[CHAR] The Last March of the Living

[Nariata]

Name: Hrossbjorn Hasteinsson

Gender: Male

Age: 41

Race: Human - Glamhoth

Appearance:



Personality:

Hrossbjorn is one part veteran soldier and one part devoted leader. While age has slowed his body, and made his fighting skills slip, his mind is as sharp as ever when it comes to combat and anything else that is presented before him. When he is leading his forces to battle, Hrossbjorn has abandoned the tried and true Glamhoth tradition of simply charging at the enemy force and hacking them to death and instead replaced it with sound tactics adopted from the various other factions on Taron. Outside of combat Hrossbjorn is every bit a Glamhoth as the next man, preferring to spending his free time tending to his crops on his farm or celebrating with his soldiers in the mead hall.

To outsiders Hrossbjorn comes across as crude and uneducated, often refusing to speak the common language and engage in meaningful conversations. He also comes across as easily angered, and his wrath burns so hot that few are willing to risk getting scorched by it. This is not by accident. Hrossbjorn prefers to observe outsiders and determine if they are worthy of his trust. Once an outsider gains the trust of Hrossbjorn they will get to experience an educated man, though not quite as much as his Lavas and Firen counterparts, who takes great pleasure in ensuring his friends are both happy and safe.

Most notably he is a worried man with too many stresses and tasks piling up in his head. His secret plan at the Battle at the Fields of Amarillis was quickly thrown aside as self-preservation took over. He fears that his true intentions will be revealed before he has a chance to defend his actions.

History:

Hrossbjorn's life began much unlike most other people. He was born as the first son of a powerful Earl in the Glamhoth nation, and as such had a very simplistic if not easy upbringing. His early days were spent practicing different weapons and training with his fathers trainers. He always stood out as a gifted warrior from the onset, his fathers son as they would say. No one in his age group could beat him in single combat, and even the older boys had trouble facing him. Eventually, after hitting his teenage years, the trainers had nothing more to teach him. His father decided that his son could only learn through experience and started taking Hrossbjorn with him on his raids and into battle. Throughout the middle of his teenage years through his early twenties, Hrossbjorn started creating a name for himself as a fearless and skilled fighter. Countless souls were sent to the Halls of Rofella to celebrate and fight for an entirety. His father passed away when Hrossbjorn was twenty three years old, and as his eldest son Hrossbjorn assumed his fathers role as Earl.

As soon as he became Earl, he began to change the way his people fought. Under his father, the soldiers were some of the most able bodied men to be found in all of Taron. Superior fighting skills coupled with the ability to suffer wounds, injuries that would cause an average Firen soldier to lose his ability to fight, and keep fighting. Yet his army lacked tactics. They simply charged their enemy head on and would fight until no one on the other side was left standing. While this worked most of the time, Hrossbjorn wanted a better alternative so he sent out envoys to the different nations to collect detailed accounts of famous battles that the Lavas and Firen had fought. Upon their return Hrossbjorn would dive right into reading how they won the battle. Eventually, he began to implement this style of warfare to his troops. During the fifteen years after he assumed command, he only lost one battle. That battle was the turning point in the large Glamhoth and Lavas war that concluded three years prior to the battle at the Fields of Amarillis. In the aftermath, his ability to keep a standing army was severely crippled by the treaty his nation was forced to sign.

Hrossbjorn in the years since has been trying to get the Glamhoth back into the nation they once were. He has been observing every major event, looking for a weakness that he can exploit in the rock solid armor of his enemies. He thought he found one when the Great King Baelnorn called all the armies together, though because of the Mad Kings trap he is now on the run for Darkness. While his plan may have failed, it still gave him a unique circumstance. A large portion of his force, some thirty strong, survived the initial attack. He has since sent his fastest riders out to warn the cities and nations ahead of the Mad Kings army and of possible salvation.

Hrossbjorn knows of a castle deep within Glamhoth territory, many months of travel away from the Fields of Armarillis. A castle so old that no one can remember who built it, a castle who's walls are so strong that no army could break, and a castle with a perfect location to limit the effectiveness of the Mad Kings army. That castle is Castle Estel, which sits squarely in the middle of the Sky Bridge that bisects the Great Schism in half.

Hrossbjorn hopes he can keep his secret, and lead this motley crew to the Castle, though the Mad King will be making this endeavor especially difficult.

Equipment:

Armor and weapons

• Chainmail tunic underneath warm, fur clothes
• Leather boots
• Large two-handed axe

Other:
-His name should be commonplace to most humans. His legendary fighting skills, coupled with his strategic mind, have made his name a household one. Many Lavas feel intense hatred for this man while Firen respect his ability.
-His ax is named "Lifebender" and is rumored to have magical properties.
-The massive metal girdle with the drowsy mans face that he wears is the sigil of his house. The drowsy mans face is in reference to his great-grandfather, The Sleepy King. Truth be told the sleepy king name was just propaganda created by a rival Earl in a bid to seize his territory but his great-grandfather took it and wore it with pride.

- - - - - - - - -

Name: Gyrid Thometilldottir

Gender: Female

Age:28

Race: Human - Glamhoth

Appearance:



Personality:
Gyrid is often described as a devoted follower of Rofella, the Goddess of Conquest and War, as well as a social recluse. When she was at her temple, she was as well mannered as they come in Glamhoth territory, calm and as quick witted as any. She often found joy in combat, reading the Holy Books of Rofella, as well as in meditating for hours at a time. The destruction of her Temple in the Glamhoth city of Wruxvine has caused her faith to waiver, however, and be replaced by self doubt and second guessing her motives.

Though you would never be able to guess as much at first glance. Gyria carries herself like any proud Shield Madden would. Her posture is strong and straight, the look in her eyes is calm yet unquestioningly fierce, and above all else she makes no time for silly conversation. This has led many to speculate that her time at the Temple has made her unable to hold a conversation with strangers when in truth she is simply observing like any Glamhoth would. She watches the subtle changes in body language, listens to the variances in a persons voice, and records anything that she could use as leverage in her journal.

Ever since she overheard Hrossbjorn's plans for the battle, Gyrid has been using her knowledge to gain leverage over Hrossbjorn.

History:

Gyrid was born unwanted by her family. Her father was a Chieftain, who had been praying to receive a son to carry on his legendary status as a fighter. When she was born, the decision was made that she would be given to the Pristesses of Rofella in the city of Wruxvine when old enough. Gyrid does not remember her parents all that well, instead she just has a few blurry pictures of an angry mans yelling. Instead, her childhood memories are filled with images of the Temple grounds, and the rituals and ceremonies practiced within, that would dominate her early life. From the age of eight onward she was also trained in the use of weapons. The Priestesses of Rofella took to heart their Goddess's message, and as such were often found fighting alongside Shield Maiden from various different factions, acting as both spiritual leaders who could inspire soldiers with their words as well as lead by example with their actions.

They were also the ones who would help send off the souls of the recently departed to the Great Hall. This was a particular strength of this chapter of Priestesses. After a battle was finished, the Priestesses would be found hovering over the bodies of the deceased, chanting their strange incantations while placing their hands on top of the forehead of the body, before moving on to the next one. Through many years of tireless training and dedication, Gyria became one of the most devout and skilled, in both combat and religious ceremonies, member of her order. Eventually, on her twenty-third name day, she was given the title of Rofella's Guard, giving her the ability to lead her sisters into combat as well as giving her a seat on the Council of Rofella. For a few years, she would cast her vote deciding the future of her order and helping cement relations with the various Earls of the Glamhoth people. Though this title did come with a downside. Rofella's Guard members are easily distinguished from their more commonplace sisters by their unique and intricate facial scars, carved onto the flesh of the Guard without anything to numb the pain. The process is painful, and time consuming, but this ceremony is used to see if the applicant is truly devout in her duties and her faith. The scar itself is easily reconciled by all Glamhoth, and even some outside the border. A large, symmetrical X shape is cut from the top right and left hand corners of her face across her noes and down to the bottom. Another scar was cut into her chin in a shape that resembled a simple triangle. Finally, four smaller scars were carved into her face, two on the outside of the bottom half of the X and two on the inside on the top half.

A major war broke out between the Lavas empire and the Glamhoth nation as a whole when she was twenty-five. Her order was one of the first to pledge their support behind an Early named Hrossbjorn, one who had quite the reputation as a sound strategist and powerful warrior. During the year long conflict, Gyrid fought along side Hrossbjorn in many key battles, the last of which was the battle for Wruxvine itself. The siege lasted only a few short days before a traitor in their ranks allowed the Lavas soldiers to come storming in. The two sides clashed in the streets all around the city, though the Lavas gained ground with relative ease thanks to their larger army. Eventually the Battle was Declared over after the Lavas soldiers razed the Temple of Rofella, stealing countless priceless relics and burning the place to a crisp.

Gyria only survived this battle because of the deal Hrossbjorn made with the Lavas General to prevent further bloodshed. In the three years since Gyria has roamed all over Glamhoth territory, trying to find a place for her to build a new Temple and start training a new generation of Priestesses. Along the way, she came across the large army assembled by Hrossbjorn. She joined his group and on their way to the meet up with the Kings forces Gyria overheard a secret plan. Soon, however, she fought at the Battle at the Fields of Amarillis. After the defeat one week ago, she has followed Hrossbjorn and his troops.

Equipment:

Armor and weapons

• Long spear
• Shield
• Iron longsword
• Leather armor
• Fur cloak
• Warm fur clothing underneath armor
• Leather bound book

Other:
-Even though the Glamhoth lost the war, and were forced to sign the Treaty of Wruxvine, she still openly practices her faith even though the practice has been outlawed by the Lavas Empire.
-Meditates any time camp is set up. This is akin to a monk praying.
-Through her travels, she has accomplished much. Those in the know are aware of her, and some in the Lavas Empire have recommended her life be taken. Her goal of rebuilding her order has made her a prime target for them.
-Has an agenda.

[A Heretic]

Name: Walden Ravenbane

Gender: Male

Age: 46

Race: Va’sha

Va'Sha

The Va’sha are human in build and general appearance. With Skin as pale as the snow, flawless and smooth. Their hair comes in the colors of nature, and almost always affected by their vocation. The average height is slightly above that of an ordinary human. They do not posses any other bodily hair, other than the hair on their head, and their rather bushy eyebrows. Their irises glow vibrantly, usually in hues of blues and greens. Rarely in other colors yet some have been noted.

The Va’sha are magic in nature their entire society forms around its study and most would even say that they worship it. Outsiders are rarely permitted into the walled city of Va’shar. Depending on the type or types of magic learned the hair of the Va’sha changes. They care little of the politics of the outside world and keep only a small standing military, although all of the Va’sha have military training few ever choose to pursue a life of marching, and sword play. Even fewer study the Black magic, things considered by the Va’sha to be taboo. Those who are caught are executed, a very few escape and are banished to never return.

Those born without magic often take on a craft, in recent years a majority of those born posses almost no magical ability, they labor under spellcrafters creating ordinary objects such as chairs and assisting in crafting magical objects. After the battle with the mad king, and the death of King Baelnorn Va’Shar’s military force was obliterated, and only a few managed to straggle back to the homeland.

Appearance: Hair as black as coal with strands of glittering silver spattered throughout his mane, it resembled the night sky dark and beautiful with white lines highlighting his age. He had always kept his hair shorter on the sides and faded up into the longer portion atop his head. The longer hair was slicked back so it laid neatly against his skull. Irises like the raging sea they were dark blue flaked with sea foam green. He had lovely facial features from his prominent cheekbones to his squared jaw. Three long jagged scars ran from his jawline, stopping short of his eye and another scar ran across the bridge of his nose, removing with it a small chunk of cartilage. Each of the scars were as wide as man’s finger, and smooth to the touch. His lips were thin, and his mouth was wide, when pulled into his normal lopsided smile it showed healthy white teeth.

His body was well toned and fit from years of traveling on the road. He wore an old wool cloak, the bottom caked in dry mud and dirt. It had once been grey like a storm cloud, but now it had mostly faded. It had patches sewn into the gown to repair the damages done by travel on the roads. The garment was complete with a few stray strands of thread poking from its seams. Underneath the cloak he wore an off white tunic with a black double vest it had two small pockets on the front. In addition to the tunic and vest he wore a pair of dark brown trousers, and a thick leather belt. Several pouches were secured to his belt to include his coin purse. His boots were dark brown with squared toes. They were well worn in and the soft leather had many creases. On his back he carried an old black rucksack, it had a large flap with two smaller side pouches, one of buckles securing the smaller pouches seemed to have worn out, and no longer clasped properly.

Personality: Unlike a majority of his race Walden prefers to travel, often finding company with those on the road he reveals little about himself but takes interest in those around him. He fights for his continued survival often going the extra length to make sure of it. He doesn’t shy away from silencing those who know to much or slow him down in dire situations. At first meeting Walden seems friendly, kind and caring. After one gets to know Walden they notice the strange idiosyncrasies about him; his secrecy, his cold crase demeanor, and other oddities. On rare occasion he feels compelled to do acts of good or kindness, something that always unsettles himself afterwards.

History

History: Walden was born to prominent parents in the Va’sha, they held seats on the council of magi for several terms. His life was a whirlwind at a young age, he attended the Magi Academy of Va’Shar, the most prestigious school in the city. His off time was filled with tutors and extra lessons, he was recognized as one of the more promising students from the academy. At the end of his twelve years of schooling he graduated top of his class and with full honors. After his schooling he began his independent study of Ancient magic, which quickly took a dark turn. He spent most of his nights and days pouring over old texts. In his pursuit of knowledge and better understanding he lost touch with society. His parents sent letters though he left them unanswered, they piled on a stand next to his desk. On a unseasonably warm fall day, a new book had arrived on his desk. One his servants couldn’t answer for.

It was bound in black leather, with a silver clasp for locking the book shut. The pages within were well worn, having been flipped through many times, its ink reddish-brown similar to dried blood. The author had written the book in the book in a dead language. Each letter of every paragraph was masterfully crafted, the drawings that were included were done with painstaking detail, and care. After several weeks of searching he found an older text that translated the dead language, he labored for months to finish the translation, but had gotten no where. Every time he shut the book the contents changed, he was growing furious with his work, so much so he had attempted to get rid of the book only for it to return to his desk. He spent every waking moment on the book, and after several years he became competent enough to speak the language and read it.

He had began to perform the magic within the book, and things took a turn for the worse. Certain spells required fresh blood, more than he could offer. He bound his servants to the house with the magic of the book. They continued their duties, often doing their best to avoid him. Although once in awhile one of them would go missing, and they would say a silent prayer for them. He carried on like this for several months. The families petitioned the council for support, and were granted help from the city guard. Walden was caught off guard when they battered his manor gate down, to slow the guard down and to give him time to escape he turned the few surviving servants into thralls, they held would hold the guards for only a minute. He escaped out the back and managed to flee the city.

He managed only to take a few supplies with him, leaving behind years of work. He tried to continue his work but found it hard when coin was short and people traveled in caravans, instead he began his work as a Mage for hire, and was quickly picked up by a Mercenary Company. Eventually the company was hired on under King Baelnorn’s army. The battle went well until the unit he was attached too pushed to far forward and nearly cut itself off from the bulk of the army. In the heat of the battle walden was wounded, his face gashed open and bleeding. His blood blinded his right eye, he was one of the few left standing in the unit, he had to hold the line. Otherwise he’d be cut down in retreat. He held his tome aloft in his hand, the other out stretched, the Mad king's warriors charged the thin line with only the Necromancer standing between them and the wounded soldiers being carried to the back. “Klaatu Bradaaa Netpto.” The dead that lay on the field around him began to convulse and quake, Their eyes a ghostly white. They stood slowly, just in time to engage the enemies. The dead and the enemy warriors locked into battle. His undead servants were not as quick as their live counterparts, but it did scare them a good deal. His hand was held upwards with fingers curled in, wet with his own blood. The ground shook below the enemy warriors, they'd just dispatched the last of the undead and were about to advance when a hands of stones erupted from the ground grabbing the men they scream as Walden crushed them in his projected hands their blood soaking the stone. It caused the second wave to falter and Walden took advantage and escaped in the chaos, but not before raising a rear guard.

Equipment: Ritual Knife, Cloak, Rucksack with supplies, Boots, and Tome of Black Magic.

Other: A well versed necromancer, and a skilled black mage.

[Sypherkhode822]

Name: Kat(erina) Wythono

Gender: Lady

Age: 22

Race:

Sunset Islander

Off in the Western Ocean, there is a series of archipelagoes and islands that are so expansive that they are the entire world for several nations. Inhabited only by humans, these island chains are referred to in their native tongue as the Land. Not having contact with the mainland for over a millennia, their culture and magic developed in an entirely different way. Because of the danger of flooding and other natural disasters, magic and the culture as a whole has evolved to advocate maintaining a harmony within nature. Among the archipelagoes, there still exist violent raiding societies that will roam in long boats, threatening the other peaceful settlements. Although resistance to attack is expected, to seek the violent destruction of these groups is considered horrific by the rest of the societies, and rather peaceful envoys occasionally approach the raiding groups, seeking to enlighten them.
Magic is primarily focused on channeling the weather, healing the ill, and other activities that improve the life of others. Combat magic is unheard of, though there are several schools of magic that teach their students how to combat forces of darkness, as well as several games popular with Mages that have been adapted centuries ago from magical combat drills.
The mainland made contact with the Land only 50 years prior, when a deep water Lavas trade vessel was blown off course and was rescued by a group of far flung fishers. Since then, there's been a steady growth in trade between Lavas and the Land over the years. Lavas nobles value the exotic goods the Land sends, while the Sunset Islanders all enjoy the goods made by the Dwarves. Although there are embassy's in major Lavasian cities, and a dedicated port city for Lavasian vessels, the Sunset Islanders have chosen to keep interaction between the two at a minimum, aware that there is a danger in opening the door all the way with these sometimes untrustworthy strangers. Hearing about the Mad King, several dozen of the best Mages began to travel to the mainland

Appearance: A tall, lean brown skinned woman with tightly curled hair wrapped in a colorful cloth and a generous smile, Kat wears sturdy Lavasian travel clothing. The left shoulder of all her clothing has additional padding on it. She carries with her a tall engraved staff with her at all times. She has a tattoo of a snake eating its own tail on the back of her shoulder. She wears a bronze knife on her hip, and carries a quiver and bow with her, strapped to the massive backpack she carries. She speaks with an accent, and uses many Lavasian vernacular. She has the ornate piercings of a Purification Mage, someone who defends the Harmony against forces of darkness that try to disrupt this world. On her shoulder rides Samedi, a crow.

Personality: Characteristic of nearly all Sunset Islanders, Kat values a strong sense of humor and friendliness. Kat feels a deep sense of personal responsibility towards making sure that harmony is maintained throughout the world, seeing it is as her duty and honor as a magic user to protect and serve others. She is incredibly generous, and will share as much as she can with others, sometimes letting other people use her sleeping roll for the night instead of her. She delights in nature, and enjoys spending time in the mainland wilderness, so different from her home. Despite her extensive knowledge in Arcane and philosophical matters, Kat can still act like a young girl when it comes to social matters, and sometimes comes off as naive.

History:

History

The daughter of the local midwife and bronze smith, Kat had a positive and loved filled childhood, playing with her siblings and helping her parents at their work. By the time she reached 9, it became apparent that she possessed magical ability, and desiring to learn more, began spending much of her time with the town mage, a kindly old man who delighted in having a student to pass on some of his knowledge to. He had never attended any of the major schools, however, and could not perform the greater magics that Kat began to express interest in. And so, after numerous letters and a visit from another mage to observe Kat's natural ease with magic and her deep love of harmony, was admitted into the Yard of the Crow, a prestigious mage school. Kat's family wished her well, promised to write letters to her, and loaded her down with all the supplies she would need for her schooling.
Kat took well to the Square of the Crow, delighting in the pure study of magic, history, and philosophy. It was here that Kat mastered the great Chant Spells, which could summon or calm great storms. She assisted older students in preparing to carve their staff, the mark of all Sunset Islander Mages. When Kat saw a violent Salt Demon be banished from it's attack on the school, Kat vowed to study how to maintain the Harmony against vile forces.
And the school Kat attended had one of the best Purification Mages in the Land- Arlo Tence.
Arlo was at first skeptical of letting the scrawny thirteen year old girl study to become a Purification Mage, but when Kat appeared at the door of his quarters every day for a month, he finally gave in, and gave her an hour of tutoring to start with, certain that the hard work of Purification would drive her off any notions on the romance of being a Purifier sooner or later.
Much to his surprise, Kat took to it like a fish to water, and soon Arlo gave more and more of his time to teaching his young prodigy.
When Kat was 17, she carved her staff, officially recognizing her status as a Mage. She returned home for a short time to celebrate and see her family again. After a month of being home, however, Kat desired to return to becoming a Purifier, and returned back to the Square of Crows and Arlo.
For the next few years, Kat and Arlo would travel across the Land, blessing villages with protection spells, dealing with complex village feuds that resulted in curses being flung, and banishing demons back into their own realm. After Kat returned the ghost of a king to the realm of the dead on her own, Arlo decided that she had earned the rings of a Purifier.
Upon receiving the rings, Arlo gave her another gift, a psychopomp, a guide of the dead, in the guise of a crow named Samedi. Shortly after earning her rings, Kat began to hear talk about the forces of darkness that were facing the mainland. Concerned about the danger the Harmony was in, Kat arrived in Lavas with a group of young Purifiers, all of whom enlisted with the Lavanian military as Mages.
Kat was the only Purifier to survive the initial battle, and is currently beating a retreat, trying to find the best way to return Harmony to this war torn land.

Equipment:
Wooden Mage Staff, imbued with magical power. Bronze dagger, a gift from her father, with several Purifier runes carved into it by Arlo. Sturdy Lavanian leathers, common gear worn by Lavanian Mages. Samedi, a psychopomp who leads the peaceful souls of the dead into the realm of the dead. He is accompanying Kat to act as her guardian, helping her improve her control over her magic, and assisting when she needs to see into the world of the dead. When asked, he once half jokingly said he was older than the sun. A giant backpack loaded with all the supplies a young woman needs to save the world. (includes an outfit for dances)

[Lady Seraphina]

Susanna Grace

Susanna Grace

---

"In heaven opposites are reconciled. In Hell they are always rebelling.”

B A S I C I N F O

_{N A M E}

Susanna Grace

_{G E N D E R}

Female

_{A G E}

21

_{R A C E}

Human (Lavas)

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

A young woman, with a light face and gentle features. Her skin is somewhat pale, but is accented with a light reddish blush, especially on her cheeks. Her hair is the color of aging wheat, and comes down in long, untidy locks to about shoulder-length, traditionally she keeps it tied out of her eye.. Though her build is modest her muscles are toned from many years on the road. What she lacks in physical strength is made up for with quick and dexterous movements. She is 5'8" and only one hundred and twenty pounds.

Susanna traditionally wears comfortable clothing that is good for walking. She favors loose leather pants that allow her to move freely and run quickly along with comfortable military boots implanted with a steel toe, giving her kicks some punch. She wears an emerald green cloak that has faded somewhat over the years. Her shirt is a pale blue with a neckline that can be pulled tighter with a drawstring. Though she usually keeps it loose showing just a little more than is appropriate. She finds this makes it easier to get what she wants from men. She carries a walking stick which she often uses to defend herself.

Despite all that she's been through Susanna's skin is smooth and flawless, without any scars. The only mark on her body is the tattoo of an infernal rune that represents The Flames of Damnation directly under her breasts. When she uses Lilith's demonic abilities her eyes become stained an inky black which proclaims her to be a demon to anyone watching.

---

R É S U M É

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

Susanna has an almost inexhaustible will to fight for what she believes to be right. She was taught by her father from a young age that nothing in life was free. If there was something you wanted for yourself or your family you had to carve it out for yourself and make sure no one ever took it from you. She has a good nature within her that she has to keep a hold of in order to balance out the evil lurking within. She fights for what she believes in and tries to keep those she cares about safe, even if that means making hard sacrifices such as leaving them. Underneath her undying pluck Susanna harbors a deep seated fear that she will lose control of Lilith or her powers and hurt someone, an innocent or even someone closer to her. Because of this she keeps everyone at arm’s length with a cold disposition, especially those she cares about. The truth behind her great vehemence when she enters combat is that she's looking for something to die for. Susanna knows when she dies her connection to Lilith will drag her to the dark place, in the absence of any hope for a peaceful afterlife Susanna is searching for something meaningful to give her life for before she sees the eternal flames.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Susanna's parents grew up in the seafaring nation of Lavas. They lived in one of the port side cities for many years before eventually falling in love and getting married. However their union was short lived. Marie (mar-E-A), Susanna's mother died not long after her daughter was born due to complications of the birth. Her father Richard, sick with grief signed on with the crew of a trading vessel that frequented several of the other nations including the Sunset Islanders and the Anfangrim Dwarves.

He left Susanna in the care of his brother Peter who ran a tavern. Money wasn't plentiful for their family but they were well off. Richard in his new career returned infrequently, sometimes only being at the port town where Susanna lived for a week or two twice a year. However whenever he came to visit his daughter he always brought wonderful tales of lands far away and exotic gifts she could only dream of, a flask that kept the drink inside cold and fresh from the dwarven mountains, an intricate music box that played a sweet lullaby from the Firen nation. The time she spent with him was always pure joy and the day that he left always struck her with sadness.

When Susanna was 16 the port town where she lived was attacked as part of the Mad King's Black Crusade. Susanna was one of only a couple dozen survivors to escape alive and mostly unharmed. With her uncle now dead she had no one left in the world but her father. Without her hometown she had no way of tracking him down. She'd received a letter several months prior had said he was leaving the navel trade union and they shouldn't worry he would come visit with the new year. Without anywhere else to go Susanna spent the next two years of her life trying to track down her father who likely assumed she was dead.

His coworkers at the shipping company pointed her towards the Anfangrim saying that Richard had chosen to spend some time with them. On arrival Susanna found out that her father had begun to study the art of dwarven metalwork but the master he'd studied under had said he'd disembarked for the Hadhodrim dwarves of the middle ranges some two months previous. Just as when Marie died it seemed that thinking his only child had passed on Richard was burying his grief by travelling.

When Susanna followed her father's footsteps to the middle ranges he was long gone but the ironmaster he'd worked under gave her one of the swords her father had crafted and told her never to give up hope of finding her family.

Things took a darker turn when Susanna was attempting to track a wander group of Hobgoblins that she believed her father had taken up residence with in order to increase his skin in metalbending. Though she had no way of knowing, the Hobgoblins that she met with where no the same sort that had taken in her father. They were enslaved to an Andrann necromancer who'd long been banished from his clan for his practice of the darkest arts imaginable. While she was drinking with them and trying to get information on her father one of the Hobgoblins slipped something into her drink. She passed out not long afterwards.

When she awoke she was in what looked like a strange cross between a laboratory, an operating theater and a torture chamber. She was strapped down to a metal table but from her vantage point she could see a tall pale man leaning against one of the walls.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" she said her voice breathless, fear etched on her face.

The elf, for his ears did mark him as such, ignored her as he drew a sword from what she realized was a pile of her belongings. "Well forged, good balance, this is fine dwarven craftsmanship, Hadhodrim if I'm not mistaken."

"Put that down, that was my father's sword!" Susanna shouted.

"Indeed," he said looking unimpressed. "It will serve nicely as a conduit, perhaps an arcane repellent. Added protection is never a bad thing."

Replacing the sword where he'd found it the elf, studied her for a moment before he continued to speak. "To answer your earlier questions, my name is Argent and as for you, I don't have any particular use for you but I need a young and strong body for my work. Now that you are awake we may begin."

The elf started chanting in a language Susanna had never heard before but which sounded vile to her ears. Runes painstakingly drawn into intricate designs forming a circle around the table Susanna was confined to started to glow with a white hot light. Then it was as though the very air before her was torn asunder. A crack split the space and opened wide into a dark chasm blacker than any shadow. Smoke poured from the opening enveloping Susanna in blackness. It felt hot and heavy almost like it was solid. Instinctively Susanna held her breath to prevent any of the vile air from filling her lungs, but she could only keep her mouth closed for so long. Her lungs desperate for oxygen finally drew in a breath of the dark smoke.

The moment she did so she knew she'd made a grave mistake. It felt like acid being poured down her throat, but more than that it felt like the smoke was forcing its way in. The more she breathed it the more she had to keep breathing it until all of the smoke was gone and the crack in space sealed itself. Susanna was sweating from head to toe and her breath came in sharp rasps, her throat felt raw, like if she started to speak it would crack and bleed.

Argent meanwhile was still standing against the opposite wall. "That seemed to go well, please, can you tell me your name?'

Before Susanna could curse him or answer or do anything else a voice issued from her mouth. "A name is curious thing, it is never enough to simply know someone, you must have a word to tie everything you know about them to. If that is how it must be you may call me... Lilith."

A panic rooted deep in Susanna's soul started to rage. 'Who are you?' she tried to scream but the words got lost somewhere in her throat. It seemed though that the creature that had taken her body could hear her just fine.

"Do you not listen dearie? I am Lilith, the rest, well you shall known shortly." Lilith proceeded to rip the leather bindings that held Susanna to the table. She hoped nimbly to the floor and faced Argent. "For what reason have you summoned me here elf. I do not take inference by mortals lightly."

Argent studied Lilith for a moment before he started to speak. "I require your assistance in some experiments, but for now you may act as my vassal." Susanna felt the rage of the demon inside her at these words. She charged forwards, her fingers reaching for Argent's throat, only to collide with some form of barrier at the edge of the runes around the table.

Lilith looked down at the runes then back at Argent. "Necromancer." she hissed as though he were some form of abomination.

"Now now," Argent spoke as though to a child. "settle yourself. You are trapped for now however I have some more rituals to perform before you will obey my command. Until then relax."

The necromancer used some form of dark magic to bind Lilith to his will. Whatever he commanded she was forced to obey. For the next two years the demon was at his beck and call for whatever he required with Susanna watching helplessly from the edges of her own mind. Usually Argent gave Lilith a task and a deadline, most often it was some ingredient he needed for his studies, the heart of a virgin, the hand of a killer, the tongue of a cheat, the eyes of a sear. Whatever he needed Lilith was forced to obtain. However Argent always gave her a little more time than she actually needed to complete the task. He seemed to be under the opinion that it was better for Lilith to release her anger on the wider world than to let it build up, even if she had no power to hurt him.

Two years after Lilith's subjugation she was called back to the operating theater where she was first summoned. It seemed that Argent had completed preparations for the spell he'd intended to test when he'd first summoned Lilith. He had laid out new runes on the ground which he ordered Lilith to the center of. Then he began to chant again in the black language of the void. It grated against Susanna's ears but it seemed Lilith recognized the incantations.

"You can't!" she shouted at Argent moments before he completed his spell.

A blinding light filled the room, so bright it blotted out Lilith and Susanna's vision. When it cleared Susanna heard a voice inside her head. It was her own yet not hers.

'NO!' Lilith screamed inside her skull.

Argent appraised the girl in front of him. "Susanna, can you speak?"

"I-I," she said in shock, so surprised after two years to be able to control her own body again. "She's gone?"

Argent laughed. "Now what purpose would that serve? No she is simply buried in your soul while you control all of her marvelous abilities. Tell me, can you summon the great flames of the Vengeance Demon?"

'The runes, they imprison demons, not whatever we are now.'

Susanna heard the voice and in her state could barely even tell that it wasn't her own thoughts. A horrible scream ripped from her throat as she charged forward and this time crossed over the runes without problem. The moment she did the color drained from Argent's face. Her right hand wrapped around his neck and rage filled her eyes. In that moment, the only time the demon and human sides of her soul worked in unity brilliant white flames formed in a ball in her left hand and she slammed it hard into the necromancer's chest.

The flames seemed to plunge into him, filling his being as they turned from brilliant white to the dark black that reflected his soul. Susanna and Lilith spoke in unison. "The Flames have judged you necromancer, receive your retribution."

The fires consumed Argent leaving behind a blackened husk. Susanna collapsed to the floor, so exhausted that she passed out. When she awoke she gathered what was left of her belongings, took her father's sword from Argent's corpse and fled his fortress.

_{A B I L I T I E S}

Lilith is what's known as a Vengeance Demon, sometimes called a Sin Eater. In the black forges of the underworld she was created to bring retribution to the damned souls that reside there. For that purpose she has two main demonic abilities outside of natural possession. The first is a form of infernal magic called The Flames of Damnation. They are a type of unholy fire that feeds off sin. In it's natural form when first summoned by Lilith it is a blinding shade of white. However when it begins to feed off someone it changes color to reflect which of the nine circles of hell the soul will be damned to. If they're earthly crimes are great enough to grant them a place in all nine the flames turn blacker than the darkest shadow. Only a man that has committed no sin (no matter how small) is truly immune to the flames however the less tarnished someone's soul the less effective the flames. They are extremely effective against the undead and while not negated altogether other demons are largely insulated against them.

The other ability is the one that grants Lilith the name of Sin Eater. Because Vengeance demons are often chosen to hunt down souls escaped from the underworld they have the ability to sense the sins of mortals, living or dead. Unless she has incredibly focus and consent from the other party she does not see specific acts or events but merely a scale of how far gone a soul is, how blackened. Whether they belong above or below. Susanna also has a certain sixth sense when it comes to the arcane, especially infernal or dark magicks.

Outside of pure infernal powers Lilith also has an extensive knowledge of rituals, runes and magic circles that with the right preparation and ingredients can be used to create a variety of effects. This knowledge is however limited tot he demonic portion of Susanna's soul and Lilith only shares it if there is something in it for her.

---

E X T R A S

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

• Arcane Sword:
  A sword forged by her father in the heart of the middle ranges. Kept by his master as an example of his pupils finest work after Richard's departure. When Susanna came looking for her father the dwarf gave the sword to her and told her not to give up hope. It was later enchanted by the necromatic elf Argent to repel arcane attacks.

_{O T H E R}

As the vessel to a demon Susanna's body is strengthened by the ingestion of human blood. She hates to drink the substance and will admit to no one that to her at least it actually tastes delicious. Despite this Susanna keeps a flash of human blood with her should she ever need to enter a fray. Drinking it makes her feel strong though a bit high, like she's tipsy. She doesn't like to drink it because while it makes her stronger and gives her more accessible control over Lilith's powers it also impairs her judgement and makes it that much easier to lose control. She gets it from certain underground suppliers whose normal clientele is primarily witches looking to obtain ingredients for spells. She keeps in a flask her father gave her which is enchanted to keep its contents in an optimal drinking state, soup stays warm, drink stays cold, blood stays fresh.

[Dulcet]

Name: Aliya Montcarre

Gender: Female

Age: 20

Race: Human / Lavas

Appearance:

A woman of middling height, with sun-kissed going-on-olive skin and strong, but not overly toned muscles. Healthy, from a rich diet of fresh seafood and island fruits, with a thin, soft layer of fat mostly concentrated in a faint paunch stemming from a fondness of weak drink. She has a head of full but unkempt long black hair that reaches the small of her back, with a large swathe of the center tied up into a folded updo, while her remaining hair is tied into two long braids that disappear into her garments, to be affixed her clothing.

Should she have an assistant to help her, and she feels like wearing a special set of clothing, her hair is instead worn in thirteen long strands, twelve tied into metal loops on the back of her dress clothing, and the last, central strand braided and adorned with a keepsake from her late mother.

Her appearance betrays her youth, despite her attempts to conceal it. Typically she wears a white veil and only reveals her turquoise eyes. Without them, one can see she has a small, unremarkable mouth that seems to constantly be curled up into a gentle smile. Her face is not striking; rather, her features are soft and blend together well, to compliment a slightly-rounded profile and sharper chin, with cheekbones closer to her eyes than to her mouth. At first glance, without her veil, one would see her bright eyes before taking in her face.

Personality:

Immediately welcoming, but increasingly reserved the closer one gets to her; at the gates of her heart are walls she deems insurmountable. Quick to make poorly-thought jokes and to dole out compliments and generous gifts, she, like other Lavas, also has a mercantile side lacking in any amount of reservation. Coin is her greatest ice breaker, and she delights in adding to her extensive hoard. She can be controlling, but it’s yet to be seen if she has a rotten madness within when things don’t go her way. If she’s not pleased with something, she’ll simply smile and bear it, and then proceed to cut her losses.

If there is one thing she holds in reverence, it is the ocean, and the life that flourishes in and around it. She prefers not to bother most sea creatures unless they’re common foodstuffs, overly-large (enough to ride on,) or if they pose a threat to her or her ship. Contrasting this, she despises dry land, and would spend fortunes to avoid setting foot on it; to the point that she purchased two galleons and crewed them exclusively with hand-picked women so that she could board an outbound vessel while one went to port. Her dislike of land is closely followed by a strong dislike of both the Glamhoth and the idiot general that started the war in the first place. She reasoned that a fool that couldn’t read a map would get their entire crew killed.

Short-Form History:

Born into a rich family, Aliya never once knew the feeling of dry land until she was well into her adolescence. She spent her days picking up hobbies ranging from the mundane to the strange, and eventually settled on a fixation on swashbuckling. She was eager to pick up a boarding axe and cutlass, and soon found joy in leaping haphazardly from the decks of her ships.

While she was getting a grasp on combat, her mother quickly fell ill and perished. Her father was devastated, and called his entire fleet back to port for a month of mourning. Aliya associated the stillness of dry land with the stillness of death, and decided she’d rather die than be forced to live on land. She redoubled her efforts in bettering herself, and soon her father gave her command of a small personal fleet to explore with.

Aliya understood that—because she only accepted women into her crew—she would need a group of experienced fighters to accompany her. Her choice of mercenaries, however, was a grave mistake. Only two months after setting out, the mercenaries betrayed her and ambushed her with a group of pirates. The mistake cost Aliya’s crew fifty of the sixty lives it had, and she limped back home in disgrace.

This did not deter her, and she soon returned to the open ocean—this time with a crew of only the finest female sailors she could find. She personally drilled them in the lessons she learned from her brief stint in combat, and they learned dutifully. She gained fame and fortune from running clandestine cargo, and settled into her new life.

Things changed for her after she docked in a port city close to the Anfangrim mountainhomes. There, she met a mad clocksmith that bestowed a prototype weapon on her. It was one of many, and the clocksmith hoped that by spreading the technology as far as he could, it could one day save someone’s life. He did not explain it, but Aliya was intrigued by the suggestion that some great happening was on the horizon. She graciously accepted the man’s invention, and anxiously awaits the adventure to follow.”

Long-Form History

Aliya was born into a rich family, with a fleet of fishing vessels to their name. She was born at sea, where she would spend the vast majority of her lifetime. From a young age she worked with her mother’s personal crew—all women—and quickly picked up the finer points of command. She never quite got the hang of sailing, but could always trust her crew knew what to do based on what she told them. Trade and exploration were her joys for much of her life, and her parents whole-heartedly supported her with her endeavors; though they would never let her set sail without one of them aboard her ship.

Being out on sea gave Aliya plenty of time to pick up strange hobbies and think. At first she took more common hobbies, like fishing, or whittling, but over time she grew to crave more and more complex, esoteric pursuits. For a short while, she was interested in the tarot, and to a lesser extent, the occult, but this phase came and went, though she keeps her birth cards on hand: the Devil, and the Lovers. One of her attendants had a small flute, which Aliya learned to play with some degree of skill. On and on she went, until she settled most recently on combat skills: particularly fond of boarding actions and deck combat.

While she was learning how to handle an axe while jumping from one moving ship to another, her mother fell ill and perished to an unknown disease. Her father, gutted at the loss, brought all his ships to port for a month to mourn her. This would be the first time that Aliya was on solid land for an extended period of time. Soon, the grief over the loss of her mother was augmented by a certain sickness—a feeling that land was too solid; too foreign for her. She came to associate the stillness of the land with the stillness of death, and was relieved to finally go out to sea again. Her father—still grieving—chose to stay on land, and for the first time Aliya set out in sole command of a small fleet of three clippers.

Her choice of vessels complimented her desire for boarding actions—rather than cannon warfare. Her ships were equipped with reinforced bows and installed the strongest rams that she could find, along with three harpaxes on both sides of the ship. Knowing that her female crews would be at a disadvantage in a melee, she begrudgingly hired a company of mercenaries to accompany her in another clipper of her specification. The mercenary company headed their fleet, and would specialize entirely in combat; both with cannon and in melee.

Aliya’s days of exploring were short, however. Only two months into her exploration, the mercenaries in their company disappeared during a storm. At the time, they had been docked by a large island, and Aliya assumed that the mercenaries would be somewhere nearby. A few days later, their fleet was ambushed by a two pirate frigates, led by the missing mercenaries.

The resulting fight was brutal, but through superior speed and tactics, along with smaller displacements, Aliya ran the two pirate ships aground and set them afire. The mercenary clipper, however, caught up to her while her other ships were busy burning the pirate vessels. Their men were excellent marksmen, and landed their harpaxes from extreme range. Aliya’s crew couldn’t cut the harpoons before the mercenaries were on them. Her crew numbered sixty, while the mercenaries fifty. Their difference in combat skill was immediately apparent, however, and Aliya and a large group of her crew were driven up the aftcastle in short order.

With nowhere to go and her two other ships too far out to render aid, Aliya and her crew used anything they could as weapons. They went from swords and axes to resorting to using mops to push the mercenaries back, and eventually ended up kicking stray barrels down the stairways at them. Her crew kept Aliya far away from the front against her orders, and were cut down. By the time Aliya was able to fight, her crew was down to ten able to fight against twenty men.

It was at this time that Aliya realized that her training amounted to very little without experience to back it up. Her form with a boarding axe and cutlass was excellent, but she was easily brushed aside by more muscular, battle-hardened foes. She called the surrender of her crew with the mercenary captain’s voulge to her throat a short while after she was cornered, and the mercenary crew was quick to bind and gag her crew. The captain extended a “cordial” offer to Aliya: an empty promise that his men, “will hold out raping, abusing, and killing her crew for as long as they can,” in exchange for Aliya’s servitude whenever the captain pleased.

There was no room for negotiation, but for once that was not what angered Aliya the most. In a brief window of opportunity, she knocke the voulge out of the captain’s hands. When he tried to clumsily pick it up, the shorter handle disconnected from the shaft, and Aliya’s skill and speed finally pulled through for her. She seized the blade and drove the spike through the man’s stomach, before swinging it around and catching him on the neck. In her rage, she kept chopping until the man’s head was cut clean off, and then crushed it underfoot. The other mercenaries were too busy hauling Aliya’s crew onto their vessel, and the prize crew was below-deck checking for any hidden survivors. Aliya only had to fight two men to start.

She turned the captain’s head over his throat to cover it in blood, and then ran to the two men on her deck. She threw the bloody head at the one on the left and landed a perfect hit as he turned to face her. The other mercenary was too slow to react, and she drove the spike of the voulge into his stomach, and similarly swung the weapon around to disembowel him. His partner didn’t even see Aliya before she charged him with the spiked end of the shaft and tossed him overboard. She repeated similar actions—freeing her crew as she went—until she could hang the dead bodies of the entire mercenary crew from the sides of her ship and the mainsail.

Despite the sudden victory, her ship was far too damaged to continue sailing for long, and she grudgingly returned to port. Her father was outraged at the mercenary guild, and several men were tried and executed in the following weeks; many more were found strung up and gutted around the port areas. Aliya took to training her crew as hard as she could, and soon she felt as if she mastered the trophy she had taken from the mercenary captain. She had another one made to her specifications, and burned the old one. She swore to her crew that they’d only ever rely on themselves from then on. She hired the finest, and then the women sailors not quite the best at what they did. She organized training for her crew; going so far as to hire master crews and famed female warriors to teach them. Her crew devoured the training she administered, and she built up a truly remarkable crew. She returned to her father triumphantly, and requested a small loan from his fleet to call her own.

Her father was delighted when he tested her crew, and gave her a much newer set of ships:four clippers and the fastest frigate available. The timing of this could not be any better. With both speed and sizeable defenses, her fleet was considered one of the best at ferrying precious cargo and sensitive information in a time of growing unrest. Whispers of a great war were brewing, and all races spoke in frantic whispers and hidden gestures in an attempt to stay ahead of the oncoming storm. Aliya went from being simply wealthy to nearly controlling a small city’s worth of coin in secrets.

On her journeys, during a short stay in a port city with links to the Anfangrim mountainhomes, Aliya encountered what she thought was a stark-raving mad clocksmith. He would not stop going on about his invention; his “masterpiece.” He called it a clock that told the user more than just the time: it told them the time left on their life. Aliya was perplexed, but couldn’t get any reasonable explanation from the man. She dismissed him until she noticed a single figure just barely out of place in the shadows; weapon drawn. From their steely look, she could only guess that they had heard the madman, and knew exactly what he was talking about.

Before they could attack, Aliya hauled the man away; back to her ship. She had him confined to a small room, and she waited at attention for something to happen. At dawn the following day, a squat pair of humans requested boarding, and left Aliya with a box addressed to the clocksmith. She could not shake a feeling of dread that came from the imp-like men.

The clocksmith, on the other hand, seemed saner the moment he saw the box. He eagerly opened it and tinkered with its contents, and Aliya watched in surprise when she recognized the silhouette of a pistol. She could not recognize was the strange lock it had. The dwarf would not explain it in detail, fearing “leery ears” were listening to them. When he inquired about what Aliya and her ship did, he was delighted to hear that they were well known—perhaps counterintuitively—for their ability to take clandestine cargo from one place to another. He said that he would make as many of the weapons as his tired hands could manage, and he would entrust them to as many people as he could believe would keep them safe. There was something looming on the horizon, and—while one invention might not change the course of history—there was a chance that it could. He begged Aliya to take one with her, and told her that when the time came that it would be needed, she would need to find the most adept engineer she could to bring the weapon together.

“By no means will this save the world,” the clocksmith said, “But it may save you, or whomever you bring it to; and that certainty is what keeps me working tirelessly.”

With little reason to refuse, Aliya took the box that had been delivered to her ship and locked it safely in her quarters. The clocksmith disappeared in that short time, and Aliya did not press the issue any further. She smelled an adventure, and would have her take of it.

Equipment:

Voulge—shaft splits about 20 cm from the blade and can be detached to use the head as an axe / cleaver, while the other end has a short spike in the bottom
Complete set of parts of a wheellock pistol and a bag of shot and powder.
Cotton sailor’s clothes
Boots
Small bag of supplies
Mother’s Hair Ornament: a thin golden ornament about the size of 3 fingers side-by-side. The top portion of the ornament is a manta ray with its fins outstretched, facing ‘upwards’; a blue gemstone rests along its dorsal region. Below it is the visage of a jellyfish.
Two tarot cards: the Devil and the Lovers.

Other:

Capable of fishing (with adequate tools)
Familiar with Lavas flutes