[CHAR] Champions, Regiments and Wizards

[Footman]

The Forces of the Moonsong Alliance

"And into the seas this second Armada descended; into the jaws of death they sailed. Some for glory, some for riches, some for lust of power and others out of fear only for themselves. Yet all united they were, by their bravery and by the common flag of the Alliance."

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[vietmyke]

Odran Tarlach

Odran Tarlach, Lord of the Lost Hunt

Race: The Lost - Human
Known Racial Abilities: Wildshaping - both race and ability will be explained in detail in the Regiment portion.
Age: 58
Appearance:
A tall and lean man, Odran is a man in his prime. His posture is decidedly casual yet confident, and he sports a build of one used to travelling, combat, and hardship. His coarse, silver-gray hair is pulled into a short ponytail, and loose locks fall about his face. His tanned skin is set off by his strong features and dark brown eyes. His beard is rough, but maintained, and his mouth is often curled into a wry grimace.
Renowned Skills:
Though both a renowned sniper and accomplished bladesman, Odran is best known for his hunting prowess. Capable of stalking and hunting men and beast alike, Odran is a master of guerrilla warfare, and is well versed in ambush and stealth tactics. Though quite strong compared to other humans, unnaturally so, Odran gives a preference to skillful and dexterous application of force instead of pure overwhelming strength.

When Wildshaping, Odran's skillset largely remains the same, though takes on a more primal nature. Instead of the blade and arrow, he uses near unnatural speed and claw for a similar, if not more savage result.

Magic:
Like many of the Lost Hunt, Odran is proficient with shadow magic. Shadow magic doesn't interact with the Shadow Realm as it's name may imply, but rather deals with light and illusion. Used to obscure bodies, weapons, and traps, as well as committing mind-twisting illusionary strikes, it is as versatile as it is subtle. The 'fuel' used to energize the magic of the Lost Hunt is a type of mana, warped by the ritualistic mutations the Lost Hunt has gone through. Like many, mana is restored to the body through the passage of time, but unlike others, the mana of the Lost Hunt is restored through an invisible miasma borne from moonlight. During the night, they can use their magical abilities with near impunity, however during the day, their stores of mana rapidly depletes.

Wildshape

Odran's most notable ability is his ability to shift into a more primal form, known to the Lost Hunt as 'Wildshaping'. Generally agreed to be the 'true form' of the men and women of the Lost Hunt, those that wildshape take on a more powerful and bestial appearance, often times with features of many notable apex predators. Odran's form is that of a bipedal monster, with powerful limbs capable of tearing a man in half, and hide and fur thick enough to resist mundane blades and arrows. Like his shadow magic, Odran's wildshape is limited by his stores of mana, and while he may adopt this form near constantly under the gaze of the full moon, during the day his time in this form is considerably more limited.
Weapons: Odran's primary tools of the trade are his bow and blade- his bow a carefully crafted recurve bow made from Ironwood, a rare wood with the flexibility of wood, but strength of steel; and his sword, a mundane, but well made blade of steel with a dull finish to keep it from reflecting light.
Armour: To protect himself, Odran wears a combination of thick cloth, tough leather, and chainmail. The metal components of his armor are kept small, and cushioned between layers of cloth and leather to increase protection without creating unnecessary noise. He is also occasionally seen wearing the pelt coats of unnatural primal beasts.
Steed: The Lost Hunt only rarely ride steeds into battle, and these beasts of burden are often only used as transport and often change as the Lost Hunt will abandon or purchase new mounts as their needs arise. Odran's current mount is a brown courser of calm temperament.
Bio:
Though Odran has no recollection of his childhood, he was born the 5th child to a poor family of merchants. Despite their poverty, the family could still afford a rudimentary education for their children, and Odran and his siblings lived a sparse, but learned childhood, becoming familiar with numbers, letters, and interacting with others. During a particularly harsh market season, Odran's family was attacked by a band of raiders, his parents and oldest brother killed, and sisters kidnapped to be raped, killed, or sold. Odran was left abandoned in the wreckage of his family's caravan, left to die to the elements and predators in the forest.

However, no death came for Odran. Instead, the Lost Hunt found the abandoned child first, and took him as their own. Odran spent the next decade being raised by the caretakers of the Lost Hunt, learning their lifestyle, and adapting to their culture. He learned to prowl, stalk, hunt, shoot, and fight. Odran showed considerable promise to the members of the Lost, adapting to his new lifestyle quite readily, and excelling as well. There were other children his age, all orphans like himself. The children were often pitted against one another, competing for the favor of their elders.

When Odran turned 18, he and the rest of the children who had turned 18 were taking deep into ancient gathering grounds of the Lost Hunt, the Bloodground where they underwent the Trials of the Lost to prove their worth to the Hunt. This gathering ground was twisted by strange arcane mists, its origins lost to time, understood by none- not even the by the Lost Hunt themselves. In these grounds, the children underwent an arcane mutation, the mists changing the very fiber of their being and forcing their evolution into their true form. Unnatural, arcane beasts were then released into the hunting grounds upon the young, and the newly transformed forced to fight for their lives. Some reacted poorly to their mutations and became feral themselves, turning on their former friends as wild, uncontrollable beasts. Of the 23 adolescents taken into the Bloodground, only 7 survived. These 7 were deemed the most powerful, cunning, and worthy of their group, and became full members of The Lost Hunt. Odran joined the Hunting troupe of Tarlach, and took on the name as his own, as was tradition.

Odran spent the next several decades advancing through the ranks of the Lost Hunt, proving himself to be a capable hunter and ferice warrior, known for using his cunning intelligence and tactical knowledge over raw speed and strength. Well respected by both his peers and rivals, it was only natural that Odran sought out a higher role in the hierarchy of the Lost Hunt. The mutations underwent by the Lost meant that they could live up to centuries at a time- though few lived past a century due to their lifestyle of constant conflict. As a result, every century, prospective members of the Lost Hunt would meet in their ancient gathering grounds to challenge one another for leadership of the Hunt.

Challenges in the Bloodground varied in manner, and could be anything from tests of strength and speed, to plain single combat. The Prospects would often be leaders of respective hunting parties. Odran surprised many by taking to the Bloodgrounds alongside the leader of his hunting party at the fresh age of only 50, and surprised many more by emerging from the Bloodgrounds as the Lord of the Lost Hunt for the next Century, making him the youngest man to ever take on the mantle of Lord.

Odran led the Lost Hunt for much of the next decade before word of Gargth and his deeds spread across the land, as well as how he single handedly slew almost fifty thousand of the world's strongest warriors. When the Moonsong Alliance called for another force to attack Gargth, Odran took with him a hundred of his most talented hunters to hunt down the ultimate prey- a God.

The Lost Hunt

Regiment Name: The Lost Hunt
Banner: None
Nationality/Race: The Lost
Racial Specifics:
"The Lost" is the colloquial term given to those who have undergone the mutations of the Bloodgrounds, and can be men and women of any race. Individuals that survive the mutations of the Bloodgrounds still maintain the majority of the features of their original race, but are much stronger, with keener senses, and longer lived than their former race. The Lost hold an aversion to blessed silver, which causes them physical discomfort as well as burns their skin on contact. Most notably, the Lost hold the ability to transform into their "True Form", also referred to as Wildshaping. Wildshape forms are often bestial in appearance and shares traits with many predators.
Size of Host: 100
Speciality: Shapeshifters-Rangers
Typical Arms: A collection of bows, crossbows, swords, spears, clubs, and axes. Weapons vary by the personal preference of the individual hunter.
Typical Armour: Mostly leather and chainmail, with hides and furs also commonly incorporated. Armor vary by the personal preference of the individual hunter.
Magics Used:
Most of the Lost Hunt have at least some proficiency with shadow magic. Shadow magic doesn't interact with the Shadow Realm as it's name may imply, but rather deals with light and illusion. Used to obscure bodies, weapons, and traps, as well as committing mind-twisting illusionary strikes, it is as versatile as it is subtle. The 'fuel' used to energize the magic of the Lost Hunt is a type of mana, warped by the ritualistic mutations the Lost Hunt has gone through. Like many, mana is restored to the body through the passage of time, but unlike others, the mana of the Lost Hunt is restored through an invisible miasma borne from moonlight. During the night, they can use their magical abilities with near impunity, however during the day, their stores of mana rapidly depletes.

History: It is often said that children who are lost or abandoned in the forests and wilderness are doomed to be gone forever. It is said that the forgotten orphans are taken by the Lost Hunt and brought into their ranks. An Organization made up of orphans and abandoned children, the numbers of the Lost Hunt are always in flux, some years, more abandoned children than normal will be found, other years more hunters will die than children found, occasionally, entire batches of youths will die in the Bloodgrounds from their mutations. The life of the Lost Hunt, is harsh, unforgiving, and often times deadly. The Lost Hunt lack any rigid hierarchy like contemporary military groups, but is instead made up of several large hunting parties, each with their own traditions and ways of doing things. While differing in their traditions, different hunting parties, even rival ones, generally share the same moral convictions and beliefs, and will always obey the rule of the Hunt's Lord.

The Lord of the Lost Hunt is chosen once every century, during this time potential candidates from each Hunting party enters the Bloodgrounds. Some centuries, only one person leaves the Bloodgrounds, other centuries the Lord is chosen in other ways. No matter what, once the Lord is chosen, the others will submit to his authority for the next century, unless he proves himself utterly unworthy of leading the Hunt, in which case, he will be torn limb from limb and a temporary leader will be chosen until the next century.

The Lost Hunt is mere myth to some, a bad omen to others, and make themselves known by hunting some of the world's fiercest beasts. While some wonder who the true beasts are, they have nevertheless proven themselves to be an asset to the Moonsong alliance.

[CorpusMundum]

Zebulon Rantheus, Theurgist Primaris

Name: Zebulon Rantheus, Theurgist Primaris.

Race: Human

Known Racial Abilities: N/A

Age: 40

Appearance: A tall man, his life as a Theurgist scholar has left his skin pale and soft. Despite his rather cloistered upbringing, countless hours of physical exercise demanded by the Order has given him a rather average build. A pristine body houses a pristine mind after all. His short auburn hair has began to grey, and his blue eyes hold a great wisdom and tiredness in their depths.

Renowned Skills: Zebulon is one of the Order's most respected and knowledgeable Theurgists, being one of the blessed few to wear the golden tabard of the Order. His understanding of things metaphysical and occult are great indeed, rivaling the Heirophant himself in terms of knowledge. From the summoning of spirits and angels, to seeing the branching paths of the near and far flung future through the motion of the stars and spheres, Zebulon has gleamed much in his time with the Order. Coupled with his utter disdain for those who use the powers of the Lower Circle, he was an obvious choice to act as lead adviser on matters of the arcane to Knight-Captain Nagel

Magic: Theurgy and Thaumaturgy are magicks which deal with working miracles and drawing forth from the power of 'God'. Unlike the power granted to champions and avatars of various deities, these powars are not a gift from God itself. Rather it is the magician drawing upon the primordial energies of creation to wield himself and thereby manipulate the material world. Typically this power is used for healing, the conjuring, binding, and banishment of spirits. Zebulon also practices divination, using the positions of the stars and various other methods to divine the possible outcomes of the actions mortals take. All thoughts, actions, and decisions have consequences in this world and the next.

Where Zebulon truly shines is in warding against spirits and enemy sorcerers. His faith in the teachings of the Seal and Theurgy have steeled his will against the horrors of the Lower Circle and its deluded mortal slaves. Time and again he has defended his noble brothers in arms with his occult knowledge, leading rituals of consecration and expulsion. What's more, Zebulon is an exceptionally skilled summoner and exorcist, often calling upon Elementals to protect himself and other practitioners. The construction of holy temples and guardians of steel and stone is also a passion of his, wishing to build beacons of light and learning to banish the dark ignorance so many self proclaimed magick users practice within.

Weapons: A blessed long-knife and a wand.

Armour: Zebulon wears the crimson robes of the Theurgists, and a golden tabard marked with the Seal of Light.

Steed: A courser.

Bio: The son of poor farmers, Zebulon had always been enthralled with the tales of gods and angels that his mother would tell him while he lied in bed. When he came of age, the young aspirant approached the Defenders and Scholars of the Consecrated Seal of Trismigestus, hoping to join them in their quest for knowledge and enlightenment. Despite his eagerness, he proved too poor a combatant to join the Sergeants or Confessors. Instead he was inducted as an initiate of the Theurgists, where he more than thrived. It seemed as though his mind was wired for study of things metaphysical and existential, impressing his teachers and peers with the speed and accuracy at which he retained knowledge. His ability to perceive the subtle connections that exist between all things in creation, lead him to draw forth many alchemical and magickal secrets from the realm of God.
For decades now, Zebulon has been collecting his findings and the knowledge of his peers into a work which he has dubbed the Corpus Illustrata. He has delved into forgotten tombs, dark ruins, and the labs of slain sorcerers to find much of what is written within this ever growing tome. Even after purging all blasphemous and dark rites from the collected research, the impressive work is already composed of over a dozen volumes, each hundreds of pages in length. Day in and day out Zebulon works to improve and refine the rituals which he has recorded and drawn forth from the realm of God, praying that it will one day become an essential piece of literature for any aspiring magician, no matter their tradition or paradigm.

His vision is that of Utopia, not so much a perfect world, but a perfect existence. He and his brothers wish to see Humanity raised above their base phsyical existence, to ascend to the realm of god from which all things descend. The material world is an imperfect world, filled with creatures that must be imperfect to thrive within it, and so Zebulon is not so naive to believe a Utopia could ever exist in a physical place. It must be a state of spiritual and mental being, which can only be found through a reunification with 'God' by means of the Magnum Opus.

Jeremiah Nagel, Thrice-Blessed Knight Captain

Name: Jeremiah Nagel, Thrice-Blessed Knight Captain

Race: Human

Known Racial Abilities: N/A

Age: 36

Appearance: A man of average height, with a powerful build, Jeremiah's features are just as hard as his personality. In devotion he keeps his head shaven, a tattoo of the Seal of Light upon his scalp, and a short beard of black hair covers his face. Stern brown eyes are deeply set into his face, ever ready to judge the wicked and foolish.

Famed Skills: Jeremiah has proven time and again to be a crusader of great faith and worth during his time with the Order. A skilled tactician, and inspiring leader, over a dozen witchunts and crusades have been brought to a brutally swift success under his command. His skill as a swordsman is also enviable, earning him the tabard of the Thrice-Blessed by purging the world of horrors spawned from the Lower Circle.

Magic: N/A

Weapons: A silver-etched blessed bastard sword, dubbed Redemptor. A war lance, a dagger, and a kite shield.

Armour: Plate armor and a greathelm. His white tabard bears the Order's heraldry and a pentagram to denote his rank.

Steed: A grey destrier named Aldous.

Bio: The middle child of the Nagel family of Ilaurus, Jeremiah would never inherit his family's estate, and would never be content to spend his life in hednoistic abandon as his younger siblings. So, he forsook any claims to the family's holdings he had, signing them over to the Order as he joined the ranks of the Knights of the Seal.

The training was hard, breaking his body again and again that it might harden him. Faith and righteousness were weapons he learned to wield early on, proving himself to be one of the more zealous Brother Knights. It was this faith, this righteous fury he felt towards the horrid arts of sorcery and hedge-magick that would lead him to rise within the ranks of the Order. Over twenty witches, a dozen warlocks, and five sorcerers of civilized lands had fallen beneath his blessed blade before the true test of his faith and mettle presented itself.

During a witch-hunt, one which had taken Jeremiah and his brothers far beyond the borders of Ilaurus, they at last cornered the foul sorcerer to his den. An intense battle raged between the Consecrators and the foul flesh-constructs of the undead mage, and despite the blessed weapons and armor they bore, many of their number were claimed by fang, claw, and rusted blade. When at last they stormed the foul citadel, Jeremiah alone ventured deep enough to find the sorcerer's sanctum, a grisly ritual site where canvases of human flesh draped across the walls. As is proper, the Knight of the Seal offered the sorcerer one last chance to repent and willingly recieve his punishment. Of course the damnable witch merely laughed.

It was then that the blasphemous wretch exploded in a rain of blood, bone, and entrails. What remained was a horrid monstrosity of corded muscle and sinew, black ichor dripping from the exposed musculature and grinning fangs. The utter foulness of the thing nearly caused him to vomit, it was not something that should have been. It was abhorrent, it could not be allowed to exist. A prayer on his lips, and Redemptor in his hand, the crusader faced off against the beast. Again and again it shrugged off what should have been fatal wounds, ripping through his armor and flesh with ease as it continued to laugh with the sorcerer's voice. At last, the final blow was struck, and the abomination's head was sheered clean from its shoulders.

A Confessor and Theurgist Rantheus oversaw the destruction of its body, and the expulsion of any foul energies and entities which might have lingered within the sorcerous sanctuary. Recovering what they could of the sorcerer's notes, they proceeded to level and burn the structure to the ground, leaving nothing but ruin in its place. Upon their return to Ilaurus, Jeremiah was granted the honor of joining the Thrice-Blessed, and elevated to the rank of Knight-Captain.

Ordo Signum Consecratum

Regiment Name: Defenders and Scholars of the Consecrated Seal of Trismigestus

Banner: The Hermetic Seal of Light etched in red against a field of gold.

Nationality/Race: Men of Ilaurus

Racial Specifics: N/A

Size of Host: 500

Speciality: Heavy cavalry and magick
Typical Arms: Lances, arming-swords, maces, and shields.

Typical Armour: Chain mail, great-helms, and tabard.

Typical Steeds: Coursers

Magics Used: Theurgy, Thaumaturgy, Divination, Warding and counterspelling.

Theurgy and Thaumaturgy are magicks which deal with working miracles and drawing forth from the power of 'God'. Unlike the power granted to champions and avatars of various deities, these powers are not a gift from God itself. Rather it is the magician drawing upon the primordial energies of creation to wield himself and thereby manipulate the material world. Typically this power is used for healing, the conjuring, binding, and banishment of spirits. Many of the Order's Theurgists also practice divination, using the positions of the stars and various other methods to divine the possible outcomes of the actions mortals take. All thoughts, actions, and decisions have consequences in this world and the next. Lastly, the most practical of the magicks used by the Ordo Signum Cosecratum, is wards and counter-spelling. Studying the immutable laws of the universe, and the very nature of magick itself allows the Theurgists to deny the effects of spells cast by others and against a person or location. But just as magick is a blunt weapon, it is likewise an expansive shield. While small charms and sigils may offer some protection to an individual, a consecrated and warded area will offer the greatest defense against prying eyes, spirits, and magickal attacks.

History: The Knights of the Consecrated Seal of Trismigestus, also known as the Ordo Signum Consecratum, are a Holdy Order of knights, priests, and therugists that was founded for the purpose of the advancing and regulating the study of magick. This came after the nation of Ilaurus was nearly torn apart by scheming sorcerers and malicious hedge-wizards. These rogue magick users proved a horrifying threat as they made use of the powers and entities which exist within the Shadow Realm, or Lower Circle as they call it. From that day onward, those who wished to practice magick were to do so under the guidelines set forth by the newly raised Holy Order.

Composed of men from all walks, life within the Ordo Signum Consecratum is monastic, scholarly, and meticulously ordered. There are five paths within the order, and they are typically dependent upon one's birth status. The highest within the Order are the Knights of the Seal, noble-born men who have chosen to renounce their titles in service to the Order and the Church. It is the Knights of the Seal who hold the majority of seats upon the council which rules the Order, such as the Grand Master and First Seeker. Scholars as well as warriors, the Knights spend equal time in prayer and study of the holy texts as they do in sparring matches. Still, they could never hope to match the vast knowledge of the Theurgists, or passion of the Confessors. Their tabard is a deep violet trimmed in gold, representing the noble life they have forgone in favor of their sacred duty.

The Knights act not only as a bulwark against the hedge-wizards and dark magicks which threaten the souls of mortals, but as watchdog over those sanctioned to practice the Craft. Magick is a powerful tool, and often the temptation to use it for base and selfish purposes, or break the tenants of the Theurgist is too great for an initiate to resist. When one of their charges falls or loses his way, the Knights of the Seal are there to punish the wrongdoer. First among those who guard the Theurgists are the Thrice-Blessed, men who have faced the horrors of the Lower Circle, and the witches who would use it, and come back alive with their faith and minds in tact. Veterans, honor-guard, champions of righteousness in their own right, so great is their importance that they hold a seat upon the council. Their tabard is white with golden trim, to signify their purity in the face of darkness and corruption.

After the Knights of the Seal, come the Confessors. Priests of the church inducted into the Order, they take important roles in and outside of combat. They offer comfort and wisdom to their brother Knights and Sergeants, and do well to keep the faith of the Theurgists within the order. Confessors lead the Order in Prayer during daily rituals, before and after battle, and of course in funerary rights for the fallen. In the midst of battle they are awe inspiring sights to behold, warriors clad in warplate and resplendent robes, wielding morning-stars as they lead the brothers in war-chants. Many Confessors learn basic theurgistic rituals, learning how to consecrate ground, bless weapons and armor, and even expel the denizens of the Lower Circle if need be. The Chief Confessor holds a position on the Order's ruling Council. Their tabard is black, meant to signify their belonging to the priesthood.

Next come the Sergeants, the medium infantry of the Consecraters. They are common born men who act as foot soldiers, retainers, smiths, craftsmen, and merchants for their Noble commanders. Typically less heavily armored than their lords, and rarely acting as light cavalry, the Sergeants still prove crucial to the operations of the Order in and out of combat. When the Knights of the Seal find themselves locked in siege warfare, the craftsmanship and numbers provided by the Sergeants are invaluable. The same can be said of their role as the crewmen and captains of the fleet. Despite their low standing, the Sergeants boast two positions within the Council, Master of the Fleet, and Quartermaster. Given their common birth, Sergeants are required to wear a tabard of brown, a sign of their low status.

Lastly are the Theurgists, the sanctioned magicians of the Order. For the Theurgist, magick is not a gift, it is not a power that courses through the natural world or that lies within the essence of living things, rather it is the path through which an initiate might gain enlightenment. Through study of the esoteric and the divine, one can learn to manipulate the world around them and work miracles, but any magician worth his salt knows that such power should not be spent on petty material wants or desires. Dominion, life, pleasure, goods, all of these things are fleeting, the flesh is fleeting. Though they have the power to summon angels, elemental spirits, to peer into the future through the stars and holy numbers, they know that such things should not be called upon lightly. The ultimate goal of the Theurgists (and the Order itself) is to reach the Source, to reach what they believe to be the one and true 'God'. They do not contest that there are many deities, that is apparent enough, but what they propose is that all gods, spirits, and even the souls of mortals stem from a single source. This Source, the Cause of all is God in its truest and most pure form. Aside from their theological and occult studies, many Theurgists are also skilled surgeons. While both friend and captive to their brothers within the Order, the magicians are represented within the council by the greatest of their number, the Hierophant. Dressed in simple robes of crimson, those Theurgists who distinguish themselves in their service to uncovering the mysteries of the arcane and divine, are permitted to wear a tabard of gold. This resplendent raiment represents the initiates growth and the beginning of a process of self transformation into something greater.

When the Knights of the Seal were founded, they allowed the study of Theurgy and similar high arts within their ranks, as not only did it provide weapons against the fouler magicks, but it meant that they could cultivate an environment which promoted learning and discussion to better understand God, and therefore the world. This holy mission is what drives the Order's members to seek out esoteric knowledge, to record or destroy for the betterment of all. No matter how far or long they must ride or sail, the Defenders and Scholars of the Consecrated Seal of Trismigestus will stamp out foul hedge-magick and those who would threaten their mission to understand the nature of the All in All.

When word of this horrid sorcerer and his claims of apotheosis reached the ears of the Knights of the Seal, the Holy Order wasted no time committing advisers and a small contingent of Knights and Sergeants to the war effort. The ire of the Order only grew at the news their brothers had been lost to the depths, foul magick destroying the fleet. Now they prepare for the second assault, faith and fury fueling this newest Crusade.

[TheFake]

The Betrayers

Champion

Name: Alexander Scariot The Betrayer
Race: Human Forsworn
Known Racial Abilities: The Curse of the Forsworn
Age: 316
Appearance:

Renowned Skills: As the leader of the Forsworn, the betrayer possesses an almost peerless ability with the sword. It would have to be, for him to have survived the front lines of so many battles
Magic: None
Weapons: A battered two handed sword. He isn't very particular about his weapons. Whatever happens to be on hand at the moment is good enough for him.
Armour: A red cape over black leather armor. He wears black steel gauntlets and greaves as well.
Steed: None
Bio: The Betrayer was formerly known as Alexander Scariot, Commander of the Morrins legion army of the Duchy of Morrins, Baron in his own right and a knight as well. Even then his skill with a blade was renowned throughout several kingdoms. Scariot was also a greedy, ambitious and spiteful man who gathered around himself followers who shared these attributes.

He walked alone into the Dukes keep, fighting through Morrins personal guard before besting the son, trained by Scariot himself, in single combat on the floor of the throne room. The Betrayer then cut down his Lord, whom he was sworn to defend until death. This blow ignited a bloody coup that lead to the entire region being plunged into chaos. His legion sought out the Dukes heirs, slaying them as he did their father. He delighted in capturing his enemies and listening to their pleas before executing them personally.

A subjugation force was assembled from several neighbor territories to restore stability. Of the three thousand warriors of the legion only two hundred survived. The enemies losses were more severe with only one out of every twenty men walking away from the battle. The Betrayer alone slew over two hundred enemies before being overcome after fifteen hours of pitched battle in the streets of the capital and was the last to be captured.

The survivors where clasped in chains and imprisoned to await their fate.

The Captain

Captain

Name: Serenity Kord The Last Captain
Race: Human Forsworn
Known Racial Abilities: The Curse of the Forsworn
Age: 297
Appearance:

Famed Skills:
Magic: Aside from the curse that afflicts the rest of the Forsworn, The Last Captain posesses great skill in illusions honed over the centuries and used to induce fear and confusion in the enemy.
Weapons: A long, tapered Estoc
Armour: Black plate armor imbued with illusion spells and adorned with black feathers
Steed: None
Bio: Serenity Kord was a captain in the Morrins Legion, commander of the first company. The Last Captain shared his ambition and saw his coup as an opportunity that would later enable her to seize his power for herself.

She served under The Betrayer during his coup and led her force into the capital to strike the lethal first blow against the civic guard there. She played a pivotal role in the conflict to come, her sorcery routing the enemy often before the battle was joined, enabling the fleeing soldiers to be hunted down and killed like wild game.

In the final battle she paced her commander through the streets, confounding pursuers and nearly matching him in ferocity and bloodlust. She was captured by his side as the exhausted pair attempted to break through the cordon around the city, the last officer alive out of the entire legion.

The Forsworn Legion

Regiment

Regiment Name: Morrins Legion The Forsworn
Banner: An unadorned black pennant carried by the Captain
Nationality/Race: Men of the Dutchy of Morrins The Forsworn
Racial Specifics: The Curse of the Forsworn
Size of Host: 10
Specialty: Mixed
Typical Arms: Assorted swords and shields, pikes. Alchemical munitions.
Typical Armour: Full plate armor for the majority, assorted modifications
Typical Steeds: None
Magics Used: The Regimental Mage, Cinder, uses sorcery to throw tiny but incredibly hot orbs of liquid fire.
History: The surviving members of the Forsworn today are but a fraction of their original number, an even smaller fraction of those that forswore their oath to defend their lord. Though hard to kill, many have fallen over the nearly three centuries of their servitude and earned their oblivion. These that remain are the toughest and most skilled of their number. With their betrayal and eventual defeat their true names were stricken from the record and they were given titles and pseudonyms.

The Betrayer, The Last Captain, Stitches, Cinder, Cook, Breaker, The Lance, River, Stout, Hook, and The Sisters

After the siege and final battle in the capital city of Morrins the survivors of the legion were held to await their fate at the hands of the last of the Morrins bloodline. They spent three years in the very dungeons where The betrayer had kept his victims. They were stripped of their titles, names and the very mention of them was wiped from history.

The aging grandfather of Duke Morrins was a formidable sorcerer. He forced upon them a new oath, a curse, and forced them into service for the benefit of man. The Forsworn are compelled to seek out threats to mankind and lay down their lives.

—Stitches—
A native of the, then unsettled, territories south of the duchy of Morrins. Rather than adorn their bodies with ink these individuals embroider their own flesh with dyed thread. Stitches uses a pike as he was already familiar with the long bladed fighting spears of his homeland. His armor is the lightest out of all of the surviving Forsworn with leather vambraces, leggings and greaves while his chest is left bare.

—Cinder—
Cinder is the only other surviving mage other than The Last Captain. He uses fire magic and makes high temperature, high speed miniature fireballs his specialty. Cinders weapons of choice are a short sword in his right hand and staff in the left. For armor Cinder sticks with the traditional, though outdated, banded mail from the legions inception. Over this he has a black cloak.

—Cook—
Cook... can't. Nobody is even sure why he's still alive. If the enemy haven't killed him then it should have been inevitable that someone else would have long since stuck a knife in his back. Along with Cinder, Cook is the only other Forsworn to wear the traditional banded mail. He weilds a longsword and shield.

—Breaker—
Breakers name comes from his often broken nose. He wears heavy plate armor and uses a short, heavy shafted spear with a wide blade. On his left arm is a large kite shield.

—The Lance—
The Lance, like his namesake and preferred weapon, is a tall man in hard leather armor over chain. He is the fastest on his feet out of all of the Forsworn and can catch a courser at full sprint.

—River—
Rivers skill with a blade is second only to that of The Betrayer. Even so, their styles are totally different. Where The Betrayer uses single heavy blows to end fights River cuts her enemies to pieces in a rapid series of graceful movements like an expect butcher dismembering an animal. Her armor is light leather with thick steel vambraces that feature prominently in her fighting style. She weilds a pair of matched swords, one longer than the other.

—Stout—
Stout is a short fellow. He uses a lance to compensate for his lack of reach and wears full plate armor.

—Hook—
Hook comes from the far west along with the hooked blades from his homeland. He wears plate armor covered by a black tabbard trimmed in red.

—The Sisters—
The sisters are the only two remaining sappers and were actually the only two that survived the original siege of the capital. It must be divine intervention that either of them have survived thus far as less that half of sappers survive their first major battle. Their munitions are unstable and dangerous. Both Sisters wear thick leather armor and are armed with daggers.

The Curse

The Curse of the Forsworn

As penance for betraying their Lord, the Forsworn have been cursed to live and serve until they fall upon a battlefield. They have been given supernatural speed, strength and endurance as well as an undying thirst for servitude and absolution. They are semi immortal, able to be killed only through severe physical damage or outright total annihilation. They do not know fear and shall not waver when confronted with any foe. Battles have ended with Forsworn found days later buried under mounds of enemy dead.

The power of the legion is a constant, their spirits and will trapped in their quest for absolution. As their numbers shrank the individuals grew stronger, becoming more of what they had started out as. In the beginning they were merely unaging soldiers but now even the least of them are a true force to be wary of.

[Ashevelendar]

Champion

Name: Alexis
Race: Half-Demon / Half-Human
Known Racial Abilities:
Enhanced Endurance : The part of Alexis that is demon has given her the ability to sustain damage greater than a normal human would be able to sustain.
Enhanced Speed : Alexis is faster than a normal human making her appear as a blur to normal humans when she moves as fast as she can.
Enhanced Strength : Alexis's strength is greater than most people she met. She can lift a (let's say) troll without breaking a sweat.
Age: 21

Appearance

Renowned Skills: Alexis is known for her speed. Using her enhanced speed from her demon half and a little training Alexis became a fighter of renown when she used her speed to conquer a small island that was infested by demons. Taking control over them by killing a big number of them and then their leader in single combat.
Magic: Alexis rarely uses magic but has a small profiency in Fire Manipulation due to her demon-half. She is also able to create fire at will. Her magic solely taxes her stamina and constant use will quickly tire her too much for the body to sustain itself.
Weapons: Alexis uses two enchanted Warglaives of fire. Not something that a mighty warrior would wield but something that a fast fighter would. Hitting enemies faster than they can respond is something that Alexis always prefers and dual wielding also helps her to fight with multiple adversaries at the same time and hit from unexpected angles.
Armour : Alexis wears an armor made from demonic bones ( they are very light so that she can move fast ) and it imbued with small runes of fire ( the attacker is burned when it her armor ). Only her horns can be seen when her helmet is on.
Steed: Alexis is riding on a Cerberus dog in combat , allowing her "steed" to attack with her when needed.

Bio: 25 years ago a kingdom has been plunged into war. Demons attacked without warning , without mercy and without any kind of reason besides their blood lust. The humans marshaled a defense as strong as they could but in the end , only their capital city remained but it was too well guarded for the demons to penetrate. A Demonic Price named Marduk couldn't break the magic barrier that was put around the city , his demonic hordes couldn't brake it and nothing demonic could pass it. The demonic hordes stood in front of the capital for 3 years , when 22 years ago Marduk had an idea. A Trojan horse used to break the city from inside. He found a way to disguise himself so well that the barrier couldn't detect him. He disguised himself as a young handsome man that arrived by ship to the capital to help the Queen to end the demonic plight. After a few months she gained her trust by killing his own demons and somehow found herself in her bed. After 1 year in which Marduk tried to find a way to destroy the artifact that gave the barrier it's energy , Alexis was born. She didn't show any signs of being a demon for some time and when she was 10 , Marduk convinced her to touch the artifact and when she did the artifact exploded and the barrier fell. The demons attacked immediately and the city was conquered. Marduk decided it's keep his new daughter even if she was not a full demon but only half of one. Her better half soon appeared and horns started to grow from her forehead. Alexis hated Marduk after what he did to her mother and when she grew older she decided it's time to avenge her mother. She challenged her father to combat when she was 15 , of course she was quickly defeated and exiled ( as a gesture of good faith ) from the kingdom. Ever since she trained to become stronger and faster than she was was. Finally at the age of 20 , she returned to the kingdom and fought her way alone to her father's city. Everything changed from since she was a child , humans were in chains used as slaves for the their demonic overlords. Finally arriving at her father's throne she was full of blood and her armor was charred. Marduk laughed when he saw her but fought and lost to her. Alexis beheaded Marduk and had his head mounted on the wall as a reminder to the remaining demons that she was the one that killed their leader. After the battle she ordered those still alive to make her an armor and a weapon from the bones of the demons she killed.
After a few months she took control of all the remaining demons , freed the humans that swore fealty to her and killed those that didn't.

Captain

Name: Joe Preacher

Race: Possessed Human

Known Racial Abilities: Demonic Endurance
Demonic Strength
Demonic Willpower
Age: 73

Appearance:

Famed Skills: Joe is the only Demonologist Alexis has in her army. Joe is able to call upon on the demonic Gods and bring more demons for Alexis's army for a temporary time. He also possess the ability to enhance soldiers in battle making them fight even more aggressively.
Magic:
Imp Invasion
Joe opens up a portal to the demonic plane and summons 100 Imps ( they are the weakest creatures in the demonic hierarchy , they get killed fast and don't really do too much damage but are used to distract the enemy ) to attack the enemy and distract them from the real fight. If the Imps do not fight , they will disappear in matter of seconds.
Blood Rage
Joe casts the Blood Rage , a spell that will make anyone near Joe fight more aggressively and without fear of self-harm. They will become fighting machines for ( let's say ) 10 minutes and will do anything possible to defeat the enemy.

Eye Rain
Joe opens up a portal to the demonic plane and summons 20 Evil Eyes that can be used to scout an area before the army moves forward. If the Evil Eyes are killed they will explode in a small fiery rain. They can last for 10 minutes without a fight going on.

All of Joe's spells need him to be in a fight or for people to fight around him. If no one is fighting , Joe cannot cast any spell.

Weapons: Demonologist's Staff. A Staff made of cursed wood that can burn those that get hit by it.

Armour: *nothing special about it* *it's the armor seen in the photo*

Steed: Joe rides upon a Beholder that levitates. The Beholder itself can fire a concentrated magical "laser" from her eye.

Bio: Joe was Alexis's father's Demonologist and before that was the royal court's Magician. When Marduk infiltrated the castle , Joe was the only one that didn't trust him as he was the mage that put the barrier in the first place. When Alexis was born , Joe tried to read her future and he only saw fire all around her. Alexis's mother didn't believe him and with Marduk's interference Joe was sentenced to death because he was " spreading false rumors " about the princess. Marduk brought Joe outside the castle and then showed his true face , Joe was ready to attack him when Marduk called upon the demon that rides Joe's soul even now and 'thus Joe became the Demonologist. Marduk questioned him for days about how to destroy the barrier and only one answer was given to him "Only a human can do it. " eventually Marduk finished his questioning of Joe and removed his tongue. After a few years Alexis destroyed the artifact unwillingly tricked by her father. When Alexis was exiled , Joe was watching her with interest and would've left with her but he was still bound to Marduk's will. Eventually Alexis came back and Joe was happy to see her alive , when Alexis killed Marduk...Joe was finally released from Marduk's will. He was still in demonic form and couldn't speak but could for once control his own body. Alexis made him to do a Blood Pact ( if one of them dies , the other dies too. They also have a telepathically connection ) in order to keep him as her Demonologist. Now linked in both life and death , Alexis and Joe are good friends.

Regiment

Regiment Name: The Damned
Banner: Alexis's face with her horns burning
Nationality/Race: Demons
Racial Specifics: Pro : Demonic Endurance
Demonic Strength
Demonic Skin
Cons : Salt - Most demons cannot cross a line of salt and they feel intense pain when they come in contact with it.
Don't obey orders - Need constant reminding who is the boss
Aggressive - Demons are known for their aggression so they are the first that jump in battle.

Size of Host : 50 Pit Fiends
Specialty : Heavy infantry
Typical Arms: Vorpal Swords. Big swords that are always burning when unsheathed.
Typical Armour: Pit Fiends don't need armor as they are too big for it but their skin is thick and it's hard to pierce.
Typical Steeds: Pit Fiends are too big to have steeds but instead use their wings to glide when needed.
Magics Used: The only "magic" Pit Fiends have is that they are big and so creatures of the wild are usually scared by them.
History: The Damned are the only remaining Pit Fiends that swore fealty to Alexis after her conquest. The others were killed by Alexis to show the others who is the boss between them. Most of them still need constant reminding that Alexis is their leader but Alexis tends not to kill anymore because she cannot call more and they are too strong to be killed and left unused.

[Legion02]

Yrios

Name: Grandmaster Yrios
Race: Human
Known Racial Abilities: N/A
Age: 48
Appearance:

Renowned Skills:
Master of magic – It cannot be claimed that Yrios is by far one of the most gifted mages of the country, maybe even the world! His knowledge of the arcane is vast. His spells are refined and devastating. In many years of fighting traditional magic, Yrios has mastered the many arts and elements.

Way of the Warrior Mage – Founder of an entirely new way of fighting. A hybrid between common melee fighting and magical attacks. This brand new way of thinking lead to the revolution within the world of mages of Tal’Zaroth. He made the path, traveled it in dark to illuminate it for everyone following him. To this day he keeps on learning. Sometimes from his own pupils. But it uncontested that he is the true master of all 3 ways. This makes him a devastating warrior too.

Magic: Mana magic & Soul magic, quite capable in both but better with mana than souls.
Weapons:
First Orb – The Orb was probably the most revolutionizing invention that utterly broke with any dogma of mages. The small sphere is carefully forged and enchanted. The First Orb exists out of multiple pieces with a magical core keeping it all together. The earliest design of the Orb reveals that it was already intended as battery and channeling object. The First Orb has absorbed the magical essence used by its master for years now. Some apprentices claim it has a will of its own.

Yehzallith – The clawed gauntlet on his right arm. It is said that Yehzallith was forged in the burning fires of a tortured demon. That’s why fire can be cast stronger while wielding it. Fire itself is not stronger when wielding the gauntlet. Instead, it was made in the pursuit of soul magic. It makes ripping away souls from things so much easier. The inlaid gems keep these violently ripped apart souls and their energy contained.

Yrios’ Grimoire – The book containing all his spells. Yrios’ grimoire in itself does not grant a passive advantage. Instead, he can take it up to cast violently dangerous spells that mortal minds have trouble with remembering. The book enhances these spells.

Armour:
Armor of the First Hand – Far, far away there is an eastern country where all magic is forbidden except for enchantments. In search for the best enchanters of the world the First Hand, the king of that country’s right hand, set out to search the best enchanters. He stumbled upon Yrios’ guild and asked him to enchant his armor in the best ways known to the world. Yrios accepted the payment and set to work. This happened during the Purge and Yrios gathered the souls of his mage enemies and sealed them within Soul Gems. Eventually, over 8 masters of the arcane were sealed within the armor when it returned to the First Hand. His court enchanter felt how the armor was enchanted and told his master. The First Hand quarreled with Yrios and demanded that his armor’s honor was to be restored. Eventually, the two came to a settlement: Yrios would pay twice the sum the First Hand paid and would allow the First Hand to return with new armor to be enchanted. Thus it happened. The First Hand never trusted Yrios again. But he holds the best defense against Yrios’ spell. The second piece of armor now rests within the vaults of a faraway land. The first piece is worn by Yrios.

Steed: A simple brown horse by the name of Allistar

Bio: Yrios came from a faraway land himself. He encountered Tal’Zaroth upon his travels, after he gathered lots of knowledge and had developed his own style of magic. After defeating the established mages (and killing most of them) he now practically rules over the city. Still in search for more power. (for more details, read regiment bio)

Alycia Ultray

Name: Master Alycia “the Raven” UItray
Race: Human
Known Racial Abilities: N/A
Age: 36
Appearance:

With raven, black hair and a fair face, few would expect a human as Alycia to ever pick up the role of Witchblade. But she did. The fair woman stands a notable 5’11” with normal brown eyes. She’s often dressed in metal or chainmail. A testament to her skill as she can actually carry it into combat without tiring too quickly. Without her heavy metal armor and robes, one wouldn’t expect her to be so strong.

Famed Skills:
Blade dancer of Tal’Zaroth – Within the guild, breaking from all expectations and doing the impossible is not just allowed, it is encouraged. The Guild would not have risen so high as it has if some did not dare challenge the established order of things. One unwritten rule was that the blade and magic can never be wielded by the same hands. Alycia not just fought this rule, she utterly broke it. Grown as a dancer she learned how to be nimble and agile. Once she joined the Guild she joined the Witchblades. Where she combined agility, magic and the sword into a deadly dance.

Gypsy knowledge – The Gypsies travel the world from country to country. Squatting down in the outskirts of cities time and time again. Trying to sell their wares for far too much. They may not be schooled or learned like those in their mansions, but they talk an awful lot. Gypsies always know a bit of this or a bit of that from many countries. Knowledge that only grows with each generation. The Raven is granted this knowledge too.

Magic:
Gypsy Soul Magic – For long have the Gypsies dabbled in dangerous magics. But one that grouped them the most was Soul Magic. They called it many names, but in the end, it was just that. The Raven is particularly gifted in these arts. Though her ancestors used it for subtle things, the Raven has developed her natural talent into a terrifying skill. In battle she rips the very soul and essence from her enemies, only to cast the raw, unnerving energy right back at them. Many say she does this with such skill that they’d believe she is possessed by a demon or angry spirit. A final gift from her ancestors.

Weapons:
Cursed Blade of Yuindrin – Yuindrin was once a mighty warrior in service of Tal’Zaroth. When he fell, he was buried with full honor and his equipment. This was proven to be a stupid choice when a necromancer broke into the mausoleum and started raising the fully clad knights. Knightly Orders struggled to fight against the fellow but undead knights. Imbued with necromantic energies the undead vastly outperformed their living brothers. Thus the Guild was called in. Raven lead the attack, her soul magic tore on the necromantic energies inside the armor while she fought and slashed to weaken the binding. Eventually, the crisis was undone. But Raven demanded the sword of Yuindrin as part of her payment. The city conceded. Even to this day, it is whispered that the blade is a dangerous relic, filled with foul magic that should not be wielded.

Armour:
Darkcloak – A common witchblade cloak. In the common, dark colors of the Witchblades. It does not offer an immediate magical defense. But it’s a survivalist tool. Keeping the witchblades warm and sheltered from even the worst of storms.

Witchhunter's Bane – The armor of a fabled crusader marching against countless witches and wizards. The man once made the mistake of going up against a band of gypsies in a nearby town. Accusing their elders of foul and dark magic (he wasn’t really wrong but he didn’t have any proof). After hanging 3 elders, Alycia was finally allowed to fight him. In a humiliating duel, the Gypsy warrior won and the knight was forced to pull away. But not before he dropped his armor say it has been “bewitched”. As trophy she now wears it. If it is bewitched or not, many leave in the middle.

Steed: A black destrier named Yaga.
Bio:
Raven was born amongst the Gypsies. An elusive folk that travels from city to city. Staying where they are even a tad bit welcome. They dabble and trade for days. Until one morning they seemingly vanish. Few people ever saw the Gypsies moving. It’s as if they teleport from location to location (not true, they do actually travel). Raven had a strong gift for the Gypsy’s magic. Amongst the outskirts they squatted down, there were plenty of small life with souls ready to be manipulated. From a young age, the girl played with the souls of rodents and other creatures. She found it more enjoyable than to play with other children.

The Gypsies were a common target for Witch Hunters. They were sedentary and often near towns, thus easy to be found. While Gypsies had a gift to sense approaching, real danger. This one Witch Hunter came far too fast for them to just vanish. He caught the group, and imprisoned them. In their own ground. Building a palisade around the Gypsy camp. Every dawn he took one of the elders for “interrogation”. Said elder often returned covered in bruises and in pain. Some returned with their noose still attached to their neck. The lament of the Gypsies grew louder and louder. Until the Witch Hunter made the foolish mistake and tried to take Alycia. Who cut him with a normal kitchen knight right under the eye. She demanded he’d fight her. He initially refused, saying he would never fight a girl. But enough taunts from the camp (and his own soldiers) forced him to fight Alycia.

With constant, swift attacks upon his sou, as well as the heavy armor he had to carry made him tired very quickly. While Alycia was practically dancing around the hulking suit with two knives. Singing and laughing as with every touch she drained him a little more or every scratch let out a bit more blood. Eventually, the witch-hunter collapsed and had to concede defeat. In an angry rant, he left his armor. It was pure coincidence that this battle was fought near Tal’Zaroth. But Yrios had seen the skill of the little girl. He recruited her and brought her under his mentorship. She grew up into a very powerful Witchblade. Striking down the foulest of dark sorcerers, but demanding justice from every overzealous crusader and witch-hunter that dared enter the lands of Tal’Zaroth. Equal measure darkness as so-called light has found its doom upon her blade. The most notable must have been her Mastership challenge. Where she lead a contingent of Witchblades into the Mausoleum and finished off the Lich that raised the heroes of her own city. After her return, she was proclaimed Witchblade Master. By her former mentor.

Mage Guild of Tal'Zaroth

Regiment Name: Mage Guild of Tal’Zaroth
Banner: A golden orb pierced by a silver sword with a closed eye in its hilt. The orb and sword both are flanked by green laurels. All this rests upon a field of black.
Nationality/Race: Independent/Various
Racial Specifics: None
Size of Host:
50 Witchblades
50 Sorcerers
50 Warlocks
60 Apprentices (20 per group)
Specialty: Short-range to close quarter magical combat
Typical Arms:
Witchblades – Swords, maces, Glaives with the occasional potion
Sorcerers – Orbs, Crystal shards, Staves
Warlocks – Staves, wands, scepters, daggers

Typical Armour:
Witchblades – Witchblades commonly wear leather and chainmail to remain mobile yet still protected. They never wear a shield, though. Due to their heavy equipment (which is often enchanted) as well as the potions and poisons they carry, a Witchblade often wears a circlet of silver with a sapphire inlaid which aids in their focus to cast spells. However, this does leave them uniquely vulnerable to arrows and ranged weapons.

Sorcerers – Sorcerers stick with light and flexible, padded leather cuirass over ordinary clothes. While most Sorcerers do not expect to get hit by anything, it’s always nice to have a back-up.

Warlocks – Warlocks forsake any form of defense for comfort and maximum ability to cast their spells. They wear long robes made of cloth, commonly enchanted to aid in their spellcasting.

Typical Steeds: Horses

Magics Used: Nearly all magic is allowed to be used within the Guild. However, through many years of refining, it was decided that Mana-based magic is the best to be used. Not only because of the ease it offers but also the power. It is a perfect balance.

Elemental magic – Fire, air, water, and earth. Many Witchblades (and some Sorcerers) use mana to drive the elements to their will. Often to devastating effect. Elemental magic is also the easiest to use but sadly does not scale to higher tier spells so well. Witchblades & Sorcerers like Elemental Magic for the ease of use in the midst of combat.

Imbue – Imbue calls upon magical forces (elements, mana,…) to temporary power up equipment and weapons. For example, a Witchblade will often imbue his weapon with fire, thus make it burn or superheat the metal. Commonly used by Witchblades and some Sorcerers

Mana magic – While changing mana or forcing it to drive elements is certainly easy, utilizing pure mana is far more powerful. Mana magic unleashes hellishly powerful spells that do not require any chants (just like elemental magic the Guild uses) BUT does require the caster to channel as much mana into the spell as possible. Pure mana magic thus depends greatly on the casters’ mana channeling. Mostly used by sorcerers and warlocks.

Soul magic – Soul magic is by far the most dangerous one and is only allowed to be used by Warlocks capable enough. Soul magic drains from the power of the soul. Mostly something or someone else’s soul. These spells are very powerful but very dangerous. As there is a constant threat that one would accidentally miscalculate their victim’s soul and thus start using their own. By many it is seen as Dark Magic and this is not untrue. Many old Warlocks often claim that soul magic brings one close to the Shadow Realm.

Alchemy - Some within, as well as outside, the guild often claim that potion making and alchemy is not really magic but rather a science. Those versed in the art tend to disagree. As the many ingredients required often come from mythical and magical monsters. Alchemy is an art practiced by nearly everyone in the guild. As it gives temporary boosts in accessable mana (not that advanced mages need this, with their enchanted equipement they often draw more than enough mana towards themselves) or increase the power of their spells.

History: How does a guild as might as that of Tal’Zaroth start? What and who allowed them to gather such power? These questions have long since plagued the long line of counts overseeing Tal’Zaroth as they have to watch how the Guild is more revered than they are.

It, in fact, all started with a lone traveler. A mage by the name of Yrios. He was young and studied magic from books. In that time such a thing was rare, as many with the magical gifts enrolled at schools. However, Yrios had gathered bits and pieces of many kinds of magic and made them his own. He developed a unique way of fighting. While still in its infancy, he was very capable in this self-made style. He started carrying out tasks for the people of Tal’Zaroth. Initially stupid things like killing rats or help herding cows. But as his recognition rose, so did the difficulty of his tasks. Soon he faced off against bandits and monsters in the field. Slaying them all. For Yrios was not a mere mage cowering behind robes and a wall of warriors to cast spells from afar. He dressed in leather, wielding a sword in his right and used his left palm to swiftly cast a flurry of minor spells, distracting his enemies and weakening them.

His reputation only grew until one of the school’s masters had enough of this “youngling’s ineptitude” and vowed to teach him a lesson. The vain master challenged Yrios to a duel. To be held at his own school to teach his own pupils, who have been admiring Yrios’ style of combat more and more, that he was just a warrior with a minor gift for magic. The duel lasted less than a minute. Yrios had taken a potion to enhance his speed and used his left hand to ward off the only spell the master could cast. With a blade at the master’s neck he was forced to forfeit. Thus began the years of challenge. Many more masters wanted to duel with Yrios. After a while they began to pay him for it, as they thought that winning from him would bestow great respect upon themselves. None managed it. Yrios grew with every duel. He learned how mages classically fought and used that knowledge against them. Most remained stationary and cast their barriers and offensive spells. Expecting the same. But none expect Yrios to move so fast or hit that hard. The interwoven spells in his combat were getting more pivotal in his takedowns.

Eventually, all the masters of the city had tried to take him down. All failed. This took many years and the lands surrounding Tal’Zaroth were now more at peace than ever. Thus Yrios started his own organization. But not in the ways of the schools. He began by training a single apprentice. The young boy, by the name of Aurelios, grew beside his master. Until he was deemed independent enough. Aurelios began to complete tasks of his own, following in the footsteps of his master who took another apprentice. Eventually, after many years the first 3 apprentices of Yrios became Masters of their own. Taking up their own teacher’s mantle. But the 3 apprentices had each a different philosophy and way of fighting. Thus they created the 3 branches of the Guild. Just like their master they each only ever trained 1 apprentice at the time. Who would after their training join the most preferred branch to rise to the status of master.

This all lasted, until the normal schools their masters once more thought they could best the Guild’s odd way of magical combat. However, this time they wanted to put an end to it once and for all. They tried to burn the Guildhall. To cataclysmic effects.

To them. Because one of their own younglings had told the Guildmasters about the plan. The Guild lured the masters into a trap. As they set fire to the Guildhall, the doors locked behind them and they could not escape. Some could protect themselves from the flames with magic to survive the fire. But on the following morning, they were unceremonially slaughtered. Then the Purge began. Guildmembers began to get assignments dictating to kill certain mages of schools. The city of Tal’Zaroth watched helplessly as one mage after another was found murdered in their own rooms. The Count depended greatly on both the Guild and the Schools to defend his city. He knew one was doomed and the other was rising. Interfering now would only have terrible consequences for his own city. Eventually either the mages joined the Guild or were slaughtered. And thus their reign began. They became irreplaceable to the city of Tal’Zorath. The power hungry guild forced the city council to join the Moonsong Alliance for various rights for magic users. But even now certain laws are bend to breaking point by the Guild. Who still desire nothing more than power and become the singular entity of rule over mages everywhere.

[Klomster]

Ze character

Name: Sir Tobrew De Castillair

Race: Human

Known Racial Abilities: None that i know

Age: 24

Appearance:
Beneath the harness Tobrew is a reasonably handsome man with a reddish brown hair. He has strong but lean muscles and walks with a tall straight gait.

Renowned Skills: Tobrew was knighted by the royal order of Mekhania dragoons when he was 18, after a childhood filled with rigorous training and etiquette. He learned the art of dancing and the art of swordsmanship. The art of hunting and the art of riding.
And to an extent to solve mechanical problems, like all citizens of Mekhania.
Apart from his excellent dancing skills, Sir Tobrew Castillair is not a remarkable member of the Mekhania dragoons. His membership at all however denotes him as a mighty warrior and few individuals in the entire world has the skills to even attempt its trials.

So, skills

Comparing to the 1 to 10 scale.
Skills: Exceptional swordsman 6, exceptional arcanotech beast rider 6, medium arcanotech repair 3, prominent Mekhania dancer 7,Mekhania poetry 5, singing 4,

Magic: None

Weapons: He has a pistol sidearm mostly for dispelling especially troublesome lowlives, being a knight however would mean it would be dishonorable to fight someone with such a simple tool for keeping your foes at bay.
Although, such rules only refer to knights anyway. Other nuisances can easily be taken down at range without risking lost honor.

He has a flamberge bladed rapier of a lightweight Mekhania Los Snaz'Rahia steel that can easily pierce even the thickest cloth, while retaining it's flexibility in the thrust!
It is of exquisite quality and flair with its blade blued halfway. A sign of good craftsmanship.

His primary armament however, is the Mekhania dragoon pyre lance! A weapon only wielded by the Mekhania dragoons. Built by arcanotech mages with a self charging power crystal, it can shoot streams of sanctity upon its foes!
It is also a sturdy all steel lance with massive heft, too unwieldy from one not from the order of Mekhania dragoons to wield in combat.

In his belt a misericorde dagger decorated with gold thread, engraved into patterns of lilys.

And a warhammer, lightweight, one-handed. Carried by every knight of Mekhania.

Armour: The standard war maillé of the royal Mekhania dragoons, or commonly shortened to dragoon maillé.
A suit of all encompassing steel plates that cover the body from top to toe, its only weak points being the eyes which only has thick shatter resistant glass to protect them.
The only joint not covered is the palms of the hands, the dragoons would complain so much of grip otherwise. And bolting the weapons to the armour was annoying.
Dragoon maillé is impervious to all normal slashes and strikes from swords, it is highly resistant to all other forms of weaponry as well.

Magic can still trump it, but it has a complex system of leading heat away from the user, so attempts to use temperature against the user will commonly fail unless it is of a massive scale.

Steed: See mount details below

Bio: Sir Tobrew De Castillair was the first son of Sir Roberriaz De Castillair, the archduke of Pembral. Being the first son he was sent to become a knight in service of the royal court.
Tobrew was a good page and dutifully performed his tasks, at the age of twelve he was among the best at fighting and excelled at courtly dance.
At age 16 he passed the trial of knighthood and served the court of Mekhania as a knight. For two years he fought the enemies of Mekhania, which is mostly rebelling noble families, but nonetheless enemies.
At 18 he passed the trials of the Mekhania Dragoons, donned the dragoon maillé and rode into battle upon one of the battle mounts of Mekhania. A great honor, to serve the king as a honorary bodyguard and the kingdom's elite troop.
However recently sir Tobrew De Castillair dishonored himself greatly, while attending a noble feast he failed to express his uttermost respect for the princess. Therefore he was sent to help with this liberation thing against this wizard or whatever.
Being a dishonored lord, he needs to regain his honour. Preferably in court, but seeing that the princess personally requested he be sent far away that is impossible.
Now he rides to war, to aid the other champions in battle.

------------------------------------------------

Ze mount

Name: Zeta Aurora Kaotica 1114, nicknamed "Aurora Kaotica Eleanora" by Tobrew.
Race: Techno-arcana
Known Racial Abilities: If a technoarcanist works on it, it can be rebuilt to house more fascinating mechanical functions.
Age: 6
Appearance:
A brazen wyrm, with wings of constructed feathers, four legs resembling those of an eagle and a tail like that of a spined lizard, all constructed from gears and sprockets, plates and springs that work to create what could resemble a living being out of brass.

Renowned Skills: Excellent aerial mobility, and to shoot forth rays of holy sanctity

Magic: No magic apart from the enchantments to make it work

Weapons: Razor sharp talons, a spiked tail and sharp teeth. Also the raycaster which produces the rays of holy sanctity

Armour: Up to an inch of brass in its places. But it has weak spots. Generally speaking the armour is about 3mm thick

Steed: The steed does not have a steed

Bio: Zeta Aurora Kaotica 1114 was the 1114th dragoon mount of the flying cadre, it is the personal mount of Sir Tobrew De Castillair

Extra notes

The mount is probably about as intelligent as a clever dog, it does not function properly unless ridden.
In a straight up fight on the ground it would probably lose against 50 trained men with polearms with enough strength to strike through the brass plates.

And yes, 'rays of holy sanctity' is frikkin lasers.
I mean come on, why NOT have a steampunk dragon that shoots frikkin lasers?
It loses focus on ranges over 100 meters.

[Dead Cruiser]

CHAMPION

"I have seen nations and peoples reduced to ash and ghosts. It brought no pleasure, even to a heart as dark as mine."

N A M E

Volkimir Sturmkirk
Prince of Schattenwald

R A C E

Vampire

A B I L I T I E S

As a vampire, Volkimir is at once much more and much less than a normal man. His strength and speed are both inhuman; far greater than what can be attained by common men. He can see in darkness just as well as in light, can hear a heartbeat from across a full feasting hall, and can smell a living bloodscent from a league away. If he so chooses, he can move in complete silence, become invisible, or fly through the air like a phantom of night. Neither age nor disease blights him, and his half-living flesh is greatly resistant to cold and poison. However, he is cursed to feed upon the lifeblood of mortals, requiring at least a human body's worth of blood every turn of the moon. Sunlight is his bane, searing his skin and punishing him with migraines should he come in direct contact with it. Silver nauseates him, and the sight of his own reflection fills him with delirium. Moonlight reflected in water or by a silver mirror inflicts Volkimir with temporary blindness, should it meet his eyes. Though he can recover from wounds faster than mortal men, any wound inflicted by silver or living wood festers rather than heal cleanly.

A G E

Roughly 600 years old.

A P P E A R A N C E

As an ageless vampire, Volkimir is considered to be an avatar of dark and forbidden beauty. Seen usually as a tallish man with the well-balanced build of an experienced warrior, Volkimir Sturmkirk is a striking figure to behold. His features are sharp and angular, balanced by his masculine brow and strong jawline. His eyes are the most distinctive feature of his face; their black sclera and golden, luminous irises are distinctly inhuman, and Volkimir's gaze is piercing and predatory. Sharp, white fangs are revealed whenever he smiles or speaks, and his incisor teeth seem unnaturally sharp and jagged. His hair hangs to the top of his shoulderblades, and is so fair that in most lighting it seems completely white. Volkimir's skin, while usually so pale as to seem translucent, takes on a sickly, ashen hue when exposed to sunlight, stripping away his last disguise of humanity.

S K I L L S

Most mortals have but a few decades to practice their skills, whereas Volkimir has had centuries to perfect his own. He is a swordsman par excellence, wielding a bastard sword with inhuman power and grace. Having trained with countless warriors in faroff lands, he is familiar with a variety of unique martial arts. A manhunter by the merit of his cursed blood, he is just as well versed in the arts of tracking and stealth. His skill as a statesman and general are both profound, and he speaks many tongues both living and dead. Considering himself a master manipulator, Volkimir can twist the wills of mortals as easily as a puppets' strings. His many years spent traveling and exploring abroad have given him great knowledge of exotic cultures and their esoteric practices.

M A G I C

By plumbing ancient ruins in distant corners of the world, Volkimir is master of many magical practices forgotten by mankind. His favored spells fall under the domain of "sangromancy," a rare and secretive school of black magic that specializes in manipulating flesh, bones and blood. As a sangromancer, Volkimir can raise undead servants, imbue himself or others with unnatural strength and vitality, sap and absorb the strength of others by draining their vital energies, induce rapid decay and entropy, create strange structures and objects from biological matter, mend wounded or blighted flesh and bone, or simply force the flesh of his enemies to turn to ash. One of the most advanced applications of this dark art is to willfully control the blood and musculature of a living creature, allowing Volkimir to turn anything that bleeds into a flesh puppet. Naturally, such an esoteric school of magic takes its toll on even Volkimir's inhuman constitution, but he has adopted the technique of consuming the life-force of others with his magic, thus forcing his enemies to be the fuel source of his magic.

W E A P O N S

Almost as famous as the man himself is his legendary sword, Elbrus, the Bound Blade. While ornate in design and flawless in construction, Elbrus is quite unusual in having been forged of a metal not known to earthly smiths. The blade is seemingly unbreakable, with an edge as sharp as winter, and so dark in color that it appears to consume light rather than reflect it. Intensely magical, the sword absorbs the life-force of those it wounds, giving Volkimir a considerable advantage in lengthy duels. However, this is not a mere enchantment; Elbrus has bound within it a powerful demon, sealed within the sword countless ages ago by a holy warrior that gave his own life to contain the monster. The sword has an unspeakably unholy aura to those sensitive to such matters, and the demon whispers foul promises and fouler threats to anyone weak of will that comes to wield Elbrus.

In his travels Volkimir acquired many other trappings and trinkets, relics of bygone eras. Remarkable is that the man has never crafted sorcerous weapons for his own use. Rather, he "borrows" his material strength from more ancient heroes, his ancestors and forebears. Such reappropriated artifacts include the Helvault, a mysterious meteorite rumored to imprison 108 different demons, and the spear Encarmine, told in myth to have been wielded by a dragon-slaying angel of ages past.

A R M O R

Volkimir's "signature" attire strikes a balance between the practicality of adventuring clothes, the mystique of a dark magician and the regalia of a noble knight. A floor-length, ornate leather coat is worn over a enameled, ruby-encrusted breastplate. Engraved armor plates are set into the shoulders and forearms of the coat, the shins of his black, woolen trousers, and the toes of his thick-soled leather boots. His distinctive coat is apparently filled with numerous hidden pockets and compartments, and can deploy a hood to shield him from daylight.

While said by some to contain the damned souls of every person that he has killed, in reality his accouterments are rather mundane. While it is of luxurious quality, it is simply steel, enamel and leather. More worth of rumors would be the large ruby embedded in the center of Volkimir's breastplate. Any life energies that Volkimir himself cannot contain within his own body, he stashes away in this sangromantic gemstone, saving the excess power for times of distress. In the numerous secretive compartments in Volkimir's coat he has stashed a variety of small trinkets found in his travels, miniature bottles containing potent potions and poisons, easily-concealed supplies such as blades, lockpicks and matches, several varieties of coinage, and small scrolls and books that he is fond of.

S T E E D

The stables of Castle Sturmkirk breed a most peculiar variety of destrier. Thickly-built warhorses with fur as black as pitch, eyes that burn like coals, and mouths filled with vicious fangs. Some manner of horrific curse afflicts these animals, as they know no fear, cannot tire, spit boiling tar from their toothy maws, and hunger madly for human flesh. Normally vicious and impossible to control, they become docile, almost submissive, in the presence of vampires.

Volkimir's personal steed is Stralucitor, a particularly vicious mare that will break her bonds to hunt down human children if tied down with anything less than iron chains.

B I O

Schattenwald, once merely a modest province of jagged mountains, misty ravines and dense forests, is a cursed land. Legend holds that many centuries ago, a dread sorcerer known only as the Shadow Prince sold the souls of his people in exchange for immortality, and so turned Schattenwald's nobility into a brood of vampires. The land quickly became a nexus of darkness and evil, as the common folk of Schattenwald were cruelly oppressed by their inhuman lords, and monsters of all varieties sought refuge in the deep forests and mountain slopes. The land itself festered with gloom and despair, damned in the eyes of gods and men alike.

Volkimir Sturmkirk ventured forth from his homeland after only two-hundred years of blood-soaked unlife. A scion of the ruling noble house of Schattenwald, he tired of the debauchery that made up their daily existence, and set off into the world in self-imposed exile. He sampled the multitude of customs and pleasures offered by exotic peoples around the world, and sought adventure in the ancient ruins of faroff lands. As he cared little for material wealth, he instead collected treasures of the mind; he learned and experienced all he could from those he met, and committed to memory the many secrets and forgotten lore he found in the darkest depths of tombs and catacombs. In time the art of magic became clear to him, as well as the way of the sword.

After extensive travels, Volkimir returned to his homeland to find it teetering on the edge of calamity. The human population of Schattenwald bordering extinction, the vampire lords had turned their attention to their neighboring lands in order to sate their endless hunger. Volkimir saw that this course of action could only end in two ways: with his noble kin steadily conquering and eventually wiping out the human race, or his people being exterminated to end the threat they posed. To prevent either outcome, he mounted a force of his own, comprised of the most black-hearted mercenaries, scorned outlanders, and rogue monsters. He preemptively struck Schattenwald as they prepared for war, and with much guile and skill conquered the land that was already his birthright.

His kin saw him as an usurper and a traitor, and the nations he saved never knew that they were in danger. Now Prince of Schattenwald by right of conquest, Volkimir set to work restoring a semblance of dignity and prosperity to his homeland. The few noble houses still loyal to him had their feeding tightly regulated, and a deal was struck with the remaining humans. In exchange for a modest tithe of blood, the vampire nobility would commit themselves to protecting their mortal vassals from the myriad horrors that had taken up residence in Schattenwald. Volkimir himself put great effort into allying, bargaining or binding the dark forces at work in the land. Institutions were established to train mortals in the skills of arms and magic to aid them better against evil. He sought not to exterminate the darkness in Schattenwald, but to bring it into balance. As decades passed, the population slowly recovered, and what was once a midnight-dark despair became a bittersweet twilight.

Only in the last ten years has Volkimir managed to approach other nations diplomatically. As such, Schattenwald is now a loosely-affiliated member of the Moonsong Alliance. Its peasants sometimes meander into neighboring lands to hawk wares and crops, as well as such strange resources left behind by the monsters they slay. Schattenwalders are said to be a grim and somber people, but earnest and remarkably modest. With the recent crisis in Everstrine, Volkimir held back to observe as the other members of the alliance sent their forces forward. As their initial fleets were destoyed, Volkimir realized the gravity of the situation, and saw the threat it posed to the world at large. Assembling his finest warriors, the Prince of Schattenwald himself set forth to bring down the errant wizard Gargth.

REGIMENTS

The Death Company

"Even if we cannot save this world, we shall be its bloody vengeance."

N A M E

The Death Company

B A N N E R

The myriad banners of the vampire houses loyal to Volkimir, each with their respective heraldry.

R A C E

Vampire

A B I L I T I E S

As a legion of vampires, the Death Company is stronger, faster and more durable than a human warhost could ever be. Each soldier boasting centuries of experience, this force is vicious and lethal, able to overcome armies that exceed their number by orders of magnitude. However, this power comes at a cost. The Death Company is almost completely incapable of combat during the hours of daylight, and their bloodlust leaves them prone to causing tremendous collateral damage when fighting alongside humans.

S I Z E

100 Mounted Knights

S P E C I A L T Y

Heavy Cavalry

A R M S A N D A R M O R

Comprised of noble knights and their noble benefactors, the Death Company wields superb equipment, such as castle-forged steel and a variety of heraldic heirlooms.

S T E E D S

A variety of undead horses, from the merely ghoulified, to the zombified or skeletal, to the vampire-steeds ridden by the knights of House Sturmkirk.

M A G I C

The soldiers of the Death Company are mostly warriors rather than mages, but a few among them have some moderate command of shadowy forces such as necromancy and blood magic. This serves mostly to further their effectiveness at decimating enemy infantry.

COMMANDER

"As we muster for war, I have little patience for lethargy or recalcitrance."

N A M E

Ioana Lurenbraum
The Black Widow

R A C E

Vampire

R A C E

Roughly 400 years old.

A B I L I T I E S

Ioana carries all of the same powers and weaknesses as the other members of her cursed race. Her bloodline in particular seems adept in the powers of flight and unnatural speed, and are particularly prone to bouts of violent bloodlust.

S K I L L S

Having served as one of Volkimir's lieutenants in his conquest of Schattenwald, Ioana is well adjusted to his method of command, and is a formidable leader in her own right. A more formally trained warrior than Volkimir himself, her martial skills primarily reside in heavily-armored cavalry charges, but she is also an adept duelist. However, her discipline is not infallible, as she has been known to break ranks and leap from her steed to tear through her foes with claw and fang.

M A G I C

Ioana is not a mage in any capacity, but is adept at the vampiric power of flight.

A R M S A N D A R M O R

Ancient relics of House Lurenbraum accompany Ioana into battle. Fine steel armor, encrusted with blood rubies, as well as a massive, black broadsword named "Bloodsworn." While it does not carry any magical properties, Bloodsworn is a huge, somewhat crude weapon that embodies Ioana's savagery in battle. It is so heavy that it could not be wielded by anything less powerful than a vampire.

S T E E D

Ioana rides a study, steadfast vampire horse named Dragoon.

The Twilight Knights

"We carried hope in Schattenwald's darkest hours. Now we carry that hope to Everstrine."

N A M E

The Twilight Knights

B A N N E R

The Twilight Knights carry the colors silver and red, alternating between device and field, and with a variety of symbols depending on their home province and knightly brotherhood. The most common symbol seen is that of the most numerous brotherhood: the twin-headed spear of the Havengul Riders.

R A C E

Human

A B I L I T I E S

The Twilight Knights formed as a resistance movement in the years when Schattenwald's human population was nearing extinction, thanks to the abundance of monsters and other horrors lurking within their nation. They learned to fight against these evils as best they could with the means available to them, and aided towns and villages against attack. After Volkimir's conquest, they were supported by his regime to further strengthen the human settlements. They divided into various brotherhoods, each with distinct focuses such as the eradication of a particular variety of monster, or providing a specific service to people in need.

S I Z E

200 Riders, Men-at-Arms, Clerics and Rangers

S P E C I A L T Y

Light Cavalry, Monster Slaying

A R M S A N D A R M O R

Specialists in the field of monster hunting, the Twilight Knights tailor their equipment carefully to provide the greatest advantage against known threats. Silver, holy water, living wood and simple fire are common implements. Though better equipped than in their earliest days, they still carry an eclectic variety of weapons into battle, ranging from swords and spears, to whips and rapiers, and even crossbows and ballistae. Armor is similarly hodge-podge, as it is usually light to increase mobility. Riding coats and hats are common, and rigid armor is focused on such vital areas as the chest and neck.

S T E E D S

The Twilight Knights, being citizen soldiers, primarily ride work and farming horses. Some rangers have coursers better suited for battle, but these are mostly used as outriders. However, it is said that a warrior of light that is pure of heart may be visited by a mysterious creature called a hippogriff.

M A G I C

Clerical brotherhoods of the Twilight Knights (such as the Moonlight Sages) wield magics focused on dispelling curses, banishing spirits and demons, scouring the unholy and undead, and healing the sick and enfeebled.

COMMANDER

"Salvation is not granted. It must be earned at the edge of a sword."

N A M E

Thalia Traft
The Steel Angel

R A C E

Human

A G E

24

A B I L I T I E S

Though life has greatly improved for the humans of Schattenwald, it is still not an easy existence. To survive, one must be willful and steadfast, with a hard heart and a discerning eye.

S K I L L S

The leader of the Twilight Knight brotherhood called the Midnight Duelists, Thalia is an expert in hunting down roguish, deceptive creatures such as demons, vampires and shapeshifters. Despite her tender age, she is a highly skilled and naturally talented swordsman, and has never been bested in a duel. She is generally regarded as the leader of the Midnight Duelists (as the Twilight Knights have very little in the way of formal ranks), and has been accepted to be the acting leader of the Twilight Knights during this campaign. Despite her lack of experience or skill in commanding such large forces, she was appointed to this position by her peers for her inspiring presence and unshakable faith.

M A G I C

Thalia has some magical ability, primarily in dispelling illusions, removing curses and binding incorporeal entities.

A R M S A N D A R M O R

While her armor is a hodgepodge of various mantles passed down through the ranks of the Midnight Duelists, her sword is a genuine relic. A rapier of blessed silver, forged under a full moon, it is called "Moonveil," and inflicts particularly vicious wounds on foes of an unholy nature.

S T E E D

Thalia is one of the mythic few to have been graced by the presence of such a pure and holy beast as a hippogriff. It possesses a calming aura to those near it, and is a steadfast foe of evil and corruption. It often sails through the air, on lookout for enemies, but it cannot fly while Thalia is mounted on it. While she does not know its name, Thalia has taken to calling the creature "Spring."

The Mondronen Wolfpack

"We cast aside our fragile humanity, and embrace the ancient ferocity of the undying wild."

N A M E

The Mondronen Wolfpack

B A N N E R

The Wolfpack is heralded only the rising of the moon and their howls on the wind.

R A C E

Werewolf

A B I L I T I E S

Monstrous fusions of man and beast, most werewolves only transform into their animalistic forms at night. Some resist the change, and others seek it out. The full moon inspires a transformation that cannot be kept at bay, and heightens their ravenous instincts to overwhelming levels. More experienced werewolves, often those that have experience with druidic magic, have full control over their transformations and instincts.

In their beast-form, werewolves are horrifically powerful creatures, with claws capable of ripping through steel and strength enough to snap bones like twigs. They can regenerate from common wounds at an alarming speed, healing flesh wounds at a visible rate. Much like proper wolves, their senses are extremely sharp, and they can track a scent for many miles. Their endurance is unparalleled among living creatures, as they can run without stopping for a full night. However, they are ruled by their bestial instincts, which compel them to kill and destroy all in their path (though this can be curbed with a powerful enough Alpha leading their pack, or with strict discipline). Silver and wolfsbane are both repellant substances, poisonous to werewolves, and wounds inflicted by silver are horrifically painful and debilitating. Sufficient poisoning by these banes can force a transformed werewolf back into human form.

S I Z E

60-some Werewolves

S P E C I A L T Y

Scouts, Vanguards

A R M S A N D A R M O R

The Mondronen, as a cabal of druidic werewolves, have rejected their humanity and refuse to wield weapons, scarcely even wearing clothing. As they spend almost all of their time in wolf form, this is rarely an impediment.

S T E E D S

Similarly, the Mondronen refuse any form of locomotion beyond their own four paws.

M A G I C

The Mondronen practice numerous shamanic rituals and druidic arts, allowing them to commune with spirits of nature, exert moderate control over natural forces, and purify that which unnatural and corruptive.

COMMANDER

"Seeds of new life take root in the soils of old."

N A M E

Ulrich of Mondronen
The Ancient Alpha

R A C E

Werewolf

A G E

???

A B I L I T I E S

Perhaps the oldest werewolf in the world (one cannot say for sure, as even he has no idea how old he is), Ulrich is far from past his prime. His strength, speed and endurance are all still monstrous, and his mind has only sharpened with age, giving him deeper insights into the secrets of nature. His discipline and experience allow him almost complete control over both his transformations and his bestial instincts, which he can pass onto his pack by impressing these instincts upon them as their Alpha.

S K I L L S

Having spent many years hunting and surviving in the wild, Ulrich is a survivalist without compare. While he has spent most of his life in Schattenwald, learning its terrain, fauna, and flora, he quickly adapts to new surroundings to put his experience to use. He is no less fierce in battle than his age would suggest, and his many scars tell of a lifetime of struggles for dominance and survival. As a revered elder and long-time pack leader, Ulrich is a font of wisdom and experience. Though his specific experiences are not always directly relevant, they often hold some deeper meaning that can be discerned through insight.

M A G I C

A renowned druid, Ulrich is imbued with the spirit of the wild, which increases his ferocity and vitality greatly. Nature is home and guardian both to him, and he can shape its forces to meet his will. His abilities are often subtle, merely speeding or slightly diverting nature's intended course, or calling on natural entities for help and guidance.

A R M S A N D A R M O R

Ulrich's fur, claws and teeth are enough for him.

S T E E D

Once more, Ulrich is more than capable of keeping up (and often, well ahead) of Volkimir's host with the rest of his pack merely by running.

[Weird Tales]

champion

Name: Rhino the Pirate Lord
Race: Gnome
Known Racial Abilities: Gnomes are very agile and are able to see perfectly in the dark as well as talk with animals. Gnomes are also very intelligent and are almost always literate and can remember key details.
Age: 27
Appearance:

Renowned Skills: He is a superb swordsman and specializes in wielding sabres in one or both hands. Rhino is one of the best swordsman in the world and he jokes about being unbeatable. His knowledge of navigation and the environment is amazing and he is able to recall incredible amounts of information that he has read or heard. His leadership skills are extremely impressive and has allowed him to lead his band of pirates through many adventures.
Magic: Rhino is practitioner in Chimera Magic. Chimera Magic is the ability to take two or more creatures and merge them into one hybrid beast. First he summons two or more animals and then fuses them together into one creature. Rhino as of now is highly skilled at taking two to three animals and fusing them into one mighty creatures. The chimera has the abilities of all of the fused creatures and is completely under Rhino's command and has the strength and speed of the combined creatures. He can even supercharge them with his magical power to double or even triple their combined strength and speed.
Weapons: he uses two sabres and a dagger as well as a light crossbow
Armour: Rhino wears studded leather.
Steed: He rides a mountain lion.
Bio: Rhino was born to a poor family in the forests of a far land and ever since he was young he had dreamed of being an incredible swordsman. From the age of four Rhino trained in the arts of swordsmanship and through hard practice and the use of sticks he was able to become the best in his village. He eventually became frustrated with his living situation and had a falling out with his family. Gnomes always held family and community in high regards, but Rhino felt differently.

He then left his village and went out into the world for adventure. His journey soon led him to the coast and he had his first encounter with pirates. At first he wanted to avoid them, but his sword skills caught their attention and they offered him a place among their crew. Rhino got a feeling that they accepted him for who he was and would give him the adventures he really wanted.

Once he joined the crew Rhino rose quickly through the ranks and not too long he found himself as the captain of the crew. He then began to learn Chimera magic thanks to an encounter with a tribal shaman who lived alone on a forest island. After several years of many pirate adventures, Rhino managed to have many crews join together under a single alliance to increase their prosperity. Dubbing himself the pirate lord, Rhino became their leader and when the evil wizard Gargth the Fallen posed a threat, Rhino and his alliance decided to come to Everstrine's aid and combat the evil wizard.

The Pirate Alliance

Regiment Name: The Pirate Alliance
Banner: a black flag with a white shark's head and two crossed sabres underneath it.
Nationality/Race: Gnomes, humans, dwarfs and orcs.
Racial Specifics: They are made up of pirates of various backgrounds, but all seek the fortunes and glories of adventure. They believe that the strongest and bravest should lead. Each of the races brings something to the table.
Size of Host: 150
Speciality: light infantry, archers and some Mage Warriors as well as alchemist fire throwers.
Typical Arms: sabres, light crossbows, heavy crossbows, daggers, longbows, shortbows and alchemist fire, which is a chemical that can explode upon contact when being thrown.
Typical Armour: types of leather armor
Typical Steeds: horses or mules.
Magics Used: most of the Alliance uses basic elemental spells.
History: They were formed as an alliance between several pirate crews in the hopes of having more prosperity and avoiding needless fights with one another. It was successful and the Alliance saw much treasure and fortunes made through cooperation. They managed to pillage towns all across the known world, but when the evil wizard Gargth the Fallen summoned his armies to make war with the realm of Everstrine, The Alliance decided to get involved with the war effort believing that a less free world would mean less profits and treasures to steal.

[Footman]

The Emperor

"My life ends here, upon this island, with nothing but the empty void to avail me in this final act. Gargth has slain my sons, has slain my wife. He has surfaced to translate my sins into palpable tragedy. Enough I say, enough of this nightmare. By this campaign's end, I will finally know peace."

Emperor Rainald XII the Broken

---

Race: Man of Rhedrinnor

Known Racial Abilities: The Men of Rhedrinnor are a bastard breed of humans, descended from the controversial mix of human and Elven blood. Though whilst Half-Elves often bear the mixed qualities and flaws of their respective parents, the Men of Rhedrinnor have become diluted to the point that they are far more human than they are Elf.

An extended lifespan, enhanced senses and a peculiar grace bless these Men. As such, they are considered superior to the average human, and this is something they flaunt at every given opportunity.

Age: 191

Renowned Skills:

- Monster Slayer: The Emperor knows his way around the world's monsters. Indeed, he spent his youth killing them, and building his reputation as a renowned hero. His monster-lore is an invaluable tool when confronting the horrors of the world.

- Broken Mind: This man is beyond fear and temptation. He has but one goal, and no magic or form of persuasion can sway him from his personal crusade. Woe to any that try. He fears neither pain nor death, and no foe, no matter its origin, can stumble his cause.

- Master Swordsman: In his youth the Emperor was a legendary warrior that few could match in toe-to-toe combat. Though he has seen many, many winters since his glory days, he is still an adversary not to be underestimated.

Magic:

- A Heroe's Luck or a Villain's Curse: There is something divine about Rainald, though he bows to no God of men. He has a bizarre luck about him, something that seems to be protecting him, preventing him from a simple death on the battlefield from some nameless adversary. Call it Fate, call it Divine Guidance, but it would seem Rainald's life has a predetermined outcome.

Weapons:

- Redeeming Edge: A large bastard sword, heavy to wield but devastating on impact. Crafted from Rhedrinnon Steel, it is near-unbreakable, and can stand against its greater cousins. It was made at short notice, by the nearest smith that could forge such a weapon, and the Emperor spared no expense in its construction. Though simple looking, it has been masterfully made.

- Wrath: The Emperor's right hand is encased in a heavy gauntlet made from four-inch thick Rhedrinnon Steel. Though it weighs him down on one side, and impedes his movement, he is able to use it as a literal wrecking ball. A favourite weapon in his younger years, it looks daft on him now, but one would be unwise to belittle an old man caught in the grip of a sorrowful rage.

Armour: Like his sword, and his gauntlet, the Emperor's plated armor is composed of Rhedrinnon steel. Whilst it makes him almost impervious to edged weaponry, it by no means absorbs solid impacts. He is a titan of ragged muscles and steel, but he is not unstoppable - especially if his aged heart can't keep up with him.

Steed: Gilden, a great Swan. White to the point of glowing, Gilden can be described as beautiful, almost heavenly. Such creatures are native to Rhedrinnon, and are vicious things in combat. Able to shoulder great weights, the Swans of Rhedrinnon make some of world's finer aerial mounts.

Bio: In his youth, the Emperor was famed across the realm of Rhedrinnor as the heroic and mighty Crown Prince. His was the very projection of Old World might and splendour; a muscled juggernaut of black steel and fearsome determination, who would march selflessly from one quest to the next, slowly curing his homeland of the evil that periodically assailed it.

From Vampire Lords to Troll Warmasters, the Crown Prince was always mercilessly quick to track down his adversaries, with a troop of his father's Moon Guard at his back, and bring his wicked prey to swift justice and retribution. All Rhedrin menfolk stood in awe as his colossal status grew with each heroic victory, and all of the Rhedrin womenfolk wished their lives away wilfully that he may grant them his favour.

The Emperor's tale of grand deeds and epic sagas of justice was not to last however, and one tragedy befell him - and his House - after another.

His father and mother were first assassinated by Blarg the Great; a dark wurm, spawned from the sin of some bastard necromancer. Blarg fired Rhedrinnor's capital, smoting the mighty metropolis in a single day, and all of the Emperor's men were powerless to stop him... all but one.

Arriving late to the battle, but just in time to see his father's Palace immolated by the wrath of Blarg, the Crown Prince screamed in rage. He surged forwards upon his mighty Swan, though his Moon Guard buckled and abandoned him in his greatest hour of need - and this mighty man thus faced one of the greatest threats that Rhedrinnor had ever known, by himself, and with no man or woman to call kin.

The Battle of the Prince and the Wurm is a song known across the Moonsong Alliance, and it elaborately relates what is perhaps the greatest feat of a traditional warrior going toe-to-toe with something beyond his ken. Though whilst the song is short and beautiful, the reality was far different. Through a mixture of chaos, luck and perhaps something more, the Crown Prince delivered a fatal strike to the wurm's black-beating heart after an hour-long running battle. Horribly burned and in great pain, the Crown Prince raced to the Palace, but found it a smoking ruin that none survived. His brothers, sisters and his parents had all perished.

It is said the Crown Prince's strength failed him at this, and he broke into a sobbing lump of charred flesh and battered armour. Indeed, it took most of his Moon Guard to finally haul him away from the fires that threatened to envelope them all.

In the aftermath of Blarg's demise, Rhedrinnor was in bad shape. Half of her royalty and gentry had been obliterated by Blarg's fire, and the capital - and the seat of Rhedrinnor's power and wealth - lay in blazing ruins. For centuries the country had stood as a bastion of strength, and in a single day, and at the whim of a necromancer, its heart had been torn out; a mortal wound seemingly dealt.

Taking his Imperial Crown, Rainald wasted no time in launching the Necromantic Inquisition. What followed was a brief dark age, and the start of the Emperor's bloodiest chapters. Thousands of citizens from across the Rhedrinnor Empire were imprisoned and tortured to death on the merest suspicion that they harboured dealings with the necromantic arts. The Inquisiton would go on for some years, until Rainald finally relented in his fruitless search for the bastard that had summoned Blarg, and brought death to both his kingdom and his House.

With the bodies of his Inquisition's victims still warm, the Emperor was forced to confront a sudden and destructive Orcish revolt from Rhedrinnor's southern-most provinces. Enraged that his subjects would attempt to gain leverage whilst their country was reeling from Blarg's assault, the Emperor immediately rallied his armies and marched to meet the rebels.

Though out numbered six to one by the Orcish hordes, Rainald triumphed in a string of crushing victories, that saw the rebel forces collapse. Outraged at their hubris and their disrespect, Rainald made it illegal for Orcs to live in Rhedrinnor, and given that they could not simply move to another nation, he was effectively giving his nobles, commanders and other leaders of men all the permission they needed to move in and exterminate their Orc subjects - and take their lands for themselves.

And as Rainald's genocide raged in the south, the northern provinces succumbed to yet another Troll invasion from the Arcan Mountains. Gathering his battered army, the Emperor travelled north, and gave battle at Arcton City. He was again victorious, and his increased bloodlust led him to mount a horrific campaign in the Troll's home territories. The Arcan Mountains wailed for months with the screams of Troll children and women.

Horrified by Rainald's increasing brutality, something that had never been endorsed by his forefathers, the nobles of the Empire, and the Senators and the Prefects all mounted their own rebellion. Rainald came forth from the Mountains ahead of an army that had come to worship him, who saw him as something more than just a man; he was something terrible and divine, but also something mighty that had to be followed unto death.

The civil war wrecked the Empire's central heartlands, and lasted decades, until finally Rainald was able to fire the last rebel city - 50,000 men, women and children trapped and burned alive. He emerged from the rebellion mad, and broken. He had killed so many of his own countrymen, that he did not recognise himself anymore.

It was on the road back to the capital, that Rainald took his horse aside, drew his mighty bastard sword, and cast it into a ditch. Looking at his questioning men, he simply stated "no more can I do this butcher's work; let a stronger fool embark on this folly."

What followed was a time of peace and progress. The Emperor reformed the Senate, and gave it powers that equalled his own. He invested the Empire's dwindling coffers on civil projects, creating sewers and hospitals in the surviving population hubs, and then embarked upon a quest of great social and land reform.

Serfs were freed, and given land; slavery outright abolished. Minor revolts followed this, but this time Rainald dispatched his own commanders to handle the situation, with orders to be as gentle as possible. Many still died however, as is the way of things. Regardless, the Emperor's reforms brought more happiness than misery, and many were starting to forget the sins of his past.

Having courted and married Sereni, the Elf Maiden of House Crysglarde and perhaps the most beautiful woman the world over, Rainald was blessed with twin sons. Entwined with more Elven blood than their father, these boys would grow into fine young men with bright futures. The Emperor rested then, for his Empire was on the way to being rebuilt, he had a Queen he loved and adored, and two sons that would carry his name beyond the span of mortal years.

Unfortunately, Rainald's happy ending was not to be. Word reached him that the island nation of Everstrine had come under siege from a powerful wizard, a certain Gargth the Fallen. The reports stated that Gargth had accessed the fabled Shadow Realm, and had become mighty as a result. At a whim, this fallen wizard could create a legion of fearsome creatures with souls blacker than the night.

The Emperor saw something in Gargth's sudden appearance... something that reminded him of a marble city encased in flame, of a tumbling Palace and a great big black terror hounding the skies above.

With the leaders of the Moonsong Alliance calling for a general muster, Rainald decided that he was perhaps too old and too rusty to lead the charge, and that his sons, greater warriors both, should take his place. They were both honoured by his decision, and left immediately. Queen Sereni had begged them not to go however; had begged the Emperor to recall his order. The Emperor ignored what he saw as "womanly rantings", and bid his sons farewell, and saw them off as they joined a great host of the Alliance's mightiest warriors.

"You will not see them again, my Lord," Sereni had said, her face awash with tears and grief.

And she was right. They fell in the first Armarda, torn from their ship by a great wave - a wave sent forth by the all encompassing power that had become Gargth the Fallen. Rainald refused to believe the news at first, but eventually, as the days passed, he had to accept that the impossible had happened. Fifty thousand soldiers, wizards, clerics, sorcerers - the whole lot - overcome and slain by a single man.

Sereni, racked with inconsolable grief, threw herself from a balcony and died shortly thereafter; and as Rainald cradled her bloodied lifeless form in his arms, he wept. He screamed. He roared. The world had taken from him everything, and given him only bitter memories and a fractured conscience.

An hour after the Queen had been laid to rest, Rainald was donning his armor - not worn in decades - and calling for a sword. His advisors and generals urged against his folly, but Rainald paid them no heed. He dispatched summons to the leaders of the Alliance, and convened the second Council, whereby he convinced them to amass a second - yet smaller expedition.

Successful in convincing the Council on organising the expedition, Rainald made preparations for the Empire's rule in his stead - should he not return - gathered his regiment of Moon Guards, and sailed forth to find what peace he could.

Sir Gregnar Gardain

"Will you be my friend? I'm bored, how about we play a game? Oh, no, no I insist! You choose! I'm always happy to do whatever, and whenever."

Sir Gregnar Gardain, Honourable Captain of the Rhedrinnor Moon Guard

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Race and Abilities: Just an ordinary human; not even a Rehdrin! I got me no powers to speak of, no magic fire balls to launch forth from me arse. Just flesh 'n bone.

The Truth

Sir Gregnar Gardain is not as he seems. He is of the Dionysus, a shapeshifting race of tricksters who are thought to be incredibly rare (yet fully divine) Mountain Spirits. That is to say, they are immensely powerful - though wholly bored - spirits that inhabit mountainous regions. They have a great love of taking mortal form, and stumbling around like morons. They dedicate themselves to chaos, wine and ecstasy - though not always in that order.

Whilst in mortal form, their powers are heavily reduced and locked within the logic of the being they have formed a mockery of. However, it is said that to look into a Dionysus' eyes is enough to drive a mere mortal thoroughly insane, beyond the point of return.

They cannot be killed, but if their mortal forms are destroyed, then they must return to their mountain homes to recuperate before being able to resume their amusements.

Age: 27

The Truth

????????

Appearance: I ain't much in the way of stature. Not like some of them I lead, nah sir; quite a sickly looking fellow some'a the gals down the fun house call me. Pale skin, wet noodles for arms, much the same for me legs. Got a nice face though, all chiselled and handsome, with an awfully springy moustache below me nose... well, where else would it be? Not that it matters much, I never take off my helmet in public. Makes the men think I'm a little more than I really am, that way.

The Truth

This particular spirit has taken the form a sickly looking, thin man in his mid twenties. He keeps his helmet on so that he doesn't accidentally start driving people mad, thus breaking his immersion in the little game he is playing. Still, Dionysus have needs, and many a whore (both male and female!) have paid the ultimate psychological price for his transgressions.

Famed Skills: Yeah there's a no point in bigging this up really. I got a big gun, a real big gun. Won it from a Dwarven merchant in a game of dice. First time I fired it was when he tried to take it back from me and I accidentally pulled the trigger during the struggle. Never knew a head contained so much blood and gunk; damn near painted the whole bar with it.

Anyhow, when you got a gun like mine, you don't gotta be real accurate or real smart. Ya just point it toward someone you don't like, and pull the trigger repeatedly until they go away. If they still be standing after the thing stops a'firing, then I run... but I haven't had to test that little back up plan yet.

So aside from pulling a trigger, I guess one might also say I'm a natural leader. Something about the way I talk, they say, it inspires people to do courageous (insane and stupid) deeds of honour. Think it's 'bout the way I look, or maybe it's 'cus of the way I put extra grit in me voice when I speak to the men.

Or maybe it's 'cus I have a habbit of running into real dangerous situations, and thanks to Mr. Bang Bang, I usually come out fairly unscathed. Maybe it makes the men embarrassed, seeing little ole me doing things they have to think twice about.

The Truth

Sir Gregnar's men are more than aware of what he is. That's why they follow him, because he is more or less a living God who has so far proven an undeniable and indispensable ally in their recent endeavours. An actual Captain is imbedded in the unit, to take care of the regiment's day to day tasks, but it is this Dionysus that they follow into battle (though usually they have to point him the right way). To ease things along, all of the Moon Guard go along with the spirit's games, lest he realise they made him almost the moment they first found him and departs. To say their endorsement of him is reckless, may well be an understatement.

Aside from the fact that he is a powerful myth incarnate, Sir Gregnar's reaction speed is insanely quick, as are his movements in general. Thus he is able to use his gun to great effect, felling dozens of foes in the blink of an eye with its monstrous thunder. Furthermore, trying to strike the twitchy bastard down is incredibly hard unless you're extremely fast yourself, because he will simply step aside repeatedly and laugh at you (before blowing your head off, of course).

Magic: Like I said, I can't do anything fancy, I'm just a boring ole human, oh yes sir! My mother had a bit of a talent with it though, yeah, she used to do all sorts of funny things with her mind and stuff. Never understood it my self, and nah I never had much talent for the arcane.

The Truth

Though he is unable to use magic in his human form, even Gargth the Fallen would be cautious around a Dionysus if caught in their natural form. They are incredibly powerful, and if they willed it, could cause great damage to the world and the people living in it. As it happens however, Dionysus do not harbour any particular ill will to the planet as a whole. After all, what would be the point of breaking the game, rather than playing it?

Fortunately for Gargth, the Dionysus must destroy their mortal form, before resuming their natural state.

Weapons: My Dwarven friend who sucked arse at dice called this thing his "Repeata'". I think he meant "Repeater", but I like throwing on the accent for effect. Did it work? Anyways, it's like your average musket I spose, with a spinny thing in the middle that rotates everytime you pull the trigger. Got twelve holes in it, the spinny thing I mean, and all I gotta do is stash a bullet into each and then BAM it's good to go!

The Truth

One of Gregnar's first acts as his human mockery, was to con a Dwarf merchant into giving up his prized possession in a game of rigged dice. The weapon is a master-work of Dwarven gunsmithery, with a revolver mechanism that can carry a total of 12 pre-packed bullets, each as large as a human thumb. It is incredibly powerful, able to blast its way through most armour types. Though slow to reload, it can unleash a devastating and rapid volley - especially in the hands of Gregnar.

When the Dwarf merchant realised he had been tricked, he tried to forcefully remove the gun from Gregnar's possession. In response, the Mountain Spirit easily escaped the Dwarf's murderous clutches, and laughed manically as he unloaded all twelve chambers into the little man's face.

Armour: I look a bit like a run through a clothes line, don't I? Well I guess I was never one for fashion. Mother always said I did my best to look ugly, and I don't think that's true! But what can I say? My men gave me this armour, and said it would protect me, but that it would mark me out as their leader because it's so wonderfully colourful!

The Truth

Sir Gregnar wears a motely arrangement of plate armour and colourful tabards not of Rainald's House or the Moonsong Alliance. The Moon Guard gave him this armour for three reasons. The first being a simple matter of protection, the second that the Moon Guard would very easily recognise him in the fray of battle - and act accordingly - and the third reason? Well, if Sir Gregnar was to go 'rogue', it would not do for him to be wearing the Emperor's colours.

Steed: It's a er... a big swan. Like, real big. Never seen one like it in my life. I call it Dave. He's a feisty fellah, that's for sure, and gets real angry for no reason, like all the time!

The Truth

"Dave", is really called Larrel, and was formerly Gilden's (Emperor's Swan) first born. However, the first thing Gregnar did upon being gifted the beast was remove his helm - much to the sudden fear of the Moon Guard present - and stared into the Swan's eyes. Larrel is now as mad as a hatter, and is also now called "Dave". As a result of Gregnar's transgressions, the Swan is totally insane and will either attack or irritate (depending on luck) anyone that tries to mount it. However Gregnar seems to be able to control the Swan with little difficulty, and it does not fight him.

In fact, it's almost as if Gregnar was born to ride this swan, going by his hastily acquired riding skills.

Bio: Well after my Dwarf friend lost at dice, and then lost his face, I met some real wonderful fellows! They came bursting into the tavern, right up to the bar they did. Said they were the "Emperor's Men", that I had commited a crime, and that I was going to DIE!

Well I started laughing, and then they chased me around the bar in circles until they tired themselves. I laughed the whole time. And then I looked one of them in the eyes, and he started to find everything as funny as I did... though he sorta ruined the mood when he stabbed himself in the face with his sword.

Anyways, after that, the "Emperor's Men" suddenly wanted to be my friend. I always wanted a friend, and now I have loads of friends. I spent lots of time with my new friends, and we were always doing exciting things. I got a bit annoyed being hidden in a wagon all the time though. Bored as well. When I told them I was bored, they said I didn't have to be in a wagon anymore.

Then we were in a city, and they told me the Emperor himself wanted to meet me. He asked me if I wanted to play a really fun game called "War and Death", or "A vengeful crusade", or - ya know what? I can't remember. He said a lot of stuff about pulling peoples' heads off. I like games. I agreed. Then he said I was a Captain and that I was in charge.

The Truth

The Moon Guard were patrolling the streets of a border town when they heard the shots. Rushing into the tavern, swords drawn, they came across Gregnar. After chasing him around, and being unable to apprehend him, the first thought him to be mad - or some kind of drunken wizard. Then he made one of the men insane by looking at them, and he promptly killed himself in a fit of laughter. Luckily, one of the other soldiers present was superticious enough to believe Gregnar to be what he really is, and changed tactic. The soldier asked Gregnar if he wanted to be friends, and Gregnar whole heartedly accepted.

After that, the Moon Guard tested their control over their new found friend - a wholly irresponsible act on a grand scale. First they sent him to kill a group of bandits, by asking if he wanted to play "hunt and kill the bad men". Gregnar accepted, and joyfully killed the bandits in question without taking a scratch. Similar antics followed, and the Moon Guard began to stage more elaborate uses of their newest weapon.

Being all to aware that their charge could become incredibly dangerous if "bored", they took shifts in keeping him occupied with all sorts of errands, from the mundane to the outright bizarre. Their favourite was asking him to run to the nearest town and back, so that they could get a few hours of sleep - something he always whole heartedly agreed to do, and with such joy!

When the Emperor lost his mind, at the passing of his sons and his Queen, one of his soldiers mentioned Gregnar's existence to him. Immediately, the Emperor tracked down Gregnar and his handlers, and asked him if he wanted to play a game. Gregnar agreed, as he always did.

Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor

"The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor is as old as the Alliance itself. You'll find no finer fighters in the whole Empire. Few have withstood their ferocity, and even less have withstood a devastating rush from these Great Swan riding warriors.

The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor

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Banner: A white sphere on a field of purple.

Nationality and Races: Men and Women of Rhedrinnor

Racial Specifics: See Champion sheet.

Size of Host: 300

Speciality: The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor are a breed of heavy airborne cavalry, who ride great Swans into battle, and use them to dive at enemy formations with lance and fire.

Typical Arms: The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor carry great lances that reach twelve feet in length, all fashioned from the near-unbreakable Rhedrinnon Steel. They will typically dive at opponents, and skewer them at great speed and force.

If they lose their lance - or worse, if it breaks! - then the Moon Guard will draw their long swords. Although having much less reach, and disallowing them the use of their effective dive tactics, it is protection enough for the individual in question to escape the field of battle, and retrieve another lance.

Finally, strapped across their backs, are medium-sized crossbows with a hand-winch mechanism. Light, yet packing a punch, the Moon Guard are thus able to release a deadly volley from the air should the need arise. Traditionally however, the crossbow exists in their armoury as a means to counter airborne opponents that can out manoeuvre their great swans.

Typical Armour: The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor, whether man or woman, wear the same universal suit of armour. Made from common steel, but burnished so that it appears golden, the Moon Guards' layer of protection is heavy but protects them from all but the most determined blows... though it holds little sway with magic.

Typical Steeds: The Great Swans of Rhedrinnor are massive, splendid beasts that greatly resemble their much smaller, yet very distant cousins. Ill tempered and equipped with powerful beaks and wings, they are more than capable of dismembering smaller beasts and humanoids alike. They are famed for their strength, and for their ability to carry heavily armed warriors to bear.

However, they are generally slower than smaller aerial mounts, such as Great Crows, and suffer from wider turning arc lest their rider is a very capable handler.

Magic Used: All members of Rhedrinnor's Moon Guard are versed in elemental magic, specifically, the use of fire. Powered by mana, for which they drink potions, this basic art is used to unleash fireballs and jets of flame at enemy formations from above. It can be devastating in the right circumstances, but is limited to enemies that care for fire.

Typically, a single potion of mana will provide a rider with enough magical energy to cast several spells in quick succession. However, the effects are short lasting, and few in the Guard can stomach more than two of the foul-tasting, body wrecking brews in a single 24 hour period.

History: The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor is an ancient military body, established at the founding of the Alliance, whereby the Moonsong Treaty required in loose terms that a unified army be fielded by all member states. In reality however, the Kings and Emperors of the time rather sought to use the name for propaganda pieces; several Moon Guard regiments sprung up across the Alliance, and yet none of them swore fealty to more than one leader.

The Moon Guard of Rhedrinnor has served Rainald's House faithfully since its rise to the Imperial Throne, and only once has it faltered in protecting its charges. That was of course, during the battle of the Capital, where they failed in protecting the Emperor and his family, as well as fleeing when the Crown Prince required them most.

During the wars that racked Rhedrinnor following Blarg's fall, the Moon Guard formed the core of Rainald's ever victorious army, and their numbers ballooned from a mere foot-note regiment of bodyguards into an elite army of tens of thousands.

Unfortunately, the three hundred in Rainald's company are all that are left of them. Years of cutting back on military spending, topped by the great losses they suffered enroute to Everstrine, as seen this once proud army become a shadow of what it once was, and a reality of what it began as: unquestioning bodyguards.

[Bubsy 2]

CHAMPION

"I will show you my open palm, but it can just as quickly become a mailed fist."

N A M E

Shaerel Nurami, Lady of House Nurami, informally nicknamed the 'Red Maiden'

R A C E

Human of Barthon

A G E

26

A P P E A R A N C E

A young women is quiet the oddity on the battlefield, particularly at the forefront of a battle leading men. Shaerel doesn't give the impression that she's a great warrior or a commander. In fact, if anything, she looks as if she'd be better placed in court, attending some lordly husband- but appearances can prove to be deceptive. Her small stature gives her an appearance of meekness, standing at a mere 4'9", well below the average height for a woman her age. She has a slim frame with little obvious muscle to speak of. Her skin is pallid but not necessarily unhealthy looking, merely a pale ivory color. She has a predisposition to fidget, constantly playing with her hair or swaying her leg to and fro, giving her an appearance of restlessness. Her hair, although an unusual color, is surprisingly enough undyed- the silver color is a familial quirk. Her eyes are also a similar variety of oddity borne from her bloodline, an incredibly uncommon violet color that has been likened to a pair of amethysts set into her face. A sly smile often graces the young girls face. This smile can be found on her face often, seemingly set permanently into her visage giving an appearance giving an appearance of innocence and kindness. But the smile is merely a mask, in fact, almost everything about her outward appearance is an act. Her smile, her fidgeting, even her beauty is a tool to set others at ease and fool them into thinking they are dealing with a simple girl.

S K I L L S

The Nurami line has spent many centuries perfecting their unique fighting style. Their technique is twofold, first relying on their unique branch of magic known as 'Hungita'. Hungita is in many ways less of a formalized system of magic than a technique that allows the Human body to push past its ordinary limits. Most important to the Nurami's martial ability is the ability to greatly increase their natural strength. Although Hungita allows the Nurami to fight effectively its function is often understated due to the bombasity of their fighting style. More often than not the stories told of them are focused on their weapons- the most apt comparison is to a greatsword, although this vastly understates the size of their blades. The swords used by warriors of the house Nurami are gigantic in size, often being as large as the user themselves. Such a weapon would be ineffective in the hands of most, but Nurami warriors spend most of their life learning how to fight with the weapon which other might deem unusable. The real strength in such a weapon shines when used in conjunction with Hungita- with their strength amplified the Nurami warriors are able to use the weapon as effortlessly as a long sword. Shaerel is a master of this style of fighting, taking its core principles and elevating them- she is a natural prodigy with Hungita, and is able to effectively wield a weapon that is nearly twice as large as her. Obviously there are some drawbacks, but the advantages of such a weapon are great- she is able to easily blow away most enemies with a single overpowering strike, and the blade also has the advantage of being larger than most shields, allowing her to block effectively with her weapon. Besides being gifted in the art of Hungita she is an expert swordsman, likely in contention to be among the greatest in the lands, able to fight effectively with many weapons, particularly with her signature 'greatsword'.

M A G I C

Referring to Hungita as magic is somewhat deceptive- while it's core may be based in the manipulation of mana it can be more accurately surmised as a breathing technique. By infusing the air in which they breath with mana Hungita users can unlock their body's hidden potential- similar in effect to a dose of adrenaline but amplified many times. While using Hungita Shaerel is several times as a strong as a man at peak physical perfection and her other athletic abilities are also greatly amplified- she can run faster, jump higher, and outlast a regular human. Hungita theoretically has no limit- that is to say it does not need to be 'turned off'. As long as the user is able to maintain steady breath they can continually use it and any would be pressed to strain an able Hungita user such as Shaerel to the point where their breath become unsteady. Of course the drawbacks of a breathing technique such as Hungita are obvious- if they are in an environment where the are unable to breath such as a vacuum or underwater they will unable to maintain Hungita. Hungita is no trifling art- it is the result of a fine balance of mana. An inexperienced practitioner risks injury if they infuse too much mana or no effect if they infuse too little.

W E A P O N S

It is without doubt that Shaerel is best identified by her signature weapon, Dorendul. The sword borders on being a weapon of legend- it has been passed down the Nurami line for centuries and is deeply ingrained in the mythology of her homeland. It has been wielded by heroes and legends of mythological stature. It is the greatsword's even greater cousin- larger than even the massive Zweihänder, far larger even. The sword's stature is worthy of it's legendary repute, coming in at ten feet in length and being wide enough to match its user's frame. The weapon is heavy, so heavy that any normal human would be unable to wield it effectively. The blade's ridiculous proportions call for a wielder who can match its reputation, and Shaerel has found herself a worthy user of the sword. It has become an extension of her in many respects, wielded as naturally as one would use their own arm. The blade has an unnaturally bright sheen, the color better described as white than that of steel. It is made of no materiel known to man, as legendary swords tend to be. The sword has been placed under great stress during it's life, and appears to be all but unbreakable. It has the additional property of never dulling.

Of course there are many considerations to be taken when using a weapon such as Dorendul- one must first ask how the weapon is transported. Even though Shaerel has the strength to wield the sword it would be highly impractical for her to carry it on her person at all times- after all, the sword is nearly twice as large as its user and she would look quite ridiculous with such a weapon across her back. The weapon is more often than not kept in a highly ornate case carried and guarded by a squad of her most trusted soldiers. The case is highly durable, supposedly made from the wood of an ent. It is carved with a highly detailed depiction of the heroic deeds of the sword's wielders. It shows the slaying of dragons, the destruction of armies, vainglorious duels in which the fate of kingdoms rested, and many more images of such gravitas. While Dorendul is stowed away she carries the sword's cousin, Forendul. Forendul is a claymore, a large sword but not nearly as large as its relative. Most men could comfortable handle a claymore with two hands but Shaerel could with one. Forendul is made of the same materiel that Dorendul is composed of and has its same ultra durable properties.

A R M O R

Although some may believe that Shaerel's great strength would cause her to wear armor to match it she veers towards light pieces. There are many clear drawbacks to heavy armor- although it would not impair her movement wearing heavy plate would play into her weaknesses- if her ability to maintain Hungita is impaired she would quickly be able to drop her weapon, but would surely be unable to effectively move in the weight of her own armor. As such her typical battle attire matches her innate strength much more than her amplified abilities. To such an end Shaerel wears the traditional armor of house Nurami. In many respects the armor is more ceremonial than functional, often sacrificing protection for aesthetics. The armor is composed of steel made to mimic the appearance Dorendul's own material although it has none of its extraordinary properties.

A light red cloth hood can be pulled over her head, billowing out into a cape that falls to the ground. Her pauldrons are decorated with the visage of a dragon, evoking the history of the ancient house as dragon slayers. Bridging the gap between her pauldron and her gauntlet is a red cloth sleeve that matches her hood. The gauntlet itself has no notable designs, but is well made and allows her to move freely. It is worth noting that it does not cover her hands, only protecting her forearm. Her chestplate is intricately designed, decorative carvings gracing it. Around the shoulder the armor flares out into a pseudo flared collar. As for the chest the armor parts where one would expect it not to, placing the warriors cleavage on display. Certainly one of the more impractical pieces of the set, and frankly one that Shaerel formally found embarrassing. One must understand that Nurami women aren't expected to be fighters- for them armor is more of a symbol than a utilitarian piece, and as such the considerations a women would place into tailoring a gown were accounted for. in a similar fashion the leggings of the piece are designed to resemble a skirt, splitting away to flair out with a long red loincloth to cover her.

The armor ultimately lends to the deceptive image that Shaerel has placed before others- that of a girl, not a warrior.

S T E E D

Shaerel has no need for a horse- Hungita allows her to run faster than a human at peak physical ability for an extended amount of time, although she is pressed to outpace fast horses she can keep up with armored destrier.

B I O

The Nurami line has continued uninterrupted for many centuries, standing as one of the most storied and well respected houses in their home country of Barthon. They are known throughout the land as a house from which might heroes will come, second only in power and influence to the King's own house. Some would even argue that the Nurami aren't second to even King Duncan. The Nurami's roots lie in the art of dragon slaying, their ancient relatives facing these horrible beast one on one. Now they dabble in the business of the realm, proving to be one of the greatest fighting assets withing Barthon

Shaerel was born into the Nurami as 32nd in line for rule of the house. She had many brothers and sisters, the men of the house famously virile. Her ancestors were legends and her living relatives were heroes and she aspired to match their reputation. But there was a problem: Women held a much more marginal role in the kingdom of Barthon than men. As is the case for many societies women aren't destined to be warriors or lead great houses, female nobility prove to be treated as little more than bargaining chips for the noble class. They are used to bind houses through marriage, always secondary to their lord husbands. This holds true even for the Nurami, although they have a unique practice that gave even Shaerel an opportunity to distinguish herself. For many centuries the Nurami have trained all of their young, even the women, in combat and the art of Hungita. The men will grow into great warriors, and even if the women are not destined for the field they will inherent a unique force of will from this training.

However Shaerel proved to be an oddity. Women were not expected to excel or even be proficient at combat but she proved to be a natural prodigy. She took to the sword naturally and was able to quickly grasp the finer points of Hungita- this left the head of the house Nurami, her father, at an impasse. Shaerel could prove to be an excellent warrior and an asset to the house, but the continuation of her training beyond that which would be mandatory for the Nurami would be heavily frowned upon by those outside their household. Women warriors weren't even disrespected so much as seen as something that wouldn't logically exist in the mind of Barthon's people- Shaerel's father knew that she would never earn the respect of her peers. So he left the decision to her: To continue learning the sword and face the disrespect, even hatred, of those around her, or to become another noble lady that will ultimately fade into the background in the annals of history.

Naturally Shaerel chose to fight her fate. She spent her youth training with the swords while her sisters learned to knit or how to best server their husbands. Ultimately, however, Shaerel wouldn't be able to finish her training. The Nurami's power was growing and the household of the King was quickly taking notice. The King himself cared little for whether the Nurami undermined his power or not, but his Queen was a jealous women and grew envious of them. She saw them slowly sapping away at her authority, the authority of the crown, and so set a plan in motion to bring down their house. She secretly obtained a potent poison said to drive men mad upon ingesting it and then hired a man close to house Nurami to deliver it into Castle Karthmere's water supply. Karthmere was the Nurami's ancient seat of power, but it proved also to be the place where they would face their demise. After the poison was in place the castle, situated on top of a tall mountain, was barred from the outside. The only safe path down the mountain was blocked with rubble set lose from the mountain's side- ultimately there was little means of escape. The house was brought completely to ruin within days. Brothers, sisters, even Shaerel's own father turned on each other, driven to madness by the insidious elixir. The house's own strength was used against them- even their castle's highly defensible position contributed to their own demise.

How than did Shaerel survive? She owes her life to Sir Amery Hartsweel, a close personal friend of Lord Nurami and one of the most trusted commander's in the Nurami's host. He quickly realized something was amiss within the ancient castle when the attack from within began, and fortunately was with Shaerel at the time, her training in the sword entrusted to him. They were lucky to have avoided the drinking water and the insane Nurami warriors. He took the still young girl and fled with her, using a secret passage that most, aside from Lord Nurami and Sir Hartsweel, knew nothing of. They took with them Dorendul and Forendul, weapons passed down by the Nurami for generations, intent to preserve the ancient swords. If any other at Karthmere survived the night Shaerel is to this day unaware of them.

The Queen's plan was ultimately a great success and has since gone undiscovered- with the death of Lord Nurami and most of his house the Nurami were effectively destroyed. However there was but one solitary thorn in her side: Shaerel. Following their flight from the Nurami's keep Sir Hartsweel traveled with Shaerel to the King's own castle, the seat of the realm's power and the Queen's home. Sir Hartsweel told Duncan, the King, of the madness that had overcome House Nurami and their untimely end. He was appalled- he considered Lord Nurami to be a close friend and was greatly distressed to hear that the cornerstone of the land's army was destroyed. There were many arrangements to be made: Deciding which Lord's would take the Nurami's holding, splitting apart their host, cleaning up after the slaughter, and much more, but the King assured that Shaerel and Sir Hartsweel would be cared for. He invited them to join his own household, treating them as if they were honored guests within his castle and taking them in as his own family.

The Queen was not pleased with this turn of events, but ultimately allowed Shaerel to continue living. After all, what harm could one girl bring to her? In the years following the death of her family Shaerel become much like another daughter to the King and continued to learn of the sword under Sir Hartsweel. As she grew into adolescence she expressed her dream to Duncan: She wished to lead men into battle and become a great general. Duncan initially brushed this off, but it became clear this was no trifling fantasy but Shaerel's true desire. He was aware of her prowess and her mastery of the Nurami's fighting style but initially desired to keep her away from military life. And so Shaerel decided that he would give him no choice but to accept her status as a warrior. She fled to join free companies as a mercenary- in this environment she would be allowed to serve regardless of her age or gender, able to make a name for herself as a skilled fighter and leader. Her reputation quickly spread, in part due to her use of Dorendul and Hungita, distinguishing herself from the standard foot soldiers. She became known as the 'Red Maiden', a female warrior who could kill men and lead soldiers as able as any.

It was only after she had earned her reputation that she returned to her King and pledged her service as a warrior for the realm. He relented and made the highly controversial decision to knight her- many have seen this as an act of favoritism, and aren't entirely unjustified in saying so. After all, what mercenary can walk into the King's castle and receive a knighthood? All the same Shaerel set out to reverse expectations of her. After serving Barthon in many campaigns she earned the begrudging respect of her fellow soldiers. It wasn't long until King Duncan suggested to Shaerel that she begin rebuilding House Nurami. And so she has set out on piecing together her ancient household, given the Nurami's former holdings, including the keep she spent her childhood in. The King meant to do this all in good faith, feeling it was a befitting gift for his adoptive daughter, but this dismayed the Queen and many of the King's confidants. After all, a women has now informally taken the role of the house's leader- something that is completely unprecedented in Barthon's history.

All the same Shaerel has begun to gather trusted troops from her time in battle to fill out her host, placing her now good friend Sir Hartsweel, who has practically become a surrogate uncle to her, as her captain. She had a hefty challenge before her, the respect of her new vassals would not be easily gained. However with the growing threat of Gargth she was quickly called away no sooner than she made her army. The King was reluctant to send his own ward to war, but she proved to be more able of a warrior and leader than many of the more established fighting men in the realm. He also saw it as an important first step in the new Nurami household's history- the storied house would once again come to the kingdom's defense, showing all that Shaerel was an able leader.

CAPTAIN

"I can ask for no better than the strength to protect my Lady. I consider it no less than my God-given duty to serve her."

N A M E

Sir Amery Hartsweel

R A C E

Human of Barthon

A G E

59

A P P E A R A N C E

Sir Hartsweel is a beast of a man, standing at a towering 6'9" with a built up muscular figure to match. His hair is a waterfall of golden curly locks, his face shadowed by a well grown beard more red than blond. He is at the age where his hair is becoming more grey than blond The man has seen many battles, as evidenced by the long scar that cuts across his eye. Numerous more scars lie unseen underneath his clothing, marring his tanned white skin. The man keeps an appearance of jolliness around Lady Nurami, but is quick to sour when dealing with his men- he is a hard but fair leader, as a leader should be. He can be seen often shadowing his Lady, creating a striking contrast, seeming more the Lord than her.

S K I L L S

Sir Hartsweel is an exemplary example of a Barthon knight. He is an expert swordman, having taught Lady Nurami much of what she knows of conventional combat. He is a sight to be feared when holding a lance, an able rider and experience jouster. He has a fount of experience when it comes to leading and training men, proving to be a worthy captain for his Lady.

M A G I C

Sir Hartsweel has neither the capacity nor the desire to learn magic- he is a worldly man and believes in the strength of martial arms over petty tricks. This disregard even holds true for Hungita, although he would not voice it to his Lady and has never cared to voice it to her father.

W E A P O N S

Unlike Lady Nurami there is no element of ceremony in Sir Hartsweel's arms and armor. He can be often found wielding a simple lance atop his horse, with a plain but functional longsword on his side. The only exception to this lack of adornment is his heater shield, which he has proudly decorated with the sigil of House Nurami.

A R M O R

Sir Hartsweel has adopted the standard for a Barthon knight: Plate armor. There is no consideration for design or aesthetics on Sir Hartsweel's armor, lying completely unadorned. The knight's armor reflects his philosophy when it comes to combat: The man who can hit harder while hurting less will win. Plate may reduce his mobility but the armor is highly protective and Sir Hartsweel proves to be a hard man to take down.

S T E E D

The knight rides upon a horse befitting his position- a destrier, one of the finest warhorses that can be found upon a conventional battlefield. It maybe not be able to keep up with some of the other freakish monsters that others in the Moonsong Alliance ride but it's a reliable beast that Sir Hartsweel has grown well accustomed to. The horse is often found in full barding, protected as well as its owner in combat.

B I O

Amery was born many years ago to a knightly family entrusted with a small fort on the western edge of the Nurami's holding. Despite their rather meager position Amery's father was fortunate to have kindled a strong friendship with his liege lord, Shaerel's grandfather, during a military campaign several years prior. The Hartsweel family were greatly honored when Amery was called as a boy to squire for their lord, giving them an important opportunity to increase their importance in the noble hierarchy. Amery proved to be a faithful squire to Lord Nurami but more importantly befriended his son, they boy that was next in line to lead House Nurami.

As Amery entered adulthood he proved to be a highly capable warrior on the battlefield and was knighted, as his father was, by Shaerel's grandfather. In many respects Amery and Shaerel's father grew up together, and it was no surprise that when he assumed the seat of Lord he gave Amery a position of importance, naming him a commander in his host and the master-at-arms of Castle Karthmere. Amery would for many years to come be responsible for training the men of the castle. More importantly he taught the Lord's sons lessons in the sword. The same would ultimately be true for Shaerel.

Despite the fact that many, even those of House Nurami itself, disapproved of Shaerel's furthered training in the art of the sword Amery quickly took a shine to the girl. He admired her determination to become a warrior despite the odds that faced her, alongside her martial strength that was apparent even at a young age. He trained the girl well and in many respects became something of an uncle to her, having been a close friend of the family and finding himself around her often even before he trained her.

When Castle Karthmere fell he took it upon herself to protect his old friend's daughter and deliver her to the King safely. When King Duncan extended the offer for him to continue looking after Shaerel and further train her he readily accepted, taking a position within the King's own guard. Amery lived a fulfilling life in Barthon's capitol, taking great satisfaction watching Shaerel grow into a capable warrior and commander. Even when she ran away from her surrogate home to make a name for herself he still held a great amount of pride in her, refusing to hold her back and waiting patiently for her return.

When Shaerel was officially knighted Amery felt that his job was nearly done, and expected that he would soon find his retirement, content with the opportunity to watch Shaerel live out her dream. He had never once worried for her even when she was away in combat, his faith lying in her skill above all else. With Shaerel being seen less and less among the King's court many expected that Amery would take time for himself- he had never taken a wife in his youth, but he had rapidly become an eligible bachelor and would not have difficulty finding a suitable match in court, even at his age. Despite that he continued much as he had before, serving his King faithfully and awaiting Shaerel's return, always intent on giving her some semblance of a warm welcome when she found herself back in Duncan's castle.

With the announcement that Shaerel would be given her father's former holdings it was to no great surprise that Amery was intent on moving back to Castle Karthmere with her. She was glad to have him along and readily offered him a position as Captain of her host. He felt himself undeserving of such an important role and declined several times, but ultimately found himself there all the same- after all he could not find it in himself to continue to refuse her after she insisted so many times. It was not long before Amery found himself at the head of a ragtag but all the same capable army. Given the small amount of time between their formation and deployment he has been hard at work forming them into a proper fighting force, but it remains to be seen how effective they will prove to be.

REGIMENT

N A M E

The Mailed Fist; the fighting forces of House Nurami have historically held this name, and Shaerel thought it best to stick to tradition.

B A N N E R

The Nurami's heraldry depicts a 5-petaled red rose with a thorned stem on a white field.

R A C E

Mostly composed of Barthon men; there is some variance as a small part of the army is comprised of outsiders from Shaerel's time as a mercenary but there are no significant enough foreign demographics to speak of.

S I Z E

200 people

S P E C I A L T Y

Shaerel has strove to create a self-sufficient army and as such has looked to create a homogenized force. However, due to the short time she had to assemble her host it is somewhat lopsided leaning towards light infantry. Her army numbers 100 infantry, 50 archers, and 50 cavalry.

A R M S

Most among Shaerel's host are Barthon man and as such use the most commonly found weapon in their homeland- the sword. There are a handful of mercenaries that can be found with more exotic instruments but they are the exception, not the rule. The archers more often than not wield longbows, although one might muster ten or so men that wield a crossbow. As for the cavalry one can find an assortment of lances ready to charge down the enemy.

A R M O R

The official uniform of The Mailed Fist compromises between light and heavy, bearing steel plate armor made of steel that appears white. They are easily identifiable by their white capes and helmets, alongside their distinctive red leggings. This has been the historic armor of the Mailed Fist for many centuries. It was of great fortune that a stock of the armor was found in the basements of Castle Karthmere allowing the men to be outfitted posthaste. Although the armor is provided, it is not compulsory- many do choose to wear their own armor of choice, which Shaerel has no problem with. It should be noted that only tens of men in the company choose to do so, with the majority of these men coming from former mercenary factions.

S T E E D S

The cavalry can mostly be found mounted upon the relatively common courser, although a handful of the knighted men have earned enough renown to afford the more prestigious destrier.

M A G I C

Magic isn't commonplace in Barthon and as such there is little to be found within Shaerel's host. One might expect a few of the exotic mercenaries to possess some skill with the arts of spell casting but they form a minority in the army and it is doubtful that more than one or two men have such skill.

H I S T O R Y

The Mailed Fist is likely one of the newest forces to take field against Gargth. Although they stand untested all men are those that Shaerel has stood with before. It's formation was no small miracle with only a few short weeks to put together her host- one should not be mistaken, however. Not all men of the force are those that Shaerel are intimately familiar with; in fact most men Shaerel wished she knew better than she did. With the short time she was given she hand no choice but to choose whole stock from regiments she had fought with before with no vetting process, some men only having a cursory knowledge of her. Despite this many were ready to come under her command, contrary to what many may expect. She is a woman warrior, yes, which is most certainly frowned upon in Barton. Despite this she held respect in all fields she fought on- even those men who did not know her have heard of her exploits and had no choice but to thank her for many victories. Enlisting into Shaerel's host and cutting ties with their former liege lords also proved to be a promotion for many due to her close affiliation with King Duncan. The King's favor of Shaerel is well known throughout Barthon and it is of no doubt that House Nurami would once again hold a prominent position if they make it through their campaign in Everstrine.

The mercenaries that joined the force are another matter entirely. Every single one can name Shaerel as a close friend- after all, she is no fool. She has no aspirations to befriend every mercenary she has brushed shoulders with. They are a cutthroat bunch and she expects betrayal from all but a small number of them. It was these few that she asked to join her, showered with promises of positions of importance in The Mailed Fist and a seat within the Nurami's holding for the duration of their life and their lineage. Their expertise is without a doubt of large value to her and even in small number they will be an asset to her, taking position as captions of platoons, underneath only Shaerel and Amery in the host's hierarchy.

Shaerel and Amery have had little time to drill with them. Only a little more than a week passed between the finalization of her host and their call to arms- during this time they appeared to be able and ready to follow orders. Further drilling has taken place on the journey to Everstrine, with the men divided between separate vessels each unit has been trained by a different commander. On one vessel stand Shaerel, on another Amery, and on a number of others trusted former mercenary commanders. Although preparation has gone well any number of things can go wrong on the actual field of combat. Only time will tell if they are ultimately prepared to fight together...

[Disciple Cain]

-

[Slamurai]

Eldanorré, Sorceress Queen of Gebrionné

Name: Eldanorré, Sorceress Queen of Gebrionné
Race: Human
Age: 33
Appearance: Her tresses are a rich mahogany, eyes a vibrant green. Eldanorré is the image of a woman in her prime, well-defined and supple. Prominent cheekbones are set high on her skull, and her jaw tapers to a dull point. Her flesh is a pale olive, except for her hands. Her digits are mottled with black, solid at her fingertips and sparse beyond her knuckles. This condition is a peculiar side-effect of her magic, one that has so far proven impossible to erase. Eldanorré stands at average height, built neither thick or thin, but full, with a solid musculature.

Renowned Skills: Eldanorré’s magical aptitude is innate, a gift of her bloodline. Centuries ago, the kings of Gebrionné made sorcerous pacts with entities from other planes to solidify their claims to the throne, and as a means of personal gain. Nowadays, that heritage has been long diluted, although several sorcerers have been born since the advent of its waning. Eldanorré is one of few that can call on this power. She needs no spellbook nor scrolls to unleash her abilities, only the force of her will and clarity of mind. However, there’s no telling when the Lords of Chaos will come to collect their due…

Magic: The exact nature of Eldanorré’s spells do not sit perfectly into any one category. In essence, they are a projection of her will made manifest. What form this takes is up to her, whether she conjures up a storm of daggers or wills a monster to sleep. The scale of her abilities is limited by her mental stamina; prolonged and rapid channeling of her power takes a toll on her. A majority of spells she knows were the brainchild of her ancestors, passed down from inheritor to inheritor. Through reflection and self-study, Eldanorré can create new spells of her own, and someday her descendants might learn them.
Her magical repertoire includes the knowledge of summoning extraplanar creatures and beings; some of which are mighty Lords of Chaos. Misuse of this knowledge is folly, for there is always a price for disturbing the denizens of other planes.

Weapons: Eldanorré is not particularly skilled with any martial weapons or arts. Instead, her magic can be used as an offensive tool.

Armour: The Sorceress Queen is usually clad in traditional Gebrionnése clothing, which is to say, not much. The fashion of the kingdom leaves much of the body exposed, both sexes included. Although slim in coverage, her outfits are lavishly decorated. Gemstones, precious metals, engravings and inlays can all be observed on her garments. The fabrics are fine silks and velvets of many colors, with origins in faraway lands.
Eldanorré has never needed the protection of a full suit of armor before, and if she desired, she could conjure up sorcerous plates. She might need to practice such a spell before reaching Evershrine.

Steed: Eldanorré’s personal mount is an extraplanar creature, bound to her through sorcery. It takes the form of a noble stallion, although its origin is betrayed by a long, lizardlike tail, bony fins and toes. She call it Althax, and can call it to her at whim.

Bio: Eldanorré is not a true queen, despite the moniker attributed to her. Rather, she is the claimant, or pretender, to the throne of Gebrionné. Daughter of the deposed Seldric IV, her ascension was barred by her father’s rivals, who placed their leader, Jerelad of Trent, on the throne. Gebrionné had been wracked with civil war prior to Jerelad’s coronation, divided into camps either supporting or opposing Seldric’s decision to support the Moonsong Alliance’s first offensive on Evershrine. With the loss of the entire fleet, including King Seldric and the majority of his allies, Gebrionné’s throne was barren. Seizing the opportunity, Jerelad mustered his loyal nobles and declared himself king, putting down political opponents with military force or bribes.

Eldanorré, as luck would have it, escaped Jerelad’s chaos with the help of retainers loyal to her father. Hailing her as the true queen of Gebrionné, they rallied behind her in hiding, biding their time within the neighboring kingdom of Sotraeca. During this time, Eldanorré conspired to take back what should have been hers. It was also a time of self-reflection, as she’d dedicated much of her life to the study of her sorcerous power. Believing that magical supremacy would aid her in her pursuit, Eldanorré experimented with a range of arts, including Shadow Magic.

While she was unable to retain her repertoire of Shadow Magic, she was able to peer into that dismal realm during her studies. What she saw alarmed her; Gargth’s influence was evident, perverting the flow of souls from the material plane to the afterlife and made to do his bidding. In that grey hellscape, Eldanorré chanced upon the soul of her father, naught but a puppet dancing to Gargth’s tune. In that moment, she realised Seldric had good reason to oppose such abuse of power, and if the kingdom was ever to be entrusted to her, his ambitions to defeat the wizard were also hers to fulfil.

As the news reached her of a second Moonsong offensive, Eldanorré informed her allies of her intention to join. Despite no shortage of hesitation, a host of desperate loyalists, former subjects and friends of Seldric accompanied her on the voyage. In doing so, there was a sliver of hope that Seldric’s soul could be put to rest, or even resurrected. Gargth’s defeat was, perhaps, a ticket to restoring her bloodline to the throne of Gebrionné.

Luthien, Lord of Toublanc

Name: Luthien, Lord of Toublanc
Race: Human
Age: 42
Appearance: Luthien’s build is that of a soldier – solid and well-defined, with rough, calloused hands. His flesh is tanned and weather-worn, and he wears a neatly-maintained beard that tapers to a point. The hairs on his head are dark, with flecks of grey that herald older age. Despite Luthien’s years, traces of youth can still be found in the gleam of his eyes. He is tall, about six feet and four inches. He carries himself with the authority of a noble and a commander, yet comes across as humble in face-to-face interaction.

Famed Skills: An astute commander and military mind, Luthien headed the leadership of the opposition, intending to put down Jerelad’s plot to usurp the throne after Seldric’s death. Although outnumbered and forced to flee south, he put up a strong fight during the months of the civil war, and bloodied the noses of Jerelad’s allies when they came to conquer the king’s former lands. He’s also a skilled fighter and horseman, more than capable of holding his own against several men.

Magic: N/A

Weapons: Luthien is proficient with a variety of weapons, namely the basic longsword and polearms. He wears the former at his waist, a splendidly artificed weapon with a jeweled hilt and pearl inlays. In battle, his pages carry his lances and arm him on the eve of a cavalry charge.

Armour: Eldanorré’s most trusted general dons a full suit of plate armor.

Steed: Luthien rides a proud, black destrier.

Bio: Luthien is the lord of Toublanc, a province in the south of Gebrionné. It was only due to Seldric’s command that fate saw him safe in Gebrionné when the king and his army perished during the first voyage to Evershrine. He was to be the king’s authority while away; the responsibility forced him to come to blows with Jerelad as he seized the empty throne. Luthien never stopped believing in King Seldric, and willingly threw his lot in with Eldanorré once he discovered her whereabouts. When she and her allies took refuge in Sotraeca, Luthien was at the forefront of her meetings, discussing ways in which to win back the kingdom. Loyal to a fault, when it was discovered that King Seldric could possibly be saved from the Shadow Realm upon Gargth’s downfall, Luthien was vocal in support of Eldanorré’s plans. The Sorceress Queen has elevated him to their army’s chief military commander, knowing of his aptitude for strategy.

Eldanorré’s Loyalists

Regiment Name: Eldanorré’s Loyalists

Banner: The soldiers assembled under Eldanorré’s leadership have taken to flying a banner with her heraldic arms - a red gryphon armed with a sword and shield on a white field. The banner is lined with black and dozens of leering gargoyle faces.



Nationality/Race: Humans of Gebrionné

Size of Host: 500

Speciality: Mixed force

Typical Arms & Armour: Lances, be they knighted or not, are equipped in similar fashion and have the same military function, regardless of social rank. Knights, however, can expect more pay as a result of their status than common men-at-arms. The lance is covered from head to toe in plate armor, foregoing the shield of the past century. Underneath, a padded akteon is worn for comfort and to absorb blows landed on the armor. The armored suit is heavily articulated, allowing for flexibility and ease of movement. Areas which may not be completely encased are protected by mail. The most popular helmets used by lances are the bascinet and kettle helm. The former tapers to a point at the top of the head to deflect blows, and may be worn with or without a visor. The kettle helm also tapers to the top of the head, or may be rounded, but has a sloped brim for deflection away from the face. Tabards, worn loosely over the armor, identify the arms of the wearer, though are seldom seen on lances of low birth.

Fighting from horseback, men-at-arms carry a couched lance with steel tip. As the principal weapon of the cavalry charge, it relies on momentum to provide damage from an impact with an enemy soldier. In the aftermath of a charge, when the cavalry has lost its momentum, lances are discarded – often broken – and swords drawn. When fighting dismounted, men-at-arms commonly carry poleaxe weapons. Halberds, being a hammer and spiked head attached to a wooden shaft, allow for efficient armor-piercing ability, and can cause internal damage even without penetrating through. The sword of this century has developed into a weapon used principally for thrusting. The blade is long and tapers to a point, wielded to exploit the gaps in-between armored joints.

The average pikeman in service to Gebrionné dons blackened, munitions-grade plates on his breast and back, with a gorget to protect the throat and tassets over his thighs. He wears an open-faced helm on his crown; the best companies top theirs with a plume of green. He carries a pike with a tapered head about 4.5 meters long, paired with an arming sword.
Although Gebrionnése infantry is organized into “pikeman companies,” not every man is a pikeman. There are some formations made up of halberdiers, who use their polearms to chop overhead the rows of pikes. There are sword and buckler men, who maneuver through the pike shafts to incite chaos by slashing and stabbing up close. Also present are swordsmen who carry long Zweihänders, practiced in two-handed half-swording techniques.

Arquebusiers are armored much the same way, though generally wear less protection than their frontline counterparts. Gebrionnése innovations, like attachable boxes that weatherproof the firing mechanism, have contributed to the success of black powder weaponry. Although Gebrionné has taken measures to embrace black powder, it still focuses heavily on the longbow. The traditional longbow is nearly as tall as a man, with a powerful draw. Such weapons require a lifetime to master, but have proven their worth on the field, having stopped cavalry charges in their tracks and shattered the cohesion enemy formations.

Typical Steeds: Gebrionnése armies use common horses of varying classifications for different tasks. Destriers, coursers, rounceys, palfreys and hobbies all have a place and role to fill.

Magics Used: N/A

History: Gebrionnése armies have historically been built around infantry, owing to a lack of horses and flat terrain to capitalize on the advantages of cavalry. It does field mounted lances, but to a lesser extent than other powers – only about ten to fifteen percent of its mounted men-at-arms are knights, and they are used to dismounting before battle. Less knights and nobles take to the field nowadays, as traditional feudal levies are replaced by full-time, paid mercenaries. The service of professional soldiers costs less to employ than knighted individuals, so it is more cost-effective simply not to hire knights. Low-born men are also much less prone than nobility to complain when prolonged, hard-going campaigns are underway. Men-at-arms (lances, both low-born and knighted) and archers roughly comprise the main fighting force of the Gebrionnése armies, in ratios from 1:3 to as high as 1:6.

In times of war, lords were once required to grant fiefs to their vassals for military service. Men are now contracted to fight instead – a “bastard feudalism” in which captains are beholden to a system of indentures. These contract captains to raise an agreed-upon number of soldiers in service to the king. Indentures also specify the time and place of muster, the rate of pay for the men, disciplinary conduct, and what share of plunder is allowed. Captains are traditionally paid half upon the signing of the contract, and half upon their arrival at muster, after a survey of the correct number of heads under his command. The duration and personnel count of these indentures is dependent on the campaign, and not all men may know the captain or lord he serves under. Usually, companies are contracted for six months at a time. A more permanent indenture may last a dozen, with quarterly pay.

The army that calls itself Eldanorré’s Loyalists is a collection of soldiers from a number of companies, some once under contract of King Seldric, others sympathetic to Eldanorré’s cause or simply fighting for coin. With the throne usurped by Jerelad, most of Seldric’s former command had nowhere to else to go, and joined Eldanorré as she fled Gebrionné.

[Vas Khaleen]

Champion

Name: Assarah Nahara

Race: Human

Known Racial Abilities:
Willpower:Humans despite being short lived and less magically adept than elves have incredible willpower in the field of battle capable of rallying and holding against odds that would break other races.

Age:29

Appearance:

Renowned Skills: Expert swordswoman, Assarah was trained by fighting for the amusement of the masses; leading her to become highly skilled in the use of most weapons but over all her trusty saber.

Marksman, Assarah has extensive training with firearms able to accurately pick off targets with a musket for 200 yards or more; with a reload time of only fifteen seconds making for a rate of four rounds a minute

Inspirational, Assarah wasn't handed command by being rich or born of noble blood like many leaders giving her a better understanding and compassion for those under her command

Magic:Assarah learned very limited magic in the arena as bashing, hacking, and slashing was far more common, be that as it was she still learned basic destruction magics learning to cast small fireballs and bolts of lighting. Using the mana which flowed through all things, having been taught by an elvish man whom also fought in the pits to harness and reach into the pool of internal energy.

Weapons:
-Rifled musket with bayonet
-Crude six shot revolver
-Saber

Armour:
-Steel breast plate
-Steel mail

Steed:
-Black war stallion

Bio:
Asahara was born into a farming family, her earliest days were spent plowing fields and tending to livestock. Her father was called away to fight in the army of the Lord whom owned the land they lived on, and never returned from the conflict; the Lord awarded her family ten silver pieces for compensation though her mother turned bitter and began a deep spiral into alcoholism. Without her father around the farm quickly fell to disrepair and the Lord evicted them from the land as they weren't producing anything, forced to move into the slums of the city her mother sold her body. As she got older her body began to command less price, and one day she sold Asahara to a slaver, whom turned and sold her again to a man who trained fighters for the arena. She saw her first match at fifteen, obviously the victor she continued to fight until all those at the arena knew her name, making her master so much gold he freed her upon his death. At twenty one and an extremely deadly combatant Asahara became a sellsword, fighting with the Golden Company swiftly taking command after a disagreement with the former leaders; she took the Company much further than they ever did. Securing firearms, cutting edge weaponry that most humans never got a hold of after carrying out contracts for a Dwarven lord; even taking the Lord's son as her captain.

Regiment

Regiment Name: The Golden Company

Banner: Two crossed muskets behind a stack of gold ingots

Nationality/Race:Humans/assorted nationalities

Racial Specifics: (+=Pro, -Con)
+Willpower
+Comradery
+Leadership

-Shortlived
-Illness
-Slower wound recovery

Size of Host: 500

Speciality: Musketeers/Light infantry

Typical Arms:
-Muskets (Accurate up to 120 yards)
-Swords
-Maces
-Improvised melee weapons

Typical Armour:
-Hide or steel mail

Typical Steeds:
-Pack mules

Magics Used:
-Healing
-Supportive magics
-Enchantment

The Golden Company has a small contingent of human mages, numbering only thirty men total; spread all across the lines in small groups to evenly support the infantry army. The enchanters both capable of placing permanent enchantments on items like Assarah's armor and weapons, or temporary enchantment's to allow the soldiers shots to carry elemental or otherwise magical damage effects. The healers obviously tend to the wounded, using not only magic but apothecary tools and combat medic training; the support mages are for defense against opposing mages be it mental or physical attacks on soldiers. Along with casting their own illusions to frighten opponents.

History: The Golden Company was formed long before Ashara was born, constantly selling their abilities in war to this lord or that one. A truly deplorable band with no true loyalty save to the highest bidder, never breaking a contract once signed however; though rarely tying themselves down for longer than a year or so. If the battle became too great or the side they fought with began to lose they would obviously flee, as no sellsword became rich dying for nobles.

Captain

Name:Aktun Andurin

Race:Dwarf

Known Racial Abilities:
Hardy-Dwarves are known for their stoutness and ability to resist damage that would easily fall larger races

Dark vision-Born underground and living deep inside of mountains has given Aktun excellent vision in low light situations

Age:123

Appearance:


Famed Skills:
-Tactician
-Geologist
-Alchemy
-Axe skill

Magic:
-None

Weapons:
-Battleaxe
-Throwing axes
-Musket

Armour:
-Steel plate

Steed: Great Boar

Bio: Ashara met Aktun when she fought for his father, the male accompanied the Sellswords on their first campaign leading them through the confusing mountain terrain. Ashara formed a close bond with the Dwarf in both travel and combat as they warred with another Dwarvish lord over an iron mine, coming out successful Aktun asked her permission to join the Company. When she accepted Aktun's Lord father gifted the company with a great many treasures including muskets made for human use, granted by the thousands in case of the loss or wear of the others; along with the secrets of how to make blackpowder and rifle the barrels for increased accuracy.