[CHAR] Long ago, in a kingdom far far away. (Fantasy appcalypse, more details to come.)

[ShwiggityShwah]

Angel in the Stalks

Angel in the Stalks

Age: 16

Race: Naga

Fears:

She comes from a culture where family is the most important thing. She's under social and personal pressure to find a mate and continue the family trade. However, she fears being alone, unwanted, repulsed. Her sub-race of Naga are foreign to this land so she doesn't have more human-esque features (hair and the like) that are found on more local types of Naga. She tries to doll herself up with as much jewelry and modern fashion to catch a gentleman's eye, but most cannot see her past the scales. It's left her feeling ugly and disgusting and many times before she's spent nights curled up and crying. She over compensates by learning other skills that make her more desirable.

Description:

Her scales are a sandy tan color and she is roughly 9-10 feet long. She has no body hair, and uses bright jewelry and clothes to stand out more. She'll use anything available, bandannas and long brimmed hats with flowers to show case how lovely she is. Rarely she will use makeup or perfume, but not too much of that is available.

Magic: Pyromancy

Her family of ranchers traveled alot with their herds of cattle. This meant that they were out on the plains and sometimes in the highlands where the winds and cold can be unbearable to their desert dwelling kind. For that, her grandmother taught her a little bit about Pyromancy.
She can only start fires on flammable objects, torch, campfire, etc and maybe cast a spark to distract or temporarily blind or send a burning flare to light the way forward.

Weapon of choice: Trident

Actually her 'spear' is just a pitchfork with the prongs hammered straight. It was the only thing that she was able to grab on route of her escape. She's actually pretty handy with alot of 'staff or polearm' type weapons. Hoe, Shovel, Scythe, Flail. She had to use a bunch of farm implements all her life and those skills can translate to how she can defend herself.

She knows a bit of archery, hunting quails, ground hogs, and the occasional coyote that bothered her family's cattle.

Skills:

Animal Care having belonged to a family of ranchers, Angel has had to contend with a bunch of animals. Mostly she worked with beef and dairy cattle, but in their travels they had to either breed or contend with a whole bunch of other animals. Her brother himself even had a talent for falconry on the open plains, so she picked up some skills.

Leatherwork Inevitably a cow dies and their skin can be used for other things. She knows how to tan, strip, cleave, treat, and dry leather and form them into different things. Her prize work is studded leader armor she designed for her dad. He was pretty okay at giving them a bit of an enchantment but it's something she never quite got the hang of, considering Pyromancy was more important.

Cooking Everyone had to pull their own weight during the migration season, and her childhood was spent helping prepare the meats, cheeses, and vegetables. Alot of times, she needed nothing more than a knife and a campfire to prepare a sizable good quality meal. The best girlfriends know how to cook for their man.

Weaving/Tailoring Repairing clothes, shoes, tents, and making tools was important. While he brother learned manly things like the forge, she had the delicate touch and keen eye to become a bit of a seamstress. A good wife knows how to sew... well thats what her mom said anyway.

Farming On occasion, when famine was an issue, her family would change gears and help the communities of naga work on their agricultural plot. She would be out there with them, planting, tilling, picking, preparing. She likes to jest that a bit of farmwork is what gave her her girlish figure.

Background:

Angel in the Stalks, as she is so named, liked to hide in the long stalks of barley that was once her family's farm. Her tan scales made her blend in quite well much to amusement (and sometimes worry) of her parents. It was during those happier days of being swaddled in blankets and hanging onto her mother, and playing outside when it was hot, when a blight hit the farmlands of their homeland. With blights came famine, and with famine came the decision to move on. You follow where the work is, and her family did just that, immigrating across the sea to connect with distant relations. Thankfully family was always something important to their particular clan and so they worked the land here, growing patches of vegetables and rearing herds of cattle.

Typical of farming families, every member had to help and it was something Angel started out not minding.
She was the youngest and had plenty of older siblings, cousins, etc to make the work pretty easy considering.
She tended the livestock with her father and uncle, learning to groom and to milk. She helped plant vegetables and grains with her cousins. At home, she picked up cooking, weaving, tailoring from her older sister and mother. She picked up tanning from her grandfather, and pyromancy from her grandmother, for practical purposes, namely keeping things warm during the winter months. Everything was passed down from the older generation to a younger one.

It was their herding lanes though that actually had a significant impact on Angel after reaching the age where she started noticing boys. Being surrounded by familial relations, she didn't exactly have a pick of eligible mates. While in a simple village, she went with her older siblings to buy some goods when she met a human boy. The boy swept her off of her feet, err tail, playing into her own sense of vanity. It was a turning point in her life as she struck her terrible teenage years. She tries to find any reason to go into the villages, cities, and castles in order to make new 'friends'. No such luck yet.

A little after her 16th birthday is when things got a little strange. Her parents, in fact all of the adults began to act a little bit more irritable, a little less patient. They didn't seem to notice, merely arguing and fighting with eachother whenever any decision came up. It was something her, and one of her brothers noticed.
It only got worse as the days went by. Angel tried to stay away from the family more and more, becoming actually afraid of what was happening. Things came to a head when her father, eyes almost white with rage threatened to beat her for not coming to dinner on time. Her brother came to her rescue, but it was quickly evident that their parents demeanor had went from raging to murderous. The confrontation between her brother and her father resulted in her brother receiving a sickle to the belly, Angel in desperation struck her father with a pitchfork and attempted to flee, her wounded brother at her side. The wound was too deep, she couldn't stop the bleeding and he succumbed before long.

After the burial and mourning, Angel quickly found out this was no an isolated incident. She had spent the last few weeks trying to rescue anyone she could, her mothering instincts kicking in to keep them safe. She's barely an adult herself and needs them almost as much as they need her.

[Vertigo]

Aelinor Kiandall

Name:

Aelinor "Eli" Kiandall

Gender:

Female

Age:

23 (around 14 in human years)

Race:

Wood Elf

Personality:

Eli is an emotional person, in both the good and the bad - though it may not be apparent at first glance. Her parents always taught her that a hunter's greatest tools are a cool head and a brave heart, and she does her best to exemplify those traits to the best of her ability. Especially now that she no longer has her parents or townspeople to rely on.

As such, when you first meet her she likely comes across as disciplined, mature and dependable. Having been the leader in her group of friends and an elder sister to her sibling, she seems to have experience when it comes to leading, taking responsibility and looking after others. Indeed, she would like to consider herself levelheaded and logical, even wise beyond her years. But at the end of the day, she is still a teen - and all that it entails.

As said, she is emotional, very much so; all that she feels, she feels tenfold. Her usual calm belies a firecracker, easily ignited by many a thing. She's curious, quick to shed her ladylike exterior by the lure of an adventure or a challenge. Equally easy is to earn her scorn; you need not but underestimate her, treat her as a child or try to challenge her self-proclaimed authority and you've got yourself a conflict waiting to happen. And though she dislikes it, tears are not a stranger to her. Tears over cute things, tears over hapless things, tears over sad stories and beautiful love.

Perhaps the worst combination, however, are her stubbornness and pride. Fiercely independent and suffering from a 'big sister syndrome', she sees it as her duty to gather as much responsibility on her shoulders as she possibly can - only to eventually end up crumbling underneath the weight and stubbornly lash out as a result of it. And yet, her pride forbids her from asking or accepting help.

In short, underneath the exterior of a graceful young lady, Eli is a prideful firecracker with endless ambition and empathy - but also a lot to learn about sharing responsibilities and not trying to take on the world alone.

Fears:

➳ Losing face / failure- While most people probably don't like failure, Eli takes it to the extreme. She's a proud little thing who has set her mind on being independent and responsible - and will not allow herself to look anything but. She will deny help (even when it would be needed) to prove herself that she can do what she's set out to accomplish, and will assure you that 'she'll be fine' to the very bitter end.

➳ Fire - Ever since her forest home was set ablaze, Eli has been terrified of fire. Seeing it in a controlled form, such as on a torch, hearth or at the heart of a camp does little more than make her keep her distance. However, open fires or fire magic are quick to give her flashbacks and nausea.

Background:

Up until the tragedy struck, Aelinor led an entirely regular life. So regular, in fact, that for years she thought it boring and dull. Had she only known what the future held for her, she might've had more appreciation for the slow summer afternoons and brisk winter mornings of her youth.

Eli was born as the eldest of two children to a pair of Wood Elf hunters. Her parents were neither rich nor poor, and their name carried neither infamy nor power. They were a typical family of four, hunting game to sell on the market every afternoon. Since young, Aelinor was taught in the ways of the bow, oftentimes accompanying her father to hunting trips just outside town.

For years, she was just like any other child her age. She spent most of her days outside - playing, laughing, teasing her brother and at times, venturing into the forest to find berries and mushrooms for an afternoon snack. She was outgoing and wild, usually the leader of her group of friends - and always the first one to make it to the top of an apple tree.

At times, her parents would scold her for being too unruly, and eventually she would learn to balance out two Elis. One that combed her hair to perfection and smiled politely at the elders as she passed them by, a pinnacle of grace and beauty. And another that soaked her pretty clothes in mud for a slightly closer look at a passing-by curiosity of a lizard, unafraid to follow it up a tree or down a hill.

Then, one evening, things began to change. Eli woke up to the sounds of a skirmish just outside her home. Curious and worried, she hopped out of bed and tiptoed her way to the window, peering out into the darkness. She could make out the vague shapes of her neighbours, exchanging blows and profanities. In a few minutes, more people seemed to wake and step outside, though not in order to break up the fight - but to join it.

Eli's father pried her from the window, tucked her back in and promised it was nothing a child should worry her head over.

He was wrong.

The next day, it was the family down the street that found themselves wrapped up in a sudden conflict; as were the town's bakers, guards, and that funny old lady that used to read her stories whenever she paid her a visit. And unlike last night, it did not end only with a few bruises and bloodied noses. There were bodies, lying lifeless on the streets.

The details of the following week are a blur. Eli can recall the madness reaching her very house, and the fight that broke out between her parents. She can remember taking her little brother's hand and pulling him with away. And then she remembers the flames, red hot fingers tearing at roofs and trees until the entire world was ablaze.

One moment, she was holding her brother's hand. The next, she wasn't.

Eli cannot remember how or when she got out of the forest, but she must've done so. She can remember solitude, panic, fear, despair - and another pair of eyes, reflecting everything she felt. No, not just one pair of eyes; two, three, four--

Before she knew it, she was no longer alone.

Weapon of Choice:

➳ Bow - Aelinor's primary weapon, and the only one she can claim any proficiency with. The bow is made out of wood and carried around strapped to her back, close to her quiver.

➳ Dagger - A light-weight blade used more for carving wood or skinning game than actual combat. She can use it to stab or slash at someone in a pinch, but has no actual combat experience with it. Usually carried around on her belt, however she has been known to hide it in her boot from time to time.

Magic:

➳ Animal communication - When perfected, this branch of magic allows its practitioner to fully communicate with - and by extension, often befriend - most animals they come across, even some of magical nature. However, Aelinor is decades from mastering this ability, and can only communicate with animals on a rudimentary level. Misunderstandings may and do occur still, like that one time she accidentally insulted a bear...

Skills:

➳ Hunter - Though young, Eli has been hunting for many a year now, and that has honed her senses. She has sharp eyes, acute hearing, and she can both recognize and track many species of animals in the wild. Also, what she lacks in physical strength with her bow, she makes up with accuracy. She's a very good shot, even if she doesn't have enough strength to pierce the thickest hides with her arrows.

➳ Survivalist - Somewhat related to the above. Sometimes finding game could take days in the wild, with no settlements in sight. And while she was never on these trips alone without an adult, they proved useful in picking up various skills related to survival in the wild. She knows which berries and mushrooms are healthy and which dangerous, how to tell directions, find water and start a fire - at least in a forest. In open fields, deserts, cities and glaciers, she is as lost as any other child.

➳ Potionist - Though it isn't her forte, Eli has knowledge on a few basic potions. Provided she has all the necessary ingredients, she can create potions that may accelerate the healing process on an injured area, induce sleep, increase your ability to focus or perform tasks needing precision, and ones that can somewhat suppress pain. She needs the exact ingredients required for her concoctions however, and attempts to substitute one ingredient for another may end up in tragedy.

Other:

➳ The Kiandall family tended to use various birds of prey to aid them in their hunts. However, since Eli was considered much too young to handle a hawk or an eagle, she was given a smaller bird to start out with. Enter her pet sparrow, Elion. He's small and not very powerful, but he has keen eyes and has been taught to scout. Eli considers the bird her friend and adores him to death.

[Dusty]

Brother Alfwin

Theme

Male

Human

Fourteen

Standing at a slight meter and a half tall, Alfwin is on the smaller side, thin and with a gaunt face and stick like arms. His hair is a dark brown, cropped evenly across his head, with only the sides allowed to grow out. He dons the simple brown habit of the order's monks, with a cloth belt around his waist and sandals upon his feet. Altogether his pale features and slight frame gives him a frail appearance, as if a strong breeze would be able to push him over.







*Pious*Trusting*Optimistic* - *Meek*Cloistered*Rash*

*Despair*

A cheery and optimistic soul, Alfwin is a high spirited young fellow, apt to be lost in his own little world rather than fixated on the present. When and if he is drawn down from the heavens in order to focus on a necessary task he proves to be an excellent student, quick to learn and eager to experiment and try new things. The only challenge being to successfully direct his energies towards more refined obligation. Alfwin’s upbringing in the order fashioned him to be a pious child, trusting greatly in the lonely goddess and her teachings. His power after all is drawn from her. The lonely goddess instructs her faithful to remain charitable and passive, diplomatic and understanding in all their endeavors and trials. Alfwin embodies this attitude to an extent. He is meek in the face of true violence, having never even seen a proper fight, though he can be sharp of tongue and wit when allowance for nonphysical self-defense is acceptable; never in earshot of the brothers of course. Alfwin abhors it when folk are in poor spirits, doing almost everything in his power to cheer them up again. He draws a great deal of joy from people being happy, and can be infected quite easily by the negativity that poor attitudes bring with them. He is terrified of the despair death brings with it, and seeks to counter his feelings of hopelessness by becoming overly optimistic, encouraging the impossible to be within reach, just to see a smile on a dying man’s face.







Upon the holy hill, then untouched by the black curse that swept the lands, rested a serene monastery of the lonely goddess so pure. Here her monks and clerics sang their hymns and chants, toiled in their fields, and inscribed in their great tomes in peace and without want. Healers and scholars all, they were a charitable community, content to worship their goddess and treat those who requested her blessing. Without question nor demand they fed the hungry, healed the broken, sheltered the weary, and welcomed the unwanted stranger into the warmth of their home. For centuries it had been this way, ever since the lonely goddess first taught her faithful to create remedies for the ill of body and spirit, and by her powerful magic perform miracles of healing. For this reason the monastery saw many needy pass through its gates seeking healing for the sick and dying, pleading that the monks aid them in their suffering. No one but the violent and evil was refused at their gates, and even though the monks would give everything they had to those who asked, they always seemed to have just enough. So they worshiped, and healed, and lived happily.

One day a young foreign lord, a man of wealth and power arrived at their gates, and though the monks, with their trained eyes looked they could see no ailment nor curse upon him other than fear and crippling grief. Once admitted he cast himself upon the floor before the Abbot’s feet, his handsome face marred by tears and ash, his feet and head bare, and his clothes torn by his own hands. There he begged the Abbot ride with him at once back to his home, where his young wife lay stricken by a terrible infection with their first child, yet unborn. She remained too ill to travel, and by his physician’s mournful estimate lay close to death's door. The Abbot felt pity for the young lord, and though he wished dearly to help he could not abandon his beloved monastery to accompany him. He was an elderly man after all, frail and of weak health himself, unable to go galloping across the world at great speeds without serious risk. Instead he suggested the service of a youthful novice to attend the lord’s wife in his place. The lord implored of the Abbot to supply his services directly, promising to dedicate his child to their order, if only he would save their lives. He trusted only the most powerful of the order, and when he looked upon the novice the Abbot offered, he felt his wife would surely perish. Moved by his devotion to his loved one the Abbot placed his hand upon the man’s ashen brow, and swore upon the lonely goddess herself, that no blessing, nor power would be bestowed by him, that wouldn’t be gifted to another. Naught else but the prayers to the lonely goddess, and great hope and acceptance could restore the health to one so stricken.

Dejected the man departed the monastery to return to his homelands, wracked by misery and hopelessness. His new companion seemed unsure of himself, and could make no promises of his expertise in healing unrecognizable ailments by magic or otherwise. Nevertheless they pressed on for three days until they arrived at his estate, to the welcome of mournful song and black banners draped across the walls. Wailing the lord prepared to rush to his wife’s bedside when the novice grasped him by the shoulder, hushing him. “Fear not,” he cried, “For I know she is not dead, but sleeping. Your servants have been fooled.” The lord was unconvinced and struck the novice upon the cheek, crying out in anger that he was a fool and a worshiper of a false god. Humbled the novice walked behind in silence as they were escorted into the wife’s chambers. Already her face was veiled, and pale as in death. And yet upon seeing her the novice cried out again, exclaiming joyously, “See, did I not say it was so? Praise be to the lonely goddess; awake her.” Thus declared the novice offered a prayer in thanks and stepped forward, lifting the veil and casting an ethereal light over the woman, shocking all present. In a moment the women’s face cleared, her disease healed. The lord fell to his knees and praised the lonely goddess, and the novice whose magic brought back his beloved from the very brink of death.

For several months after the novice returned to his monastery the monks heard nothing from the lord again. They went about their lives as usual until the sound of hooves announced the arrival of a great entourage. There the lord sat, high upon his proud horse, beside him his wife now in full health and in her arms a tiny bundle. Descending from his place of power the lord sank to his knees, taking the bundle from his wife and laying it down at the Abbot’s feet, giving praise to the lonely goddess and dedicating his firstborn to her service, a promise at last upheld.

Little Brother Alfwin, as the baby became known was at once indoctrinated into the order’s ways. Learning their methods, their hymns, and their prayers and growing up under their care and guidance. His parents traveled often to come visit, and were pleased with his education and upbringing, eager to see their child learn the ways of healing and restoration they now held so sacrosanct. Although he was something of a trouble maker, Alfwin still made a good novice, studious and intelligent and with promising magical talent. His love of fun, and his high energy made him well liked throughout the monastery, and the brothers would often find him sitting in the infirmary telling jokes and funny stories to the sick and injured, trying to raise their broken spirits.

Alfwin spent much of his time at his studies, memorizing the vast array of plants and oils that could be brewed into different healing drafts. Scribbling them down again, and again into great tomes in order to drill the information into his head. Besides his writing and reading Alfwin was taught the chants of the lonely goddess, songs infused with powerful words that mend the unamendable, all while praising her glory and her great mercy. Every so often Alfwin would lose interest, and become restless, pulling pranks or speaking crassly as a child might. Should he go too far in his personal amusement, he would be humbled and chastised by the brothers, set to sweeping out the library or some other such extracurricular chore. To avoid these instances, when Alfwin he felt fit to burst from youthful energy and boredom the monks would allow him to take their donkey to buy good from the small hamlets dotting the countryside, and play with the children there for a day or so before he would have to return to his education.

Life seemed good to Alfwin, and though it seemed there were its ups and downs he appreciated his upbringing and life, right up to the moment when everything changed. Alfwin wasn't quite sure when it happened, or even where it started. He was on the road, riding swiftly to Lesser Hamenshire to purchase a new spade for brother Cal when the sign of smoke above the trees alerted him to trouble on the horizon. Everything seemed to spiral into disaster from that moment on. His arrival into Lesser Hamenshire revealed the corpses and burned dwellings which left a hole in young Alfwin's heart. He knew most of these people well, and to see their lives having been violently wrested away by some unknown evil shocked him to his core. Turning about he made great haste back towards the monastery, wishing to warn the Abbot of a terrible army ravaging the land, until he saw upon the hill, the smoke and flame rising from his home.

It seemed to Alfwin as if a great weight rested in the pit of his stomach, and he knew, that no brother remained alive. The family he'd come to love were gone, and whatever had taken them did so without mercy nor consideration to those who'd never done harm in their lives.

The sight of figures coming from the hill, rapidly approaching broke Alfwin from his grief. In an instant he knew those few were not brothers from the order, but some race of orc, uncommon creatures here. Abandoning his donkey Alfwin fled into the local woodland, hiding amongst the shrubbery. Perhaps fate itself guided his feet, or some other force of nature set him on his true path. But somehow Alfwin found himself wandering into an ancient legend, even the order's once great library knew little about.








Medical Knowledge

Not all the monks’ teachings are that of magic and worship. They are proficient healers in their own right, knowing how to create and use a vast array of medicines, healing potions, salves, and poultices. In fact for a healer to be skilled in the realm of medical arcane he must know how the body of his patient operates in detail. Alfwin was given these lessons first, as all the order’s brother are, and was required to learn the art of medicine before even starting his training in magic.

Restoration

Alfwin was just beginning to acquire knowledge on how to use his magical talents to their fullest potential. He knows the words of the songs, which contain the magical words quite well at this point, and can identify the cause and cure of ailments, however he can only slightly tap into his abilities. Healing bruises and cuts, or clearing colds are all well and good, but further intensive studying would be required for him to fully master and control the restorative magic at his fingertips.

Scribe

From the moment he could be taught to hold a pen, and scribble his letters Alfwin has been instructed to write almost constantly. Even at fourteen his script is perfect, and his capacity to understand many written languages and runes are masterful. He even keeps a journal within which he writes any and all useful information.

Agriculture

The order always grew their own food, or hunted it in the local forests, being largely independent of the nearby hamlets. Many of the professional botanists within their ranks had developed a branch of magic entirely devoted to increasing the bounty of their labors. Alfwin never learned these techniques, being far to young, however like all the brothers he was required to toil in the fields on the regular, familiarizing himself with the concepts of agriculture and farming.

Trade

Perhaps the least refined of Alfwin's skills is that in trade and bartering. Due to his frequent forays into the local towns, under orders to purchase the occasional item he has developed a knack for haggling that most of his order does not possess.

Quarterstaff

The order does not teach its novices to fight, even with the sturdy walking staves all its members own. However anyone with a lick of sense can swing the staff to drive away an rabid dog or menace a ruffian. Alfwin of course hasn't the build to menace even a stray cat, but he carries his staff anyway as instructed.

[MissCapnCrunch]

Queen Skullsplatter

Tᴏʀᴄ ᴛʜᴇ Oʀᴄ

Gʀᴇᴇɴ. Qᴜᴇᴇɴ. Pᴀᴄɪꜰɪsᴛ Wᴀʀ Mᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ.

Pʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ

ɴᴀᴍᴇ
Torc Skullsplatter: When an Orc is born they are given a name that is fitting for the delivery process of their birth. There surname is either brought upon by their father's accomplishments or that of their very own feats. When Torc's mother was in labor, the baby girl twisted inside the birth canal several times, ripping her severely. It was beautiful. Torque: A twisting force that tends to cause rotation. Torc's parent's were not very educated so the spelling of her name was not much of concern. It was just good enough so that others got the idea across that even before she could carry her first sword or axe that the little queen was causing wonderful destruction.

ᴀɢᴇ
Sixteen.

ʀᴀᴄᴇ
Orc.

ғᴇᴀʀs
Bringing shame to her family name. Magic users.

ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ
Currently she is sixteen and behind her peers in the child bearing department, by now she should have at least two children. It wasn't that Torc wasn't able to bare children or that she wasn't a sought after suitor. Standing at six foot two and weighing over two-hundred and fifteen pounds she was a catch and a half. Her red hair was disheveled, dreaded and unkempt and her eyes were a fierce and piercing yellow. She just wasn't amused with a lot of the tactics of other Orcs or most Greens for that matter.

ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ
Definitely not.

ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ
War Axe.

sᴋɪʟʟs
Destruction. Strategist. Craftswoman. Miniature Enthusiast.

ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

The Skullsplatter clan were a rough and tough group of Orcs. Warriors in every aspect of the word for generations and generations. They were called to arms to aide many groups and fought bravely and rarely loss a battle. By the time Torc was born, the land was quite different than her ancestors had grown up in. They trained for wars that did not happen, they taught their children to kill people that they were now intermingling with, and they stuck to traditions no how outdated they seemed. Torc was raised as any Orc child would be, but she had different interests.

During her training as a small child she would spend more time looking at the figurines that littered the war table rather than listening to different plans of attack if it were to come down to it. Big clumsy hands were not great for carving small miniatures, she would press too hard in some places and either carve out too much or break it in half completely. This hobby was something practiced in the privates of her own room, as her parents were not too happy about the idea. They wanted a warrior bearing, axe wielding, aggressive war lord. They received one, on the outside- Torc played the role well, but she didn't enjoy it. She went through the steps she needed to take to get by the tests and trials but her heart was set other places. Torc enjoyed the creative and small things in life, she enjoyed the color that blood made a fresh white linen but didn't enjoy the process it took to get it that way.

Turning sixteen in Orc culture was a huge day for a woman, she was not considered prime and ready for child bearing and considered a queen. Not in the political sense but in the way that Orc men treated their women with a lot of respect. Not your typical way that you would perceive respect; the men thought women were weaker and quite useless compared to their male counterpart but they were respected for giving life to their strongest and most respected leaders. Torc was no exception, she carried on her father's surname with pride and turned down men left and right. She wanted someone who respected her for her inner beauty not how fast she could splatter a skull between her thighs. This has caused some tension in her family, her mother and father have been quite vocal about what she needed to do with her life how to go about it, unless she wanted to be clanless- a fate worse than death in the Orc community. Torc would ignore most of these things, her hopeless romantic heart and her desire to break from tradition lingering every day that comes her way.

When the land turned on it's head Torc had been trained for such a fight, but she never expected she would be grouped with other children to do it. Having to turn against her own blood in both mental and physical battle. She knew that this motley crew would be all that she had in the face of the evil that was present as well as what lurked ahead.

[That1Guy]

Spark

Spark

Race
Human

Age
12

Gender
Female

Fears
Dragons, loss of control

-Description-

A small human girl of no older than 12 with uneven and gently singed light brown hair that stops around her shoulders. Her clothing is simple cotton, though the dress is burnt away and singed in many places. It leaves one to wonder who allows her to dress this way, or if there is anybody to care at all, certainly the messy hair, wild grey eyes and lack of shoes adds to the look.

-Personality-

She is a suprisingly angry little girl, for being worshipped as a phoenix in her hometown far from most civilization. Prone to sudden mood swings, she can enjoy the company of a person one moment and wish them ash a second. Despite her natural pyromancy however, she is still a little girl and is just as curious and naive as the next.

She is surprisingly kind however, always quick to smile for birds, and quick to tears for the injured. In fact, even if she is quick to anger and stay angered she has a wide array of emotion that she chooses to try and hide from the world.

-Pyromancy-

Due to the wild nature of pyromancy it can obviously be destructive, but when spark focuses she rarely intends true harm and due to this she has little combat experience outside of temper tantrums that involve setting herself ablaze, often catching things things around her in her rage.

Spark is what mages refer to as an " Elemental " a mage born with a gift for a single elemental catagory, with no true hope of learning magic outside this catagory. Spark's element is fire.

Wards
Due to her lack of control, Spark has taught herself a few weak flame wards to prevent her from setting ablaze the things she enjoys keeping around.

These wards are able to redirect heat and flame away from the object in question. These wards are weak, and break easily from overuse and at the end of the day, forcing her to practice her wards by constantly reapplying them to the required objects.

-Skills-

Burning things
Both a skill and a very much enjoyed activity.

Sewing
A little girl must know how to keep her only set of clothing from falling apart, a skill she can thank her mother for.

Elvish speaker
A crush on an older Elf boy in her village led her to spend a lot of time learning the Elvish way of life, her illiteracy means she cannot read or write her own language let alone Elvish, but she is fluent enough to hold decent conversation.

-Background-

Her life was that of a simple trading village on the edges of civilization and belonging to none, her home was a trading hub of information and goods, people and lifestyles that all clashed in often strange ways.

For the first ten years of her life she enjoyed herself as a normal, albeit tempermental child. Since age four she was an admirer of the elvish people and their ways, the orphaned girl spending more and more time alongside the long living peoples. At age 7 she gained a best freind in an elvish boy who acted as a buffer between Spark and her poor decicionmaking.

As one would expect from the life of a child, nothing truly extraordinary happened until age 10 when her pyromancy developed, resulting in a forest fire. The two years that followed were a blur, magi and researchers came and went in an attempt to teach Spark to harness her abilities, to no positive result.

It was only in the week of madness and the days to follow that Spark had begun to wish she had practiced her abilities.

The world fought, and Spark was stuck in the middle of a sudden four army war with nobody truly belonging to any one side. As far as Spark knows or cares, she was the only sane person to escape her village.

She followed the story, as many children had. She found a new family in these forgotten and abandoned, but unfortunately a few wished to save the adults, a poor decision in her mind but who is she to argue?

[Fetzen]

Funark

Name: Funark

Age: 16

Race: Half-drow, half-giant

Fears: Large heights, spiders

Description:

One can clearly see the giant part of his heritage. Despite still being very young, Funark already towers at no less than seven feet nine inches and is packed with extremely massive muscles all over the place. Still he exposes dark-elvish traits like pointed ears and dark and pale skin. Overall he looks very rough cut and imposing, but in fact he more often than not faces issues with his cumbersomeness and lack of agility. Being this big is not always exactly advantageous...

Magic: None.

Weapon of choice: He has never been trained as a solider nor has he shown any particular interest in the job by himself, so he doesn't exhibit any significant skill with any weapon with the exception of his fists and the remainder of himself. He can be a terrifying wrestler and try to just run over the enemy.

Skills: Blacksmithing (to some degree), Leatherworking.

Background: The dark elves of Ryr share a common border in the west with the region loosely known as Hamvah. While the latter is not the mainstay of the giants, a larger part of their scarce population still is located there, allowing contact betweeen the two races. While sometimes difficult it generally is a somwhat peaceful coexistence. While more intensive relationships between adult individuals are practically unheard of due to obvious reasons, the same cannot be said for a young, less enormous giant and an adult dark elf. This is what happened in Funark's case.

He was an unexpected child, but nevertheless (and unlike the fate most of his kind are going to suffer) his parents chose to actually care about their common product. His mother Heia was the giant, his father Fendil the elf. They cared about Funark the best they could, but the massive differences in their cultures still couldn't be hidden entirely. Up until the dramatic events that ultimately took place he was torn between the different realms, one saying he should go blacksmithing and the other insisting on leatherworking and dark elf rituals. He couldn't do both at the same time and to the same degree, so Funark ended up pretty average at both at least so far.

With both societies having been aware of the phenomenon of 'cross-border' relationships for centuries he was spared most of any other social conflict though. Funkar was accepted among both communities to a degree that, while not perfect, one could still live with easily. He never was pursued for anything, but his entry into the dark elf armed forces had already been scheduled. A war with humans was going on and with his stature he was deemed to be a very valuable asset in the future.

Of course all of this has lost its relevance by now. He had been on a hunting party with a few other elves when the very unexpected happened. Returning from the woods, expecting the others to applaud him for the massive boar he had shot and wrestled with his own hands and that was hanging over his shoulders, all he found was a bloody mess. What kind of being was capable of mutilating, eviscerating, slaughtering an entire hunting party in one go ? It was only much later that he learned from other childs about what really had been going on in his abscence...

Since then he's practically strolling around on his own, pretty lonely and desperate. The war with humans had come to an abrupt end and given the situation he'd be the last one to feel any need for continuing it between the youth of both races.