[CHAR] Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

[POOHEAD189]

Reserved for Roster

[POOHEAD189]

Warrior Monk

Username:POOHEAD189

Character Name:Beren Rhys Sherwood

Race/Species: 1/2 Andredian/ 1/2 Southern Tribesman, 100% Southlander.

Gender: Male

Age: 23

Career/Class: Eru'Dai (Warrior Monk)

Weapons:

• Ornate Baldr Hand Axe
• Ash bo staff overlaid in bronze.
• Fists, feet, and body.

Physical Description:Beren's most noticable features are his dark, deep eyes and tan skin. He has long legs and powerful arms, standing an inch shy of six feet in height, with a lean but muscled physique. Broad shouldered and trim, he cuts a statuesque figure. His face is youthful, giving him a look of someone a few years his junior. With kind eyes that hold an inner energy to them, he seems both gentle and dangerous at the same time. His scars, most noticeably the scar on his left cheek and the large one along his abdomen, give him a bit of a rugged look. He wears a crimson gi vest with matching, loose fitting pants, over a dark blue undershirt with a blue sash belt. His boots are travel fit, and he wears a chain necklace underneath his clothes that his father gave him.

Armor:Keeps a strange piece of armor within his pack. Most of it is leather, save two areas. A small badlr chest piece to keep his heart completely safe, and his pauldrons are made of bronze.

Equipment/Other

• A small pack consisting of a few pounds of Jerky, as well as some herbal remedies for sickness or wounds.
• His coinpurse (3 Gold, 17 Silver, 15 Copper)
• Water Jug.
  
  Mental Description/Personality: Born with a tender heart, he learned that being kind and being vulnerable did not have to be the same thing. Though there are those who cannot help but be vulnerable, so he grew stoic and hard over his gentle center to be the one who might help those in need. He grew self confident, even a bit self righteous (though he does his best to keep it in check). He follows a strict code of honor, though as long as he nor anyone else breaks it, he's easy going. Despite his stubborn streak and honor code, he is always polite unless driven to conflict. He has a quick wit and sharp mind, but sometimes is too stubborn to use it. He loves animals, and tends to help the under dog or people who are ridiculed (he used to be one). He thinks deeply and feels deeply, but has a dry wit and infectious sense of humor more often than not.
  
  Goals: Born a Southlander, and now has no place to call home.
  
  Background/History:
  He grew up in a small southern forest town, around 100 miles further inland than Riverhope. The town was ruled over by a local lord like a few other towns in the vicinity. His father was a priest and his mother was on the village council. When he was born, Beren was a quiet and behaved child. He hardly cried, mainly gazing around in wonder, curious about the world and all that was in it. He spoke quickly but walked late, and was quick to make friends with the family dogs. Soon enough, he and the dogs would explore the woods around the town. He was often visited by a few of his father's Dwarven friends, and he would help injured animals around the woods whenever he could.
  
  There was a local monk who lived in the town on the outskirts, and was intrigued by the boy when Beren one day found a bird too sick to help himself. The monk healed it with herbs, and he decided to offer to train him in his martial arts for he could see the boy's kind heart. Beren was all too eager to learn. It gave him a vast resource of books to delve into, and training that began to hone his skills and spirit. When he was 10, the Monk named Guan had to leave for his homeland, leaving behind a book that would further Beren's training. With naught to do, his father's Dwarven friends offered to teach him the basics of smithing, and he complied. He found he had a kinship with the Dwarves, for they were tough and stuck to their guns in all they did. It was comforting to the young Beren. Soon the smithing honed his muscles as the Monk's training had done the same to his skills.
  
  The Dwarves decided they liked him, and gave him a few secret tests for him to pass. He only passed the last one that proved he was as stubborn as they, so they offered to have him live with them for a few years. His parents accepted, and he traveled with the stout group back to Thundrim Kadrin based within Thrak'dul's Pass. For 5 years he stayed there (visiting home once or twice a year). When once he was scrawny and short, his time with the Dwarves smithing as well as receiving a bit of military training honed his muscles. He left them at age 21, heading home for a year before deciding to live on his own as a local smith in another Southland town about a weeks walk away. He took his elderly dog Snickers with him.
  For a year he made a living as a smith, as well as the local town protector, befriending a Wood Elf who patrolled the forest near him named Calanon, as well as a traveling Blademage Mercenary, Roan.
  
  One faithful day, he and his two companions decided to purge newly discovered ruins of Ghouls, for they were getting quite bold in attacking travelers and forest huntsmen. The Southland was dangerous enough without an undead menace, so they did and fought their way from dusk into the night, making camp above the ruins after they were through. Morning came, and Beren saw smoke in the distance, to his horror realizing it was his village. He made it back and discovered the corpse of his beloved dog, for there were no survivors. He tracked those who did this back to their newly build city, discovering it was an Elven businessman who had a small army he used to clear villages around his new land in order to harvest a newly discovered drug. With the help of his friends, as well as a Drabarian named Kane, they overthrew the Lord and his men, ending in a climactic battle between he and a DeathKnight. While his holy pendant (and a few draughts of his healing potion) allowed him to slay the DeathKnight, he himself has been impaled within his stomach by the runic blade. Luckily, a traveling Griffon rider by the name of Vanya had discovered smoke rising from the new town to investigate. He was healed in Riverhope, and had awoken only a day previous...

WIP Ranger

Username:POOHEAD189

Character Name:Calanon Aenarion

Race/Species: 3/4ths Wood Elf, 1/4th Man

Gender: Male

Age: 45

Career/Class: Ranger

Weapons:

• Stargleam
• Kite Shield
• Recurve Bow (30 arrows)

Physical Description:Rich brown hair that shines auburn in the sunlight, Calanon is lean but fit, standing 5'8. He's got eagle eyes of midnight blue, and a youthful face that still shines with the wisdom of long years. He tends to wear a forest green cloak over a green vest and matching trousers. His boots are Elvish and made for travel, as is his sturdy belt.

Armor:

Equipment/Other

• Mental Description/Personality:Calanon is a calm and serene Elf. He has an old soul and a quiet reserve about him that can be either calming or intimidating to the right people. He won't hesitate to make lighthearted jokes to his friends, though. He enjoys playing the Ocarina and listening to others sing along with his tunes. A fireside chat or a walk in the forest is just the kind of thing he'd call a good time.
  
  In battle, Calanon takes a drastic turn. He becomes as determined and fierce as a wolf, eyes lit with an inner fire and face held in a stern snarl. He gives great war cries that pierces the hearts of his foes. Years spent defending his forested homeland has instilled in him an intense desire to protect and serve those whom he loves. He's kind to animals and innocents, and gives everyone he meets respect and
  
  Goals:
  
  Background/History:

[TheWizardLizard]

Carver Brightarm

Username: The Wizard Lizard

Character Name: Carver Brightarm (The Knight of Summer)

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Career/Class: Knight

Weapons:

• Longsword
• Kite Shield

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Carver is barely ever seen outside his armor, so it's probably best to describe that first - a great suit of thick steel plate that he polishes with near religious devotion. The surface of the armor is plain and undecorated, though slightly marked from use, and his helmet is a visored sallet helmet with several large dents in it.

At 6'1", the man underneath isn't the largest, but he is thicky muscled and well-maintained. His body is an absolute tapestry of old, half-faded scars, including one on his back that runs from his neck to his hip as well as several old burn marks at various places on his body. Surprisingly, his face is one of the few places spared by this general damage - he's as handsome as he might ever have been, clean shave and sharp featured, with warm blue eyes and matted blonde hair that reaches down to his ears.

Armor: As stated above, wears a huge set of steel plate armor over his entire body, well-maintained but somewhat battered and pitted from long years of use.

Equipment/Other: His horse, August, a chestnut mare.

Mental Description/Personality: Carver is the quintessential 'knight in shining armor' - he is obsessed with chivalric ideals of honor, courage, courtesy, and all that sort of thing. He is absolutely devoted to helping and protecting others, just as much as he is devoted to his deity, The Evergod, whom he claims is the benevolent father of the universe. He has very little regard for his own safety when other lives are on the line and is prepared to go through ridiculous amounts of pain and toil for the sake of his friends or even strangers.

Nobody's perfect, though, and just as Carver might define 'knighthood', he also defines 'savior complex'. For al that he loves, cherishes and seeks to help others, he's not always the best at admitting when they don't need his help, and is still working on listening to others. He's also hilariously gullible; he makes a point of always believing the best about people, which (while noble) makes him very easy to trick.

Goals: Carver has been sent on a one-man crusade against what his order perceives to be the 'evils' of the Southland; its lawlessness, its inhospitability, and the many demons, orcs, and dangerous creatures that live there. If it sounds like his mission is poorly defined, that's probably because it is; his elder's mentality in sending him south was less 'we have a mission for you in the Southlands that only you can complete' and more 'we like the sort of stuff you've been doing, so we want you to do it in the south where things are really bad'. For his part, Carver's mission statement is essentially 'fight the good fight, right wrongs and protect the innocent'; he has no plan more complex than that.

Background/History:

• Orphaned from a young age, grew up in a boy's home in a rural part of Andred.
• At the age of 8, selected by the Order of the Eternal (a reclusive band of knights who lived in a monastery in the woods) to begin training in their knightly ways.
• Started training as a page, where he was educated in the history of the realm and the principals of the faith - became a squire at the age of thirteen, and his martial training began in earnest.
• Excelled at lessons of the mind and body, was knighted at the age of eighteen.
• On the night of his vigil, claims to have received holy inspiration from the EverGod, sending him on crusade to help the helpless and root out the wicked - left from the monastery the next day, with the blessing of his fellow knights.
• Journeyed around Andred for the next ten years doing just that - gained a reputation as a minor folk hero, the 'Knight of Summer'.
• Returned to the monastery at the end of the tenth year, where the higher members of the order bid him continue his crusade in the far-off reaches of the world; has journeyed to the southlands for just that purpose.
• Traveled by ship to the city of Riverhope.

[Luminosity]

Mira

Username: Luminosity

Character Name: Mira (Miralenia Eldendawn, daughter of Queen Melda, actually, but it's just Mira to anyone and everyone she meets).

Race/Species: Half-Elven (Silver), Half-Human (Praelian).

Gender: Female.

Age: 37. An adult, but still quite young for a Half-Elf.

Career/Class: Explorer/Treasure Hunter/Adventurer.

Weapons:

• Elven steel shortsword
• Elven steel boot knife

Physical Description: Mira stands at 5'5" and a modest 120 pounds, and lacks the physique of a powerful, battle-hardened warrior. Nevertheless, she's in very good shape, with tight, compact muscling across the majority of her body from years of hard training and physical activity. Strong enough to hold her own, but hardly intimidating, physically.

She's gifted with the lovely, delicate features of her elven side, including silver shoulder-length hair and clear, light blue eyes to go along with her lightly pointed ears. That said, she's often a bit of a mess. Her hair is commonly in disarray or half-hidden under a hood, and her tendency to spend long periods in the wilds of the Southlands gives her a look that's more rugged than refined. Her only notable scar is a small cut that crosses her lips and part of her cheek on her right side.

Armor: Her traveling gear doesn't really count as armor, as it's mostly made up of linens and leathers that protect her from little more than the elements. Clothes that, more often than not, are put through far more wear and tear than they rightly deserve. Her attire commonly consists of worn traveling boots, well fitted and flexible pants or leggings, comfortable tops of some breathable material, with gloves and bracers, and some kind of small hooded shawl when she feels like hiding her ears or face. Mira prefers earthy colors, varying shades of green and brown for the most part. Considering that she avoids combat and confrontation whenever possible, her clothing is sensible and functional for travel and exploration.

Reference/Inspiration for Mira's appearance and clothing style

_{Image was Player-Requested and GM-Approved :)}

Equipment/Other: Her horse, Shay, a rouncey (light brown/tan in color), carries large saddlebags with most of Mira's supplies for surviving beyond the towns and cities of the Southlands. This includes her food, bed roll, blanket, medical supplies, and so on. She has several smaller bags stuffed inside that can be carried on her person when she needs to go ahead on foot.

Mental Description/Personality: Mira never felt quite like she belonged anywhere, so it's unsurprising that she often finds herself in the middle of nowhere. She doesn't care for the advantages of being royalty, as she's very independent and the idea of having an easy life handed to her because of the luck of her birth doesn't sit well with her. That said, she's on very good terms with all of her family, as the baby (half) sister who's always there when she's needed or called upon, even if she prefers to be elsewhere. She loves her family, and they love her.

She has a lust for life, something she expects is only compounded by her use of magic, and something that never coexisted well with a life within palace walls of royalty. Mira loves to seek out and explore old forgotten places, as though her Praelian side calls her to delve into dangerous ruins all but lost on the world's maps. With the ability to choose how she lives her life, this is what Mira chose. Adventure, exploration. Occasionally treasure.

In conversation she's typically upbeat and positive, and occasionally teasing and flirty. She masks quite well some of the insecurities she feels. Mira was never much of a warrior, and despite her bloodline she's shown only the potential of a rather common mage. It's impossible for her not to feel like she's ultimately inferior to her siblings, her mother, her teacher. She loves them and looks up to them, but also envies them on many levels.

Goals: Mira was indeed born in Riverhope, but a goal of hers growing up was actually to spend as little time there as possible. She seeks to delve into ancient ruins of the Praelian Empire, half of her heritage, and learn more about what was lost, as well as recover valuable artifacts from within. But when her family calls, she answers, without hesitation.

Background/History:

• Mira was born the daughter of Queen Melda, her father being a Praelian man whom her mother was briefly involved with, named Venaric Calid. A mysterious traveler from the North, a roguish and charming sort, Mira knows little about him. He did not die, as far as she knows, but he returned to his homeland before she was born, and hasn't once traveled back.
• She was raised mostly by her adult full-elven brothers and sisters, and given every luxury of royalty as a child. A princess in all but actual title.
• As she reached adolescence, Mira began physical and magical training with her aunt Vanya, the Protector and Knight Errant of the realm. It was a harsh regimen, one that Mira struggled with. Despite her failings as a warrior and slow magical growth, the two became close.
• Upon reaching adulthood, Mira elected to make her own way in the world, and set out exploring the Southlands, something she took to very quickly. Despite the dangers, her family looks upon her choice with a mixture of reactions ranging from amusement to pride, especially considering her tendency to help the outlying populations in need, for little or no reward.
• She returns to her home city regularly, but with growing gaps. She uses these visits to stay connected with her family and friends in the city, and see if anything is required of her.

[Lacks]

Yaroslav

Username:Lacks

Character Name: Yaroslav

Race/Species: Human (Andred)

Gender: M

Age: 32

Career/Class: Mage/C Class

Weapons:
• Small Bag of Carved Bones
• Small Ornate Silver Dagger

Physical Description: Yaroslav is a small emaciated man standing just over five feet tall. His eyes are a dull grey, tired, sunken, and sad. He is almost completely bald on top of his head with a few long stray strands wildly splayed around in a loose combover. The back of his head is covered by long, dirty, thin hair the color of rotting straw draped down to his shoulders.

Armor: He is draped in a dirty brown robe made from a coarse loosely woven fabric. The robe may have once fit but now is slightly too large for Yaroslav’s tiny frame. Although the robe does not provide much protection Yaroslav wears a thin metal plate under his robe across his chest and covering the upper portion of his back.

Equipment/Other: Yaroslav carries a small leather satchel, inside are various small items of little use but of personal importance to him as well as basic survival gear and a small spell journal. He wears an enchanted golden ring that belonged to his father on his left thumb, the ring can produce a small spark that isn’t good for much more than starting a camp fire.

Mental Description/Personality: The death and destruction Yaroslav has witnessed in his life has slowly eaten away at his psyche leading to a crippling depression. After years of being a capable and potentially powerful mage he became addicted to the euphoria of magic flowing through his body. Despite his deep depression and struggles with addiction Yaroslav maintains a scholarly and light hearted appearance in public.

Goals: Yaroslav travels in search of mental salvation. He quietly dreams that somewhere in this world he can be happy.

Background/History: After his parents died during a raid on his village Yaroslav spent his youth learning the magical arts in the halls of the Vailhearth mage’s guild in Andred. After completing his studies he was chosen by the guild master to represent the Vailhearth guild in an Andred military battle mage unit. During his service he faced skirmishes with Iona raiders, extended campaigns against Khalahar troops, and bloody massacres versus hordes of invading monsters.

Several times he was given the option to leave the army and return to the Vailhearth guild but on each occasion he choose to continue his service. In his late 20’s his commanding officer, sensing Yaroslav’s growing depression and dependence on magic, forced Yaroslav out of the army and returned him to Vailhearth. Upon his return his guild master gave Yaroslav permission to travel around Andred to visit other guilds to teach young wizards courses on army service and battle tactics. Yaroslav had believed the change of pace might help his mental state but soon he began to deteriorate deeper into addiction and depression.

He made the dramatic decision to leave Andred and roam the countries of the North. Eventually he found himself in Bania and made an attempt to pledge his loyalty to the Banian military. However he was not granted an audience with the queen and after a series of magic related mishaps in several taverns around Bania he was formally banished from the kingdom. Once he was removed from Bania he headed South in search of anything that might make him feel happy again.

One fact about him of note is that Yaroslav is not his given name. He believes his father, mother, and the village he grew up in were weak, they were killed by a small band of raiders, and that he is better than them so he refuses to use their names or the name given to him by them. Matthew Yaroslav was an obscure magical theorem author who wrote a series of books on the morality of using magic to kill. Matthew's last book in the series "Magic, the Void, and the Killing Song" inspired Yaroslav to study the killing arts. Yaroslav viewed his reading of Matthew's book as a rebirth of sorts and he took Matthew's surname as his new and only name.

Magic

-Vailhearth Apprenticeship-
Yaroslav has a toolkit of small useful spells taught to all apprentices of the Vailhearth guild. The list below are spells that Yaroslav uses most often from his early training.

Luminescence: A spell that produces a small orb of light that follows it’s caster as long they maintain magic flow.

Focus Orb: An apple sized ball of white hot concentrated magic energy that can be fired from a mage’s hand for a ranged attack. Upon impact the orb explodes into a shower of sparks. The impact can throw a man off balance and cause a mild burn at the point of impact.
Focus Movement: A week form of telekinesis that can be used to move small objects for short distances.

Unlock: An offshoot of Focus Movement that can be used to open regular human locks.

-Vailhearth Speciality-
Upon completing apprenticeship he was taught the Vailhearth specialty.

The Song of Magic: This is less of a spell and more of a concentration technique used to sense the flow of magic through others. A master of this technique can hear magic flowing through someone as music and they can use this music to make inferences about the person.

-Battle Mage Spells-
During his military service he learned various attack spells. A few are staples of the battle mage community, others are unique spells that Yaroslav and his unit members perfected by risking their lives on the battlefield.

Dragon Spit: Yaroslav’s favorite attack spell. A ball of viscous acidic goo summoned into the palm of the casters hand. The acid ball can be propelled forward as a projectile attack or slapped onto an enemy in hand to hand combat. Upon impact the goo sticks to the intended target and splatters into surrounding enemies. The goo is highly acidic and severely burns those it sticks too. Weapons and armor are weakened and possibility destroyed by it. Direct contact with skin is excruciatingly painful, a direct hit to the head or torso from a Dragon Spit ball will slowly and painfully kill all but the strongest of creatures. It takes immense concentration and magic flow for a castor to successfully use this spell without becoming injured.

Tarball: An adaptation of Dragon Spit where Yaroslav uses his magic spark ring to light the outer surface of the Dragon Spit on fire. As the ball boils the outer surface turns to a sticky mass of tar. The flaming tar ball can be propelled into an enemy where unlike a dragon spit ball it will stick whole instead of splattering. If a target attempts to swat or wipe away the ball the outer crust will break and the liquid gooey acid inside will pour out and catch flame as it spreads down the victim’s body. This spell requires even greater concentration than Dragon Spit.

Lightning Bolt: A mage standby a short burst of lightning that in Yaroslav’s case can extend 10ft from his hands.

Blood Siphon: A spell that requires the caster to physically touch the blood of a target. Once contact with the targets blood has been made no previously opened wound on the targets body will clot and bleeding will continue until the caster stops the flow of magic to the spell or a healing spell is used with greater power than the Blood Siphon.

Failed Teleport: Yaroslav once had a very powerful mage in his unit attempt to teach him how to teleport himself and objects short distances by just focusing energy and repeating a spell in his mind. Yaroslav can teleport objects around 6 inches from there starting point but whatever object is teleported never makes it in one piece. Yaroslav has successfully used his Failed Teleport in battle on six occasions, three of which were on the same day and the last use resulted in him losing consciousness for several hours. He will absolutely only use this spell as a last resort as it is both taxing on his body and on his conscience. No one deserves to die the death one gets from a failed teleport.

[The Mad Hatter]

Alinar Ravawraek - The Witch Doctor

Username:
The Mad Hatter

Character Name:
Alinar Ravawraek

Race/Species:
Wood Elf

Gender:
Male ♂

Age:
Eighty-six years of age (86)
Appears to be in his emid-twenties

Career/Class:
(Witch)Doctor/Druid

Weapons:

• A crabwood Staff
• A simple hunting-style knife

Physical Description:
Height: 5'9” or 175cm
Weight: 145 lbs or 65kg

Alinar is quite ordinary of appearance, considering his species. His facial features are nothing but what would expect to see when looking at any Elf; long, pointed ears, high cheekbones, a tall forehead, almond shaped, sapphire blue eyes, sharp, long eyebrows, a slightly flat, but also narrow nose and thin lips make out a rather handsome face.
His skin is slightly caressed by the sun, giving him a slightly warm shade of tan. His body is lean, with long limbs and muscles just defined enough to see without him flexing.
His wheat-blond hair is a long mess of strands that have hardly ever seen a brush, with feathers in different shades of brown weaved into the aggressively unkempt braid.
His clothing ranges from simple shirts and pants in boring shades of gray, to simple shirts and pants in boring shades of brown. His clothing serves only as means to conceal his nudity and keep him from getting chill. He does, however, have a brown, hooded cape that he wears whenever he travels to another village to see a patient, or otherwise leaves his village other than searching for supplies.

Armor:
Alinar wears a chest- and back plate made from the scales of a large, deadly wounded alligator he once found waiting for its death on one of his trips for supplies. The armor is both light and flexible, compared to iron or steel, but protects much better than regular leather armors. He also wears tall boots of leather, to protect his feet and ankles from the bites of small critters that he may trample while walking the forest floor.

Equipment/Other
Alinar always carries with him his medicine bag, which is filled with herbs, saps, berries and bugs in jars, but also a mortar and pestle, a roll of somewhat soft fabric that serves as bandages, a small bottle of alcohol and a larger bottle of somewhat clean water. The leather satchel weights roughly 10 pounds and is carried by a strap that goes over his shoulder.
He has a leather sheathe with a hunting knife attached to the back of his belt.

Mental Description/Personality:
Alinor is a strong believer in karma, even if this is not the term he uses; if you do good to others, good things will befall you. He tries to be as helpful to others as he possibly can, sometimes even forsaking his own safety or health to do so – such as feeding those with less than him, causing himself to starve for days. He is even known to waste both resources, time and energy – sometimes even going as far as to use magic – on unfortunate animals he comes across on his path.
Despite being such a notoriously good person, Alinor has a very hard time trusting people and usually keeps himself at an emotional, if not physical, distance from everyone. He hardly ever leaves his “clinic” unless it is to see a patient or collect supplies.
Alinor is also known to be a curious man. If he does not know how something works or what it does, he will attempt to figure it out.

Goals:
Alinar was born, raised and still lead his life in the Southlands. He has a “clinic” in a village there and goes hunting for supplies in the depths of the forest. Sometimes he travels to other villages nearby to provide his medical services, but only on payed request and if supplied with a bodyguard to get him safely to his destination and back home.

Background/History:

• Born in the Southlands, in a small tree-top village inside the vast wilderness, with a swamp-like area rather close by one one side and the city of Riverhope only a day and a half's travel away to the east. Alinar was raised in this village.
• His father taught him how to hunt, which plants he could eat while he was doing so and which would help if he was hurt. His mother taught him how to cook, how to make alcohol from various plants and how to sew.
• Over the course of his life, Alinar not only refined the skills taught by his parents, but also developed new ones as a result. He learned how to make medicines by trial and error; often causing himself or others to get profusely sick with his “medicine”. He may even have caused a few deaths, even if he would never admit it himself or others.
• Eventually, Alinar got so far with his skills that he assumed himself to be a Medicine Man, Witchdoctor, Druid or whatever you want to call it and traveled to Fairhope in the search of a teacher in the arts of healing magic.
• He studied magic for little over a decade before returning to his home village and became quite good at it. His teacher taught him that magic was the purest form of life he would ever touch and Alinar swore to never use it unrightly and as such only uses it when all else fails.
• After returning home, he opened up his “clinic” and offered those around him medical help with woulds and illness in return for payment.

[VoiD]

Edryd

Username: Void

Character Name: Edryd

Race/Species: Human (Andred)

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Career/Class: Mercenary/Man-At-Arms

Weapons:

• Arming Sword
• Heater Shield

Physical Description: A man of slim but muscular build, Edryd stands at 5'11, and weighs roughly one-hundred-sixty pounds. His arms are slightly longer than normal, and his hands are heavily calloused. Edryd has a clean-cut face and a closely cropped haircut. His eyes are deep set and dark green, and his hair is a chestnut brown. He possesses strong, angular facial features, along with thin eyebrows and a small nose. Most would consider Edryd at least moderately handsome.

Armor: Edryd wears waist-length chainmail and chausses overtop a thick gambeson. A brigandine covers most of his chest while hard-boiled leather reinforces the shoulders, elbows, groin and inner thigh. He wears iron vambraces and greaves. Edryd has reinforced leather gloves and boots, and occasionally wears a mail coif.

Equipment/Other: Standard traveling gear.

Mental Description/Personality: Edryd works hard to come across as a graceful man with a noble demeanor. He has cultivated a reputation as an honorable man, though he has demonstrated a streak of ruthlessness in his past in pursuit of certain goals. Edryd is incredibly ambitious, and possesses the utmost confidence in himself, bordering on complete arrogance. He is prideful, but does not shy away from genuine council, nor honest work. Edryd values friendship highly, but tends to hold long and sometimes petty grudges.

Goals: Edryd mainly seeks to make a name for himself. He dreams of being a man of consequence, and seeks to gain power and knowledge through his adventures. He has made very early plans of creating a mercenary company in the far future.

Background/History:

• Bastard born to tavern maid and young man-at-arms in the employ of a local Andred lord. Mother died in labor, but father raised him as he felt responsible.
• Father travelled as a sword-for-hire throughout the North, mainly Andred and Vrettonia, reared him in basics of swordplay and etiquette.
• When he was sixteen, his father was cut down by bandits while guarding a caravan, dying virtually penniless. There, Edryd vowed to not share the same fate, and to become a man of consequence and power.
• Stayed in a large city in Vrettonia and made a small name for himself as a bodyguard/escort. Eventually decided to seek out greater fame/fortune and travelled to Riverhope by ship.

[BCTheEntity]

Settionne the Inconsiderate

Username: BCTheEntity

Character Name: Settionne Maralanna

Race/Species: Human (Vrettonian)

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Career/Class: Priest of Fineki/Rogue

Weapons:

• A pair of ritual daggers about ten centimeters long, more intended for calling his deity's favour through ritual than stabbing people, though they are more than capable of dealing injuries too;
• A combat dagger, filched from an unwary worshipper of Fineki as "tribute", about fifteen centimeters long and made of simple iron treated to withstand rust;
• A shortsword filched from the same unwary worshipper, about forty centimeters long, and composed of valdium, the Moon Metal of the elves, capable of slicing open monstrosities and magical fiends as readily as the flesh of mere humans, though in all other respects it is essentially well-wrought iron.

Physical Description: Settionne is a rather short man, at only 167cm, and quite thin on top of this, artefacts of his poor childhood. His skin tone is as pale as any Vrettonian's, and his hair is a somewhat ratty brown far-shy of being that perfect light brown shade Vrettonia's people find so attractive, complemented by dark green eyes which shift in their sockets too much to be particularly handsome. Though he is a priest, his is the priesthood of Fineki, and (at least in Vrettonia) their robes are but shirts and trousers of light and simple cloth, albeit coloured in an artistic manner; for his mission into the Southlands, Sett has been gifted clothing of various swirled greens which, according to his fellow priests, should provide some measure of disguise amongst the leaves and bushes of the Southland's untamed forests.

Armor: Light leather armour, worn under his robes and mostly covering his vital areas, leaving his arms and most of his legs uncovered. It'll probably cushion a whack with a sword or some lighter mauls, but is unlikely to stand up to full impalement or a strike from a warhammer, and is intended more to maintain the wearer's agility than to boost their defense.

Equipment/Other: Settionne's other equipment is largely composed of a few relics dedicated to Fineki himself, such as a small token showing a hand with a combination of crossed fingers and a thumbs up, a small book denoting Fineki's Holy Rites and Dictates, and a surprisingly large money purse, mostly devoid of money. He keeps another set of priestly robes in that - these ones similar to his other set, but coloured in shades of grey "to blend in with the Southland's cursed cities" - as well as the food and water rations needed to travel a reasonable distance across a continent or two.

Mental Description/Personality: Settionne is somewhat of a cynic - life at the bottom of Vrettonia's strictly codified class system has given him a defeatist perspective, and he is more than willing to do nasty things to other people to better his own state of affairs. He is a consummate, even pathological liar and thief, and though he is not dense enough to try and steal from those who could happily beat him down given the chance, most others are easy pickings in his eyes, further improved by his role in and training by the priesthood of the god of deceit and trickery. Certainly, he is a devout worshipper of Fineki, and more than willing to acquire "donations" for His cult, some of which are of course pocketed by Sett for "holy upkeep of the self".

Goals: To spread the good word of Fineki the Trickster God, and perhaps gather a few "donations" for the deity's church and his own pockets both.

Background/History:

• Settionne was born in Vrettonia, to a lower class family practically on the verge of poverty, and so forced to steal to support his family on top of his parent's work for a long time, something he became very good at in short order.
• Though his parents were devout worshippers of Selene, as many Vrettonians are for obvious reasons, they also paid their respects to Maestus for his focuses on drive and refinement, and the hope that one day, just maybe, he might help push them into the higher classes of the world. Settionne did the same at first, as children are wont to do, but discovered the teachings of Fineki and how well they sat with his own role in life at about the age of seven, and began to worship him in secret whenever his parents weren't around.
• They eventually discovered his allegiances at the age of twelve, and consequently beat him quite savagely on a fairly regular basis afterward, as they feared his worship of a god of luck would stunt their own progression toward greater things if Maestus took offense, and wished to halt his errant ways before he ruined everything.
• It took a year for Sett to snap and retaliate, knocking his father out with a hammer and running away from home to avoid prosecution, if not from his own family then from the law of the land; despite his state, luck remained on his side, and he managed to survive fairly handily on his continued thievery and deceit for nearly a decade afterward.
• It was around that time that he noticed small portions of his "earnings" for any given day kept vanishing - not so much that it was immediately noticable, but enough that over time, he realised that the numbers often didn't add up. Naturally, after figuring this out, he spent a few days attempting to establish when exactly these thefts happened, then filled his pockets with wooden coins, paid close attention until the moment he felt his false money being stolen, and followed the apparently-inconspicuous perpetrator all the way to a small church. He was promptly ambushed by a large number of Fineki's priests, robbed of just about everything save his dignity and innocence, and handed back robes for the order, as he had apparently passed the test to become one of Fineki's new priests.
• His full induction into the cult of Fineki took another half-year or so, but once approved as a priest proper, he quickly found himself in a position of modest power, being more than capable of commanding his skills of deception and light-handedness to a degree any rogue would be proud of, and often found himself commanding any given week's sermons to those few who were fool enough to observe such rites, often succeeding in pilfering their valuables as a result, and becoming known amongst his sect as "Settionne the Inconsiderate" for his disregard for whether or not others might need that money... more mocking than serious, of course.
• Unfortunately, luck is fickle, and Fineki seemed to see fit to provide Sett with a stroke of immense good and bad luck all at once: a worshipping adventurer's equipment was taken by Sett during one of his sermons, and it was after the ceremony that he and the rest of the cult saw that one of the stolen blades was made of valdium, therefore being immensely valuable... and that adventurer, once he realised what had happened, would surely want it back from whoever took it.
• Generally speaking, however, gods prefer their most loyal shepherds alive rather than dead. Or so the other priests stated, anyway, which was why they were packing Settionne off and sending him down to the Southlands, specifically to the elven city of Riverhope, complete with the very sword he had stolen. Unspoken was the sentiment that this would protect both Settionne and the rest of his sect, for obvious reasons; the stated reason for his departure, however, was that he would be spreading Fineki's word and culture to the savages and not-so-savages in that area, and in doing so to both expand the god's influence and gather additional "donations" in Fineki's name for his eventual return.
• Some luck, and a well-timed boat heading to the South, secured Settionne's passage into Riverhope, and wouldn't you know, the Queen of the Elves was holding a grand feast for all such adventurers that very day! Perhaps he would pay the feast a visit... after all, a few "donations" to Fineki's church before setting out might be exactly what would help keep those adventurers alive. Or be the very thing that would end them, either way.

[The Fated Fallen]

Alice Peerbane

Username: The Fated Fallen (as you can probably tell if you look to the left)

Character Name: Alice Peerbane Cerranbridge

Race/Species: Human (Vretonnian)

Gender: F

Age: 24

Career/Class: Wizard/Noble

Weapons:
A Quater-Staff, totally non-magical
A wand, disguised as a fan
A hidden dagger, a staple of Vrettonian upper circles
A large spellbook filled with many secrets of the arcane


Physical Description: Alice stands at average height, but is often in her boots which give her a little more but not enough that it impacts her travelling at all. She wears a obviously expensive dark blue and brown dress that draws the eyes of many commoners, but nobles would hardly be impressed, the outfit is cheap enough to replace (which is very important to an adventurer!). It's main feature is that it is practical, allowing for free movement and easy cleaning (as a traveller would need). Brown locks fall neatly behind her head and are styled into light curls in front of her shoulders, framing a light toned face and dark blue eyes

Armor: Or lack thereof! Alice has never been known to use armour, and tries to avoid situations that warrant it's use

Equipment/Other
- Typical adventuring gear in a large backpack.
- Her spellbook, the pride of any wizard!
- Make-up, perfume and all sorts of pampering (you never know if you might need it...)

Mental Description/Personality: Alice to many will seem stiff and composed, as she's used to the gauntlet of noble courts. Unless provoked she will be polite to all members of the group, though she will prefer the company of wiser and more sensible ones. Above all however she wants camaraderie and friendship, and although she may not make that obvious all the time she'll be among the first to sacrifice herself for her friends. Alice is trusting and understanding, but if anyone tries to keep a secret her curiosity gets the better of her and she can't stop herself from finding out

Goals: Alice has been travelling with Geradin for years now, this is just another step on a long road

Background/History:

Hider

A story from Alice

Once I was a lady in waiting in the highest courts. It wasn't as grand as it seemed, I was very low in the pecking order, the butt of many jokes. I realise now that was the exact reason I was kept around; noble folks prefer to keep their inferiors around them so they feel and look the more superior. What is important though is that I was in the courts. The first event that set me down this path I now walk was in a lesson of the arcane. I was a young lady then, hardly over 16. The class I was in almost solely consisted of Patricia Seervise and her group of cronies. All of them well talented in the arcane but her above all others. She is a prodigy in Vrettonnia now, and no single soul can hope to match her. I should also mention this is my fast descent away from the courts of my homeland, being the bane of peers is not a healthy profession.

As I was saying, this was a practical lesson we were all in. Our tutor had wrapped an egg in an energy field, designed to protect it. After a morning of studying the spell and how to replicate it, our tutor asked us to break the egg before we left for lunch. Notable about it's shield was how it had a base element, of fire and heat. So the first hopefuls attempted to breach it by countering it. Each one would assail it with some variety of water or ice, to no avail. The next few tried to deny it oxygen, maybe part of it's fuel? Either way, it didn't work. Finally Patricia lined herself up second to last, standing the safe distance back. "You see," she started (she did like acting the authority), "The object of the test was not to dispel the barrier, but to break the egg. Simply overloading the barrier will cook it in it's shell and it shall burst." she squared herself in perfect casting posture, she breathed deep and quickly flicked her wand up. A small fireball spread out from the egg, which was now covered in a blue sheen. Everyone was taken off guard. The shield had inverted it's element. While everyone else was going back over their notes Patricia simply let forth an ice spell. "With every spell I cast I weaken it's barrier," before she could cast another spell the tutor cut her off. "No, Lady Seervise, you are actually making it stronger." There was a reason for this, but I won't go into it. "Please re-seat yourself." He gestured for me to take my place in front of this egg. Nobody had any hope for me, I lacked an edge in proficiency or power to any of them. "Hurry this up, Alice." comments started flying up around, "We want lunch." comments that had been absent during Patricia's turn. A thought occurred to me. The only thing that no-one else had tried that made any sort of sense. I left the safe distance for spell-casting and approached the egg. Everyone grew silent, probably in anticipation to me hurting myself with my own spell backlash. I walked up to the desk the egg was balanced on and kicked it. The egg fell over onto it's side, and rolled towards me and the class. I stepped back and allowed it to fall, whereupon it cracked upon the floor. Dead silence. I shuffled back to my seat crimson from the attention but thankfully all eyes were on our Tutor. "Honestly ladies, it should have been obvious to you all from the notes you'd been taking this barrier offers no protection from kinetic force. While none of you can manipulate said energy finely enough yet I would have thought the early among you would have tried to throw it at least even out of frustration." I hadn't even realised that from my notes at all. And yet somehow I had come out in front of everyone there.

The next event happened not too long after the first one. A week or two? Whispers started floating around about me, I was the upstart and the one to kick back to her place. I was seen as uncouth for using force in place of magic, so Mariah Harrowbridge approached me declaring "A barbarian like you can only be defeated with force. I challenge you to a duel." Duels are a common enough practise even amongst the magocracy. Of course I, in my lowly position, had hardly been taught or even really considered taking up any sort of practise with a rapier. I learned basic etiquette as to recognise it's breach among combatants and little else, and she knew it. Still, there was no way of getting out of it, not truly, so I agreed. Honestly I was hoping to be a gracious loser and lose my new fame. Maybe even make some friends for simply being in this position. But as we saluted with out sparring sticks I had a little idea, a plan.

She assumed a cocky posture from the off, being my superior in all aspects. She barely even bothered to use proper footwork as she approached me, let alone a guard. I took my opportunity, flashing forwards I made two quick lunges, one to her lower abdomen and the other to her face. She knocked both aside and replied with her own much faster and stronger strike and a cat's smile across her face. I quickly sidestepped her into a complex pirouette I had seen once before, barely keeping my feet, accompanied by a swirling slash. She barely caught it, and quickly stepped back, to my relief. I remained composed and hid the fact I'd nearly toppled myself and earned a face full of dust and embarrassment. She grew cautious, "Where did you learn that?" She asked not in a surprised manner, but more of an insult. Like she was spitting 'somewhere a god has taken pity on you and granted you that one moment of inspiration, it won't happen again.' I simply smiled and said "The same person who would tell you now that your posture is all wrong. You should know better."

Mariah gritted her teeth and subtly fell into a proper stance, almost certainly hoping I wouldn't notice. Then she started her attack as a real duel should start, with probing strikes. However, because she was my superior in all aspects to do with duelling she quickly began to overcome me. She pressed in so close that she was within breath range, enough to hear me whisper but I still spoke aloud "Isn't it strange you haven't beaten me yet." calling back to her over-cautiousness thanks to my original move. I shifted my weight forward in preparation of attack, "I suppose the word should be scandalous." I followed up with knowing this encounter would be long talked about simply because of it's duration. I smiled as I re-positioned myself with the same pirouette I used to open with, "Almost as scandalous as your affair with Lord Jirnsberg."
"What?" She was taken aback, but what truly shocked her was the tip on my practice sword audibly thwacking her backside before I dropped it and ran for my life! Gasps all around as I sprinted through the assembled, and Mariah cried after me "I have had no such thing!" and she was right, I'd made it up and definitely didn't want to be around for a round two where she would be much more aggressive and gaurded. I spent the rest of the day hiding from almost everyone. I had somehow beaten her with only one real move

I broke my exile to come to dinner. All the ladies in waiting would come to the grand hall after dinner to eat and entertain the Princess. I ate my dinner in total safety knowing no-one would try anything with even the slightest risk of the Princess noticing. Adeline strummed away at her harp and sung her verse, she also now travels various kingdoms as a fine musician and is extremely well renowned too. When she finished everyone gave light applause. The Princess didn't however, after all it wouldn't be proper, but she did request the lovely song be repeated. Adeline smiled and looked across the room, locking eyes with me "Oh, but Alice was so looking forward to her own session with the harp." She gave a toothy grin. This was the best way to throw me out of the courts, by humiliating me in front of royalty. To deny this 'offer' would be to admit weakness, whereas going up there and failing showed incompetence. Both were not well looked upon by anyone in power. I had never played the harp, since if you couldn't afford an instrument to practice with then no-one is going to buy you one, let alone teach you. It had never come important anyways. And while I had a nice singing voice I was no-where near the level of Adeline's angel choir.

However I knew I didn't have to beat Adeline to salvage the situation, I only had to prove myself competent. I strolled up to the platform confidently since I had a plan. The lyrics started before the harp started, "The Thangoran's so loyal they drink and war," Then I splayed my fan-wand and the harp began to play itself, I had commanded an invisible servant to play what was played just before on signal. All the ladies in waiting stood up in uproar "Talentless!" and "Cheater!" where thrown around. The Princess raised her dainty hand and all fell silent for fear of offending her. She spoke up "I see you were all happy to have Alice come up on the stage but now she is performing you have lost taste?" Patricia spoke in short angry tones, since she was probably the mastermind behind this who had just been thwarted "She isn't performing, she's using Adeline's playing!"

The Princess replied "Indeed, because there are none here who can best Adeline at the harp, or any other instrument. This is indeed why you have copied it, Alice?" I replied confidently, trying not to belie the fact I was stunned since these were the first words she had ever said to me "Your highness, you asked for the same song again. I did not want to disappoint." She nodded her assent to proceed, much to the fuming of everyone in the hall.

After my 'performance' The Princess addressed me "You have caught me eyes and ears recently, Alice. I would be most happy to have you accompany me tomorrow. I think we could all learn much from you oh bane of peers." She eyed a few particularly bitter individuals and with that, she left. I knew that her attention had granted me short term immunity, since any political move against me would be attributed to revenge. I had come too close to the flame and got burned, and long term her attention had damned me. Nobody bothered going after me when I was insignificant, and give it a few weeks I would be without The Princess' favour and with a few more grudges. I lacked the clout to dispel a scandal and was not integral enough to be above violence. I'd outlived my purpose as the inferior and probably outlived my time alive while I was at it since no-one likes to be shown up. I left the courts that night, and generally hide my surname. I kept the title though, to remind myself I once had the attention and request of the future Queen. And to be honest I like my surname but it just doesn't have the same ring to it as 'Peerbane'

Spell Book:
Magic Missile - What Wizard's repertoire could be complete without one?
Shocking Grasp - With a clap of her hands (without her fingers touching) Alice coats her palms in a thin layer of liquid that when applied to something conductive charges it with electricity. It's far from lethal, but far from painless. Of course if she touches something non-conductive it'll backfire...
Area of Nullification - By splitting a runed flintstone an area around it is nullified, having the energy sapped from it. The length of time depends on the size of the flint, and people in the vicinity feel tired and drained, their actions sluggish and weak. Magic entering the area fizzles out quickly, making it near unusable.
Orbs of light - Guess
Prestidigitation - Basic magical feats and tricks
These are all the spells Alice can cast off the cuff, or rather off the wand. A lot of magic needs to be prepared, and via rituals she can deus ex machina on demand

[Fetzen]

An-Hasst Ahal

Username: Fetzen

Character Name: An-Hasst Ahal

Race/Species: Skayleigh

Gender: Male

Age: 77

Career/Class: Ranger, Craftsman.

Weapons:

• The main item in his possession that one could consider something purposefully designed to be a weapon is an armor-piercing crossbow that once has been acquired from a fallen Andred warrior, though not by himself. It is some sort of family heirloom - its heavy use in past times can be seen on it, but its very well-kept and fully functional. A matter of fact that acts for An-Hasst is that he can use it much more efficiently than its original owner, due to his strength, size and halfway elfish tradition.
• A quiver of two types of bolts for his crossbow: The smaller fraction of them (10 pieces) is reinforced and up to very high quality standards. They have a chance to be reusable if one has the opportunity to collect them. The larger fraction (20 pieces) has been made by himself and consists of strong wood with tips made out of stone. They aren't as strong and usually shatter upon impact, but, given the proper environmental resources, can be replaced by him in the field.
• A pair of short blades that actually are bayonets to be attached to the front of the crossbow. However, in an emergency, they can be used as improvised standalone weapons.

Physical Description:
An-Hasst's appearance can roughly be classified into two different arenas, one for each of the two very different heritages of him. His hair is moderately long, very dense, soft and of a golden color as it is quite typical for wood elves. He ties it together, forming a queue that runs down his back. His eyes are blue-gray and unremarkable, yet his almost pale-grayish skin seems to lack any stain of combat action of other, natural imperfections. Some people consider him very attractive because of that. His nose is large and pointy, his lips usually form a thin line across his face, more often than not a rather grim looking one. An-Hasst's ears are where one approaches the big other part of him as they are less pointed than they would have to be for a real elf. The word 'big' is to be taken literally here: He is easily towering above men and elves alike with a height of seven feet four inches (2.24m). His body is lean with major blood vessels deforming his skin where the run closely beneath it. What dramatically helps this effect is the fact that he has grown up with very thick, sturdy bones and a lot of muscular bulk across his entire body. Even with his half-elf origins, he still weighs about 340 pounds (155 kg), though estimates not considering this could be noticeably higher.
His clothing departs from the woad elves' ways as he wears simplistic, gray-white wool clothing that doesn't cost much and with two parts that are held together only by a thin rope instead around his waist instead of a real girdle. It is not that uncommon to see him with bare feet, given that the road he's walking on isn't too dirty and in good condition. In other cases, he wraps his feet in leather.

Armor: An-Hasst refuses wearing metal-based armor. However, being a woodcutter with a great knowledge about forests, he was able to come up with an alternate solution. He has stitched small-sized scales carved out of ironwood onto a large leather coat with an underlying lining of cloth to serve both as a protection against cold weather and against blunt weapons. The thing runs down almost to his feet and is long-sleeved. If one looks more closely, one can discover that some of the wooden scales feature additional decorations and that these are arranged in a pattern across the back part that forms a large sigil - a symbol of his family. The construction isn't as effective as a real steel armor and it isn't much lighter either, but it doesn't obstruct his movement as much and repairs can be done more easily without requiring a forge.

Other equipment:

• Money: 18 Silver, 5 Copper.
• Mobile woodworking tools like a strong knife and a rather tiny axe.
• Foodstuff for three to four days (probably more for smaller people).

Mental Description/Personality: An-Hasst can probably be described best by saying that he is torn apart between the two realms he comes from: On one hand he demonstrates calmness for most of the time. On the other hand, when his mood really gets bad, the barrier around his elfish being breaks down and he transits into a much more rugged and violent attitude. This can happen rather suddenly and it requires knowing him for some time in order to see the indicators shadowing forth this transition. He more often than not apologizes afterwards, but havoc can already have been wreaked by then. It would not be the first time for him to get into trouble because of this and since he is easily recognizeable, one wouldn't be the first one to be more cautious about him. He is open-minded and tolerant by his wood-elfish nature, but the experience of constant, more or less subtle harassment and prejudices have made him at least wary and calculating as the people standing opposite of him.

He speaks Northern common and the native Skayleigh language. The latter fact allows him to understand significant bits of both the Wood Elves' language and the Giants' tongue, though speaking it himself is more difficult and more or less broken.

Goals: His family has the tradition of sending their children out onto a long voyage that, ideally, should take them across as large parts of the world as possible without diving too much into danger. It should serve as a way to broaden their knowledge, foster their ability to stand on their own and also learn something about possible enemies. There is no real time limit on it, the childs are free to come back whenever they think their journey is complete. It is clear that not coming back at all will cause unnecessary worries, and so far none in the familiy's line of ancestors is known to have pulled that off. However, An-Hasst is already known for taking the thing about 'too much danger' not too seriously... It happens that he is not only in Riverhope, but also willing on joining the party.

Background/History:
Today's Skayleigh are not born by a real giant mating a wood elf, or at least they normally aren't. They constitute their own nation with every member of it being half elf, half giant, and thereby being able to pass on the two different heritages fifty-fifty to their children even without a giant involved. The Ahal family is considered to be one of the more remarkable ones - not for being wealthy, but they were and are still earning their prestige with an outstanding tradition of woodcutting, making furnitures, bows and other things alike they are quite renowned for.

Their numbers have declined over the past centuries, several of its members were killed in the ongoing struggle against Andred. An-Hasst currently is the second-youngest member of the bloodline, his parents being Karal (father) and Fafae (mother). He has been sent on his long journey about four years ago, and, as tradition dictates, his first destination were the far northern mountain ridges where the Skayleigh's real giant ancestors live. It wasn't exactly delightful, but making such an experience likely is the real idea behind it. Since going to Andred has not been an option for a long time, he then headed east towards the Praelior peninsula, leaving the Kaelic region. Then he went for the Priemieval Forest where the wood elves live, the other nation where half of their original ancestors stem from.

One could think that someone who has travelled this far and even without major incident has to be very worldly and very experienced. An-Hasst isn't. The reason ? He would never tell his parents, but he is rather annoyed by this tradition of having to visit one more or less interesting, Skayleigh-antipathy infested part of the world after the other. That's why he is treating the entire thing more like a checklist with items on it one has to run through as efficiently as possible without looking too much to left or right. He speeded, only spending extended periods of time at locations he was really interested in like the giant's highlands of the far outskirts of the Dreadlands when he was a guest of the wood elves. He was clever enough not to venture any further into it than that though.

Riverhope essentially is his oversized, sophisticated base camp for visiting what few civilized places there are accessible for men like him. He first had to replenish his supplies not only of food and water, but especially on gold, silver and copper. For this purpose, he picked up a job as a kind of doorman for a local tavern. It could be this job that theoretically could have got him the invitation since it made many people see him and his remarkable appearance. However he isn't in the job anymore as he has certainly overdone it with a particularly refractory drunk guy that got, well, let's say quite a beating.

[The ZAX]

Harvan Diehl

Username: The ZAX

Character Name: Harvan Diehl

Race/Species: Human (Bania)

Gender: Male

Age: 23

Career/Class: Town Guard/Footman

Weapons:

• Halberd
• Crossbow
• Heater Shield

Physical Description: Harvan Diehl is a tall, lanky youth. He stands about 6’3” and never really grew into his body. Babyfaced with an unruly mop of dirty blonde hair, Harvan has never been able to grow a beard, much to his chagrin, and looks even younger for it. Harlan’s eyes seem to be eternally laughing, and while he can put on a serious face when needed it is usually just a facade.
Harlan wears a simple guardsman’s uniform and takes meticulous care of it. He does this out of reverence and respect for his lost town and station, but this leads to him often being mistaken for a fop. Despite this Harvan is not afraid to get dirty, and is often wearing the detritus of where he has been in his hair.

Armor: Harvan has been slowly modifying his guardsman’s armor over his travels. He has removed some of the metal for easier travel and at this point he has plate covering his chest, back, shoulders, forearms and shins. The metal is layered over the white and dark green cloth of his traditional guardsman’s uniform.

Equipment/Other A small traveling backpack with rations, bolts, cookware and a light hatchet. He also has a bag of small rune stones used for divination that his grandmother gave him. He can barely use them, but the peace of mind they give him is worth any amount of foresight.

Mental Description/Personality: Harvan is a stalwart young man. Growing up in one of the more inaccessible townships of Bania he is very self sufficient. Where he is from everyone can hunt and track at a basic level, knows a little first aid, and can split firewood at an alarming rate.
Harvan was raised by his grandmother and as such listened to many of her folk stories in his youth. Harvan inherited the rampant superstition of the Banians, and will engage in a number of baffling customs and rituals to protect himself from all manner of evil creatures, both real and imagined. He has a soft spot for children and is always carrying small charms to give those he meets on his travels to protect them from Gronkin and Hoarlumps.
Harlan has basic guardsman training and can wield his weapons with deadly proficiency. He is in no way a master and in battle he usually gains the advantage from being (boneheadedly) fearless. Many of his opponents have ended up impaled on his halberd only because he didn’t flinch when they expected him to. He is also helpful to a fault and will drop what he is doing to help anyone, especially a pretty girl, even if it inconveniences him.

Goals: Harvan’s Town was razed by rabid werewolves 2 years ago leaving him as one of the few survivors. Harlan had heard tales of the southland growing up. According to his Grandmother the southland is much like what Bania was in its glory days, before the kingdom began taming the land and those who lived upon it. Wanting to travel a little before settling down he headed south. His dream is to find a small town in the southland, much like his own, where he can settle down and make a life defending the pilgrims of the road and all interested in making a life in the untamed wilderness.

Background/History:

• 2 years old: Harvan’s family farm just outside of town is destroyed by bandits and he is given to his grandmother to raise.
• 7 years old: Harvan manages to wound a mad wolf with his sling, giving the town guard the opportunity to fell it easily. Thomas Kaine, the head of the town guard takes him under his wing and begins training Harvan in the martial arts.
• 12 years old: Harvan officially joins the town guard and begins drilling with his brothers in arms
• 15 - 20 years old: Harvan proves indispensable in the defense of town a number of times. During this time he fights wolves, bandits and werewolves.
• 21 years old: The town is razed by a mixed pack of rabid werewolves and normal wolves. Harlan is trapped by a falling building and is eventually rescued by a search party from a nearby village. As soon as he has recovered Harvan begins traveling south.
• 23 years old: Harvan finally makes to the Southlands. Many of his travels were spent working as a caravan guard and he made just enough coin to buy his way through Thrak'dul's pass.

[Vas Khaleen]

Dame.Maygen Yarwyck

Username: Vas Khaleen

Character Name: Dame.Maygen Yarwyck (The Fearless)

Race/Species: Andred/Human

Gender: Female

Age: 44

Career/Class: Knight

Weapons:

• Greatsword
• Survival dagger
• One handed hatchet

Physical Description: Maygen is tall for someone from Andred especially for a woman, standing fully at six feet and two inches with broad shoulders and powerful muscles; weighing in at a hundred and eighty seven pounds. Her hair is coal black and cut above her ears in a somewhat messy manner, her eyes matching the coal black of her hair with two different sized pupils upon close examination. Maygen is a veteran of many wars, as well as an incredibly deadly single combatant in duels not to say she doesn't bleed like anyone else; which is evident by the long scar which she carries from her collar bone to the navel. A token given to her when she was far younger and much more reckless in training, her face has high well pronounced and dense bone structure with an average sized nose which is slightly crooked to the right from having it broken.

Armor: Maygen wears a suit of full steel plate armor, colored reddish black with the plate trimmed in gold; the quality of the armor being next to none as it was given to her by her father as she brought more renown and with it gold to their house. Her helm is custom made and colored the same reddish black to match her suit, the helm sporting a closed face with a three headed dragon extending upwards from its crest around a half foot tall. Beneath this layer of hardened steel Maygen has a suit of steel mail which wraps around her head in a hood and flows to just below her kneecaps, with one more padded layer of cloth and supple leather to absorb impacts and prevent the metal from chafing her flesh. In total her armor weighs ninety pounds, and her upbringing as a knight and many years experience warring in it has made her much more nimble than one would expect from someone of her stature.

Equipment/Other: Bedroll, basic cooking pot, fire starting flint, maps and charts, whetstone

Mental Description/Personality: Maygen is incredibly loyal to the King of Andred, having been knighted personally by the King at the age of nineteen; rising to the station of vanguard command after fighting in many more conflicts for her country. Her stature and ruthless nature assisting in gaining the attention of the King, as well as giving her the title of The Fearless; not one to ever flee from a fight without causing significant damage. Maygen is an honorable warrior, as such she will not use poisons, and feels that ranged weapons are the tools of cowardly opponents albeit as a veteran of war she isn't below using tricks and ruthless tactics in battles.

Goals: Maygen was charged by the King to attempt to chart and map out as much of the wild southland as possible, hunting for sources of valuable resources and places for future forts and settlements.

Background/History: Maygen was born to a noble family in Andred, both of her brothers knights before she was; as the youngest child she always looked up to her brothers and father who were powerful warriors in their own right. When she came of the age to hold a sword properly Maygen's father began training her in combat, it became quickly apparent the child was a prodigy of the blade at fifteen she was already matching her brothers and by seventeen she was participating in battle. But beyond her combat training Maygen was a very learned child, reading quite a lot trying to gain as much knowledge as she could; becoming a heavy study in war strategy and the leading of troops in battle. When Maygen was nineteen she was part of a siege against the Ra'sheek rushing headlong and first into a breach in the wall; the city was sacked when the army flooded through. Her bravery and action catching the attention of King Connrad whom attended the siege himself, and knighted the young woman there before the great stone walls of the ruined city. Several years and many crusades later and Maygen was raised into the position of vanguard command a great honor for any knight, this brought great renown to her house being that she was the first woman to be included in an army command position; from then on she led a section of the Royal Army vanguard in combat, putting herself first into battle over and over. She was one of the senior most members of the Royal army command when the King brought the Southlands to her attention, having sent observation crews before only to have the majority never return or return with subpar results; leading to Maygen becoming the King's personally chosen mapper.

[Gardevoiran]

The Bear

Username: Banana

Character Name: Ursaren (Commonly known as "Old Ursa")

Race/Species: Human Lycanthrope (Bania)

Gender: Male

Age: 73

Career/Class: Priest of Maestus / Noble

Weapons/Magic:

• A trident, stained at the tip with tiny specks of blood, and of elven-craftsmanship.
• A shield, outfitted with razor-sharp spikes at the crest, perfect for bashing.
• Knowledgable in healing magic, and is an expert at it.

Physical Description:
An old, but muscular man, with a long white beard coming from his face and accenting his wisdom, and a scar coming down from his green eyes, obtained when he was an adventurer back in his golden years. He stands slightly taller than most other men, and he has broader shoulders as well. Ursaren walks with a slight limp, and often uses his trident as a sort of walking-staff when he's not fighting.

Armor:
A set of sky-blue priest robes cover his body, which visibly show signs of mending by someone who is not a tailor. Over the robes, a steel chest piece is equipped, complete with a set of bracers and greaves to accompany it.

Equipment/Other:
A hood covers his face, casting a shadow over his eyes, helping the whole "wise old man" vibe get across to others. He is good with brewing potions and elixirs, even to the point where he made liquid medicine taste decently. He does have a dark secret though, as previously mentioned in his race.
Under a full moon, Ursaren goes through a transformation into a werebear, which he has been afflicted with for a good 44 years. At the current understanding and state Ursaren is at, he is able to become a werebear at will (obtained about 2 years ago, so not much experience with it however) and still be able to speak as one, albeit it's rather basic language. He loses the limp as a werebear, and is a force to be reckoned with when fought alone.

Mental Description/Personality:
Ursaren is a wise, jolly, and rather devious elder. More often than not, he will be glad to share his knowledge over a subject if asked for advice, even going further and giving advice over more things. He believes everyone is good at heart, and is able to change their ways in the name of common good and justice. The downside to his ideals is that he's too trusting of strangers, and can let his judgement lead to his downfall. He also has a habit of getting off topic when he's giving advice, even spiraling into "how when life gives you lemons, make orangeade from magic!"

Goals:
Nobody but Ursaren knows why he's going to the Southlands, and honestly, he'd rather keep it a secret. He may just go for the hell of it, or he may go for more fame. Either way, he'll enjoy the trip and he'll help pass time with stories around a campfire.

Background/History:

• Born into a middle-class Praelior family of merchants and doctors, specializing in medicine and elixirs instead of magic when it came to healing.
• Became the healer for a group of stocky adventurers at the younger age of 23, eventually becoming the party's main defense and last word of what to do in a situation.
• Learned how to cast very basic healing at the age of 24 (He could brew insane potions prior to that.)
• Started using a trident-shield combo at 27, inspired by the adventuring leader's prowess in the skill. Trident was obtained as his share of the loot, and a personal gift from the party leader.
• Cursed by some sort of witch-doctor at 29, leading to him becoming a werebear for the rest of his days. This led to him leaving the party a few months later in fear that he'd hurt them.
• From the ages of 29 to 41, he lived in a small village where he honed his transformations and began following Maestus as a priest.
• At the age of 41, he left the village to go live in Bania and spread the influence of Maestus, while also gaining recognition as a mage and pursuing more studies.
• At the age of 60, a noble in Bania grew very ill and hired Ursaren as a healer/caretaker, eventually growing to the point where the two were best friends.
• The ill noble died when Ursaren hit the age of 71, and left what he owned in Bania to the old priest, and encouraged Ursaren to enjoy life and continue being the fun old man he was.

[Darkraven]

...

[Sypherkhode822]

MMarguerite

Username: Sypherkhode822

Character Name: Marguerite 'Mags' Stassen
Race/Species: Human Southlander (Vrettonian)

Gender: Lady

Age: 19

Career/Class: Hedge mage, Scavenger

Weapons:

• Burnished copper dagger
• necklace of assorted charms

Physical Description: A short, lithe girl dressed in wrapped rags, Mags has tightly curled hair that floats around her head in a messy halo. She has a wide mouth and a snub nose. Her skin is heavily tanned, and her face is dotted with freckles. She wears a lapis lazuli bracelet shaped like an eye. Around her neck is a necklace of numerous charms made of bone and wood. Each one is carved with a different glyph. She has a bronze dagger strapped to her thigh. She wears a large elven made knapsack which is stuffed with ancient pottery fragments, scraps of spell parchment, and other artifacts.

Armor: Mags' physical armor is practically nonexistent, her clothing barely maintaining her decency. Her magical armor is more sophisticated, as most of the charms she wears have some lingering traces of protection spells laid into them. Individually, they wouldn't be able to stop a stiff magical breeze, but taken as a whole, they offer a not inconsiderable defense to magic of all stripes.

Equipment/Other: Mags' has a backpack filled with basic survival equipment, a small leather bag of Jocasta Nuts. She carries with her archeological tools. The lapis lazuli bracelet she wears absorbs light and heat from the sun, and can reproduce it after reciting a short spell. She has a small spellbook wrapped in oilskin, along with numerous spell scrolls and pottery fragments.

Mental Description/Personality: Growing up in a small settlement in the wilderness doesn't lend towards demureness, and Mags has often been described as a free spirit. Going into crypts and and ruins has hardened Mags, and is rarely disturbed by anything she encounters. Having chosen to remain in the wilderness instead of joining her family in Riverhope, Mags is a fierce individualist. In spite of everything else, Mags is bright and intelligent, able to make intuitive leaps of reasoning many others would miss. Although she wouldn't think to describe it as such, Mags is heavily addicted to magic, and is compelled to seek deeper and more powerful spells, just for the rush of casting them.

Goals: Obsessed with discovering the existence of a long lost civilization that she has found a few passing references to in Praelorian accounts. She has heard that there is a Dragon who might know something, and is trying to find the Dragon.

Background/History:

• Parents were members of an archeological expedition sponsored by an eccentric Vrettonian mage going to study a Praelorian ruin in the South.
• Born in the small settlement that had grown up around the archeological dig, the settlement was considered a bastion of civilization in the wilderness. Her parents are both scholars, tasked with translating the artefacts found.
• Mags is the first child born in the settlement, and is doted upon. From an incredibly young age, she is taught the basics of reading old Praelorian and other ancient scripts.
• Mags shows a natural inclination towards magic, and the mage takes it upon himself to tutor the girl, training her to become his assistant.
• With the assistance of Mags, the mage successfully casts an ancient navigation spell, revealing what the stars looked like a thousand years ago. This is a breakthrough, signaling that the research is coming to a close.
• Mags shows interest in uncovering new ruins, and accompanies the mage when he examines a crypt a few miles south of the settlement.
• Mags starts going out into the wilderness by herself, exploring and practicing her spellcraft in novel situations.
• With the research completed deemed complete, the settlement slowly begins to disband.
• Mags is the last to leave the settlement, having told her parents she would join them in Riverhope when they left a month previous.
• Mags- going through the leftover journals in the settlement, comes across a translated Praelorian history describing an abandoned civilization that had once rivaled the gods in it's magic.
• Mags sets off to find the long civilization, going to other ruins in search of more clues.
• Mags builds up her ward necklace and her knowledge of spells, determined to become stronger and find the civilization.
• Hearing about the existence of a Dragon nearby, Mags determines to speak with it and discover what it knows.

Spells:

Specialty: Mago-archeology. Mags excels in drawing out the magic of ancient artefacts and making them work again. Her training has mostly been focused on uncovering and mastering a disparate range of spells with little dedication to a specific type of magic. This means that while she lacks in magical strength or technique, she is able to quickly learn new and often unusual spells that would take others a longer time to grasp.

• Excellent Prismatic Spray- A specialty of her tutor, this creates a spray incandescent magical flechettes, striking and puncturing.
• Lasnatza's Dismal Veil- causes water droplets in the air to condense and obscure the vision of it's target, magically clinging to them and making everything appear from within a deep fog. The spell naturally dissipates after 30 minutes.
• Dunexan's Gentle Protector- Creates a cushion of air to appear and slow anything rapidly approaching- slowing an arrow, resisting the stab of a blade, slowing a fall, etc.
• Agelghug's Characteristic Jump- Causes target to rocket upwards several feet into the air suddenly, and then coming crashing down again.
• Aznai's Tacky Hold- Magically fastens an object to another, making it impossible to remove without the counterspell or the application of saltwater under moonlight.
• Phaflasta's Predatory Fusillade- Animates several nearby light objects, levitating and launching them at the targets.
• Olbrelts Way Finder- Magnetizes a twig, making it point north.
• Ainth's Misanthropic Assemblage- Summons a small floating globule of a sticky goo which can be launched. Once the goo strikes, splattering, it will emit a scent that becomes irresistible to all nearby insects, who will be drawn to whatever the goo has latched onto. The scent fades within 15 minutes, or can be removed with all vinegar's except apple cider vinegar.
• Symai's Ebullient Gust- Originally meant for providing wind for sailboats, this spell has been adapted to create a focused gust of air.
• Malvolio's Deciphering Prism- Able to uncover otherwise hidden magic, revealing traps, wards, and veiled enchantments. When used in a place flooded with magic (a mage's workshop, etc.) it becomes overwhelmed.
• Padli's Academic Litany- Gain eidetic (photographic) memory for a brief period of time. This recollection can be then transmitted to other people through a short ritual. The memory itself fades soon after.
• Marguerite's Incantation of Minor Mending- A self created spell, this simply repairs something small that has been broken. When there are missing pieces, it draws on the surrounding environment to rebuild it. This only works on nonliving things.

[Nib]

Gaderon

Username: Ink Blood

Character Name: Gaderon Fleurin

Race/Species: Human- Half Banian/ Half Vrettonian

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Career/Class: Darkslayer

Weapons:

• Estoc with silver-laced valdium blade
• Silver dagger
• Hunting knife

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Gaderon stands at 5’11” with a lithe but solid frame. He shares the fair skin of his Banian roots but has a lighter shade of brown hair from his mother’s bloodline. He keeps his shoulder-length hair tied back in a half ponytail. His eyes are a piercing, ice blue. His facial structure is an interesting combination of his Banina and Vrettonian, giving him a squared jawline and high cheekbones. The most distinguishing factor to Gaderon, though, is a large scar across the left side of his face reminiscent of a bolt of lighting. It begins just above his eyebrow and runs clear down just below his mouth in a jagged line that branches of across the bridge of his nose and several other places. To stave off the cold of his homeland, he usually wears a thick shirt under his armored chest piece, a long cuffed coat, and high boots. Since coming to south, though, Gaderon has taken to wearing a thin shirt open at the chest with shorter sleeves and leaves his coat slung across his bag.

Armor: Gaderon is usually clad in a leather chest piece overlaid with chainmail.

Equipment/Other

• Grey horse named Cinder
• Simple trail rations
• 2 Waterskins
• Fire starting kit
• Holy symbol of Bael
• Belt pouch full of various ingredients used in fighting different creatures.
• Journal

Mental Description/Personality: Gaderon is a headstrong person confident (some would say arogant) in his own abilities. Because of this, he finds himself being skeptical of others’ abilities on a subconscious level, preferring to do things himself if possible, at times being stubborn and still attempting to do them himself. He is also a very studious and inquisitive person, constantly observing his surroundings, especially people. He has earned himself a reputation in specializing in finding the creatures that hide amongst their potential prey. As he observes so much, Gaderon usually has very little to say or contribute as far as conversation goes, but when he does talk he can be long winded at times. Despite this, he’s friendly enough, not too standoffish in terms of his personality, but his scar tends to intimidate the more faint of heart. Gaderon doesn't mind people avoiding him much, usually wanting to be left to his thoughts and observations or studies of various creatures.

Goals: Gaderon began his journey south when tracking a banshee from his homeland and found monsters he had not faced or studied before as well as variations of monsters he had faced before, so he continued his journey to study new monsters and learn what he could of them. His studies and jobs continued leading him further south.

Background/History:

• Gaderon is born to his Banian father and Vrettonian mother, who lived on the border between the two countries.
• Gaderon’s uncle on his mother’s side takes him on as an apprentice to train him as a Darkslayer as well as dueling styles of Vretttonia.
• Gaderon begins keeping his own journal about the creatures he hunts and studying them on an almost obsessive level.
• Gaderon becomes well known while under his uncle’s tutelage when he helps destroy a pair of vampires that were terrorizing a village near the border of Andred.
• Gaderon is wounded by one of the vampires and almost succumbs to his wounds and the sickness caused by them.
• Gaderon strikes out on his own as a full fledge Darkslayer at the age of twenty-three and continues studying the creatures he was taught to kill, determined to shed new light on them and find cures to some if possible.

[spicykvnt]

Aeryn Fengwyn

Username: Stormflyx

Character Name: Aeryn ‘Nightstalker’ Fengwyn

Race/Species: Dorcha/Human halfling

Gender: Female

Age: 38

Career/Class: Rogue/Thief

Weapons:

• Shortsword
• Steel dagger

Physical Description: Aeryn is shorter than most Dorcha, standing at approximately 5'2". Unlike the Dorcha, her face is much less harsh and angled - she bares typical human feminine softness in her face, and her lips are full and round, and despite being 38 - she has a deceivingly child-like face. She often wonders if perhaps it was staying out of the sun, and spending her life underground that protected her skin from even a single wrinkle, yet always realised that couldn't be the case - as many of the Pure Dorcha seemed to have skin like leather (although, they do scowl very often...) In contrast, her eyes and ears are all Elven, in fact some may say that her ears are a little longer than most elves. She suspects it to be an over-compensation for the human blood. Large silver eyes set against her taupe grey skin are the other giveaway signs of the Dorcha blood. She keeps her long, waist length white hair tightly braided and out of the way of her face.

As well as being short in height, Aeryn has to protect her tiny frame from being carried away by even the smallest breeze, a very thin and boney woman, yet still has a surprising amount of strength stored in some muscles somewhere. Such a lithe body allows her to accomplish all manner of acrobatics too - which served her well as the Nightstalker.

She wears no facepaint, and has no tattoos. This is an indicator of her especially low status in society. She wears a small handmade copper hoop through her septum.

Reference

Armor: Aeryn wears a light armour consisting of a myrtle green long sleeved tunic with leather shoulders and corset. A pair of forest green velveteen bottoms, with thigh high leather boots, and a loincloth style belt.

Equipment/Other As a current prisoner of the Dorcha, she has nothing on her person as it was confiscated. Usually she will carry a few items that she has stolen, and several portions of dried meat.

Mental Description/Personality: Neither human or Dorcha, she is on her own in this world. As a result, Aeryn is erratic, distrustful of all other people, and extremely cautious of anyone (in particular, humans). She has a wicked and devious streak to her. She is petty and cruel on the surface, but deep down she has a strong moral compass - even if she constantly goes against it.

Non-Dorcha look at her and see a Dorcha and so why would she act any different? She is conflicted and in emotional pain - never having had a true mentor or parental figure, and growing up alone and surrounded by cruel people has left her with a distaste for violence and ‘evil doings’ - but she still seems to find herself caught up amongst it, many times she is the one partaking in the violence. She is easily persuaded and manipulated into acting in certain ways.

Goals: Aeryn currently has no goals. Although surviving her current life-threatening predicament would be top of the list. She would love to see the Dorcha punished and ripped from society. In particular she would like to be personally responsible for torturing the Dorcha Guardsman who captured her.

Background/History: Aeryn was born from a human mother (a slave of the Dorcha) and Dorcha father. Her mixed blood and parents already lowly status meant that her destiny was already written for her. She would be nothing. When Aeryn was born, her parents were allowed to raise her for her first five years before they would both be sentenced to death. A particularly cruel and twisted fate for all three. For the rest of her childhood, Aeryn was raised as a lowly slave-girl for a merchant family. They weren't too bad, perhaps because they'd never had their own children - they were kinder on Aeryn than others might have been. Although, to call them kind is even a stretch - they still knew how to be cruel on frequent occasion. Even they got bored of her eventually however, kicking her to the curb when she turned 14 - it also happened to coincide with them finally birthing their own pure Dorcha child. Coincidence, Aeryn thought not.

The pure Dorcha of course, abused and tormented her, often beating and humiliating her. Forced to live amongst the underbelly of even a cruel and callous a people as the Dorcha, now on her own but grown, she quickly learnt skills - and found she was a very, very good thief. A leaner figure than her peers allowed her to move near silently through camps of travellers - where she would pilfer their goods. She adopted the persona of ‘Nightstalker’.

Quickly she built a reputation for herself amongst her people. If somebody needed something stolen, it was the Nightstalker that they would seek out. Never a fool, Nightstalker would never meet these people in person and would instead either send someone else, or on the rare occasion that she would be present, she would stay out of sight and cloaked. She was very cautious in showing her face and revealing herself to be the Master Thief - one might even wonder if she were paranoid.

During the height of her Nightstalker days, she came across a human slave in the markets. She was fascinated by him. Eventually she took the courage to approach him and learned that his name was Tristan. Over a series of months, Aeryn continued to visit the markets with the sole intention of being able to talk with Tristan. She would bring him fruits, meats, and dried fish when his Master was not looking. She found herself growing warmer towards him, and he towards her. He would often compliment her, and called her beautiful and radiant.

She hatched a plot with him to free him from slavery and escape together, letting her guard down and revealing herself as the Nightstalker. Believing that Tristan would follow with the plan and the two could start a life together away from the Dorcha - whom they both disliked.

When she arrived that night to steal him from his masters, she found that she was ambushed by the Dorcha Guardsman who captured her, and as a reward for catching the Nightstalker, Tristan was set free. Heartbroken, Aeryn, after several months, eventually escaped the guards prison and set out to hunt down the man who had betrayed her. It took her two whole years to catch up to him. Finally she found him, he had procured himself a farm, and had found himself a human wife. She was beautiful. Even Aeryn knew that. With her hair like sunlight and skin like white snow. Everything that Aeryn would never be. What a great fortune that Tristan had made for himself. Her human heart ached at the sight. After a few days of watching them from a distance, growing more and more angry and hateful, she took an oil lamp to his crops - setting them ablaze in rage. Spite got the best of her.

She continued on, on the run underground once more from Dorcha who now knew her identity as the Nightstalker. They were even more determined to capture her, a filthy and low half breed should not be able to hold anything over the Dorcha. She was able to evade them until now - when finally they caught up with her. Now she finds herself in their chains, walking to her death seemingly in the middle of nowhere….

Misc Facts

Her favourite animals are bats
She finds that small and confined spaces are comforting
She cannot read
She enjoys food with strong tastes - extra spicy, very sour etc
She likes to sing and listen to music

[Mortarion]

Nicademus

Username:Mortarion

Character Name:Nicademus Vahlen

Race/Species:Human

Gender:Male

Age:39

Career/Class:Knight (the Order of the Dusk)

Weapons:

• Valdium Two-handed longsword
• Hunting knife

Physical Description: Vahlen’s face could be easily described using one word: ugly. His escape from the melee between the Dorcha slavers and the Templars of Dusk resulted in him being mauled by the force creatures that roam the Souhland woods, leaving the left half of his face a ruined mess of slash scars and his time serving the Order of the Dusk has done nothing but only pile scars to the rest of his face. About the only thing that could be considered attractive about his face are his eyes, which are of a piercing blue color. For comfort, Vahlen prefers to keep his dark hair near constantly in a buzz cut.

Standing a few inches taller than 6 feet, it becomes readily apparent that Vahlen is well toned. Having spent his early life as a farmhand and the latter portions of it training to be, and as, a knight have left him with a well developed musculature, particularly his arms. This can also be seen on his hands, calloused from working at a farm and from near constant sword practice nowadays. Near two decades constantly travelling through the Southlands, and the many perils that implies, have left Vahlen’s body heavily scarred, a result of confrontations against many of the monstrous denizens that dwell through the Southlands and against quite a few Dorcha slavers and other such individuals.

When outside of his armor, a fact rare as Vahlen is loath to part from the company of his armor and the protection it presents, Vahlen wears a simple linen shirt that leaves his arms uncovered, usually wearing his tabard over his shirt. To complement his shirt, Vahlen usually wears a pair of plain trousers held by a simple leather belt.

Armor:Vahlen wears a set of interwoven metal plates atop chainmail, which is segmented along the torso, arms, and legs so as to provide him with greater dexterity in battle. On top of the torso section of his armor Vahlen wears a dark indigo tabard which is outlined by a forest green fabric, as is customary of the order of the Dusk. Alongside this, to protect his head, Vahlen usually wears a visored barbuta helmet.

Equipment/Other

• Leather bound journal
• Whetstone
• Travelling sack
• Small leather tent
• Bedroll
• Travelling supplies
• Bottle of alcohol

Mental Description/Personality: Having been born to a pair of farmers, Nicademus prefers people to be simple and honest, tending to show slight disdain and mistrust towards more shady and manipulative individuals, and prefers to behave in a similar manner. Nevertheless, he has a strong moral compass and can be counted on to help those in need, even if he finds their attitude to be distasteful.

This helping attitude easily extends to members of other races, les they be an obvious threat to the humans trying to colonize the Southlands where he’ll refuse to aid them and, even then, it has less to do with their race and more to do with the fact that they are endangering the human colonists in the Southlands, and indeed this attitude even extends to other humans who’d prioritize their own wishes over the safety of their fellow humans in the hostile South.

The only exception to this are the Dorcha, which Vahlen hates with a passion. While his training as a Templar has tempered his hate, it is nevertheless still there and, as such, the best that any Dorcha can expect is to be met with icy hostility if they encounter Vahlen in a peaceful situation and unbridled fury where they to meet him as an enemy.

Goals: Putting an end to the many menaces plaguing the Southland, with a special emphasis on the Dorcha one, so as to make it safer for colonization by humans coming from the North.

Background/History: Vahlen hails from the kingdom of Andred, where he lived alongside his parents as farmhands to one of the many noble lords of the kingdom. While life as a whole wasn't entirely horrible, Vahlen's parents chafed against the prospect of an unchanging life, solely dictated by the role they played in the lands owned by the noble to which they owed serfage. To this end, Vahlen's parents began to quietly gather what little money they made and while this meant that there were periods of time when the whole family went hungry or were unable to procure new clothing and other such necessities the efforts of Nicademus's parents paid off in the end: soon they had the required money to book passage in one of the ships ferrying those migrating to the Southlands.

The trip was hard for the Vahlen family, which was unaccustomed to travel by sea, but eventually they arrived to the Southlands shortly before Nicademus's 15th birthday, settling down in a patch of unoccupied land close to the coastal town of Darkwater along with the rest of those in the ship. Life was harsh in the South, but the motley group of individuals who had made the trip from the North managed to eke out a living and found a new village. Among the newly erected villager, Vahlen's father served as an unofficial leader of sorts of the farmers in the community; helping to guide them and to plan what crops would be farmed through the year to keep the village well fed and, were there to be enough surplus from the crops, to trade with nearby towns and villages. During this time the young Nicademus helped his father as a farmhand, toiling the land alongside him and other youths from the village.

Unfortunately the idyllic life in the village would come soon enough to an end, swallowed like many others by the perils of the Southlands in the middle of the night for a few months after its founding it was put to the torch by a raid of Dorcha slavers. The surprise attack took the village by surprise, with what few watchmen present being slaughtered before they could alert the rest of the villagers or put any sort of resistance, and virtually every inhabitant was soon captured by the elven raiders and bound in chains. Soon they were all marching in the night, it didn't take too long for the murmurs to begin among the captured villagers: some, those who had heard of the wicked Dark Elves beforehand, wondered what cruel fate awaited them while other, mainly parents with young children but couples as well, whispered to their loved ones reassurances to try and assuage their fears. The quiet chat between the captives slowed down the pace and the Drochas, fearing that they could be found out if they took too long before they returned to their underground cities, began whipping the captives, prompting them to resume the quick pace that had been set before the murmuring began.

This rhythm continued for hours, the captured villagers would slow down for a reason and the elves would whip them back into a more rapid pace, until suddenly a voice rang out in the night. Before the raiders had time to organize themselves a group of armored individuals attacked the slavers, sending everything into chaos. In the confusion of the fight Nicademus's parents released him from his chains, but were slain by one of the raiders in retaliation, fearing that they'd try and free the other captured villagers. Panic seizing his heart, Nicademus ran away in the middle of the night as the Dorcha raiders fought off the armored individuals. Heading into the forests, the young Nicademus ran as fast as he could away from the melee between the two groups.

Unfortunately, as he headed deeper into the forest, Vahlen was attacked by the numerous wild animals and monsters that dotted the woods of the Southlands. It would have been the end for the young man if the same armored individuals hadn’t found him in the forest after his escape, bleeding from many cuts and unconscious due to the blood loss. Fortunately for him the armored individuals treated his wounds, at least to the extent of stopping the blood loss, and took him back to their keep. When Nicademus awoke the next day he almost believed that everything that had happened was nothing more than a nightmare, if not for the fact that he awoke in a common dormitory; fortunately for him other survivors of the village raid had been rescued, who explained to Vahlen the situation they were in: they had been rescued by a group of knights from the Order of the Dusk and brought what villagers had survived the chapter house located in the town of Darkwater.

Shaken by the explanation, but unable to deny it as memories of what had happened the prior night resurfaced, Nicademus did the only thing that he could: he grieved for all that he had lost the previous night. For weeks he remained in such a state, wandering the chapter house of the knights like a lost spirit while the other survivors moved on and left the knight’s keep. Luckily for Nicademus the knights were generous for while they asked him to do menial chores for them, in return they allowed him to stay in the keep for as long as he needed. During this time his sorrow slowly, but surely, gave away, only to be replaced by something else: fury. The sorrow that had followed him for weeks had turned to fury against the Dark Elves who had destroyed the place were he had lived and who had cost his parents their lives, and from there a need for vengeance against the cruel Dorcha blossomed in Nicademus.

Knowing that he was merely the son of a farmer, and as such devoid of the skills he needed to carry his vengeance, the young Vahlen prostrated himself to the knights who had rescued him and begged them to train him, voicing his need to avenge his parents deaths to the knights he had prostrated himself before. The knights hushed him away after he was done speaking, telling the young Nicademus to leave them alone and to return to the duties he was performing in exchange for his continuous stay in the chapter house. After that, life in the keep continued as it had before with Nicademus continuing to do the chores that had been assigned to him while the knights trained until, one day, he was ordered to present himself to the knight in charge of the chapter house.

Once he presented himself he was told that his request had been carefully considered by the senior knights present at the time and that, after the deliberations were concluded, they had accepted his request, he was to be trained as one of the templars of the Order of the Dusk. The training that he was out through was arduous, but Nicademus was no stranger to hard work and the Dorcha raid, or more accurately its fallout, had steeled the young man’s resolve; as such, Nicademus quickly grew accustomed to the training regime he was being put through.

The long years passed by as Nicademus was molded by his training into a knight, until finally the day came that he was fully knighted before he turned 20. With his training complete, Vahlen was equipped and, for the first time in half a decade, left the grounds of the chapter house. His training regime had tempered his desire for vengeance with a genuine concern for the human population of the Southlands, instilling in him a desire to make the area safe for human colonization so that no further tragedies like the one that he had suffered would continue to repeat. For nearly two decades Nicademus has walked through the Southlands, hunting the vile Dorcha and many other threats that lurk in the woods, and now his travels see him taking temporary refugee in a village, following rumors of Fey activity.

[IcePezz]

If no one objects :)

Elora Lynn Read

Username:IcePezz

Character Name:Elora Lynn Read

Race/Species: Half Elf

Gender: Female

Age: 29

Career/Class: Pirate/Raider

Weapons:

• 2 cutlass (one hanging on each side of her hip)
• Small blade (carefully hidden in her right bracer)

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):
Elora presents the typical physical appearance of a Kaelic. Though her thick, auburn locks spark more of a red tint to it than brown. Long layers accentuate the different shades of fire dipped in rich chocolate, extending just below her shoulders. Due to the thickness of her hair, and the beads and braids that line the messy mop, her slightly pointed ears often go unnoticed. It is her eyes which catch your attention; elven within shape and the color of the sea after a furious storm. They peer out at you from beneath shaggy bangs, tossed carelessly about her freckled face and sunkissed skin.

Standing just over 5’, she sports the curves of a lady and the muscle tone of a street fighter. Meatier than most who share her elven heritage, though it doesn’t seem to bother her much. She has multiple piercings on each ear, scars scatter throughout her body and hands. Lash marks tear through flesh on her backside, ligature marks circle her wrists, fingers marred as if they’ve been broken and reset quite a few times. A careful look over may show that this one is no stranger to violence. She typically keeps it covered, though she is branded with the mark of “traitor” on her left forearm.

Armor: Dressed mostly in leathers, her outfits vary with her mood. On this day, she can be found in dark brown leather trousers, her boots a shade or two faded with large flaps folded over at the top. A white tunic with billowed sleeves tucked into a dark red vested corset. The corset itself is thick boned and lined, brass buckles clasp it closed under black cord woven through. A large, black belt hangs loosely over her hips, adorned with two pouches and studded frogs on either side fitted for the cutlass she is often seen with. Two sashes of soft cloth intertwine with her belt, colored a dull blue and red. Tied in a knot on her right side, with frayed ends left to hang near her knee. Bare armed or not, she wears dark red leather bracers, studded with brass along the top and bottom, fitted with brown leather gloves to match. A brown leather duster and tricorn hat completes her, typically worn when sailing or in poor weather.

Equipment/Other Aside from the pouches that line her belt, Elora carries around a flask, larger than most, finished in a brushed silver, engraved with a capital “J”.

Mental Description/Personality: Elora would prefer the loud and boisterous atmosphere of a rowdy tavern over solace and silence. Long periods of silence make her extremely uncomfortable - to be left alone with her own mind scares the hell out of her. Despite all of this, she herself is not a very loud person, though this doesn’t stop her from making an entrance or getting someone’s attention.

Elora is a private person, rarely flaunting her personal business unless it stands to gain her something. Even then, the truth will always be twisted, splashed with a dash of deceit. She is very untrusting of outsiders, and may come off as calloused, though tends to connect with others through her sarcasm and charm. She really isn’t all that bad, her soft spots are just hidden.

Those fortunate enough to be part of her circle may say that she is loyal, passionate, and free spirited. A fierce opponent, fearless and swift with an unrelenting precision that lead each strike to its target with uncanny accuracy.

She drinks often, indulges often, sometimes without cause or care. But she doesn’t seem to let that get in the way of things.

Goals: She has been exiled from her home, is lost to the crew she knew and ship she sailed on. Pirating seems like a long lost dream at this point. She has goals, though sometimes lacks the motivation to see them through. In terms of what they are though - To see the world, to be rich beyond compare, but more importantly, to find peace within herself. Her reasoning for being in the Southland is for bounties; distraction or purpose, she hasn’t quite decided yet. She’s figured she’ll either find a fight she can’t win or make it out to something (or coin) worth while. Either way, it would be a great story!

Background/History:

long ass backstory

As a child, it was always just her and her brother, Aengus. The two of them against the world. Orphans left to fend for themselves. Elora was a difficult child; headstrong, defiant. But when it came to her brother, there was nothing she wouldn’t do. He was younger than her by at least 2 years, and certainly a lot more soft than she would ever allow herself to seem. Gods forbid anyone tease him though, they’d have her wrath to contend with.

Elora doesn't speak much on her beginnings. Most of her memories at this point have faded or became distorted with time, though there are some of which she can recall with such vivid clarity; still frames from a lifetime ago. She knows enough about who she is and where she came from to know it is a place she'd rather not return to. Her mother was a whore, her father was a human sailor, and whether she would care to admit it or not, it is the blood that flows through her veins which lends itself more to her survival than anything else.

She was four years old, by human count, when her mother smuggled her brother and her out of the confines of the forest trees. It was one night she would never forget; a memory that burns in her mind, even haunts her dreams. A horrid storm ensued that night. It shook the very earth and stirred the ocean waters into a fury. Waves crashed angrily into the small boat and the sky rattled with rage, threatening to kill them all as lightning struck near. It was a miracle the two toddlers made it through the night alive. They were found by a group of human fishermen just before dawn, snuggled into a large cargo crate which managed to drift ashore unharmed. Their mother however, was not with them, and was never heard from nor seen again.

Whatever clan they emerged from was lost to them both. They were given food and shelter, but were soon discovered to be more of a hassle. The two often found themselves hovered in an alleyway under crates and awnings. Begging was never an option for Elora, and so their resources were more so of the stolen variety. There was one who had taken pity on the pair, an outcast himself. Conway had no children to call his own, and his wife had passed some years earlier from a rare illness. He saw it as a sign when he spied the two about to pilfer from a merchant in town, unaware of the children snaking their hands over his wares. Though old age had taken him as the two reached young adulthood, his memory scorched their souls.

Elora and Aengus were brought up on the values of the Kaels, twisted with a hint of bitterness only the old outsider could provide. Elora respected the gods, for she understood their wrath if not acknowledged. Though that doesn't mean she holds them or the ways of her people with high regard. For it was this, more than anything which tore her circle apart.

Aengus was of a different sort, and unlike his sister, he wanted to fit in, more than anything. It was the root of most of their arguments, and as they grew in age, it only served to deepen the rift between the siblings. Aengus drifted towards the solace of the woods, eventually returning to elven civilization. He reminded Elora often of tradition, responsibility and purpose, and the more he would push, the harder she would rebel. Each had felt betrayed in their own way, but she knew there was no coming back from this.

What happened within those last few months had Elora reconsidering what the definition of family truly was. Despite the shenanigans she had caused in her youth, it was the first time she had seen the inside of a jail cell, or felt a cold iron grip around her wrists and ankles. It was her first taste of true pain, and betrayal certainly added a bitter bite to it. Perhaps it was karma returned to her, or perhaps it was just the shove that she needed to get out.

Conway had always encouraged her to be her own person, so when opportunity knocked, she packed her bags, no questions asked, and never looked back. She knew it was the best option, and perhaps her only one.

Jamie could never replace Conway as a father figure, however as a mentor, he allowed her the freedom of a different path, and the guidance that would keep her from self destruction. Regardless of the uncertainty of this new venture, she embraced it with open arms. It was a fresh start, a new beginning, a second chance. It did taken some time, but she eventually found a sturdy set of sea legs and her place among the crew of The Black Gaul.

Being a part of Jamie’s crew afforded her many opportunities. She trained in different forms of combat, explored the many different pleasures life has to offer, and even learned to tap into the innate potential her elven heritage had gifted her with. People either praised her or they loathed her. She certainly had a knack for getting under someone's skin. Ultimately though, she was good at what she did. She was a seeker, a raider … she was a damned pirate, and one of the best to skulk the seas.

Her last venture led her to her current predicament. The Gaul was tracking a seer of sorts. The famed oracle had the power of divination, something that was highly coveted throughout the endless bloodshed plaguing the coastline. They were supposed to be working alongside another ship. The word of an outsider is worth close to nothing, though there was little reason to suspect treachery. They were the enemy of an enemy after all. Unfortunately for the Gaul and it's crew, there was a third party being served, which left their crew scattered and their captain dead. Elora was held captive for information along with a handful of her mates. They were pressed for any information regarding the whereabouts of the oracle, and what information the crew had regarding the wars. Each of them were forced to endure various methods of torture, some even died along the way. By the end of it all, there were only two left - Elora and a crewmate Sam. During their travels, they weren’t the best of comrades. There was a mutual disgust between the two. In fact, this was probably worst case scenario for Elora. Sam eventually gave in and revealed all to their enemies. Awarded with two choices, join their efforts or die, Sam chose to shift sides. They unfortunately weren’t as forgiving with Elora, thought felt that death would be too easy for her. Upon her exile, she had received the mark of “traitor”, burned into her flesh, ensuring she would never return lest she be killed.