seen.
First, the common goblins that everyone knows and loves. These creatures are three to four feet tall lizard-like people with large snake-like heads and great ears (at least on the males) that can extend up to 1.5 feet.
The only hair on their scaly bodies tends to be around the jawline, though it is not unheard of to find goblins with a full head of hair and some, for the sake of needing distinguishing features to be recognized by other races, style their beards and hair into ornate braided masterpieces.
As far as colors go, most goblins are muted earth colors. A golden sand-like tone is most common, though only because the clan that is colored in such a way is the most populous and most likely to be seen mingling with other sentient species. However, when startled or threatened or in battle, goblin skin takes on startlingly-vivid colors which seems to be unrelated to clan. Purples, blues, reds, greens (very few yellows, though) make goblin battles colorful spectacles to behold.
Goblins can operate either quadruped or bipedal. Their long (3-4 feet) tails provide them excellent balance in bipedal form, though they look a bit awkward with their long feet, raptor-like inner toes, and reverse ankles. These feet give them excellent purchase on loose material (such as sand), though, so they are not often hampered by the environment and can even run across water for short distances.
But those are just the little guys. For every few dozen thousand of them, there's what they like to call "Trayiis Dragons"; not dragons in the literal sense, but huge fearsome creatures full of powerful magicks that can lay as much devastation as their more-proper (and better-known) brethren.
Descriptions of these huge beasts live on in song and a few written historical records, but most who get the wonderful joy of seeing them don't live to confirm the stories. Unlike the smaller of their species, these creatures are expansive: their length can reach 120 feet, and their heads become cavernous maws 20 feet wide when opened. Their limbs are vestigial, and they move instead by writhing their huge masses through the ground like snakes. Their powers, due to the scarcity of sightings, aren't well-known, though songs tell of swallowing caravans whole, battering walls down with their huge skulls, and popping out of the ground with seismic force that knocks down whole armies.
Due to the fact that they're rarely seen even when one visits a goblin clan, they are suspected (correctly) to live underground in vast networks of tunnels that they've burrowed.

Magic:
Such a division between the strong and the common goblins is due to an interesting system that they've been practicing for centuries. The size and magical capabilities of the larger goblins make no sense otherwise: how can a species with hundreds of thousands of individuals still have such concentrated magic? The answer lies in their particular handling of death.
Goblins, for as long as they can remember, have had a ceremony for the dead. It's very simple, though most other cultures find it repugnant. Namely, they eat their dead. Well, not the population at large; they feed their recently deceased to their large brethren.
This has led to a large binary in magical power. Common goblins have next to no magic (due to the magic not re-entering the system to be passed on to the newborn young) and the goblin dragons have all the magic of 36,000 living things.
This has led to some problems for common goblins. They have to live in places with large saturations of life-giving magic, or else they perish. Their bodies don't hold enough magic for them to survive alone. They can survive even in inhospitable areas if they have enough living things to eat or a heavily-magical being that they can use to sustain themselves.
Before dying, a common goblin will eat as many magical/living things as possible, which eventually led to them being called "gobblers", which in turn became "goblins". It does this so that its body may be as saturated with magic as possible for when it is integrated into a goblin dragon. Though they only manage to absorb a very small amount of the magic of things that they eat, common goblins can extend their lives by doing this, and eventually (having consumed enough) may be able to attain a self-sustainable magical balance. There's no recorded history of such a thing happening.
The closest thing to magic that common goblins have is a very basic emotion-based telepathy. Common goblins will know if another goblin is nearby, or if a nearby goblin is frightened, in pain, or dead. This makes goblins especially difficult pests to eradicate, since no one wants to deal with the swarms of goblins that will come to claim the dead body (and possibly get revenge).

Racial Benefits:
Common goblins are affected by magic a little less than creatures with normal magic balance. They are immune to many spells, untargetable for most homing spells (which home on the magical signature of the target), and invisible to magical sight (which makes them slightly difficult to see for magical races, which often subconsciously see in the magic realm).
Common goblins are generally left alone. Killing a goblin is more trouble than it’s worth, goblins are somewhat difficult to see for magically-attuned people, and they’re a bit dangerous when cornered.
Common goblins are sneaky. They tend to be difficult to detect with situational awareness (you’ll never “feel” them watching you, or “feel” them sneaking up on you (both premonitions provided by subconscious magical sense). Their large feet also make their walking quiet, and their short stature makes them easy to overlook.
As a race, goblins get along very well with the classical “evil” races. Whether this is due to some long-past evil alignment the goblins held, their mild telepathy, or just the fact that it’s better to be nice to them than not, no one can quite remember. It’s not unusual to see goblins riding semi-sentient “evil” races as mounts or conversing casually with orcs.
Common goblins are very good in mounted combat (atop their worg steads, most commonly).
Goblins have enhanced senses due to their very large ears and eyes.

Racial Demerits:
Common goblins will die if there is no magical field around them to sustain them. No goblins live on the Black Mountains, they generally can’t live alone (unless the area has large potential magic or a great deal of forestation), and yet at the same time they’re not great to have around. Living alone with a goblin has been shown to seriously decrease life expectancy in non-planar-connected people (and this is without taking into account that the goblin will try to eat whatever is nearby if it runs out of magic).
Common goblins cannot use magic.
Goblins have reduced senses of touch.
Goblins almost lack the ability to thermoregulate. They are technically cold-blooded creatures, though in a large enough magical field goblins innately stabilize their body heat with that magic. A goblin in extreme cold/heat will die of magical starvation much faster than one in a normal environment.
Common goblins are not particularly strong on their own, due to their small stature and relatively-weak body strength.

Life expectancy:
Common: 20 years in a goblin clan, vastly-varying lengths among other species (goblins attached to powerful sorcerers tend to live until their master dies).
Dragon: 500-1200 years, depending on the size of the attending goblin clan.

History:
Goblins have been a part of the ecology of Neyav as long as anyone can remember. The oldest dragons can recall seeing goblins in their youth, and might, if their memories still serve them well at this point, recall the horrible wars that constantly waged over the then-potent Sands as goblin kind fought to maintain their control over their sacred lands. But that was indeed very long ago, and since then much of the world has changed. No longer are crusades to the Sands thought of, no longer do people remember the strange wyrm-like monstrosities that came out of the war. But all the same, the goblins have been left mostly to their own devices, to roam the Sands and hunt and mind their own business.
Once trading evolved from the primitive survivalist cultures of the dominant races, goblins once more came to the public conscience. Slowly they filtered into society, claiming their places as thieves, guides, familiars, glassblowers, and all sorts of other positions. Though some would see them as pests or as an inferior race to subjugate as slaves, the sheer numbers of the goblins who steadily infiltrated their cities and towns at least made action on these opinions inadvisable.

Culture:
Goblins have the highest respect for magic. For them, there’s no more-worthy calling in life than to serve a great magical being well, eat it upon its death, and return to their home clan to integrate this magic into their own kind.
The central unit of a goblin clan is a goblin dragon. In the case that a common goblin strays far from its home, though, any other very-powerful magical being will do. Such masters provide them the magic they need to survive and protection from what might otherwise easily kill them. In return, a goblin will do its best to assist this great being: they are skilled hunters, quiet assassins, magic-resistant body guards.
Goblin clans often integrate mount animals into their community. They have a special affinity for worg, it would seem; it is not unusual to find a large pack of these over-sized ferocious wolves mingling symbiotically with a goblin clan.

As familiars:
Having a goblin familiar is a great testament to the power of a mage. Though not as exotic as most familiars (goblins themselves are common, certainly more-so than pixies, phoenixes, and miniature dragons), they are well-known in magic circles as the most-picky. Only very strong wizards have access to enough magic to enamor and feed a goblin.
Goblins also make very competent familiars: though not a magical race themselves (unlike almost all other types of familiar), their magic resistance makes them survive the ordeals that would kill most other non-magical familiar-wannabes. Combined with their intelligence, fierce loyalty, long lifespans around mages, and all-around handiness, they are some of the most enviable creatures a mage can claim (right under miniature dragons, because hey, dragons).
Of course, there is the little bothersome fact that they will try to eat you when you die, but this too is a great honor (though most don’t appreciate it). Understand that if you take a goblin familiar, your family and friends will not have anything more than sucked-dry crushed-up bones to bury.

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Dssialii (d’saisle’E)
Sex: Male
Race: Trayii
Age: 21

Appearance:
Dssialli hails from a clan of almost-sea-colored goblins from the southern coastal regions of the Sands. When the light catches his scales just right, the green shows through unmistakably, though, like all goblins, in normal circumstances his color appears earthy (though it’s slightly-moldy earth). His alert color is an almost-painfully-saturated purple that gradates to a pinkish-red at his extremities and around his eyes.
Though most people can’t really tell the difference between one goblin and another, other goblins would tell you that Dssialli is handsome in an aggressive sort of way. His head is quantitatively shorter and sharper than average, and the natural lay of his very-long ears is low and straight. Only a visually-impaired, joking, or odd goblin (or his deceased wife) would describe him as “cute”, though when you’re a short race with large eyes and expressive ears, larger races invariably will call you that.
He’s not unusually-tall for his race and clan, though he does stand at the taller end of the spectrum at 3’10” (wow, much height, so goblin, such stature).
You’d be best off distinguishing him using his lack of facial hair (unusual for a goblin who spends time among other species), the dark ribbing in his ears, the darkness of his hands from burning the scales constantly, or the dark scars along his snout where scales were ripped out for his marriage ceremony.
When he's not wearing his work clothes (a simple protective leather apron and bug-eyed goggles), Dssialii is either naked or, when he needs to travel and carry things and generally be out among people, wearing his add cloak. It consists of two parts, a clasped short cloak in a slightly-light shade of green topped by a wide-collared cape with a split down the middle. This cape is white on one side and green on the other. He also wears a belt across his chest (under the cape, but above the cloak) with slots on the back to hold his various possessions and a hook onto which he can attach his crossbow. This is all covered nicely by the cape (though if one is familiar with how thin a goblin should look, the crossbow makes him suspiciously thick).

Personality:
Dssialli is, contrary to his aggressive bearing, pretty easy-going. That’s not to say that he has a cool temper, but if you don’t give him any reason to take offense or get angry with you, he can be a great buddy. He’s fairly reliable, and communicative when he’s feeling cross or under-the-weather (possibly too communicative: he doesn’t seem to understand that just because he’s feeling down doesn’t mean that everyone wants to know why).
On a good day, he’s as smiley and cheerful as one could ask, though he doesn’t go beyond that “oh that’s nice he’s feeling well” line onto “oh gosh WHY IS HE SO HAPPY?” unless he’s had particularly-good fortune. Or unless he’s drunk. If you stay around him long enough to head to a tavern with him, you’ll see just why goblins have little problem chewing their food (yes, those are two rows of teeth. Yes, they are all very sharp. Yes, it’s scary as heck to look at a laughing goblin).
On a bad day, once you get past his explanation that he’s not feeling wonderful, he’s not even that bad. He can still smile, he can still not be a drag. Just don’t get him angry, and keep him away from the liquor. He’s lost a few friends to violent bouts when they thought cheering him up with drinks was a good idea.
But hey, if you’re mindful of his moods and run when you see him start turning purple, there’s little to stop him from being a good friend.

History:
“Sorry, I’m just not feeling great today.” The goblin examines the glasses with an expert eye and shrugs. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. 70 copper.”
You hand over the money (or rather, hand it down; putting stuff on goblin-sized counters is somewhat difficult, and who even knew that there was a goblin grocer in this town with a suitable hearth for glass-melting temperatures?) and prepare to peruse the aisles to pass the time, but as he turns away the green-tinted glass blower doesn’t stop talking.
“Is just one of those days when you remember happier times. You ever been married?” You shake your head (because, really, what is up with this group of adventurers? A bunch of ineligible bachelors or something!) politely, not particularly caring to listen to the goblin’s life story, but hey, you weren’t particularly planning on buying anything from the grocer, either, so this worked. “Well let me tell you; you find a good woman, and life is something new. Every day you wake up, turn over, and realize with elation that that’s your wife, the love of your life, nested with you, and you’re hers until you die. Every day you make amazing memories, and they don’t even have to be of anything special. Maybe she nibbles on your ear while you poke at the clock, and you never forget. Maybe you spend all morning talking about filling up the nest with tadpoles, and then decide ‘nah, let’s put it off and go on a vacation instead’. And so you go on vacation, and she looks stunning splashing about in the waves, and you smile indulgently as you try to stay dry on the shore. Or maybe she comes down to the forge one day whilst you work and she leans against it and then recoils at the heat and you can’t help but bust yourself laughing at the look on her face as her color slowly cools back down to normal.”
Is he still talking? You glance back at him from the shelf of poorly-printed wanted ads (you’d think they’d go to the trouble of buying a few more ‘w’ for the printing press, since one didn’t really cut it when you had to write “Wanted” and “reward” on the same page, and when your criminal’s name was “Winford Willifred”, it was especially bad), but he’s working away while talking, so at least he’s not just wasting your time.
“And then she dies.” You glance over at him again, something about the way he said that catching you by surprise, but he’s still leaning studiously over his work, peering carefully through a jeweler’s glass and rubbing a cloth across your glasses. “And you’re left alone. And this loneliness is different than before you met her, because now you know what you’re missing. And every time the glass reflects your image back to you, you see your marriage vows in a black scar across your face, and you think of her. And every time your ear itches, you think of her. And every time you wake, and turn over, and the nest is empty, you think of her. The waves, the sand, the hearth, it all reminds you of her. Of happier times. And then, tada, there you are, fixing someone’s glasses and pitiably weighing down the poor youth with depressing stories.” He quickly glances at you and then holds the glasses up to the light, his tongue sliding out to rub over his top lip.
“Hmmmm, well let’s talk of something less depressing.” He puts the glasses carefully into the forge for a few seconds. “Not quite done with those yet. Let’s see… well, how about this. You ever been on a hunt? A real-life, magnificent tussle with some wondrous beast of the sands, atop your trusty worg friend, your clanmates at your side? No? Hmph.” His face takes on a disapproving grumpiness as if he wonders what they teach children in schools these days (though, from what you know of goblin life spans, you’re probably actually older than he, which has made this whole thing just that little bit more awkward), but he turns back to the forge and his work and lets you look elsewhere for the time being.
“Well you should some day, it’s magnificent. Nothing to get the blood pumping through you like that. I still remember my first time… haha, who doesn’t remember their first? It was right after the first heavy rains of the season. ‘Welp, you’re old enough for your first hunt now!’ my aunt told me, and shoed me off to mount Krasdiskl, and woosh, off I went to catch up with the hunters.”
You expected him to go on, but silence lasted a few moments, and when you turned back he was getting up from his squat and bringing your glasses over. Quickly counting the copper you’d left on the counter, he handed up his end of the bargain when he was satisfied you’d fulfilled yours. “Now you have a nice day, and don’t go breaking those again. Not that I’d mind, but I’m not gonna give you a better price next time just cuz you can’t take care of superior craftsmanship.”

Optional Information
Equipment:
(1) Repeating Crossbow [four-bolt magazine, manual lever-style cycle, schematics incoming]
(1) 6-foot iron-tipped spear [non-barbed spearhead, shaft made of a sturdy, heavy dark wood from the jungle]
(1) Pouch each of two powders which, when combined, burn at > 3000 degrees Fahrenheit [used in the manufacturing of glassware, both powders magical in nature]
(1) Compass
(6) Relatively-accurate (though now 5-12 years old) maps of the major regions of Enduwin[created by yours truly, possibly not so accurate as he’d claim, but serviceable][does not include maps for Uacteir Balla, Ju’ra, Bolecawn, or Olc Cairn]
(1) Dual-range ocarina, made of glass [Dssialii’s finest work, and he couldn’t stand to part from it… he’s even learned how to play it okay-ish]
(1) Set of instruments for the blowing and forming of glass [includes a leather heat-resistant smock and eye protection]
(1) Long fire-darkened glass pipe
(1) Bag of southern mage weed [an incredibly potent magical hallucinogenic typically used by shaman-style mages to go on vision trips. Doesn't have much effect on goblins, though since it's the most potent thing they Dssialii can get his hands on to smoke, they tend to pick it.]

Marital Status: Widowed
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): N/A
Skills:
About as-good a hunter as all of his kind. In his own opinion, a fantastic glass worker (and hey, someone must agree with him since he’s managed to make a living this far). A not-too-shabby cartographer with a very good sense of direction and scale. Can carry a tune singing and on his ocarina (finally). Knows how to read and right Common. Common goblin racial skills.

Name: Faeri
Location: Zephyr Plains
Description:
Faeri are small (2-12 inches tall) flying creatures. They have 5 limbs: two arms, two wings, and a tail.
Each wing is a three-ribbed batlike membrane about as wide as the Faeri is tall. When collapsed, if such a thing is possible, each rib would not be the same length: such convenience is completely unnecessary for a race that can do nothing but fly.
Their hands are slender and extremely long-fingered, exposed in bony nails at the ends. They're unpleasant to look at, though Faeri tend to be quite gentle with them, even though they lack feeling in their fingertips.
Faeri have no mouths or noses or ears. Instead, their heads are dominated by large eyes and shielded by impressive (even if tiny) antlers.
At the center of every Faeri's chest, and hanging from their tails, are incredilby-smooth tiny gems.
Most Faeri have earthen-colored skin, though their wing colors come from a diverse selection of highly-saturated rainbow-like hues. Their eyes and gems are the same colors, also highly-saturated and incredibly colorful.

Magic:
Most races wouldn't be able to survive without mouths. How, you might ask, can anything survive without eating? Well, the answer is, of course, "magic!" Those gems aren't just for show. Instead, they are powerful magical relics, from which Faeri suck the magical energy to continue living.
Being so directly-fed by magic, Faeri themselves are capable of wielding the stuff very potently. You'll never seen a "mundane" Faeri (though there are mundane Faeri, simply their definition of mundane is different than other races'), as even the weakest of them can do such useful things as levitate, attack with physical manifestations of magic, and create damage-soaking shields. Especially-gifted Faeri, especially in groups, can do everything from changing the weather to teleporting things to causing natural disasters. Good thing, then, that they generally keep to themselves.
They use their magic for the mundane, as well: instead of walking, they float along on the winds or actively levitate in one spot. They speak through the magical modulation of air particles or, more privately, through telepathy. They hear by keeping track of the brainwaves and air currents around them.

Racial Benefits:
Faeri have an improved base-line magic ability. There are no magic-less Faeri, and mundane translates to still-considerable magical control.
Faeri have heightened senses due to their connection to nature magic and telepathy.
Faeri are very good at collaborating in magic casting. There are stories of them literally moving mountains with their combined will (in fact, one of the more-heretical theories on the reason that the Plains are so flat is because the Faeri have flattened it over time).
Faeri can live for a very long time, since they will continue to function as long as there is power left in their gems.

Racial Demerits:
Faeri are highly-susceptible to magic. Their reliant nature on the stuff means that they have no defenses against it.
Faeri deplete their life span each time that they use magic, especially when there is little atmospheric magic to supplement their gems. A large job, like the aforementioned moving of a mountain, can result in the simultaneous death of hundreds of Faeri.
Faeri are fragile creatures. Their small frames are incredibly light to allow them to stay floating in slight breezes for days on end without expending magic to keep themselves afloat, and as such they have very little in the way of internal structure. A Faeri's head can easily be smashed between the fingers of an average human.
Faeri only reproduce upon finding new gems, and therefore their population fluctuates incredibly based upon supply.

History:
Faeri are one of the more-recently discovered races that inhabit Enduwin. Only with the invention of the telescope were they finally seen by thinking, communicating beings: previously, they'd hid their existence from flying mages and hot air balloons and the like very easily.
They were discovered quite on accident, and by many an astrologer at around the same time. Stargazing scientists would find their attempts to use telescopes in the Plains foiled by something blocking their sight, and upon refocusing their telescopes to see what it was, would get to see these strange tiny jewel-laiden creatures floating serenely above their heads.
Quickly, expeditions were sent into the clouds to catch one of these creatures, but all returned empty-handed until one particularly psychically-adept searcher felt the Faeri probing him and realized that they must have been scattering upon psychically picking up the search parties.
By now, paintings and stories of these strange creatures, calculated to number in the thousands and, as psychic after psychic confirmed, obviously highly sentient, had struck the public fancy. A reward was put out to catch one alive to examine it up close, and as is often the case, money prevailed. A magician managed to catch one by remotely creating a magical cage around it and then bringing the cage down (the commonly-accepted method of harvesting them still today).
Sadly, that first contact did not go well. No sooner had they begun handling the creature than one of the scientists punctured its head, instantly killing it. Thankfully, with a little more care, a live specimen was caught and kept in captivity, where it eventually began talking to its captors.
Since, Faeri have still mostly kept to themselves. A few are captured for interested wizards and scientists, but largely they are left alone, as well.
That is, until recently. The first attack happened on a sunny, cloudless day, when suddenly rain seemed to begin falling from the sky. Quickly, though, people realized that this wasn't rain: this was thousands upon thousands of magical attacks launched down from the heavens. Though each attack was relatively weak, within a fortnight nothing at all was left of the town, all of it corroded away by the steady downpour of power.
That was only the first attack. At first, no one understood what had happened, until they scoured the remains of the village. What they found scattered about there and cast over the nearby plains by the wind were hundreds of dead little bodies, lifeless jewels no longer glowing in their chests and tails.
Such scourges, followed by such mind-numbing numbers of dead Faeri, have slowly begun a sweep from the Plains to the Olc. No one is certain why it is happening, but there's been no sign that the advance is slowing, even as Faeri numbers must certainly be thinning. Towns along the edge of the scourge have begun keeping vigilant watch over the skies, ready to leave at the first signal from a watcher that the wave has arrived.

Name: D. Makathur (Mac A thur)
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Occupancy: Puppeteer, interpreter of dreams

Description:
Makathur has gotten so far partially because of his pleasant demeanor and disarming pleasantry. He just doesn’t seem like the sort of person with anything but your best interest in mind. Maybe it’s his salted beard and still-thick graying hair on a relatively-rugged face, or maybe it’s that he stands at a strong 5’11” but doesn’t make himself seem too tall or too muscular to make people uncomfortable. Maybe it’s that he wears pretty-much common clothes and a pair of spectacles that he still has to squint through if he wants to read anything. Maybe it’s the way that the wrinkles form around his brown eyes as he smiles his lopsided, yellow-tinted grin. Maybe it’s that his voice is one of those soothing ones that manages to not sound alarmingly seductive, or the way that he fiddles with his big hands until finally placing them emphatically on whoever he’s talking to in a personable (though sometimes too-much so) way. Either way, he is what he is, a lovable-looking aging man who smiles often and looks more friendly than Santa Claus when he does so.

Personality:
Makathur pretty much has the personality to go with his appearance. Or, at least, that’s the way that it seems. He’s sympathetic if you go to him with problems, gracious when other people make mistakes, good with the kids, and an altogether trustworthy person.
Or, rather, he’s not that last one, at all. Rather, he’s too easy to trust, and certainly not deserving of it. In fact, Makarthur is conniving and selfish, brilliant and cunning in only the worst ways. Even were he not a psychic, he’s one of those people with the intense sort of attitude that is particularly well-suited for strategy games, the sort of person who might stare across the board at you, obviously calculating your next fifteen moves while you try to figure out whether or not to move that pawn because the quiet smile on his face tells you that it’s entirely the wrong move, but when you went to move a knight instead the smile just became wider and now you really don’t know what to do. Except he’d be adorable and good-natured about the whole thing and you wouldn’t at all realize that you’re being played, so actually you would have moved that pawn in the first place because his smile is just too friendly to hide a malignant delight in the impending downfall of your whole game… right?
And he’s the sort of person who’ll let you almost win, just to quietly sweep your apparent victory away. Not that it would suddenly be as if he gained skill, just that what was once a close game that you were winning suddenly became a rout from which there’s no hope of retrieving even the slightest victory, and the whole thing would seem like an accident. Then again, what cat doesn’t like to play with its prey, allowing it to escape for a while only to bring down the jaws of death more certainly?
In totality, it’s fitting that Makathur found employment as a puppeteer. Controlling, acting, influencing young minds… it’s all everyday for him and perfectly in tune his personality.

History:
Every villain has a story, right? It’s not like one day people just say “You know what would be fun? Killing everything!” Well, that’s largely true, but then you have Makathur. There he was, chilling in some remote town doing his helpful old puppeteering and dream explaining (“I woke up from a dream where I turned into a snail!” “Really, it’s simplicity to follow such a tale. For this creature takes his shell wherever he may roam. Your life must keep you on the move; you fear your wife may disapprove! So like the snail you just remove and take along you home!”), when he was struck with an idea! A delightfully evil idea, and unlike most people, who being struck with such a fancy would quickly realize “Wait a moment, that’s evil!” apparently no such thought crossed Makathur’s mind, or if it did, he quickly decided “So what?”
He read in the paper about these magnificent creatures (the “Psychic News!” was full of stories of them) called Faeri. Magical little clouds powered by magical stones. Why, it reminded him of a shady deal he’d found while rustling about in someone’s mind. Within a few months, his plan was set to go, all he needed was to see if it would work on a small scale first.
The idea was simple. These creatures got all their energy from magical stones, and could be made to reproduce almost at-will by giving them stones (except in captivity, experiments to breed new Faeri in captivity had all been resounding failures). So, thought Makathur, what if he were to provide the Faeri with corrupted stones? There was a market that sold such things, already: stones that were designed by enchanters specifically to be attuned to the magics of the purchaser. What then, if this stone were used by a Faeri to reproduce?
The first test was a resounding success. Within a week, Makathur could talk to the new life from across the plains, to convince it that he was its benefactor, and bend it to his will. With his pleasant smile plastered too-widely over his face, he began to set about executing his plan on a large scale.
But that would require a lot of magical stones, which would require a lot of money. Thankfully, when you were not only able to interpret dreams but also induce them (a talent he’d never really found good use for), making money was not really a problem. But soon there was little profit to be made in his town, and so he had to move. A scourge of curious dreams, demanding explanation, flowed across the country for the next few years, and wherever such explanation was needed, there Makathur would be, pleasantly providing his services.
Money became no problem, and what was once one Faeri swearing fealty to the god Makai soon became legion. What would then become known as the Great Faeri Heresy (were anyone to keep such histories of Faeri culture) happened, the newest generation nearly as one beginning to proclaim the power of their god, with great signs of magic to prove his favor for them. With no other organized religion or political system to stand against them, these Makite Faeri soon lead the entire race.
Now it was just a matter of using this potent power that he had farmed. As news of Bawzel’s return spread like wildfire, Makathur set his army in motion, a new plan which could be called “evil” forming in his head.

Magic:
Makathur is a powerful psychic, capable of mild telekinesis (which he uses to move his puppets, such a great use for such potential), mind reading (which he uses to explain dreams, geez he makes the most of his powers, doesn’t he?), and even induce dreams (which he uses to… well okay, guess he used that one decently). He’s got nothing going for him in other areas of magic, though.

Name: Stuckos
Race: Faeri
Age: 4 years
Gender: N/A (Though I’ll refer to Stuckos as “he” and his mental/generated voice sounds like a girlish young boy)
Occupancy: FIGHTING EVUL HAHA YEAH!

Description:
Most people can’t really tell the difference between Faeri except by color. Stuckos is just 10 inches tall (22-inch wingspan), though he makes an oddly intimidating show of his size. His eyes are purple, and his wings a lighter shade thereof. You might as well just look at the picture, though ^.^

Personality:
Naïve, strong-hearted, and too-energetic, Stuckos is one of those over-eager youngsters who aspire to greatness long before they have any idea what evil really is. Some might find his headstrong black-and-white morals endearing, others find him annoying and tiresome.
Among his Makite peers, Stuckos has a reputation of being zealous but perhapsabitstupid. When he claimed to have been sent by Makai himself for an important mission, his elders thanked their god for his graciousness, sent Stuckos on his way, and, making sure that he was out of hearing range, let out a collective sigh of relief.
Stuckos acts like he imagines every hero should. He’ll stop to help old ladies across the street (how much help can a Faeri be, though?), he’ll yell stupid things during battle (“HA! HA! EEEEEEHA!”, even though he doesn’t actually have a mouth and firing magical bolts really isn’t that intense), and he’ll taunt evil doers while standing proudly atop the rubble of the poor people’s houses which were destroyed by EVIL (even though he doesn’t have legs, and he’s just 10 inches tall). Or, rather, he’d do that staff if he ever got the chance. He does that stuff in his mind when he thinks of himself doing heroic things. WHICH IS ALL THE TIME HE IS WELL EXPERIENCED.

History:
Like all Faeri, Stuckos started with his parent finding two nice juicy gems. “Ah, it’s time to have a baby!” Papa Faeri must have thought to itself, and so it was that Stuckos came into existence.
Too bad there was something wrong with him from the beginning. That first night, while getting the hang of its magic, suddenly Stuckos fell asleep. Papa Faeri, never having seen a sleeping Faeri, was understandably perplexed, and probably wondered what it had done wrong to result in such a miscarriage. Maybe it should have converted to that new religion that was going around, and then these things wouldn’t happen to it! Thankfully Stuckos awoke the next day as if nothing had happened, but the relief did not get to last very long for poor Papa. That night sleep visited again, and so was established the schedule of the strangest Faeri of them all. Too bad Papa had already named it Stuckos; he missed a great chance to name it Sleepy to go with all its siblings (all eleven of them), but he’d determines such a name was silly for a race that never slept or became tired.
With a little help, Stuckos was able to join normal Faeri society. Others would have to bolster him a bit as he slept, or he’d just grab onto someone else before snoozing, but it wasn’t that bad. Still meant that one day when the wind told him to go to the point of origin, everyone was slightly relieved to let him go.
Things might have been easier had Stuckos known where the Point was. And if he hadn’t needed to sleep. What should have taken maybe a week took more than three months, and now with some interesting experiences under his belt, Stuckos finally shows up to the Point… late. But there are still other people there, so this must be the adventure he’s looking for! Surely it will be even better than fighting BEARS!

Magic:
Stuckos is actually pretty good with magic, for all his other failings, contrary to what everyone had expected (“He doesn’t even have enough magic to stay awake half the time! Surely he can’t use magic!”) In addition to the normal Faeri levitation, telepathy, magic missiles, and magical shields, Stuckos has an array of weather magic at his command. He can create projectile-deflecting wind walls, can knock the feet out from underneath enemies with a well-placed gust, and can even blast things with lightning! He’s quite proud of his magical prowess, as he considers it befits a True Hero such as himself.

Name/Aliases: Charon
Sex: Male
Race: Keeper
Age: 56 (Human years)

Appearance: Charon, like most of his race, is somewhat taller than the average human and sports a well muscled, athletic build. He has a strong jawline and grizzled facial features, in addition to his many scars, including one which runs down the right side of his face. His eyes are a deep blue, and his hair is a greyish white, worn short on top and shaved on the sides. The color of his skin flecks is a light, slightly pale purple. He tends to use a short beard and his hood to hide his face in public, as the sight of a Keeper is not always welcome.

Personality: Though kept firmly in check by spiritual practice, the essence of the storm runs through the veins of all Keepers. This is especially true of Charon, the reserved, calm, and well-centered monk. Just beneath the surface lies a turbulent sea, torn up by howling winds; where the cacophonous roar of thunder signals the coming of deadly lightning. This passion gives Charon strength, but it is a dangerous and slippery slope that leads to suffering. By bottling this emotional torrent within the confines of a peaceful glass however, it may become a weapon, wielded wisely by he who would be called a sage.

History: Born as the first son of the current Elder Theravada, and his wife Mynuvir, much was expected of the young Charon. His mother had been an incredibly powerful mage, and his father a legendary warrior who had travelled to all reaches of the land in search of challenge. None could best either great Keeper, earning them the right to be married and to pass on their genes to the future generations. It was never expected (though in hindsight it rather should have been) that their first son would be so difficult to raise. The storm in this one raged long and hard before it was finally calmed, but over time Charon would become an excellent student. Otherwise, the progressing monk lived the typical life of a Keeper, remaining in isolation until it was his time to leave the islands and be thrust unto the world of Enduwin.

Optional Information
Equipment: Most often, Charon is seen wearing light leather armor under a thick hooded robe, which matches the color of his flecks.

Boots of the Gale: Charon wears a pair of black leather boots with permanent inscriptions on the bottom, which act as a conduit for his enchanting magic. When activated, strong winds whip around his feet, allowing Charon to jump high into the air.

Sword of the Storm- Charon’s bastard sword is permanently inscribed with arcane symbols, allowing him to bestow the powers of both thunder and lightning unto it. When it’s primary ability is activated, the sword is swung and produces a directed shockwave. Its secondary ability temporarily turns the sword into bolt of lightning, which Charon hurls at his foes.

Faction (If any): Keeper
Marital Status: Unmarried
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Arcane

Bound magical abilities are those bestowed upon his items, activated through the inscriptions on them. Each bound inscription he places on an item costs him 3 years of life. None of Charon’s items possess any innate magical power, and therefore require magical input to be activated. Using each item’s ability, Gale Jump, Thunder Clap, and Lightning Strike siphons away a portion of Charon’s own lifeforce in a magnitude of 1:2:5 respectively. This means the more magic he uses, the weaker he becomes until the point where he collapses. Therefore, though Charon has the capacity to be extremely dangerous, he is limited by the fact that once he’s used up his magic, he’s done. This makes him most useful as a sort of “Glass Cannon”.

Skills: Wilderness survival, Martial combat.

Name: Keeper
Location: Ju’ra

Appearance: Keepers are a race of tall humanoid creatures, much akin to elves. Major differences include wider shoulders and thicker, more muscular bodies, in addition to their most distinct feature: their crystal flecked skin. Instead of body hair, the Keepers’ skin are covered with flecks of sparkling crystals which range in color.

Purpose: Maintenance of balance

History: The Keepers are an obscure race/faction of wandering warrior/mage-monks from the southern cluster of islands that make up Ju’ra. As a race, their total population has never reached more than one thousand at any given time due to their strange way of life. As long as they have existed, the Keepers have been devoted to Tintrayach and maintaining balance wherever possible across all of Enduwin. All Keepers are born in Ju’ra, yet it is an honor to die there. On a Keeper’s 10th birthday, he/she begins their training in the arts combat and survival. Upon reaching the age of 20, their individual talents are honed until they become masters of their own individual style of fighting. At the age of 25, they are then sent out into the world to act as mediators and promote stability and balance across the land. For the next 50 years, in the prime of their lives, each Keeper is expected to spread out across Enduwin. Though some choose to settle down and establish roots in a particularly corrupt community, the Keepers are not always welcome, as they can sometimes be more trouble than they are worth in the eyes of the people. In most places a Keeper is always welcome so long as there is trouble, but once stability is restored, they are brushed aside. Because of this, most prefer to wander from place to place, often hiding their identities by concealing their telltale skin.

On the rare occasion that a Keeper reaches the age of 75, surviving 50 years of service to the world, they may return to the Islands of Ju’ra. Here, they live out the remainder of their lifespans (on average between 130-140 years) raising children, and training new generations. Because of the dangerous nature of their profession, few Keepers survive long enough to take on this role, and as such, those who do are expected to raise as many children as possible. As a result, any given Keeper often has between 30, up to 60 biological siblings, many of whom they never meet. From that pool, likely only 1-3 will survive, which has accidentally kept their magic rather strong. Nearly all keepers possess a degree of arcane magic, but those keepers who have the power to become fully blown mages have been known to be some of the best in the world. All derive their magic from a connection with Tintrayach.

Optional Information
Key Members: Elder Theravada
Advantages: Extremely good training.
Disadvantages: Most die.
Ranks: On the islands, Keeper society is based on prowess, and the number of feats one accomplished out in the world. On the rare occasions when Keepers team up off the islands, seniority rules.
Rules/Laws: Complex ethical code, which is interpreted differently by each Keeper.

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Arnack Clarn
Sex: Male
Age: 50
Appearance: Arnack
Personality:
History: Arnack was born in the slums of Anghiem a dwarven city once renowned as the home of the Slayers, they brought in riches and treasures beyond compare, since though the city has declined much and the citizens are forced into fishing or mining. Arnack and his twin brother, Clalak were born to a beggar family eking out a living, aiding the fishermen when they returned with their haul and living off the scraps. Arnack was the stronger of the two and took it upon himself to protect his younger brother, being the eldest if only by a few minutes.

As they grew older Clalak began to worship the Slayers and aspired to join their ranks, but no matter how hard he tried Arnack was always stronger, tougher and faster and even though he had no particular will to be a Slayer he was picked over his brother and the other candidates. Since then the two have grown apart and have not seen each other since Arnack’s acceptance.

Arnack soon found that life as a Slayer was difficult, but also rewarding everyday he got a little better. For the sake of his brother he tried as hard as he could, though Clalak had failed he would at least not make Clalak bitter by failing. He learned how to fight all manner of things in all manner of ways. He learnt the theory of beast slaying, too where beast were weakest and where they were strongest, and most importantly where not to be when they attacked. Soon he rose to be the best Initiate in the group and was the first to be offered a Proving.

He was tasked with bringing back the horn of a Greater Rhinodon of the Zephyr Plains, a beast known for rampaging through the villages the tribesmen kept on the Plains. A Rhinodon was much like ordinary rhinoceros, only three times as big and much more intelligent, very few are left; in fact many thought they were extinct. Arnack suspected the council who disliked him, due to his beggar heritage wanted to send him on a quest to his death.

Nevertheless he set out towards the Plains and after much searching, almost six moons worth until eventually he heard tales of a Rhinodon rampaging amongst a herd of its smaller kindred.
He caught up to the herd as they grazed upon the plains lazing in the sun’s heat. He counted over thirty Rhinoceros in the herd, but he was a Slayer he remained undaunted and using what he knew of the beasts’ weakness he snuck up on them, disguised as a shrub.

Still with no sign of the Rhinodon he began to despair until he heard a roar then the thump of hooves on the ground. He quickly turned and drew his spear, scoring the beast along the shoulder as it charged into his weapon. Undaunted the beast rounded and charged again. The rest was a blur to Arnack his battle instincts took over and finally the beast lay dying at his feet. He took the beasts horn and gave it’s body to the tribesmen it had terrorised, bringing new life with its meat.

He returned to the Slayer’s Fortress victorious, but a few were not too glad to see him back and after a hasty ceremony he was given a three month recovery period. He finally caught up with his brother Clalak, who seemed to be doing well for himself, though he refused to say how or why.

After Arnack returned the Grand Sair sent him back out into the world on the mission every Slayer is given, to defend the people from the night.

Optional Information
Equipment: A double bladed axe, a short spear and a full set of steel battle armour (In his saddlebags), a pony, also wears leather armour for day to day. Field rations and a survival kit, consisting of cooking implements, firemaking kit and a small tent with a bedroll.
Faction (If any): Slayers of Anghiem
Marital Status: Slayers ain’t got any time for that.
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Mundane for the most part with a little latent pyrokinesis, although he can’t start a fire and the only affect it has is flames tend to lean towards him despite the wind. With some training he could possibly gain some control.
Skills:
Slayer Training: As a fully Proven Slayer he has learnt all that can be taught, what is left to learn must be earnt the hard way, in the fires of battle. He is able to wield most weapons with some proficiency, but his true calling is the axe.

Essential Information
Name: Slayers of Anghiem
Location: Southernmost part of the Forayish Woods, on the peninsula known as Lasair’s Blaze (thought to be where Lasair first left Endwuin to create Bolecawn),The City of Anghiem, Fortress Salair.

Purpose: To protect any and all from the beasts and evils of Enduwin, including dragons.
History: The Slayers are a proud and old people born of mostly dwarven stock although it is not unknown for other races to be a Slayer. They hand pick their members when they reach a suitable age for learning to fight, there is no clear age due to different races having different lifespans. From the ancient times the Slayers have stood against the rage of the beasts traveling far and wide to guard the lesser folk, those not born for a life of war.

With the magic of Trayig declining the Slayer have declined too, no longer do great and mighty dragons roam the land in their dozens, or evil magicians destroy villages nightly. The Slayers have declined from nearly a thousand to barely a hundred members. Those that do wish to join the Slayers must be the best of the best, the strongest of the strong, and the bravest of the brave. For Slayer lore tells of a great darkness overtaking the land, for then Slayers will be needed more than ever.

Beliefs: The Slayers believe it is their duty to protect and serve the people in the name of the god Lasair. They believe whilst Lasair is a god of fire and rebirth he does not wish undue destruction and death upon the gentler folk of Endwuin. And so it is the Slayers duty to take up his banner and guard the people from all manner of beasts that plague Endwuin. If a dragon is terrorizing a city expect the Slayers, if bandits are on a killing spree expect the Slayers to be there with blades and fire. In times past some great Slayers have been known to receive the Blessings of Lasair and learnt to wield the powers of Lasair in battle.

Optional Information
Key Members: Grand Sair Mandilor, one of the last Slayers gifted with the blessing of Lasair, he is quite old and many believe he should be replaced but none presented are suitable candidates.
Proven Arnack Clarn
Advantages: Trained in spears, swords and axes of all manners the Slayers will use anything to hand. They are trained in the use of heavy armour, but when travelling most prefer to go in a mix between light and heavy.
Disadvantages:
The Slayers have an aversion to large bodies of water; this might explain why they haven’t just popped over to visit their Godly patron. The Slayers don’t make much use of ranged weaponry and prefer to go hand to hand, whether faced with a dragon or a man; they can be vulnerable to marksmen too.
Ranks:
Grand Sair: leader of the Slayers, literally means Grand Fire
Initiate: The rank all Slayers attain once they have been picked.
Proven: The rank all members reach when they have proven they have what it takes to be a Slayer, after a challenge set by the Grand Sair and his council. At this stage they are free to roam the world and tasked with identifying threats to Endwuin’s safety, doing what they can to help and bringing back trophies of their victories. After a year they are to return to Fortress Salair and report anything of sufficient danger to the council.

Rules/Laws: Protect the common folk, and fight all evils unleashed upon Endwuin.

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Celabrin Mendell, The Succubus (Few know her real name, only her reputation.)
Sex: Female
Race: Half-elven
Age: 68
Appearance:


As a half elf Celabrin has only slightly pointed ears, but the youthfulness yet remains, she can fit in with either human or elves, if not too closely observed. She has long dark hair which is usually put up in some elaborate manner unless trying to blend in with humans where she wears it down to hide her ears. She stands at an average height of 5’7”with a lithe frame.
Personality: Celabrin seems quite normal to most as first, although with the strange coincidence of the men she sleeps with turning up dead eventually. She is an excellent planner with a decent head for battle tactics, though she would rather use her feminine wiles to undermine her foes. She comes off as a warm person to most especially men, even those she has no interest in. Women however see beyond her magical exterior to the vile being with in, counts for powerful mages too. Over the years she has become disillusioned with life and love, only seeking power in her own way.

History: Celabrin was born in a human town on the borders of Fuaere, and the Foraiysh woods. She was born to an elven woman of the forest and a human named Johan who made his living in a lumberjack. The pair held their entire relationship n secret, so when they had a child. The elf abandoned them and Johan raised Celabrin in secret keeping her hidden as she grew, fearing what others would do if they knew of such a child’s existence.

Over the years she grew and longed to be out in the world it was only her father’s will and rough hand which kept her at bay. She spent her time in dimness reading the books her father brought her to keep her sane. One day he never returned from his lumbering, this was nothing new; he had been gone for days at a time before. But the next day men arrived at her door and broke in steel in their hands. They treated her like their plaything, broke her and kept her in her father’s home to be used.

Although she was not truly broken, only foxing. Once in a while they would let her escape, only to chase her down the next day. On one of these escapes she managed to secret a poisonous root she’d learned of from her books back with her and the next morning the men woke up dead, or rather did not since they were dead. She left one alive who she convinced to guide her away from the town. She gathered what little things she had and left the town, killing two more with the weapons of the dead and the aid of her new thrall. When she reached a city she killed him too, his usefulness expired.

Over the years she travelled Enduwin learning herb lore and poison-making and how to defend herself with blades if needs be. She fell in with all sorts of dark peoples, making alliances and breaking them when a greater power arose. In her wake men turned up dead in their beds, whether it be at a tavern or in their marriage bed. She honed her skills refining her magic which she had little knowledge of truth be told, into a way to easily get at her victims.

Celabrin finally learned of her magic when she met a powerful dark mage in Olc Cairn, he honed her magic in ways she never could and when she felt she had learnt all that she needed, killed him too. Uncaring that the great lord had amassed an army and was poised to strike at the peoples of Enduwin.

In this power vacuum was the point at which Bawzel the Necromancer made himself know. She felt drawn to his side, and although he was completely immune to her powers managed to ally with him. Killing any he wished dead and changing the minds of those weak-willed enough to be swayed. Celabrin became one of his trusted lieutenants, if the servants of evil can be called such helping him amass his army, and aiding him in ways he could not alone manage.

Optional Information
Equipment: Two daggers of slightly differing length, weighted for throwing named Little Tooth and Big Tooth.
Poisons of many types and items for making more.
Faction (If any): Evildoers of Olc Cairn. Servant to Bawzel.
Marital Status: Unattached, men serve her not the other way around.
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Arcane, Powers of Seduction and Illusion. She uses what magic she has to enchant men and make them fight for her or simply fall for her. She can use her illusion magic to change what her victims or any possible witnesses see. She can make herself appeal more to a man’s desires by changing herself visibly at least into the woman that man desires most.

Skills: A decent Crossbowoman, Skilled with her blades and able to kill with her body too, trained in a few martial styles over the years. She is also a somewhat skilled diplomat and knows a little of many of the languages of Enduwin. Especially fluent in Orcish and Elven.

Character Sheet

Essential Information
Name/Aliases: Samuel "Sam" Mueler
Sex: M
Race: Human
Age: 21

Appearance:
Samuel has a rather youthful and boyish appearance, even though he's practically a man now, but that's probably because his personality never quite caught up with his age.
He has short, cropped, black hair set in such a way so his longer bangs have a prominent jut as they curl out and back toward his face. His eyes are a clear-water blue that contrast nicely with his hair, but not so much it looks icy and piercing, more over empty. He's got a cute-ish nose that's rather large and button-like. He has a set of thin, but very red lips.
Shoulders down he's a bit more obviously a man, black hair covering his pale arms and legs, both of which have some muscle definition padded down with "baby fat" as he calls it. His torso is characterized by narrow but square shoulders, they're sorta attractive but they're also sorta feminine, so it goes either way depending on the onlooker. He is rather long and lithe, yet he doesn't look like skin-and-bones.
Sam dresses in rather loose and flamboyant clothes like most Naeri. They closely resemble what we would call middle-eastern clothing with bells and curl-toed shoes, but the cloth is embroidered with incandescent thread that shines in many shades of a crystal blue when caught in the light. The entire outfit is a mixture of purples however, with a tough leather vest over a baggy shirt. It doesn't look practical for a normal person, but those who know the Naeri understand the get-up is one worn by Naeri dancers. When he dances, Samuel is rather captivating because of it's shimmer and the way the cloth flows and folds.
On occasion he sheds his traditional Dancer's outfit for commoners clothing that he most often steals. In this case he often looks very plain and even somewhat dirty, his only distinction being a sapphire earring in his left ear.

Personality:
Samuel is one of those individuals, the kind you normally don't want to make friends with. He is rather quite at first, but when he's riled he is actually extremely talkative and really annoying. It's not that he's purposefully a snarky-assed jerk, just he doesn't take to kindly to most people, especially those who are non-naeri, but then at the same time he's not overly fond of Naeri either. Most people would describe him as "anal retentive" in most social settings, and a bit childish in the way he deals with people, not that he's incapable of being a mature adult.

History:

Optional Information
Equipment: Various knives hidden in his clothing, making him completely disarm himself would probably take several minutes.
Faction (If any): Naeri?
Marital Status: Single
Magic: Passive yet Arcane, an ability known as "Nature Charming," able to speak with animals and sing certain actions out of nature itself, such as accelerating the growth of a flower. Currently only a little-bit better than parlor tricks.
Skills: Music! I shit you not! Sam is known for his incredible voice and ability to easily match the feverous steps of even the most wild races in Enduwin. This transfers into combat where it becomes extremely hard to touch the man that nicked your chin with his knife. The Naeri are known for producing such musicians, but Sam is by far the greatest of the 7 rogues. His skills, however, pales into comparison to the Naeri elders.

Faction/Organization Sheet

Essential Information
Name: Naeri
Location: N/A (Nomads) The Naeri travel in large caravans and circuses. The most important is the Grand Cirk, which is 500 strong, and to be considered very dangerous to bandits.
Purpose: The Naeri are a group obsessed with life, magic, and most importantly music. They are a group dominated by those who are social outcasts, magically arcane, and musically gifted. They travel the world discovering new techniques of music, new forms of magical ability, and anything else they deem apart of the thrum of life. They are scholars, however, their books are the songs they pass from one another and not actual pages.

History: The Naeri formed a century or two ago, some think they are as old as the first villages. They sprung in the melodies of old, and they will die in the melodies of old. Their first members where simply a collection of bards and minstrels, but they have grown into a much larger group, spanning the entire continent, holding members of every race, even the most brutal. The Naeri are sometimes considered a nomadic country, however they have no actual government, only a code to live by.

They have had several spats with highway rogues and pirates, as well as those who deem themselves Necromancers. If their spats did not end soon, they often ended in blood, as the Naeri are very protective of their lifestyle, and those who threaten it are hated immensely. Despite this, they are known to accept stragglers, orphans, the homeless, widows, and any other in need of help. They are a very generous group, despite proving their rare, almost feral brutality.

Optional Information
Key Members:


Advantages:
-Large group covering all countries, easiest way to smuggle yourself through somewhere.
-Held in high respect by travelers for the safety of following a caravan.
-Much like a large family.... Of thousands of individuals.
-Holds a large amount of arcane knowledge and history buried in the depths of their culture.

Disadvantages:
-Disrespected by most city-dwellers and "rooted" settlers.
-Can be rather inhospitable to overly negative people or those with checkered pasts wrought in blood.
-They hold none of their intelligence in books, so to study among them would be to converse with their seasoned and older individuals.
-Can sometimes hold more current gossip than current fact.

Ranks:
1: Elders
2: Cirk/Caravan Elder
3: High Minstrels (one for every major Cirk, their numbers fluctuate with Cirks)
4: Bards (a Naeri who chooses to stay in a town or city in order to help traveling Cirks and Caravans, they do not travel often.)
5: Average Caravan/Cirk members
6: The Rogues (The seven rogues are considered the least in the hierarchy.)

The Code of Naeri:
-"No soul in need shall find their necessity neglected" (Vow of Charity)
-"Your honezvr (family) is always with you, and you are always with them." (All Naeri are family, even the rogues, thus all Naeri can find home with another Naeri group, if only temporarily. In short, you can not neglect or ignore a fellow Naeri)
-"Death is necessary, but never holy." (Naeri treasure life, not death, killing is treason to their people. Naeri find death only necessary in order to protect life.)
-"Keep the glasses full, keep the laughter loud, keep the music flowing." (Be positive!)
-"Learn the tales, spin the tales." (The Naeri find it their duty to learn as many stories as they possibly can, from fairy tales to truth, and pass them along orally)

Interesting Fact: A non-Naeri scholar has yet to write down the stories the Naeri have collected as a whole, and they would be open to letting one do so. They will not, however, do so themselves.

Name/Aliases: Norak

Sex: Male

Race: Orc

Age: 68

Appearance: Norak stands at an impressive seven foot three inches high, though for an Orc such a height is fairly average. His skin is an incredibly tough leathery dark-green to the point of almost looking black at the right angle. These things are a serious mark in Orcish society of an aged warrior, met with either respect or contempt depending on he who bears it. Norak is marked with many long scars, which etch his body like runes. The right side of his face is marked by the claw of a bear or some other beast, with his right canine noticeably chipped by the same impact. Otherwise, his body is muscular to the point of grotesque, on par with modern-day body builders. It’s this build which accounts for his weight, roughly 175kg of pure muscle and death.

Personality: Norak is of average intelligence, but not for an Orc. In his society he’s a relatively fresh thinker, with a long life of experience in war and other matters, but mostly war. He tends to think deeply about issues, for at least five seconds or so, which is a whole five seconds longer than most of his race. Due to his peculiar circumstances, Norak does not balk from death, literally, he’s not just brave, and he’s fatalistic to a huge degree. However, this doesn’t make him suicidal, rather he seeks glory, which gives him an arrogant attitude that can make him incompatible to some.

History: Norak has lived arguably the ideal life of any Orc. Born the second son of a Warchief ruling a tribe of Orc in the Zephyr Plains, he earned his right to challenge his sire for control of the tribe after defeating a particularly troublesome ‘megabear’ which is exactly what it sounds like. Inevitably, he won the conflict, hence why he’s still alive. After ruling the tribe for thirty long years, he grew exasperated with his tribes inability to provide warriors capable of defeating and replacing him. After one particularly good day of hunting he decided, why have his legacy wiped away by some new upstart? So, for the first time in recent history, a Warchief stepped down from his position and sought glory in death outside the plains. Fast forward to the present day, Norak hires himself out to hopeless missions with high pay-offs, surrounded by weaklings the aged warrior grows ever more exasperated, hoping his next battle will be his last.

Equipment:
Iron plate Hauberk, Orc Style, with realistic battle damage and leather pauldrons. Iron shin guards and tough leather boots, leather bracers, iron gauntlets and iron half-helm.
Steel War Axe, one handed.
Iron Longsword, one handed.
Iron rimmed wooden round-shield.
Sharpening cloth.

Survival kit (food, water, very basic essentials, and a rope… maybe just this once I might need it.)

Faction (If any): Ex-Warchief of the Braken Tribe

Marital Status: Widowed twice

Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Mundane

Skills: Melee and thrown weapon mastery, passable bow shot, advanced combat/battle tactics. Basic wound treatment (herbal) decent orator (for an essentially tribal peoples, may be less effective at rousing a bunch of human merchants.)

Black-Skin: Aged Orcs from the area Norak originates from darken in colouration as they age. This is a signifier that their skin is toughening, reducing their flexibility but making them more durable and resistant to harm in battle. Most Orcs wish to end their lives in glorious battle at this stage, because they’re so surprised they’ve made it this long.

Negatives: Lacks subtlety, brutally honest, lacks etiquette, lacks tact, lacks knowledge of foreign social conventions. Aged, which makes surprisingly little difference in terms of an Orc warrior, but comes with some negatives of itself. Average intelligence comparatively to a human, making him fairly plausible to trick, though not laughably easily. Has to eat a lot.

Character Sheet

Essential Information

Name/Aliases: Vrikdarok / Lord
Sex: Male
Race: Olc Cairn Mountain Orc
Age: 30 (In Human years)

Appearance: Marred with scars from battle, the iron-hued Orc stands as tall as the mountains he was spat from. Each hand is tipped with jagged nails that are cracked and as jagged as the rocks they crumble to dust. Like most of the Olc Cairn orcs, his body ripples with strength. Pools of crimson rage peer from deep sockets, deepened further by high cheekbones that plunge to a strong, slightly rounded jaw. Bone shattering tusks protrude from an extended lower jaw and come to rounded points at either side of a broad nose with large nostrils. A trio of deep scars, trophies from breaking his steed, stretch from the upper right side of his forehead to the lower part of his left cheek and upper left quadrant of his chest, distinguishing his commitment to having the meanest, most battle ready creature at his side.

Coarse black hair, tied back and grappled by a leather thong, hangs low on his back.

Personality: Born in the Black Mountains, Vrikdarok is as cold and rough as the land he inhabits. He does not speak kind words. He issues orders to subordinates and laughs at the weaknesses of the other races. Unlike other orcs, the Olc Cairn Mountain Orcs do not have a rich history or intricate hierarchy of power. He speaks and others listen. Arrogance is a trait this orc revels in. Born to battle, Vrikdarok knows death and pestilence.

History: His birth shattered his mother's heart, killing her on his exiting. His father, controller and lord of the Black Mountain Orcs, died by his hand when Vrikdarok came of age and was trained well enough to usurp power from his father. The head of the former lord was displayed for a full summer at Vish'Kar's entrance (Black Mountain Orc Keep).

At the head of standing army of nearly twenty thousand troops, Vrikdarok has ruled with cruelty and a system of rewards. What one kills, one attains. If a fellow orc kills another in battle, the fallen's possessions, including mate and homestead, become the victor's property.

The Black Mountain Orcs exist to bring Dúv's rage to the rest of Enduwin. They raid, rape and pillage with the ferocity of wild animals and cunning of the most educated elves.
[u]Optional Information/u]

Equipment: The mines of Vish'Kar produce strong iron and steel. Vrikdarok is clad in it from head to toe. His helmet's horns were harvested from the claws of a mammoth Black Mountain wolf. It is closed face and forged to resemble a snarling wolf's visage. The rest of his armor follows suit. Spiked pauldrons, bracers, and jointed gauntlets with one inch spikes at the knuckles. Leg plates and iron greaves coat his lower half.

He is well versed with a battle axe, bow, and sword and board.

A thick cape, refined from the hide of a mountain wolf, covers his back and falls just short of his heel. The head of the wolf that it was taken from is still attached to the cape.

He rides an enormous mountain wolf with fur as dark as the hair that dons Vrikdarok's head.

Faction (If any): Black Mountain Orcs
Marital Status: None
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Mundane
Skills: He forged his own armor.

Faction/Organization Sheet

Essential Information

Name: Black Mountain Orcs
Location: Olc Cairn Mountains
Purpose: Greed

History: The Black Mountain Orcs have existed as long as the men that try to slay them. They were spawned from the wrath of Dúv when he split the earth and tore the landscape asunder. They have spread the chaos of Olc Cairn to the rest of Enduwin ever since. They do not have a divine purpose and do not strive to take over the rest of the land. If they love anything, it is Vish'Kar and Olc Cairn.

Optional Information

Advantages: The number of orcs that are solidified under Vrikdarok's rule have forced the rest of Enduwin to realize that they are more than a nuisance. More suitably stated, they are a plague of terrible power that has cut a scar into the otherwise beautiful face of Enduwin's land and refuse to be driven back to Dúv's paradise, Ifreann.

Disadvantages: The devout nature of their loyalty provides a single minded approach to any situation. While the individual commanders interpret the meaning of Vrikdarok's words, few have spoken out against his methods and retained their head.

Rules/Laws: OBEY THE LORD!

Character Sheet

Essential Information

Name/Aliases: Sariloth
Sex: Female
Race: Dragon
Age: 9 (Dragon years. 900 in human years)

Appearance: Sariloth is a rather typical looking dragon. The majority of her body is covered in pearlescent scales that range from deep crimson to purple, touching on pink and blue hues in between. Though beautiful, the scales have hardened as she has aged, shattering most weapons when they strike her. Sariloth's underbelly is tan with tightly clustered scales. Unlike dragons of lore, this is not a weak spot. Just as strong as the rest, these scales protect against strikes from beneath, provided that the foe is capable of reaching her underbelly.

She stands at nearly forty-five feet in height and is over a hundred feet from the tip of her snout to the curl at the end of her tail. About halfway down her back, two massive wings protrude and cloak the majority of her back, ending just below her neck. Formed form a substance with the texture of leather, the flexible matter is drawn taut over jointed bones that allow Sariloth to make sharp turns and collapse them to her back, causing a steep dive. When extended fully, each is the length of her body. Rigid, upright spines travel the length of her spine, culminating in deadly spikes at the tip of her tail. Horns cascade down from just above and behind golden orbs that pierce the darkest of nights. Slits of black constrict and expand, allowing her to see long distances in great detail. Her maw seethes hot breath that laps over teeth that will shred steel and iron with little effort. Each

Sariloth is a fire breather.

Due to her magical nature, Sariloth is capable of taking a humanoid form. Her eyes, however, remain the same. Strawberry locks flow from her head like a crimson waterfall, reaching her mid back. Her form is formidable, but not oversized. She stands amidst five feet. The illusion she casts causes her wings to form her clothing: tanned leather. She does not carry weapons because the illusion can be reversed nearly instantaneously. As it is but an obfuscation of her true nature, the body retains the hardiness of its counterpart. Swords and pikes break against her skin and arrows cannot pierce her flesh.

Personality: The dragon does not abide by the rules of humans and does not prescribe to philosophy of good and evil. Unlike modern lore, Sariloth is rather feral. She speaks the common tongue but will not do so in her dragon form. She is only quick to anger when offended. She does not find value in compassion and does not choose sides based on right and wrong. The toils of the humanoids do not cause her to act.
History: Sariloth was hatched when the dragons' numbers were great and humans feared their existence. She matured on the volcanic island of Bolecawn. The waters that separate her from the mainland were easily traversed once flying became second nature. For much of her life she was but a shadow in the sky since she did not lust for golden trinkets or the flesh of humans. Sariloth is one among a few that still exist in Enduwin. Few even believe in her existence, mistaking the flittering shadow that floats above the clouds as a great bird of prey.

Her life is a solitary one. She has no mate and does not seek out other dragons for company. The warmth of the volcanoes sooth her and settle her ancient mind.

Optional Information
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Arcane. Besides being able to cast the illusion of her humanoid form, she is capable of manipulating fire in both forms. She is able to communicate telepathically in her reptilian form.

Character Sheet

Essential Information

Name/Aliases: Oscar De’Lacroux
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Age: 27

Appearance: He is a midsized man of strong stature. He looks as if he has handled a weapon for most of his life, which he has. He moves with determination and does not waste his time with words that have no meaning. He is quick to act and does so with speed that some have trouble keeping up with. With fiery orange hair and a form that reaches nearly six feet, he is easily found in crowds, though at night his dark skin allows him to sink into the shadows undetected. His pupils are ringed with hazel but dive to a much softer, more beautiful green, but harden to grey at the outer ring. The whites of his eyes stand in stark contrast to the depth and beauty of the rest of his eyes.

He walks tall, with his head held to future, never looking back at where he has come from. He always has an eye to the horizon, looking to grasp the next opportunity that surely awaits a man of his talent.

Personality: Heh. Perhaps it is best to describe Oscar as the counterpart of his author’s self, but that is but a story for another time. He is a good man, strong with principles instill in him by a life led without a guiding hand.

He has forged a path that he is willing to walk, nothing more. Having spent most of his life following the command of others that put coins in his purse, Oscar has taken charge of finding his own fortunes. Adventurer, some have called him. He acts on learned instincts that have been drilled into him through rigorous training and experience. He is a kind but stern man. One to give the last of his bread to the weak, but sever the hand of the man that tries to steal from his purse while he is supposedly sleeping, Oscar’s emotions tend to guide his feet and determine the path he walks.

History: Hailing from the islands of Ju’ra, Oscar is a story that does not require much explanation. When he came of age he left home with a band of mercenaries and has never gone back. As a sellsword, he has seen much of the land of Enduwin, having crossed the desert and nearly frozen to death in the ice lands.
He left the band of mercenaries on good terms, but chose to find his own way . He paid his debt to them tenfold and bid them a good life as he disappeared into the burning horizon of the summer’s setting sun.

Optional Information

Equipment: Leather armor and gloves mounted over top closely knit chainmail. A long sword and shield. A horse named Rupert.
Magic (Mundane or Arcane): That, my kiddies, we will have to leave to the telling of the story.

Name/Aliases: Ulfar
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Age: 19
Appearance:

(The armor Ulfar wears is a lot lighter and less impressive than what is shown in the image)

Ulfar’s body is the product of years of pain and toil. He is a very large man, as not only does he tower over most, but he also has the physique of a warrior. His dark hair is usually messy, and his black eyes look as though they haven’t had enough sleep. Urfan’s skin is a tan colour now, since he has spent the past few years under the sun in Trayig’s Soul, where there was a lot of work for a mercenary in recent times. Most of his body is covered in scars, both large and small. All but the heaviest of them have healed to a point where they are hard to spot at a first glance. His face, for instance, has a few that are only visible from up close.

Personality:
There’s not much to Ulfar in terms of patience or wisdom. He’s not very diplomatic, and any intelligence he has goes as far as street knowledge. Never has he had any he could call a friend, though the blade on his back has been an unfaltering companion. The mercenary life hasn’t been kind to him, but neither has the other parts of his life. Ulfar has a close relationship with anger and fear, but what he holds with pain is something far beyond that.

Currently, life feels meaningless for the drifter. Falling in and out of mercenary groups, joining whichever battle needed the most men. This is the life he has lead, the days and months have blended in with the years. Ulfar wants some sort of purpose to his life, even though the only calling he has is of the sword...

History:
“Fuckin’ brat! Useless lil’ pest!”

And so his father would berate him as he lashed, again and again, with the buckle of his belt. The kid learned to endure his father’s bare hand; he had hardly made a sound whenever that had been the case. But the belt, especially on the buckle end, always hurt. This was the way things were. For as long as he could remember, his father would come home, drunk, and take his gambling anger out at him. About once a month, he would beat him until one of them fell asleep. It was usually the father.

There was no mother, and the old man never spoke about it. Sometimes the kid wondered if he was related to this man at all. Only one trait was common between them: both of them ended up growing into strong men. His father was a miner who threw his money away on gambling, beating his son the hardest when he lost a lot of money at the tables.

The kid didn’t have any friends, there was no one around that was his age. He and his father lived in a mining encampment on the side of a tall mountain. The altitude was so high that there was harsh snow for most of the year. Most miners only worked there for a year or two, made their money, and returned to their families. The kid and his father had been there for at least six years, and there was no other family. His father was hanged sometime after the kid’s seventh birthday. The old man had been caught cheating at cards one too many times.

There wasn’t anywhere for the kid to go to, and no one really wanted to take care of him. But that ended up being the least of his worries. Just a few days after his father was hanged, the encampment was attacked. The attackers were a group of opportunists who saw the mines as a way to set up a steady income. With them, they brought slaves, and turned the old habitants of the encampment into slaves as well. For the first time, the kid saw other children: some of the slaves brought by the attackers were around his age.

He was forced to work the mines, and he didn’t stay in the same division as his age group for long. Despite being younger, at the sheer age of nine the kid was able to do the same heavy lifting as many fourteen or fifteen year olds. He mined with them, slept in the same quarters as them, and routinely got into fights with them. Everyone knew he was younger. No one liked having a younger kid with the same strength as they did. If he won a fistfight (which was mostly the case), his reward would be twenty lashings from his overlord. These overlords often waited until the fight was over, and had a habit of “losing count” with their whips. Still, none of them could hold a candle to the kid’s old man. As far as he was concerned, life was actually better than it used to be.

When he was ten, yet another group attacked the quarry. This group just wanted to take as much as they could and bail, rather than trying to set up a permanent base of operations. During the fight, the kid threw a rock at one of his old masters, saving a mercenary’s life. The soldier was glad, and kind of impressed with the kid. He took him in. It was better than becoming yet another child slave.

The soldier, although a little old, was one of the experienced and more respected men among the mercenary band. It was common for soldiers to get little kids to carry around their spare weapons and boss them around, but this man would often toss the kid a sword and spar with him. The old mercenary was just like his father, but he gave the kid a chance to defend himself, and he was wise in the way of fighting. Although lessons came at the price of blood, they were pure gold from a learning point.

At the age of eleven, the kid watched his mentor get tackled to the ground during a battle. He was carrying a sword over to the old man, and he was almost too late. He used the sword to save the mercenary, and ended up killing his first man. The man yelled at the kid for hours after battle, telling him to be faster next time.

Three years after that, the old man was poisoned in his sleep by a prostitute who had her eye on his money. The kid avenged him swiftly, and left the band of mercenaries on the same night to avoid the confusion the following morning. He had already prepared for the time his mentor would pass. Mercenaries hardly lived as long as that.

The kid spent the rest of his time traveling as a freelancer, joining and leaving groups as he went. Mercenary clans were always open to new recruits, although it paid a lot more if one stuck with a single group. But he wasn’t in it for the money. Sticking with one group meant waiting around after a large battle. In that time, he could easily travel to another place where the fighting was heavy, and join another clan.

By the time he was 19, Ulfar and his blade became a real force to be reckoned with. He never became a legend, mostly because no one saw him enough times in battle to notice his talent. He had a habit of signing up, fighting, and walking off, and it kept him off of people’s attention.

Equipment:
-Large, two-handed greatsword. Pretty worn out, but it’s clear that it won’t break anytime soon.
-Typical mercenary armor.
-Three throwing knives.
-Small survival kit. Bandages, flint, water, ect.

Faction (If any): None

Marital Status: Single

Magic (Mundane or Arcane): None

Skills:
-Talented with the Greatsword. He still develops and builds on his skill every day, and has the potential to one day achieve mastery.
-Decent with throwing knives.
-He can identify basic fighting techniques, giving him an edge over the average fighter in battle.
-Pain resistance. He can always feel it, but most of it rarely bothers him anymore. His body can take a serious beating.
-Large, intimidating guy. This sometimes attracts the wrong kind of attention.

Name/Aliases: Eila, The (new) Blue Witch
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Age: 16
Appearance:


Eila is of average height for a human female, although her black hair is long enough to reach her calves. Her eyes are pale blue, and the default state of her face makes it seem as if she is lost in thought, concentrating deeply on some subject. Because of this nature, she has a habit of staring coldly at others and even inanimate objects, although she doesn't realize it, or mean it.

Similar to this is her monotone voice. She often speaks with little emotion, and it takes a great amount of distress for her to raise her voice. This display of lifelessness is, yet again, something that she does not mean to do. Despite her outward appearance and sound, Eila feels just as much emotion as others. But she has a hard time conveying her feelings because of her lack of experience with human contact.

There are tattoos on each of her shoulders, and one on her back. The ones on her shoulders give her resistance to traditional magical attacks, while the large one on her back gives her protection from curses, hexes, and other forms of dark magic. These tattoos look similar to ritualistic circles drawn by mages and sorcerers. Eila's mistress, the Blue Witch, is the one who inked these tattoos with great care, as the slightest mistake could ruin their magical effects if not drawn properly.

Personality:
For her whole life, Eila has only known one person other than herself: Her mistress, the Blue Witch. This mysterious old woman had acted less as a mother to her, and more as a strict mentor. Having had no friends in childhood, and knowing only an elderly woman who made few attempts to connect to her emotionally, Eila was left in a peculiar state of mind as she grew up. What the young teen feels, she cannot show... for her body and spirit feel disconnected. She has had a childhood in which she was tested by her abilities alone, never congratulated, always scorned, especially so for showing anger, sadness, or pride.

She has been conditioned to keep her feelings down for so long that she can no longer show them, even when she tries to. Only fear escapes this shell of hers.

But this is not who Eila wants to be. Despite her lifeless demeanor, she is alive on the inside, and feels pain for herself. She wants to be a good person, and she does want to excel in magic. But, above all else, she just wants someone who she can open up to.

History:
The Blue Witch is an enigma to the people of Barhem Village. She is said to be an old woman who helps lost travelers and merchants, and yet there are ill rumours of her abducting children. Both sides of these stories have some truth to them. The witch does, from time to time, help the lost wanderer find the road again, but she had, in fact, stolen an orphaned baby from Barhem Village. In truth, the witch was neither truly evil nor truly good. She did not take this baby for to perform rituals on her, or sacrifice her to demons, and she did not steal this baby to provide her a comfortable life, either. The road ahead of this baby girl was to be long and harsh, especially on the mind and soul.

The Old Witch knew she was in her final stage of life. Even sorceresses could not evade death forever, although they could run away from it for longer than the regular human. The woman knew that she had, at most, 20 years to live. She felt the urge to leave something behind. It was her intention to pass on her art, so that it would survive in the hands of another.

This baby girl, whom she named Eila, was to be her protégé. The witch trained her very well, and the young girl had a promising future as a sorceress.

But the Blue Witch failed Eila in one aspect. The old woman herself was cold, calculating, and devoted to the magical arts with complete, unbreakable focus. This was the Blue Witch, and this was who she tried to shape Eila into. She did not succeed completely, much to her own frustration, but she did not fail, either.

In one of her final months, the old woman had a vision of Eila setting out to journey towards The Great Plains. This was to be Eila's destiny, and the Blue Witch spent the final months of her life making preparations for her successor to step out into the world. The young girl had never been in combat before, so unlocking her full potential would take longer than the Blue Witch had to live. Instead, she devised another plan to keep Eila safe on her journey...

Equipment:
-The Blue Witch has left Eila some of her adventuring armor. This armor has been enchanted to weight as light as a feather while providing her protection. It was mainly designed to resist magic, but can absorb some physical impact (see image above).
-Comprehensive tome of traditional combat magic: Holds a vast array of useful spells, although Eila has memorized most of them.
-Blue Witch's Grimoire: Contains the secrets and wisdom of Eila's late mistress.
-Book of Herbalism and Alchemy: Self explanatory
-Herbalism and Alchemy kit.
-Blank scrolls and ink, chalk, candles, hourglass, and other ritualistic necessities.
-Other items, including a small cooking pot, flint, and some bandages.

Faction (If any): None.

Marital Status: Single.

Magic (Mundane or Arcane): Sorcery, Herbalism and Alchemy (Potions/Elixirs)

Skills:
-Offensive and defensive arsenal of spells.
-Can create brews, potions and elixirs (really enjoys making tea)
-Able to identify most types of magic and monsters.
-Complete focus when out of combat. She can do tedious tasks for hours on end without getting bored, and she can undertake careful tasks without making the slightest error.
-Eats very little. Prefers to sleep for most of the day and is naturally more active during the night, but she has the discipline to adapt to more normal sleeping schedules.

Combat related flaws:
-Finds it very hard to concentrate during combat.
-Easily frightened into a catatonic state
-Fatally slow reaction time during combat.

Name: Mizat; The Weaver, The Left Hand of Bawzel

Sex:Mizat has no sex, possessing no reproductive organs. Its ambiguous appearance does not help either in identifying it. It seems to refer to itself as “he”, though feminine references do not cause the creature any distress.

Race: Ghoul
Ghouls are not a true race; in fact they are a shameful impersonation of life itself. They are creatures of stolen flesh, tied together by foul magic and given a fake spark of life to animate them. Absorbing magic by devouring those potent with it, using their stolen goblin flesh. Ghouls are an abomination of nature, a horrid art of necromancy. These rotting creatures can become dangerous quickly, learning like any child yet with no morals and utter loyalty to the abhorrent mortal who stitched them up.

Age: Just glancing at a ghoul one cannot tell its age, all growth has stopped and any flesh that’s become useless is simply replaced by its creator. However, Mizat is roughly six years old – rather old for a ghoul though technically these monsters are immortal as long as someone is there to maintain them.

Appearance:
Mizat is not a tall being; only standing at 4’7(140 cm) making it seem like a child compared to its comrades. It seems relatively mundane, mortal looking to the casual observer; like any normal child wrapped up in many layers of dark hued cloth covering the majority of its small frame. It’s skin is spread far too tight in places, revealing veins and tendons as they work, notable on his hands as his long fingers work each tendon and muscle poking out and moving so clearly visible underneath its transparent pallor of skin. On the end of each long finger are nails, nothing to take note of until they are burrowing into your flesh and that is when you notice how thick and oddly sharp such un-noteworthy features they are. Its face is more that of a child’s, seemingly young and perhaps even innocent; plump enough cheeks that flush a strange deep red, lips bordering on a deathly purple though give an odd wretched feeling to it. Its eyes are big enough, doll like perhaps and not seemingly human though mundane enough in its light grey color. Its smile seems charming enough, perhaps a dentist could fix some teeth here or there perhaps make it less yellow. It’s only when the creature grins further, opening its gaping jaw wider do you see the disturbing strength, the thick muscles holding it together and the large teeth capable of crushing bone. Mizat’s hair is thick and black, rather oily as it curls down to the nap of its neck. All in all, what one can see of Mizat seems plain enough, an odd child but a child nonetheless.

Unwrapping all those cloths however shows Mizat’s ghoul nature, those scars and stitches suddenly so very clear; making one even notice the fading ones around the other more visible parts of its body- it’s fingers, joints, neck, even around the ears you’ll notice. Its proportions seem off – somehow without that baggy clothing it seems not quite symmetrical. Its organs are noticeable underneath its skin; nothing is even, stomach bulging here and there not even in anyway in no way perfect or natural looking more akin to having been stuffed inside. Of course, you cannot overlook what’s obviously missing; no signs of anything down there or any development that might even give a hint of a gender in the chest. It appears like a patchwork doll of flesh once unrivaled from its clothing. In truth for a ghoul, Mizat is well made despite all these noticeable flaws. Most are crude beings who would never be able to walk through the countryside without stirring alarm, Mizat however is a well made doll with fine stitches and powerful magic poured into it still though it is just a mimicry of life and will never be completely perfect.

Personality: Blah.

History:Working on it, working on it.

Equipment:

Faction:It shall go wherever Bawzel wanders and pledge its heart to whoever Bawzel orders it to.

Marital Status: “What a silly, mortal notion this marriage is! My heart is to my master if that is what you seek to know”

Magic: Arcane
Skills:
Mizat’s talent is what it calls “weaving magic”, turning raw magic into threads and weaving it into whatever it desires.