[CHAR] World of Telduria [Reboot]

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[Terminal]

People of Action

• These are individuals who have been out and about for some time. They have their own agendas and visions, but may be amenable to working with others for a variety of reasons.

The Exhumed Warrior

Andromache of No Lineage

Exhumed Warrior

Species:

• Human

Age:

• Late twenties to early thirties.

Nationality:

• Kron-Nesis.

Loyalty:

• Rabid Brigand.

Profession:

• Knight Errant

Physical Description

Andromache stands approximately 1.82 meters in height, with a somewhat broad build and bronze skin coloration. She has dark, back-length streamers of red hair. Her face is somewhat rounded and and severe, with tight features. Her eye coloration is a dull garnet.

Accounts of the Exhumed Warrior

Details of Andromache's early life are practically non-existent, given her common upbringing. Only the words of those who knew her previously given any hint of who she used to be.

An Anxious Lieutenant

"Yeah, I knew Andromache back...before she turned into some kind of living nightmare I guess. She was one of my Platoon Sergeants. It was part of my duties to know each of my Sergeants well enough that I could have faith in both their fealty as well as their competence, but I admit I never knew Andromache terribly well. Just that she was always a really, really angry woman.

And what I mean by that - well, by example, she controlled her section almost entirely through terror. I sent all my problem troopers to her section. Assholes who I literally could not pay to shut the hell up and do as I told them would get their shit straightened out in days, sometimes hours. She was...is, really, intense. More real than everything else around you. When she got going, it was like the entire rest of the world dropped away. Only because, since she was usually furious with you it was more like the entire world had just ended and she was a wrathful goddess out of legend coming to personally kick your shit in.

Now I know what you're thinking - that can't be great for morale in a battle. Any kind of soldier motivated by fear will break more readily than other soldiers, yeah? But not with her, no. I...well if I have to be frank about it, it's practically like she managed to instill everyone she commanded with the belief that even if they ran and managed to escape, even if she died, she would haunt their sorry asses and scream them mad in their dreams.

I say that because that actually happened, after the incident. Nobody in her section fled; the neighboring sergeant picked up her spot and got them through the battle. But maybe about two weeks later, two of the troops killed themselves. Now, nobody can actually say why, but there was an awful lot of chatter going around that they offed themselves because they couldn't even stand the mere memory of her rage lingering in the back of their minds, along with the guilt. Mostly being spread by others who had maybe been considering the same thing, if you get me.

Personally, I would have preferred it if she had actually died. That sort of temperament just isn't proper, in hindsight, and while it may have worked while she stuck around, her...leaving basically shattered morale. I shuffled everyone out of that particular section just to stop all the rumors.

Kron-Nesis Platoon Lieutenant

A Perfunctory Sergeant

"Hm. The battle of whidder slope. Yes. I remember it.

There has been a prolonged series of skirmishes back and forth in and around the mountains between the royal army and the Dwarves. The particular variation in elevation of the terrain lends itself to some unusual tactical topography. Trenchworks and sapping lines leading up to the Dwarven holdouts and earthworks. Section Sergeant Andromache was commanding her section in a flanking manuever that led them through one of the tunnels. I observed most of the event, as my own section was holding fast and standing by for a planned, subsequent sally. The dwarves had anticipated our strategy however. Had their own counter-sapping operation going, and collapsed the entire tunnel while Sergeant Andromache's section was still moving through it, dropped the whole lot of them into a lower tunnel where the dwarves had smaller cannons. They poured grape shot into the whole thing. Under normal circumstances it should have been a wholesale slaughter.

However, Sergeant Andromache somehow survived the first volley of shot. She has always been described as being immensely intimidating in person, and although I do not care for speculation I suppose the dwarven gunners must have been momentarily startled when they saw her charging right at them in the tunnels. She then, by some accounts, massacred the gunnery crews and the guards that had been stationed with them. She rallied what remained of her section afterwards and started leading them back up to our side of the trenches.

The dwarves had planned for that eventuality as well however. When their surviving gunners returned to the surface, they either pulled a fuse or knocked down a necessary support for their own tunnel. They were not quite quick enough - the only casualty was Section Sergeant Andromache. She had remained behind to ensure all those that still lived amongst her section were able to escape, and she was subsequently buried alive.

At the time, we believed her to have perished. I assumed command of her section and the battle continued. Afterwards, I delivered my own report on the events that transpired. The Colonel elected to recommend that Sergeant Andromache receive a posthumous knighthood for her peerless conduct in battle.

I cannot speak of her conduct thereafter, as I have not personally been witness to it. I have heard she lived, and will not presume to speculate as to her conduct unless I am otherwise so informed or instructed."

Kron-Nesis Section Sergeant

A Wistful Dwarf

"The battle of whidder slope - that were a bad one, it were. Both sides tore each other up, not an inch given or lost fore it all. An' we right cracked the damn earth itself open where we had to, made it swallow up the Krondites and their knights and their poor bastard soldier. 'O course, all battles end. That one did. Twere eventually a stalemate, and the sallies and cannons stopped.

I got sent in durin' the aftermath. Consequence of making and breakin' so many tunnels, a lot of valuable tools and artillery gets buried - but we make maps of everything we dig, y'see, so we can always dig it back up and refurbish it after the fact.

Now I wanna tell you - whidder slope, that were a real bad fight. Real bad. Went on 'fer weeks. The tunnel I was sent to excavate, it had been collapsed early on, maybe day two or three. An lemme tell you, we dwarves, we know a thing or two about survivors of collapsed caverns. It happens, but even we ain't ever likely to hear about a survivor weeks past after tha' fact.

Tha' thing we unearthed - we mistook it for a monster. Was all clod up in mud and dirt, didna even recognize it as biped! 'An we had 'na gone down there with any real weapons, and wern't expectin' a fight. She tore through us like we was kithkin. It's how I lost me leg. Beat me so bad and left so many cuts in me that it got the gangrene.

Now, after tha fact, I still canna even believe she survived. Maybe there were a channel somewhere that what gave her air, and mebbe she coulda eaten all that rancid man-flesh that was in there with her, but nothin' can live that long without drink - Humans need water every three-day like, right? Mebbe there were canteens down there with 'er or sometin, carried by the other soldiery. I dunno. But even assumin' all 'o that, she should've been weak as a kitten, starved 'o air if not thirst an feast, not to mention blinder than a dwarf from the deep caverns up top during midday! Humans don't have no cave adaptation, she canna have seen what she were doin' or where she were headin'.

But she thrashed us and then went right back home, 'cross the other side of the slope. Had to've been a miracle, ye ask me.

And mebbe it twere in our favor, from what I hear she raised all sorts of hell back over the mountains. It don't surprise me a lick, and I hope whatever it is that it right fookin' stings for them Krondites."

Darakeen Dwarven Field Engineer

A Delicate Socialite

"That vile peasant? Well yes, when they realized she was still alive they had to recant her knighthood. As a matter of principle, that sort of thing is really only socially acceptable amongst the peerage when the knighthood is strictly posthumous. Could you imagine otherwise? A common-born peasant knight who had never even been retained under any of the houses or servants of the royal family? Some rotten, dirty, besotten, wretched churl from common infantry amongst our prized Knightly Orders? The scandal would have been immeasurable. Of course there was a bit of heeing and hawing from certain members of the army and the Knighthoods themselves as I hear it, but that sort of thing is really none of their business. It's within our province to see to these sorts of matters, not them, and I daresay they should be thanking us for the favor we did them. As I hear it she has turned into quite the belligerent terror since."

Kron-Nesis Court Socialite

Wizened Hill Wizard

"Oh ho, yes, I remember her. Came to me many a years ago, all business. Extremely mad at all of creation! She never said it, but you could tell! But she came right up to me while I was in stylite meditation, knocked over the column I was meditatin' on with a mace, then right up and told me I would be teachin' her Earthern Magicks!

So I did. She was very promising, had plenty of untapped potential. She was not ever a particularly patient student, but she was awfully driven. Would sit and dream about wrenching my head off for wastin' her time while lecturing her on discipline, bless her. She never lay a finger on me though, and always afforded me the greatest deference. Think she were a mite afraid of me even. Make no mistake, she could have bashed my skull in or ripped out my throat whenever she liked, but she never did.

Last thing she ever said to me before she up and left one day was that she weren't never going to be trapped again. Asked me to point her to someone who could teach her more Earthern magicks, and so I did. I recognize that sort of drive. Not exactly healthy, but I'm just a crazy old stylite! Who am I to judge?"

Eamonvale Hill Mage

An Injured Knight

"She's not angry with us...or with the nobility...or with the dwarves...she's angry at everything. But...she didn't kill or hurt anybody who didn't get in her way. When I tried to stop her, she just maimed me. Both my legs. I'll probably never walk again. She killed my squire...but she wasn't even looking at him when she did it. It was so offhand...so casually...I'm pretty sure she just wanted him out of her way. Same as with me.

Maybe I'm giving her more favor than I ought to, over sympathy for how she was mistreated when she came back from whidder slope alive. But nothing can excuse what she's been doing. All this killing and stealing, without any rhyme or reason. It's inexcusable. I'm just...trying to tell you how I think she is being driven. She wants something. Something specific. We're all...immaterial to her, like cobwebbings to be brushed aside. We're just not real to her anymore - which means she'll probably underestimate somebody or something, eventually.

There were a few hanger-ons with her. Informal squires, maybe? I got the impression she was putting together a band, or else she might be looking to join up with one."

Sickbed Report of a Kron-Nesis Knight

Talents & Detriments

Talents

• Battle Furor:

Andromache, as an officer of basic infantry in the army of Kron-Nesis, is no stranger to frontline engagement and the chaotic tumult of thronging combat amidst enemy hordes, where confusion and death reign. She is gifted with the ability to remain collected and cerebral admist the pitch of any battle or in the face of any danger, no matter how great. She is also a formidable and experienced combatant and familiar with a number of battlefield tactics and techniques.

• Cthonic Virtue:

Being buried alive affected Andromache in a number of ways, and not all of them were to her detriment. Andromache's appetite has been drastically reduced, she needs little to sustain herself for long periods of time or effort. Having to sustain herself on rotten, rancid flesh from her fallen comrades has rendered her nearly immune to a plethora of common toxins and afflictions. Her senses are also significantly sharper than would be considered normal for most humans. Perhaps most markedly however, is her ability to discern illusion from reality, and to shrug off all but the most potent of mind-affecting magical effect.

---

Detriments

• Monstrous Infamy:

Andromache is not particularly well thought of within the confines of the Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, on account of the numerous massacres and atrocities she is responsible for therein. She is also, as a matter of principle, not particularly welcome anywhere else even remotely civilized due to her barbaric behavior. People in surrounding regions have heard of her exploits, there are wood-etchings of her semblance in guard-towers and local militia barracks, and there are more than a few parties who would leap at the opportunity to upbraid her.

• The Nightmare Never Ends:

Andromache's psyche was terribly afflicted by her time in the dark. Exposure to complete darkness or extremely cramped and enclosed spaces, causes her to revert to a darker, more primal fugue state wherein her formidable skills as a warrior and soldier drop away. She sleeps in terrible fits, and to awaken her is a risky proposition, as it is not uncommon for her to emerge from slumber in a terrible and destructive rage.

Spellcraft

After her return to Kron-Nesis and the subsequent recantation of her knighthood, Andromache journeyed outside of Kron-Nesis and studied with a number of hill mages and wizards from the Eamonvale as well as the Mage's Guild in the use of Earthen Magics. Although Andromache was uniquely driven and motivated, no amount of innate talent or drive permits for mastery in so short a time. In particular, while her ability to influence the earth is powerful when awakened, it takes some time for any of her spellcraft to manifest, and the energies involved are slow, lumbering, and imprecise in their work.

Andromache can influence the forces of the earth - soil, rock, and stone. Influencing metal is hypothetically possible but not an aspect of spellcraft she has actively pursued. The more peculiar application of her magicks is the ability to wield seismic forces both as a weapon and shield, although these are slow to rouse and are therefore not ultimately reliable in brief or surprise confrontations.

Equipment

Andromache has stolen and purloined a number of items from her various victims. As a matter of practice she typically cannot make use of all of them at once, and either has lackeys serving as informal squires carrying some of them for her or else must hoist what she can in baggage to be discarded if the need to fight arises.

• Spoiled Plate Armor

Since her return to Kron-Nesis, Andromache has used her knowledge of the nation's Knightly Orders to ambush and lay low many prominent knights of note, maiming and killing several and subsequently stealing their effects. Her plate-armor is assembled from mismatched, combined pieces stolen from her victims. It is technically fully articulated, although the mismatched nature of the ensemble limits this aspect of the armor in practice - affording her a significantly increased range of motion over ordinary plate-mail, but not so great as would be afforded from a custom-made suit of armor. The plate is worn over a layer of reliable chain and scalemail, which Andromache keeps well-maintained. A drawback of utilizing the stolen plate is that Andromache requires assistance in removing and adorning her armor in anything approaching a timely fashion. Getting in and out of it on her own in the wilderness might take her well over an hour.

• Morning Star:

A No-Nonsense weapon, with a head adorned with spikes and tipped with a vicious prong. The mace is smaller in scale than a full warhammer, requiring only a single arm to use (albeit still requiring a robust physique to make use of in such a way), but may also be used with both hands if necessary.

• Dwarven Halberd:

A trophy of some skirmish between a Knight and Dwarven forces near the border, taken in turn by Andromache. Made of dwarven metal, the Halberd is well-made but shorter than a standard halberd scaled for Human use, giving it less weight and heft as a consequence - but also allowing it to be used with one hand.

• Marduk's Saber:

A fine, custom-made cavalry saber made for a member of Kron-Nesis' landed nobility. Worth a king's ransom all on its own, but still functional. Stolen by Andromache from its previous owner, now dead.

• Enlil's Kite Shield:

A stolen metal-faced kite-shield, its surface adorned with the family crest of the House of Enlil, members of the Kron-Nesis landed nobility. Their only heir was one of Andromache's first victims, and her use of his shield thereafter features prominently in the stories of her assaults.

• Crossbow:

A common crossbow taken from an unfortunate Pavise Soldier. Of no particularly esteemed make, but crossbows are not known as equalizing weapons for no reason. Andromache is not particularly attached to the weapon, and is as like to simply fire it and then discard the crossbow as try to reload it.

Living Eidolon

Hecuba Amaranth

Living Eidolon

Species:

• Human (Elvish Heritage.)

Age:

• Early twenties.

Nationality:

• Ithell

Loyalty:

• High Astronomer Ormoneric

Profession:

• Laboratory Assistant & Busybody

Physical Description

Hecuba stands approximately 1.67 meters in height, with a lithe, nubile build and ivory skin coloration. She has straight, silvery shoulder-length hair. Her face is somewhat rounded, with hints of fair, elvish features. Her eye coloration is golden, and the tips of her ears are slightly pronounced.

Accounts on Ormoneric's Latest Laboratory Assistant

As a common-born apprentice at the Grand Observatory of Ithell, Hecuba has little in the way of a documented upbringing and childhood - though, fortunately, the number of records and firsthand accounts that describe her time at the Observatory itself are numerous.

An Unacquainted Journeyman

"Hecuba? Let me think for a secon- oh! That girl with the silver hair? Quite easy on the eyes. If ever there was a poster-child for the hereditary benefits of interracial comingling between Humans and Elves, she's it. Er. You know what, forget I said that.

I'll admit I don't know her too well. She's been at the university for around four years I think? And I'm struggling over here, but I am blanking on what her exact area of expertise is...

Oh, well, for example, Astronomer Sorcelin is an expert in the field of Aeronomy, Astronomer Tinelt is an expert in the field of Interstitial Aether Physics, Astronomer Wvvnul is an expert in Celestial Meteorology - that sort of thing.

But like I was saying, I don't recall what her specialization is. I've not seen here in many of the seminars here, but from what I've heard from some of my friends she does lots of field work. Field and mountain surveys, leyline tracing, dowsing expeditions, that sort of thing. I've also personally seen her running errands for some of the Astronomers and Lecturers...

Now that I think about it, is she even an apprentice here? I've never actually spoken to her and she's pretty distant most of the time. Might be because most of the men here drool over her, assuming she's not some frigid shrew. Maybe she's an errand girl employed by the Grand Observatory? We have a few of those, you just don't notice them. It's just she is particularly hard to miss. Like I said, very easy on the eyes."

Journeyman at the Grand Observatory of Ithell

A Contemptuous Adept

"That slattern? Oh yes, I know of her. She's a disgrace to the institution, let me tell you. No, she's not an Errand Girl - she's an actual apprentice, but what she has in looks obvious came in trade for intellect. She dropped out of what few seminars she attended, and the rest she got through on her back or on her knees, the little whore.

Yes, I imagine you did. Her diminished faculties are why she takes on so many field placements. Lots of running around getting your hands dirty, very little in the way of actual academics - I don't mean to belittle field placements! They are immensely practical and useful, assuming you have the education and talent to make the most of them. Which she definitely does not. The most cerebral thing she's ever done in those placements is fill out survey logs and charts, and quite frankly it amazes me she is even literate.

Her shameful conduct has only been getting worse over time - she's been the 'personal assistant' of quite a few of the Astronomers here. It would not surprise me if she's been spreading her legs to pay her way. I suppose as professions go that's not unreasonable for unlearned women, but really, the Astronomers here should know better. Then again, maybe they found her particularly hard to resist. She is quite comely, thanks to her filthy mongrel heritage.

It gets worse - just a few weeks ago, I saw her ducking out of the High Astronomer's personal laboratory! Just to make sure I was not going insane, I went out of my way to pass by that way whenever I could thereafter. I've seen her heading in and out frequently since then, so I am forced to conclude she has become the chatelaine of one of the High Astronomer's personal assistants.

High Astronomer Ormoneric...? Never! Such harlotry is beneath his dignity, it's simply out of the question...Although I have seen her speaking with him recently. He was laughing at something she said...Ugh, I'm nauseous even thinking of it. The scandal if she got to him...but no, I'm sure that's not it. Absolutely certain. Gods, please, let enough be enough as far as her licentiousness goes."

Adept at the Grand Observatory of Ithell

A Severe Astronomer

"As a matter of policy I am not really supposed to be discussing any of my apprentices with unaffiliated- Ah. Is that so? Hm. Very well.

To be frank, Miss Amaranth is an atrocious student. She has attended very few of my seminars and did quite poorly in those that she did. She tended to become very confused. Having spoken with her personally, I have to say she is somewhat dim when it comes to mathematics, physics, chemistry, and many other subjects taught here. Under normal circumstances she likely would have been expelled for deficiency, but there is, thankfully for her, an extenuating fact. Specifically, Miss Amaranth seems to have a peculiar native talent, if you will. Just a few days ago, during a field placement out up top in the mountains, Miss Amaranth managed to sharpen a dowsing gem on elemental starlight using obscura scintilla while she was conversing with my personal assistant about Nocturnal Ornithology.

Pardon me. Let me explain: What she did, off-hand and while distracted, exceeds the technical ability and proficiency of very nearly every single Astronomer employed here, including myself, if they devoted their utter focus and attention to it. That may be a faint exaggeration, I could definitely have done it when I was younger before the demons got to the joints in my hands, but trust me when I say the sophistication of the task is such that it is not something she could have done simply by chance. Many of the Astronomers here have to scout out talent, carefully discriminate and hand-pick, and then personally train younger Adepts for years in order to eventually help them do that sort of thing. And Miss Amaranth made it look as easy as knitting. Not only that, she does so regularly in most of her field placements, if I am to understand the wild stories I have heard from my peers.

Ah, yes, that is rather apt, I am surprised it did not occur to me before. Certainly, idiot savant describes Miss Amaranth almost perfectly. Simpleton would be a little too far, Her logical comprehension is more than adequate and she is a composed conversationalist. I would reckon she simply has some sort of canalized maladaptive cognit- ah. I mean, she may simply not be cut out for the more rigorous aspects of our sciences.

Nonetheless, her ability is far too useful to do without, especially in these times. So it is no surprise she is presently one of the High Astronomer's personal assistants now. He had me personally tutor her for a time. Teaching her was quite elementary; I did not have to impart anything of true substance to her. I essentially just taught her basic trade vocabulary and brushed her up on abstract theory; the essential and basic hows and whys of our studies without having to delve into the complex field equations and scientific rigor normally required in our profession. The former was necessary so she could understand more complex instructions as well as describe experimental results, the latter would have been well beyond her ability to comprehend. She can tell you how to achieve a state of limenflux transcience and what such a state entails, but she cannot incorporate any of the requisite field equations or render the circuitous patternings for it. Which makes her worthless for tutoring other students, regretfully.

Oh no, she'll never be a Magister I'm afraid. Native talent only gets you so far; altogether too many warlocks and demon summoners learn that the hard way. If you don't know the underlying science behind magic, one's magical abilities tend to plateau below the level of expertise afforded to Archmages and their ilk. No amount of gut reflex can let you measure out fractal infinitesimals of Platonic Enanfarar and the like, after all. But she will make a fine laboratory assistant to the High Astronomer. We will not see her like again for decades, perhaps centuries.

...Sexual misconduct? My word. I had no idea- Well, I had suspected with some of the apprentices perhaps, she is quite charming, but amongst the Astronomers?!?

With Me?!?!

I never! I cannot - you disgust me. How dare you presume to levy such an accusation at me? This is not the end of this, you hear me? The High Astronomer will be hearing about this! And my good associate the Duke of West Sul! You will rue this day you cur!

An Astronomer of the Grand Observatory of Ithell

A Befuddled Bursar

"Hm, last name Amaranth you say? Funny, it should be somewhere near the front of the filing but I don't see it here. Amaranth, Ama, Ama, Ama...not here. Where in the world...Hrr. Here it is - for some reason it was stuck all the way in the back along with poor Zzzyxas. I'll just move it back where it should be when we're done.

How curious. Miss Hecuba here is not listed as being a sponsored apprenticeship, but there are no records of any payments made to the Observatory on her behalf...and her file is marked with a notice of special dispensation. Quite curious. Special dispensation is usually only used for apprentices from Noble houses or else for the exceptionally talented, but her marks are some of the worst I have ever seen - and there is certainly no Noble House of Amaranth I am aware of.

Let's see...joined the Observatory four years ago...no family or next of kin on record...no listed birthplace or country of origin...Presently one of the High Astronomer's personal laboratory assistants? Well that can't be right, with marks like these. Something is very clearly wrong. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; we have to look into this matter immediately. I'm afraid security here at the records department is not what it could be; it would have been trivial for somebody to have broken in and made alterations or forgeries back when this document was issued. This young woman could be a foreign agent for all we know.

Bursar of the Grand Observatory of Ithell

A Supportive Peer

"Oh, Hecka? No, I don't think it would be wise to introduce you to her like that. She's had a lot of bad experiences with boys and men chasing after her or else giving her trouble for some reason or another, she'd probably be put on guard.

Well, she's not a lot of help when it comes to writing up formulations or protocols, but she's easily the best out of all of Master Ormoneric's assistant's in terms of magical technique. She can practically spin straw into gold if you give her a decent taproot, doesn't even need a catalyst most of the time. Which is kind of a double-edged sword, she runs through our rocks real fast. I get that she's not great with math, but come on girl, it's not that hard to-

Actually, you know what, who am I to judge? And I shouldn't be talking about her behind her back like this. Hecka is great, loads of help, fun and sweet when you get to know her.

Well, actually, the High Astronomer seems to deliberately distance himself from her whenever they're both around. He's usually a lot more personal with his assistants - calls most of us by our first names! But he's a lot more formal when she's around. There have been some really nasty rumors going around the Observatory about her - unfairly and for no reason might I add - hopefully he'll warm up a bit more to her once she's been around long enough. In fact, maybe sooner rather than later. I hear she got picked to go on visitation with him to the royal court of Kron-Nesis, so she'll be getting her own catalyst totem sooner than most of us did."

One of the High Astronomer's Personal Assistant's

An Awkward Runner

"Y, yeah, I know Hecuba. Uh. Well, know is a strong word, I've...I've seen here around? A lot. She's nice-

No, I don't believe the rumors. She's awfully suspicious of boys really. _{Won't even give me the time of day...} But uh, I admit I have noticed some oddities about her routine. For one thing, I know from taking a peek at the High Astronomer's duty roster that Hecuba is supposed to be all the way in Estorna right now, on an extended field expedition - but she's obviously still here. And it's not the first time that sort of thing has happened. One time, I uh...I may have gone to the docks to see her off_{...without her knowing I was there...}and I actually saw her leave on a carrack, yeah?

Thing is, she was still here at the Observatory the next day. There would be days where I couldn't find her, but she'd be around every once and a while. People would not even act as if anything was wrong; I guess because nobody else knew that she wasn't supposed to be there? Then, just to make sure I wasn't losing my mind to obsession or anything, I was at the docks the day her ship returned and saw her get off of it.

I'm sort of amazed there are no rumors about that going around! I mean, who cares about what she does in her own time? She can practically be in two places at once! That's epic magic right out of legend! I mean, I suppose it's probably just some kind of trick? Or maybe she has a secret sister or something? Gosh, if there were two of her that would be interesting...I mean, uh...

Anyway, I tried to tell some of the other runners about it, and- ergh, it's infuriating, they tried to report her to the Bursar's Office as some kind of foreign agent! And they just ignored the part about her being in two places at once, or else maybe don't really get what I meant? Why does everything have to be so complicated with them?"

Errand Boy of the Grand Observatory

Observational Notations

"Getting in was easy, but this place is weird. Practically labyrinthine, I swear it has to be larger on the inside than it is on the outside. Not to mention all the security. Lots of wards and runes in place - and all the doors and locks in here are dwarven make. Lots of weird mechanical instruments lying around. I almost set off some kind of tripwire alarm prying open a case in the High Astronomer's chambers.

I also made a bit of a miscalculation. There's some kind of interference of dampening effect inside, all my glamours and charms wore off while I was still inside, hours before they should have. That was a nasty surprise, let me tell you! Getting them all set up cost me a king's ransom, I'm just fortunate I was able to duck into a cupboard so I could reapply everything.

Even that wasn't much of a waste of time. I witnessed some strange arcane ritual. There was an array of mirrors, some kind of giant, fancy tunnel lantern chamber, and an elvish girl with silver hair was manacled inside of it. The High Astronomer pulled some kind of latch, and the whole lantern filled with light! I could have sworn she died, because she seemed to burst up from it into dust and ashes! But a second later the High Astronomer pulled her up from...somewhere. I was sort of disoriented from the light so I must have missed something. And there was a picture of the girl on one of the mirrors, like a painting! Only it was upside down for some reason. There was something else in the mirror as well, but I didn't have the best view from where I was and the mirrors got bundled up and carted out by other assistants.

She didn't seem like she had been a willing participant when she was tied up with the manacles inside the lantern, but she seemed weirdly calm when he pulled her out of thin air. Was talking to him like nothing had happened. Downright weird really. It's not the strangest thing I've ever seen, but it was up there. Thinking of doubling my usual fee.

I still haven't found that spear I was hired to pinch, and I feel like I have a cold coming on for some reason. I'll need a couple days to study the mapping I got done anyway, I can use that time to recover."

Notations of a Thief

Talents & Detriments

Talents

• Abstraction Scholar:

Hecuba has received a wide amount of education and tutoring pertaining to abstract magical theory and natural philosophy. She is well informed as to the nuances of most realms of magic and natural sciences and can identify most magical effects on-sight.

• Peerless Adjuvant:

Hecuba has an impressive native talent for highly intricate and sophisticated spellweaving. She can eschew most or all requisite catalysts, as well as somatic and verbal components for most spells, and requires nearly zero stamina and endurance to cast any given magical effect. This impressive degree of talent does not extend itself to the need for both knowledge and power - Hecuba still requires sufficient magical energy for every spell she casts, and it goes without saying that she still must comprehend the functional aspects of a spell in order to cast it.

---

Detriments

• Idiot Savant:

Hecuba has an abysmal grasp of the more arduous and practical aspects of mathematics, physics, and chemistry - which drastically limit her competence as a mage.

• There Shall Come A Reckoning:

She shall be broken upon Kalpa. What returns will be terrible beyond imagining. Let the tally be marked, grieve upon her loss, and despair at her return.

Spellcraft

As an apprentice of the Grand Observatory of Ithell, Hecuba wields a broad swath of utility-oriented light-based magics. These are not, however, garden variety magical light abilities - she does not weave illusion and does not bedazzle the senses. Her magic is of a kind that calls upon the sky and stars, evokes the sun and moon, that charts paths and shapes destiny - amongst other things.

Hecuba may call upon primordial, cosmic magic to reveal, discern, and unravel the nature of the world. In battle she may assist allies and hinder enemies, while out of it her powers lend themselves handily to a wide variety of tasks and purposes.

Equipment

• Heartmetal Tine & Rod:

A curious brass-colored mage's wand, at least at first glance. It has a short handle that splits into two long cylindrical prongs. Hecuba has indicated it is properly called a 'Resonance Fork' and that it is made of a material called Heartmetal. It does not seem dissimilar from steel; it is reasonably sturdy and has decent flex to it. It produces a very pronounced, ringing tone when struck by an accompanying rod. You have seen it catch and turn daggers and blades before, but the scratches and marks in its surface seem to fade over time, as though the metal healed. Hecuba appears to use it both for self-defense as well as a dowsing rod - rigid materials exposed to the tine's ringing tone seem to rapidly become more and more brittle until even light impacts can sunder them.

• A Mysterious Carboy:

A double-wax-sealed, brass cylindrical container about as tall as your head. You cannot see within, but from its weight and the way it handles it likely contains some kind of viscous fluid.

• A Hand-Mirror:

A small, hand-held flip-case hand-mirror made of brass with the emblem of the Grand Observatory on the back. It does not seem enchanted, but as it is actually connected by a thin chain to a metal band along Hecuba's wrist you get the impression it is more important than it looks.

• Scrapbook:

A cheap booklet filled with scrap parchment. From the looks of it, it has gotten some use and there is evidence of several dozen pages having been ripped out. You have seen Hecuba writing out observational logs and records, but those pages always seem to be missing the next time she opens the book.

• Writing & Rite Materials:

An ink quill and pot, charcoal, chalk, even a small lump of wax, all neatly bundled together. There are also several top-wrapped bowls with various salts, and small cigar-like leather wraps with numerous powders therein. Alchemical and magical materials, most likely.

• Dusken Marbles:

These look exactly like children's marbles that have been painted black. They sting your skin faintly when you hold them, and are heavier than they look. Hecuba has been tight-lipped about what they are for, as opposed to her usual coy demeanor when withholding information. She keeps most of them separated in groups of three, in individual hand-sized brass trays rather than heaping all of them together. They seem to attract and adhere to each other if you let them with a fairly powerful force. Hecuba looked like somebody had walked over her grave when she saw six of them from two of the trays all bunched up together.

• Silver Dagger:

A silver dagger, not altogether too different than the sort an apprentice with the mage's guild might carry. Hecuba assures you that silver daggers are staple tools of magecraft, and so of course you have never seen her use it.

Person of Interest

• This individual is not the sort of wayward personage you would expect to go haring off with you on wild adventures - but they just might have some work or leads for you...or else, it might prove useful to take a look into their affairs.

The Starlit Augur

Werrill Ormoneric

Starlit Augur

Species:

• Human

Age:

• Early-to-mid Fourties.

Nationality:

• Ithell.

Loyalty:

• The Ithellan Court of Stars.

Profession:

• High Astronomer at the Grand Observatory of Ithell.

Physical Description

Ormoneric stands around 1.72 meters in height, with a trim build and pale skin coloration. He has dark but graying shoulder-length hair. His face is tall and narrow, clean-shaven, with pronounced brows and thin lips. His eye coloration is pale orange. As this color is not possible amongst Humans normally, this is indicative of some form of mixed interspecies descent, although it is not possible to tell of what nature.

Accounts on the personage of the High Astronomer

As a figure of some modest import in Ithell, there exists a degree of turbulent flux and rumor as to his past and life. The truth of the matter is likely known to those who work with him at the Grand Observatory and of course elsewhere by those of power and influence who make it their business to know such things. But for everyone else, there are but fragments and scraps that provide glimpses into his earlier life.

A Harried Expatriate

"The High Astronomer? Well yeah. You know I used to work at the Grand Observatory. We didn't exactly rub elbows together, but I worked with him a bit back when he was still just a journeyman. You ask any other Astronomer or layman on the street, they'll tell you he got the job out of sheer talent. I'll not fault the man, even when he was younger he could do some pretty amazing things, but no amount of skill gets you that sort of position. You need to have the right connections, know the right people, maybe even get born into the role. It's not an entirely apolitical position, you know?

And the thing is, Ormoneric was not the kind of man who went around bending and scraping with the right sorts of people to have gotten the sort of favor and capital he would have needed to become High Astronomer. He was usually all-business - not a dullard, mind you. Fairly charming and charismatic, although you probably don't need me telling you that. It's just he spent most of his time with his face buried in books or his eye pressed to lens or his back bent over parchment. People had to invite Ormoneric to do anything social, and he was the sort who would get bored and leave during the middle of a party with royalty. That may or may not have actually happened, by the way.

If I had to guess, I would suppose he got interested in the right things at the right time, and that work ethic of his let him exploit the trend harder and faster than the competition. All the innovations in Ithell these days is pretty old news by now, but Ormoneric was talking about things like Mythopoeics, ontological frequency, and transubstantiated allineation back before anybody else in the observatory knew the standard definition for those words, you know? I don't mean any insult to him, but I think he got the job because the real powers knew he didn't have any real ambitions and could trust him to leave politics to the grown-ups while he fiddled with all his toys. The safe choice for High Astronomer in a time of change."

An Ithellan Expatriate

A Doleful Quarry-Worker

"The name didna ring a bell, but ye, I remember the guy from that wood-cutting you showed me. Dressed in robes like some kinda noble prat, but he was quiet, polite, didn't talk down to nobody here. Spoke with him myself a bit. This was mebbe half a score ago? Around that time.

Said he was here studying minerals, but kept ignoring everything the foreman kept trying to peddle. Insisted on talkin' to the common lot like me. Asked me some 'o the most curious things I ever 'eard. Wasn't interested at all in stuff like Mithril or Adamantine, which book-types and mages usually are - not sure if he were a mage honestly, but he spoke like he knew his letters. No, he were interested in all the waste piles mostly. The big heaps and mounds of dirt, rocks, rubble, and detritus we would set off to the side and haul out to pile up in mounds. Asked me about the sort of materials we considered waste here at the quarry, how often we found some of it, whether there were any ways to know where it could be found - right strange questions honestly, because let me tell you, there was nothin' in those waste piles that was even scarcely useful or not some kind of toxic.

Now I don't know if it's at all related, but maybe a year or two later routine for the haulers got changed. Certain kinds of waste material would get packed up and shipped out from the quarry rather than us letting it sit. Didn't really think about it until you brought him up again. In hindsight I'd say it seems pretty obvious somethin in all that rubbish is useful to someone.

Hm?

Well no, it's like I told him - anything in those waste piles would'be been worthless or toxic or both. And I mean, it's not like people haven't looked over this sort 'o stuff before. Mages drop by every once in a while to see if we've discovered any new minerals that are worth-while, you know? And they don't seem to think there's anything useful in the waste we ship out. And even if there were, I doubt we'd be the only ones who have it. The stuff we put into the waste piles is as common as dirt, for the most part. You'd find almost anything in our waste piles in any other quarry from here to Kelnore, I'd wager."

An Urland Quarry-Worker

An Irate Glass-Worker

"The fucking High Astronomer! Thrice-curse that stuck-up shit-brained loon!The Grand Observatory practically made up half of our business before he came around and started changing everything! Lenses, you know? Everybody knows proper astronomers and observatories need lenses! Good, quality lenses too! High-grade glass, good purity, precise craftsmanshift - it's tricky, tricky work. I had to study for years to even start to learn how to make them, and I daresay by that point and by now I know a great deal more about astronomy than that ass they call a High Astronomer!

I mean for one thing, you want to know where all the Grand Observatory's business has gotten redirected? MIRRORS. Fucking MIRRORS. It makes no right damned sense, what possible, conceivable reason do astronomers need MIRRORS for? I'd swear. The position of High Astronomer is probably political, I tell you! They probably put some idiot loon up in there with their hands so far up his ass he don't know nothing EXCEPT how to say whenever their finger crooks! The git probably had no right idea what astronomers really need - which is good, high-grade lenses I tell you!

I mean - well yeah, we do still get business from the Grand Observatory. Just not nearly as much as we used to. And I'm not just spouting this all off on a hunch; I wasn't kidding when I said I had to study for years! I keep up with all the new innovations and techniques where I can, and I'm telling you, there's isn't nothing new in astronomy that says you need mirrors instead of lenses suddenly! It makes no damned sense!"

An Ithellan Glass-Worker

A Drunk Contact

"He's obviously a cult-leader bent on destroyin' the world. Now fuck off and let me drink."

An Aemonvale Sooth-Sayer

A Demonic Agent

"I remember him clearly. I was sent to Ithell specifically to negotiate with him in regards to a business matter. I was to seduce him and exploit his vulnerability for the purposes of my employer.

Have you ever seen somebody under the effects of glamour before? A vampire's thrall, somebody cursed by a changeling - somebody who lay with a succubus?

Not everyone can do it. But there are secret ways. If you look into the eyes the right way, take note of exactly where a person is looking, you can see where they hang their thoughts. And once you know where their thoughts are hanging, you can look at them too. It generally cannot be done by us succubi until after, but we can recognize the symptoms of enthrallment. I tell you now, High Astronomer Ormoneric is enthralled to...something.

No. It was not a magical effect, or a curse, or any kind of chemical dependence. It was important to make sure that there was nothing interfering with my own efforts, so I did. There was no external force acting upon this man. The glamour he was affected by had an internal source. It might not be inaccurate to say he is delusional...or perhaps just a particularly foolish idealist and dreamer.

I did not manage to seduce him. Whatever visions he is burdened with are more glorious than the temptations I was willing and able to offer him at the time without arousing suspicion.

Morazuin Succubus

A Trusted Informant

"I think the real reason behind everything to do with High Astronomer Ormoneric is that he is a bit of a yes-man. Not in a sycophantic way, he can shut you down real quick when he wants to. But if you can run a thread by him that he likes, it is almost inevitable he will latch onto it. Just the other day, for example, one of the other journeymen - one of the richer more entitled journeymen who does not exactly know their own business if you feel my meaning - was up for review by the High Astronomer, and had absolutely nothing to show them. So right before the meeting, in a panic, he grabs his lute and goes to the High Astronomer with a half-brained theory about how tavern music can induce mythopoeic resonance in living beings.

Sorry...? Oh. Uh, that's a bit like saying you can bale out hay using tines because individual bits of straw stick to each other. Technically correct but also really obvious and transparently shallow, and when you get right down to it that's not the whole story.

But anyway, this half-assed, last-second idea of this idiot somehow rings a bell with the High Astronomer. He got really, really excited all of a sudden, started drafting some kind of mathematical notation on the spot - the journeyman in question sort of poked at the parchment with their quill every once in a while and pretended they knew what was going on - and after a while, the High Astronomer says that this is going to 'change everything' and hauls the idiot off to their private laboratory.

When I saw the journeyman again perhaps five or so hours later, he was busy getting extremely drunk, and looked utterly miserable. Said that he had gotten into the 'inner sanctum' and that the High Astronomer had just sort of been doing everything on his own up until he actually asked the journeyman something and they had to admit, tactfully, that they had gotten just a little bit lost and out of their depth since starting their 'joint' venture. That the High Astronomer had been 'very disappointed that they could not continue,' and had given them a sterling review and increased their seasonal stipend by a decent chunk before kicking them out. The ass was miserable because now everyone actually expects something out of him now.

As to his history, I had the privilege of dining with him a few times. He told me and a few other journeymen about his childhood. He apparently grew up in the Fens, and his parents cultivated some kind of hallucinogenic flower. He acquired an early taste for it and has always had a sort of sunny disposition because of it, at least according to him. Says he took to astronomy because of how gazing at the stars reminds him of the visions he would have while high out of his mind. Claims he ran away from home, stowed away on a merchant ship, and scraped and begged since he was a boy of a mere seventeen years so he could study with the learned scholars of the Grand Observatory. You were wondering why you could not seem to find out much about his life outside of his employment at the Observatory? That's because working at the Observatory has essentially been his life.

As for the political aspects of his job - he's pretty hands-off when it comes to the real movers and shakers. Nods his head and makes arrangements to do what they need done, and like I said, if they can get his interest he does it, and that's not terribly hard. Which means he's also proven rather adaptable to the changing times. He has no problem working with a mixture of magical and engineering techniques, he enjoys finding new methods of innovation and practice, loves experimentation and getting his own hands dirty. He's made a few inadvertent friends in his time just because he gets things done. He's pretty uninvolved in the scheme of the Great Game, but there are people invested in his ongoing employment.

Mirrors? Yes, apparently he discovered some kind of practical use for them beyond mere aesthetics. Not entirely sure what honestly, it's mostly something he and his personal assistants work on in his private lab. I understand he had to fiddle with the Observatory's budgeting a little to make it work, made some of our business connections upset over pulling a few crowns out of their purses because of it, but whatever it is he apparently managed to convince the powers that be that it's worthwhile.

Waste minerals? Yes, the Observatory receives regular shipments from various ports. He has apprentices and initiates sifting and sieving the stuff. A lot of it gets used for basic transubstantiation practice, so nobody really questions it. He has his personal assistants siphon off a few specific minerals though. I got samples, but honestly I do not recognize most of it - mostly because nearly all of it is so worthless nobody in thousands of years has even bothered to name, much less record the properties of any of it. 'Inert and/or toxic dust' is an essentially accurate description. The only one I even vaguely recognized was some kind of quartz - quartz. One of the cheapest and most common minerals on the continent. You can literally find the stuff by stubbing your toe on it if you walk out in an open field nearly anywhere.

My personal take? Well...he's a powerful mage, fairly wealthy, generally well-liked by most people, somewhat charismatic, intelligent, productive, discrete...nobody is that clean, you know? He's probably hiding something dirty, I'm just not sure what. It's a pretty faint lead, but maybe he's cavorting with demons? I saw him chatting up this woman I could have sworn was a succubus a few months ago..."

A Journeyman Astronomer of the Ithellan Grand Observatory

Ormoneric Himself

"I am terribly sorry, I am quite busy...oh? Well, I suppose I have time for a question or two! Go ahead and walk with me, we can talk while I work.

The most exciting aspect of my job...? Well, not to sound too droll, but I have always liked getting down on my knees and being able to tinker with some of the telescope mechanisms, looking at the sky and the stars to know I was on the right track. I'm a simple soul at heart, I enjoy stargazing and working with fiddly bits of metal with my hands.

You're right, I probably am rather fortunate! I certainly never dreamed of becoming High Astronomer when I came here as a child. About the right time and place, I supp-

Well yes, I have made a number of changes. I will make no secret that we have some interesting experiments going on here that would not have been dreamed of back in the heyday! But the Observatory has always been a place of study and innovation. My predecessor had already lain out some of the groundwork; I like to think they were just keeping abreast of the changing times - and I like to think I am too. No institution operates, or thrives, in a vacuum after all. Little astronomy joke for you there, sorry.

Well I can't really talk about most of them to be honest - national secrets, you understand. But I can tell you we are working quite closely with the Archives these days, using mechanisms and magic to study the heavens so we can better understand this new discipline of 'natural philosophy.' Any mage will tell you magic is the true power of this world, any craftshop engineer will tell you that the future lies with mechanisms and pneumatics - the truth is somewhere between the two! Both are part of the natural order, and that's exactly what we aim to study and explore here.

Anyway, that's really all the time I have for matters not pertaining to business. Have a safe evening, and please always feel free to confer with the members of our staff."

Werrill Ormoneric, High Astronomer of the Ithellan Grand Observatory

A Final Communique

"This man is not who you said he is! I don't know if he's a demon or a vampire or a lich or what, but the things I've seen...I am not going back into his private labs unless you triple my fee. It's just too dangerous. The precautions I already have to take to remain undetected are practically already a king's ransom in terms of expenses. You told me he was a fairly powerful mage, you did not tell me he used dark magic or blood rituals! I have seen him performing profane, unspeakable rites! There are things, entities he converses with that...I cannot even write about them, they are unfathomable. And I think he and his assistants might be on to something being wrong, one time I swore he was looking right at me, like he could see through all the layers of illusions and charms I had thrown up.

Worse, last week, after I stole that weird Spear, this band of LUNATICS started stalking me! Like adventurers out of some idiotic tavern story or something, saying they knew who I was and that I had to return the Spear. I'm lucky to have gotten away at all.

I've felt sick and nauseous ever since leaving that place; I'll need a few days just to recover. I'll contact you again by the end of the week to let you know which dead-drop to pick the Spear up at."

The Final Message of a Thief

Apparent Talents

The High Astronomer's actual skills and abilities are not widely known with any great certainty, but at a minimum it is agreed that he is a mage of some competence and has considerable expertise in the realm of mechanical engineering. As a Human of his age, he is unlikely to be as skilled as an Archmage or as capable as a Dwarven Craftlord, but he would not be in his position were he not capable in both fields.

[Delta44]

MAIN CHARACTER

Retainer of Daemon Blood

❰ FEMALE ⟡ EARLY - MID 20s ⟡ DARK KNIGHT ❱

_{T I T L E S}

The Dark Knight of Kron-Nesis; The Strongest Knight in the Realm; Guardian of Princess Azymn.

_{R A C E}

Halfling; daemon-human.

_{T R A I N I N G}

Maryvale has received extensive training from the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis, both in the way of her sword as well as her darkflame magic powers. Though not a practitioner of darkflame himself, the Grand Marshal is a user of light magic, therefore perfectly countering Maryvale and allowing her to never go overboard. The Dark Knight has received this training much of her life and has since become a master of darkflame magic and her sword, Dark Vibrance.

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

Dark Vibrance

Maryvale's sword personally crafted for her by royal blacksmiths. It is made of a heavy black material found deep within the mountains of Kelnore, making it a very rare resource. This resource has incredibly high magic conductivity, allowing one to channel magic through the sword itself, as well as nullify magic which comes in contact with it. The added weight allows the blade to strike harder and cut deeper, however Maryvale needs to remain in top condition to use it effectively. Her fighting style revolves around its top-heavy blade, often slashing in an arc. The blade is said to be nearly indestructible.

◈ Dark Armour:
Maryvale's armour isn't as special as her blade: it's an alloy of the same dark material her blade uses and steel (mainly steel). While this slightly strengthens the armour, as well as gives it a slight tolerance to her body's exertion of magic, the extra weight makes her heavier, and ultimately slower. It also doesn't do much to stop incoming magical attacks. The helmet is always worn in public.

◈ Earrings:
Earrings which Maryvale never seems to remove. They're enchanted with a spell which changes her eye color to blue, as well as helps hide her daemon heritage. They're of simple design, made of silver surrounding a small gemstone in the middle, which changes from blue to red when she puts them on.

◈ Journal:
Maryvale's journal helps her keep track of locations, creatures, and memories. Not being particularly intelligent and often forgetful has lead to its prolonged use. It is simple by design with a worn, red leather cover with a large 'M' printed on the front. Most of the handwriting inside is atrocious.

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

◈ Darkflame:
An incredibly powerful and violent magic, darkflame magic is virtually never found in humans. Even by daemon and demon standards, this blood-related magic is steeped in legend, said to be used by ancient demonic royals. Inherited from one of her parents, Maryvale yields this magic with a gifted potency. With the help of her sword she can use it to send waves of arcing purple fire at her enemies, scorching and charring any who get in the way, able to turn some to ash with enough intensity. However, the magic isn't without its drawbacks.
Darkflame causes physical harm to those who wield it. Unless you're a pure-blooded daemon, you will be hurt whenever you use it, and Maryvale is no exception. Her armour and half-blood ancestry help weaken this slightly, however the injuries are still notable, especially when she uses high-intensity magic. Like some magic it also drains her stamina with use, so she also tires while sustaining injury.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈ Perceptive:
The Dark Knight has a strong sixth sense. If something is up she will often feel that something is wrong, though won't be able to tell if someone has an arrow aimed at her back. She's oddly good at puzzles despite her lack of intelligence.

◈ Intimidation:
With so much infamy, it is only natural that Maryvale would need the intimidating skills to back that up, and she certainly does. She conveys much of that intimidation through her body language and tone, which she is something of a master of using. It has come in handy once or twice before.

_{W E A K N E S S E S}

◈ Forgetful:
For as great a combatant as The Dark Knight is, she is awfully inept out of combat. The first of the long list of failures is her inability to retain knowledge. This forgetfulness is pretty severe, and healers for the royal family suspect it is a form of amnesia. Some speculate it is due to injury, though others believe it could be due to her heritage. Regardless, her forgetfulness is so severe that if she didn't have her journal to remember things, she would be halfway to The Unknown North by now.

◈ Illiterate:
Maryvale cannot read or write very well. Though she speaks mostly alright, only fumbling with certain words, she has a complete lack of literacy skills, and is unable to complete tasks which require extensive reading or writing. Her tutor is non other than princess Azymn herself, however even she finds Maryvale's lack of reading and writing skills a challenge.

◈ Intelligence:
While not entirely stupid, Maryvale shows a fair bit of incompetence. She fails at understanding complex subjects and has a fairly simple mindset. Before she had her journal she would get lost constantly, and she relies heavily on other people when it comes to direction, social interaction, and strategy.

◈ Light and Ice:
The two hard-counters to Maryvale's otherwise unbeatable power are those skilled in ice and light magic. Light magic essentially nullifies her power completely, and skilled ice users can overcome the intense heat of darkflame and rid it when the ice melts. Though she has trained to fight opponents with these very magics, she is still at a disadvantage when facing an enemy using either or both of these magics.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}

Kron-Nesis; Royal Family of Kron-Nesis; Princess Azymn; Grand Marshal Lenius.

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

Stoic and serious, Maryvale is a woman of few words. She has been raised since her youth to be obedient, to take orders, to be a soldier, and has found only recently a voice for herself. The Dark Knight has a fondness for animals, often enjoying their company over people, as well as gardening, surprisingly. She has an utmost respect for the princess which she serves under, and considerably less respect (though respect nonetheless) for the remainder of the royal family. She reveres the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis as a father-figure as well as a savior, for he was the one who brought her out of slavery and into the realm of kings.

She can be rather secretive, particularly about her identity outside of the royal family and those within the castle. She's passionately sympathetic for people, a trait she picked up from Azymn, and likes to assist those in need where possible. Despite this passion, she isn't a member of the Order of the Radiant Sun, largely due to her lack of faith in general. In combat, she's merciless, and will not hesitate to deal with threats that face the princess. Her incredible combat prowess has made her a threatening presence, even intimidating, and leaves many-a-wrongdoer on-edge when she's around.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Maryvale's story begins young. She has no memory of her parents, and no real memory of her childhood. She knows she was taken in by strangers, but was left in the streets to fend for herself. The city of Dou didn't take well to beggars, thieves and poor. Maryvale, being a mix of all three, was an outcast. She was caught by the city guard when she was seven, and made to serve for a week. She had nobody to fall back on after her arrest, if there was anyone before. She resigned herself to fate, giving up on life, starving in the backstreets of Dou. There was no God who could save her. No person willing to care.

No one... save the Grand Marshal of Kron-Nesis.
Fate had been kind to her the day they met. The Grand Marshal had lost his only daughter to illness months ago, a daughter so like his wife and unlike his two sons, who looked more like him. Maryvale had a striking resemblance to his deceased daughter. He couldn't help but feel as though he had been guided to her. It was only by chance that they had met, but it was a chance that turned Maryvale's life around completely.

She was thus named Maryvale, and became the daughter of Grand Marshal Lenius. While his sons held noble blood, Maryvale was not allowed to pursue the luxuries of nobility with her brothers. She had been adopted, after all. Not to mention the nobles of Kron-Nesis would never accept one of impure blood -- a halfling daemon child at that -- to become a noble, even if she had been adopted by the Grand Marshal himself. Therefore, the only true way to show her worth as noble blood would be to have her become a knight.
And bribe the Court Wizard of Kron-Nesis.
Once Maryvale had unlocked her magic potential, Lenius used this to win over the Court Wizard. She admitted herself to the Court Wizard's personal study on rare magic (along with a bit of gold) in exchange for earrings which changed her eye color from red to blue, and minimized (though not completely hid) her daemonic aura. The gold would help him keep quiet.

Now able to become a knight without being scrutinized, Maryvale worked hard in her early years. Despite the reluctance of the royal family, Maryvale proved her usefulness as a potential bodyguard and retainer. During those early teenage years she could defeat rookie members of the city guard and noble children of the same age as herself, not to mention she had held off assassins long enough to save the life of Princess Azymn.
It was another case of luck at play, placing Maryvale in the right place at the right time. Just when the princess was to meet with death, Maryvale had interrupted. She only managed to kill one of the assassins, and was severely injured in the fight, but lasted long enough for the guards to arrive and apprehend the remaining assassins. Practically at death's door herself, she was rushed to the closest temple.

Throughout her recovery, Azymn would visit, bringing with her flowers. The two would plant them, watch them grow, and then pass away. After awhile it began to upset Maryvale that the flowers would simply pass away. So, Azymn taught her gardening, and how to take care of her own, long-lasting flowers. For the remainder of her recovery, as well as afterward in the early hours of the morning, the two would practice gardening when they could. For some reason, Maryvale began to adopt traits from Azymn around this point, as though trying to imitate her. Their bond grew incredibly close during this time, to the point where Maryvale even admitted she was not human, however their positions made it hard for them to continue seeing one-another.

And then she was told by Lenius that they were having dinner with the king.
The Grand Marshal had planned around the princess and his daughter's relationship, taking advantage of it to help advance Maryvale's status and promote her further in the eyes of the royal family. It certainly surprised the king that Maryvale was the one who saved his daughter. That was a kindness which deserved at least some kind of reward.
And her reward was an opportunity.
She was set to keep up with unrealistic standards: Be the best knight in the kingdom in return for the position of royal retainer of princess Azymn. It was an impossible uphill battle, but not one that Maryvale would give in to easily. She continuously improved for years, dedicating almost her entire life to being the absolute best combatant in Kron-Nesis. Many with more experience knocked her down, beating her again and again. But Maryvale kept improving.

By her twentieth year, Maryvale is the strongest knight in Kron-Nesis - a feat which shocks even the Grand Marshal. Though certainly not the youngest to hold that title, she is the youngest (and one of the first) women to hold it. After several years of dedication to combat, Maryvale has finally become royal retainer to princess Azymn, her most trusted and closest friend.

Ever since, all Maryvale has done is continue to improve. While she has very little real-world combat experience, she has shown promise in the little bouts she has been a part of. Maryvale is content with her life of servitude, and eternally grateful to the princess as well as the Grand Marshal. She continues to be Azymn's retainer, and will protect the princess with her life.
However, it is rumored that the king isn't particularly fond of Maryvale, and is being encouraged by the nobility of Kron-Nesis to get rid of her.

_{T H E M E S}

◈ Main Theme:


◈ Combat:

[Claw2k11]

MAIN CHARACTER

Illayrion Myriavin

Illyarion Myriavin

_{T I T L E S}
The Raven King, The Swordmaster

_{A G E}
128

_{R A C E}
Elf

_{T R A I N I N G}
Illyarion has lived more than a hundred years of conflict as a mercenary leader, fighting in battles on the entire length of the continent. As a result, he has become a complete expert with his sword and dagger, and while he is not as good with ranged weapons, he has learned a few offensive spells to cover him in that regard.

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

◈ Shadoweaver: His most prized possession and an artifact passed on from father to son for as long as his house has existed. This magic sword is utterly unbreakable and so sharp that it is able to cut through regular steel unhindered, at least in the hands of those part of house Myriavin.

◈ The Raven King's Armor: Another prized possession of his house, though this armor has a rather exquisite look, it offers only slightly more protection than a regular suit of steel armor. However, unlike a suit of steel armor, this armor weighs practically nothing.

◈ Dark Blade: Unlike his main weapon and armor, this black-bladed intricately decorated dagger is nothing special, serving only as a regular steel dagger and a show of his former station.

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

◈Arcane Bolt: A simple bolt of magical energy slightly more effective than a regular crossbow bolt.
◈Arcane Lance: The upgraded version of the arcane bolt, this magical projectile is much stronger, able to pierce most armors, however due to it's energy cost, one must cast it only when sure that he is able to hit.
◈Ravenbrand: For an hour every day, he is able to brand either an weapon or an armor with a magical mark. When on a weapon, it makes said weapon much lighter and much sharper, while on an armor of any sort, it makes the armor tougher than it already is and much lighter.
◈Raven's Call: A sort of magic unique to the Myriavin bloodline, it allows the user of the magic to sprout large black raven wings that allows the user to fly at will.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈Social Etiquette: Though without currently any real holdings, Illayrion is still a noble and he acts like one anytime he is court. This allows him to navigate the court of Kron-Nesis with ease and without any repercussions.
◈Inspiring Leader: Illayrion has led troops for a long time, he has fought alongside them, he has eaten with them, he has slept alongside them and that earned him the respect of the men under his command, he is able to inspire the men under his command to do great deeds and to push themselves.
◈Agile Fighter: Illayrion knows that one must always move when fighting and as a result of that, he has become a quick fighter, always on the move and always quick to end a battle.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}
Kron-Nesis; Grand Marshal Lenius

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}
Illayrion is a man of few words, rarely speaking out of his own initiative unless he definitely has to and even then, he speaks only enough for him to convey his idea or to get his point across. However, even if he is not a very social person, he likes having friends, even if he does not go out of his way to make them. Even when he talks to someone he has never met, he will always greet anyone he meets with a courteous smile, be they a lowly peasant or a king.

However, when it comes to respect, so far he has only shown any semblance of true respect to only two people. The first of them is Grand Marshal Lenius of Kron-Nesis himself, as thanks to his influence, he was able to appoint the elven mercenary leader as a lord of one of the castles situated on the borders with the Darakeene Protectorate and finally be settled once again after spending more than a century as a mercenary leader. The second person he has shown respect to is the young daughter Maryvale, who was able to earn herself the title as strongest knight of Kron-Nesis in only ten years, something which deserved his respect.

_{H I S T O R Y}
Illayrion was at first born to the great noble family of Myriavin within the royal courts of Curael Endir, however, he was unable to enjoy the intricacies of the court too much as only two months after he became the head of the house at the age of 20, as due to an unfortunate escalation with one of the rival noble houses, he is banished from the country and removed as the head of the house in favor of his uncle. However, before he leaves, he is able to take his family's heirlooms, the magic sword Shadoweaver and the Raven King's Armor.

With no other prospect, the young exiled noble decides to sell his services as a hired blade throughout the continent. At first, not many people were willing to hire a single mercenary with no real-life experience on the battlefield, but... as the years passed, he was able to garner enough experience and money to form his own band of mercenaries, the Band of the Raven. With his new men at his back, Illayrion began to get himself involved in actual wars, though after deliberation with his men, as he did not want to get them killed.

As the years, then the decades passed, Illaryrion participated in many petty conflicts around the world, however, the worst of them was the civil wars of Nyrae... and he had signed himself with none other than the Crow King himself. On the side of this cruel king, he was forced to participate in the most cruel battles of the civil war, the one who haunts him to the day was the destruction of the once great metropolis of the Barrows and the slaughter he and his men were forced to do.

After that day, most of his men left the band of the Raven, saying that they had earned enough money to live the rest of their lives in comfort and had seen enough bloodshed to them for the rest of their lives. The few that remained pleaded with Illayrion to break his contract with the Crow King. After a few more days of deliberation, he and his remaining men riding for a full day and night without pause, for they knew what would happen if the King of Nyrae caught them.

Thankfully, he was able to ride without any intervention on part of the Crow King and reached one of the few places he had yet to visit, the Kingdom of Kron-Nesis. There, he and his men were hired not by the king, but by the new Grand Marshal of the country, as he had heard of Illayrion's skill in both leading men and fighting them. During the time there, he had won a few several minor skirmishes against the Protectorate and while he did not expect it, it seems that those skirmishes were what made Lenius to use his position to appoint him as a lord of a castle that had belonged to a previously disgraced lord.

With that, Illayrion and his men had found themselves a new place to call as home. This deed alone made the elf consider the Grand Marshal as his greatest friend and the Grand Marshal had found himself his staunchest ally.

Secondary Character

Syllia Myriavin

Syllia Myriavin

_{T I T L E S}
The Steel Talons

_{A G E}
43(These birds live a little over 400 years so she isn't too old)

_{R A C E}
Stymphallian Bird
Elf(in her humanoid form)

_{T R A I N I N G}
Though a significant part of her life was lived as a very intelligent bird of prey, the years she has spent in her humanoid form, she has been personally taught by Illayrion Myriavin how to fight, both in close quarters and in long-distance fighting and both with regular weaponry and with magic.

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

◈ The Talons: A pair of enchanted shortswords created specifically for her on the orders of the Grand Marshal as a favor towards Illayrion. The enchantment makes these swords much more durable and much stronger than a regular pair of shortswords.

◈ The Raven's Armor: A moderately enchanted piece of scale armor given to the ten highest ranking members of the Band of the Raven. The enchantment makes it a bit more durable than a regular armor of its caliber.

◈ The Darkwood Bow: A bow of exquisite elven craftsmanship made from a rare tree back in the Forest Heart, however, despite its exquisite craftsmanship, it has no magical properties whatsoever..

_{S P E L L S K I L L S}

◈Arcane Bolt: A simple bolt of magical energy somewhat more effective than a regular crossbow bolt.
◈Arcane Lance: The upgraded version of the arcane bolt, this magical projectile is much stronger, able to pierce most armors, however due to it's energy cost, one must cast it only when sure that he is able to hit.
◈Shapeshift: Through a few years of dedication, Syllia has been able to learn to switch between her original monster form, her current elven form and a few other forms she has practiced throughout the years.
◈Steel Rain: A sort of magic unique to her race, she is able to channel a bit of magic to throw some of her steel-like feathers towards an enemy.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

◈Agility: Despite not being born an elf, Syllia has the natural agility that elves often possess and has brought it to the limits of what her body can handle.
◈Swordplay: Syllia has trained in fighting with her two shortswords since the moment she first adopted her elven form and not only with Illayrion, but from the various knights of the court of Kron-nesis as well, even having asked advice from the one considers her enemy, Maryvale and has reached to a great level, some whisper that she rivals the strongest knight in Kron-nesis!
◈Gregarious: Syllia is a very social person and loves large gatherings of people, often being at the center of them. This in itself has made her a fairly good diplomatic person, which is nicely complimented by her own physical good looks.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}
Kron-Nesis; Illayrion Myriavin; Grand Marshal Lenius

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}
Syllia is a happy and cheerful person despite her rather tragic start in life as she wants nobody to suffer the fate she has. While she has enjoyed her stay within the courts of Kron-nesis, she often prefers the wilderness, to walk among the trees and animals, or to fly in the skies in her true form, something which gives her a great sense of freedom.

As for people, she treats everyone the same as she meets them, thinking fairly of everyone until they prove her wrong. Though this mindset of hers has been partially damaged due to the bad general disposition of the court for non-humans, the one friend she was able to make, was oddly enough princess Azmyn herself. However, one person she has never been quite able to befriend was the bodyguard of the princess, Maryvale, mostly disliking her because of stealing her attention from her father, but also because of an odd vibe she's getting from her. On the opposite spectrum lies her savior, Illayrion, the person who freed her from her shackles, raised her and helped her become strong.

_{H I S T O R Y}
Syllia was born 43 years ago in the mountains of the Unknown North to a race of shapesifting monsters that was close to extinction by that time. The few remaining ones that had not died had hidden in the far north in a valley, hoping to be rid of those who would hunt them forever.

The few early years of her life were quiet, and fairly boring for her as she was not allowed to leave the valley itself or the supervision of at least one of her parents. For a decade and a half, she dared not disobey her parents as they had informed her of what horrors awaited her beyond the mountain ranges they called home. However, her curiosity grew with her over the years and she often wondered if the lands beyond were truly that horrible, or if her parents only lied to her so she would not leave.

And on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, her curiosity finally got the better of her and quickly flew out of the valley while her parents were not watching her and headed out. She did not know which direction she went, but eventually she left the mountains and saw great forests, animals, an elf and two slightly odd-looking humans chasing said elf.

Her curiosity eventually got the better of her and descended into the forests to greet these creatures and see what was going on. As she landed however, the two humans that were chasing the elf drew their weapons. The elf on the other hand just looked at Syllia for a few moments and simply started running away in the direction she had come from. Before she could say anything, the larger of the two simply charged at her with a large battlaxe while the smaller one simply looked at her curiously while holding his bow and arrow.

Panicked, Syllia threw a barrage of feathers at the human that was charging her. Some of the feathers hit and pushed the human back, but other than a few minor wounds, it seemed that the feathers had not done very much damage. It was that she noticed the crimson red eyes of the two creatures and recognized them as demons. As she started taking off however, the smaller of the demons launched an arrow that just grazed one of her legs.

For a minute she was able to fly away, however, the arrow seems to have been laced with some sort of poison as soon, she felt more tired by the second. Soon, she passed out entirely and fell down into the forests. By the times she was awake once again, she saw the figure of the larger demon raising his axe ready to take her head off while the other one simply watched the display rather disinterested.

She tried to move, but her body was completely paralyzed. Panicked and without anything else to do, she concentrated on the elf that she had seen running away for a few moments. As she did so she heard an rather intrigued voice say that all was not lost just yet. When her eyes opened, she had turned into the elf she had pictured, she did not know how just yet, but she didn't have the time to think about it as instead of killing her, the demon placed a magical collar on her neck.

She was eventually dragged back to a settlement. She soon realized that she had become a slave of these two demons and she was unable to turn back into her form. So, for three years, she was dragged around by the two demons, who seemed to be among the stronger demons inside the town. For these yeare, she was tormented by both of them, one a demon of wrath and one a demon of lust. The wrath demon simply used her as a training doll, as she was more durable than a regular elf, whilst the demon of lust used her to fulfill his perversions.

However, after a few years of her being tormented, whilst being dragged on another of these demons hunts. The lust demon did not even have time to react as a large lance of arcane energy simply took his head of.

Before the body of the demon even fell to the ground, an armored elf jumped out of the bushes and engaged the remaining wrath demon in a duel. This duel would be very short, as after a parry of the demon's first strike, he slit the demon's throat.

Syllia was in crying tears of joy when she saw that she had finally been saved. The man introduced himself as Illayrion Myriavin, the leader of the Band of the Raven mercenary group and said that it was by pure happenstance that he rescued her and that he'd be staying here for a few more weeks until the area would be cleaned of any potential demons.

The moment he freed her, Syllia moved in to hug the man that had saved and told him that she owed him her life and promising that she would return to him as soon as possible. With that, she took off and flew straight towards her former home mountains, towards the valley that she had called home for so long and apologize to her parents for not listening to them at all.

However, this would prove all for naught, as when she reached the valley and the nests that her remaining kin called home, she would find them completely devoid of any life or of any sign of where they might have headed or if something had happened to them.

She languished for a few days, flying around and resting there, thinking that they may have gone for a longer hunt, but again, it was all for nothing as nobody came back to her nest. And so, with a heavy heart and having to leave her home for a final time, she took off towards the only person that she knew in this world anymore, towards Illayrion.

She landed a distance away from the camp and turned into her elven form before she would approach the camp of the Band of the Raven. The other people offered her suspicious looks as she approached, with only Illayrion greeting her as he would greet an old friend. He offered her a place within his merry band and when he heard that she had no combat training at all, with a smile on his face, he offered to personally train her in combat as well, whether it be archery or close quarter combat.

Later, when the two were alone, he asked her that in return for receiving her, she would have to stay in her elven form for a majority of the time as various people in his group did not take too kindly to monsters. She accepted without a second thought and was officialy accepted into the Band of the Raven as a member and would fight alongside Illayrion and his soldiers, always staying by his side both to keep him safe and to keep herself safe.

The first few years were fairly simple as the mercenary band served as a borderguard for the various kingdoms in the area, such as Urland, Estorna and Vesh. The latter of the two he guarded not from demons, but just in case the Crow King thought it would be a good idea to move his attention from the grind that his civil war had become and send a few raids outside. And after a heated debate amongst Illayrion and the senior members of the group, they agreed that their next contractor would be the Crow King himself.

In these years however, the two had gotten closer and closer as they talked and trained daily, regaling tales from their past, though often enough, only Illayrion spoke both of his tales from inside Illvandrin as a noble and outside of it as mercenary. Soon enough, she had grown to see the man as a father-figure since her previous family had all but disappeared and she wished that she would see him as his daughter as well.

And in the day before the Band of the Raven left for Nyrae to serve the Crow King, her wish came true. Illayrion offered Syllia his family name and though she would not be able to do much with it, she would have a family nontheless. She hugged him once more and swore to be the best daughter that she could be for him.

And then, she accompanied him into the hell that had become Nyrae, witnessing so many atrocities that Illayrion was forced to do at the orders of the Crow King and saw the anguish within her new father's heart. After a few more years of service under the mad king, Illayrion had enough and sent a message to the king that their contract would be null and void as no money would be worth inflicting further death and destruction he had caused.

And so, they left south towards Kron-nesis, where the military leader of the nation, a certain Grand Marshal Lenius Reyes had heard of Illayrion's exploits and offered quite an incredible large amount of money in return for protecting the border with the Darakeene Protectorate from the occassional border conflict. Everyone expected to do this job for a few years, however after only a few months and several skirmishes, the Grand Marshal offered Illayrion land of his own on the borders of the kingdom that had belonged to the man whose lands he had protected and who before him had failed to protect his own lands. To add to it, he said that he had talked to the king and that he could have herself made into a lady of the realm and if she so wished even a knight if she trained enough.

After a brief deliberation with what was left of his Band, Illayrion agreed and the Band of the Raven was renamed to the Ravenguard and she was sent off to The Southern Jewel, the capital of Kron-esis to learn to become both a lady and a knight. There she quickly tried to strike friendships with many people, however, the only friend she was able to make was princess Azmyn herslef. However, one person she could not quite make friends and indeed, did not want to be friends with was the adoptive daughter of the Grand Marshal, Maryvale Reyes, mostly in part because she had become the center of attention for her own father, but also in part because of a odd and slightly familiar vibe.

[Heyitsjiwon]

Lothar Wolff

Hider

Name: Lothar Wolff

Titles: Knight, Heir to the Duchy of Attolia

Age: 31

Race: Halfling, a mix of a lot of races but primarily human

Training: Being of a cadet branch to the Royal Family, the Wolff family has had some prestige and wealth to afford Lothar the education and training of a Lord, but without a doubt it is not near what the royal family could afford or other powerful noble families. Regardless, Lothar is particularly skilled in mounted combat, leading men, and has a bit of ability in light and healing magic.

Equipment:

Hider

Lothar personally owns little than the equipment that he wears into combat and some clothes as most of the money he makes is sent back to his family. In fact, his most prized possession is most likely his horse, Ventus. Other than that, his equipment consists of:

A Lance
His Suit of Armor
A Blessed Protective Necklace/Charm, given to him by the Order of the Radiant Sun for his services
Shield
A specially made Long Sword that has been passed down his family for generations. Due to its near antique status, the style and designs of the long sword are long out of vogue, which gives Lothar some attention in the battlefield. It bears the family's crest and is how most people are able to identify Lothar since the sword is so distinct.

Spell skills:

Lothar has some limited ability in light magic and healing magic due to some training that he received while serving the Order of the Radiant Sun. However, he would not consider himself a true practitioner of magic. Rather, he just knows a few helpful tricks.

That said, one particular area where Lothar is skilled in is Protection Magic/Anti-Magic. As a Knight of the Radiant Sun, he had been on many missions where he had to hunt down dangerous magical beings and users. The Order stressed the ability to resist and some are even able to negate magical spells. Thus, Lothar was subject to years of brutal training at the hands of the Order's mages where he was subject to a myriad of spells and had to learn how to deal with magic even if he himself isn't the most skilled practitioner of magic.

Other skills:
Diplomacy - Lothar had been educated on how to navigate the political intrigue that goes on in the court. After all, the Wolff family had to rely on their diplomacy skills for generations to survive.

Cavalier - Lothar has led numerous battles in charge of the cavalry. He knows how to strike quick and hard.

The Eternal Knight - Lothar's use of his family's sword has gained him a bit of a reputation. Rumor has it that there's a centuries old Knight who shows up in battle and gallantly charges into the fight. Manifesting all the tenets of age old chivalry, the Knight never declines a duel and always follows the "laws of war". Thus, Lothar tends to be a somewhat well known figure as a bit of an urban myth, but regardless it gives most people a lot of reason to respect him. Lothar in particular leverages this well and is able to charmingly able to leverage this image very well.

Affiliation:
Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis, Duchy of Attolia, The Order of the Radiant Sun, and various mercenary companies he served in the past.

Personality: Lothar is a cheerful fellow usually as the battlefield requires one to maintain morale some way. Thus, rather than let himself be sucked into an emotional black hole, he forces himself to joke and be friendly with everyone. That said, behind closed doors he is usually brooding or thinking about the future and the best way to achieve his goals.

History: The House of Wolff has long been a political chess piece for the Royal Family of the Grand Kingdom. As a cadet branch to the main family, the Wolff family was long ago granted the Duchy of Attolia, a bit of a back water with little more than a large fishing industry. By no means were they rich or powerful. However, being related to Royal Blood made the family useful in forming political marriages and allies. Thus, Lothar himself has traces of ancestors who weren't even human as the Wolff family was used to forge alliances with other families and nations.

Thus, being sick of simply being a pawn for the Royal Family, Lothar, from a young age, was eager to set off and gain his family some fame, honor, glory, wealth, and ultimately power. It was only a week after he turned 18 and finished his education that Lothar set off, searching for work in the service of a powerful lord. For several years, he found himself serving as a mercenary in the service of lords, and he slowly made a name for himself with his trademark sword.

However, years of brutal campaigning made Lothar question much about life. It was then that he first encountered the Order of the Radiant Sun in person. He saw with his own eyes people fighting for what was more than just money. Nay, they fought for their beliefs and in service of the unfortunate. It was a greater calling that Lothar could not resist. Thus, Lothar offered his services to the Order. It was there that he first had his proper training in magic as he led Templars and Knights of the Order into battle. While, he made little coin. He met others who he could call true brothers in arms.

However, his time at the Order came to an end recently as he received a letter from his family, requesting that he return home as his father was aging... and there were some courtly intrigue going on that his family suspected would have the Wolff family used as a pawn once more.

[Hour Error]

Cold Hands the Wandering Nun

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Cold Hands

"Ah, yes, Sister Cold Hands. Her faith is surpassed only by her martial skill. Mark my words, friend, she will go far, very far. If only she learns when to walk away from trouble. But such is the foolishness of youth, is it not?"
— Brother Alvar the Gray.

---

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Name

Cold Hands

Titles

Sister of Order of the Frozen Heart

Age

25

Race

Human

Appearance

Unremarkable in stature, Cold Hands is far from imposing. She has short white hair, the color of fresh bone, that almost never falls past her shoulders. Her skin is painted a shade of ivory, and bears the scars and marks, both large and small, of a martial profession. She has thoughtful eyes of blue so pale that they border on white, and thin lips that rest in a soft smile. Years of rigorous physical training and time spent as a wandering nun have afforded the young woman a lithe, athletic build. Cold Hands moves gracefully and effortlessly, somehow managing to exude an air of determined serenity no matter where she goes.

Training

Cloistered Upbringing - Taken in by Order of the Frozen Heart in her early childhood, Cold Hands has been steeped in the mysticism and religious ritual of her order for as long as she can remember. She has benefited from a monastic education and is literate in a number of languages, both common and obscure. She is knowledgeable about the history of the lands as written by the great masters and is familiar with the treatises of learned scholars. More importantly, the religious texts of the Order of the Frozen Heart are as familiar to her as her own heart, and she can accurately recite entire manuscripts from memory alone.

Eighteen Frost Dragon Subduing Palms - Cold Hands is a master of unarmed combat. She has mastered all seventeen legendary fighting styles of her order, combining them into an eighteenth hitherto lost style, that is uniquely her own. She is comfortable at all ranges of combat, cheerfully fighting foes armed, armored, and unarmed with little difficulty. In battle, Cold Hands wastes no time or movement, favoring direct and brutally efficient techniques.

Purity of Body and Soul - Through her rigorous training and study of the martial arts Cold Hands has strengthened and purified her body. She has become highly resistant to the many diseases and toxins that may assail the body of the true believer. Her movements are graceful and effortless, her strikes hit with explosive force, and she has transcended the mundane limitations of humanity.

Still Mind - Years of daily mediation and quiet contemplation have allowed Cold Hands to develop a mental stillness and focus that borders on the supernatural. She has carefully cultivated her willpower, forging it into a shield of cold iron. Attempts to affect her mind, meet only quiet, but unwavering resistance.

Blind Fight - Cold Hands has trained herself not to rely solely on her eyes, as the eyes can easily be deceived. Instead, she has focused on cultivating all her senses, and she possesses an uncanny sense of perception even in the thick of combat.

Frozen Heart - In order to come closer to true enlightenment, Cold Hands has sacrificed a core part of her humanity. Following the teaching of her order, she has frozen her heart and silenced her emotions through ancient religious ritual and powerful arcane magic. As a result, Cold Hands can no longer feels any emotion.

Equipment

Monastic Robe - Cold Hands wear a simple robe with a hood that is dyed a light shade of blue. The symbol of her order, although faded, is visible on the back of the robe.

Traveler's Clothes - Beneath her robe Cold Hands wears loose wool breeches, a form-fitting shirt, a sturdy leather belt, and a light jacket. She favors soft boots that allow acrobatics and specific movements of her feet.

Survivalist Pack - Slung on her back, Cold Hands carries a leather traveling pack that contains the preserved supplies, tools, and various items necessary for traversing the wilds.

Spell skills

Ice Magic - Cold Hands is a skilled practitioner of elemental magic centered on the element of ice. She can imbue her fists with arcane energy, stunning, freezing, and dealing additional damage to anything she strikes. Having spent years practicing, she is also capable of hurling spikes of ice at her foes, creating walls of frost, cloaking herself in snow, shaping ice into layers of night impenetrable armor, and if given enough time, she can summon deadly blizzards. Perhaps, as a result of her mastery of ice magic, Cold Hands appears impervious to the effects of extreme cold, and wears only a minimal amount of clothing in even the worst of weather.

Other skills

Acrobatics - Although, not performers in the classical sense, members of the martial orders often entertain travelers with seemingly inhuman feats of physical dexterity and strength. Cold Hands is no exception and has often performed to supplement the usually meager funds accorded to her by her order. She is capable of jumping to great heights and distances and falling from heights that would be fatal to other humans.

Survival - Unlike most other religious acolytes that spend their days in the safety of the monastery, all members of the Order of the Frozen Heart are expected to be able to survive and even thrive in the frozen wasteland of the far North.

Experienced Traveler - Cold Hands has spent much of her adult life traveling across the realms of Telduria in the service of her order and is a capable traveler.

Healing - While she is no expert healer, like many religious acolytes Cold Hands has been instructed in the art of healing. She can set bones, treat wounds, and is knowledgeable regarding the creation and use of a number of herbs and poultice.

Affiliation

Cold Hands is a member of the Order of the Frozen Heart, an offshoot of the Order of the Radiant Sun that still maintains cordial, if strained relations, with the original order.

Personality

Warm and pleasant in her demeanor, Cold Hands exudes an air of calm and serenity. Guided by her faith, she believes in helping those in need, no matter the cost to herself. She is brave, but not foolish, and maintains a supernatural control of her emotions. In truth, as part of her path towards enlightenment, Cold Hands has suppressed her emotions through complex ritual and arcane means. While she possesses memories and understanding of what it means to feel, the young nun is no longer able to experience any emotions. Unburdened by her emotions, Cold Hands is nonetheless still keenly aware of what is right and wrong.

Surprisingly worldly for a nun, Cold Hands is as comfortable drinking in a rowdy tavern as she is meditating in a quiet monastery. She is fond of people, stories, and great adventures that permit her to travel across Telduria.

History

Concept: Cold Hands is a member of the Order of the Frozen Heart, she is a pilgrim traveling the lands in recognition of her faith, and a master of unarmed combat.

Recollections of a Traveling Nun

Cold Hands had traveled with the party of guild adventurers for the better part of a month, and as the autumn sun faded, she found herself resting on a bench in a quiet tavern, her back resting comfortably against the cloth covered wall, a mug of ale clasped between her hands, and the imposing walls of Tarantis less than a fortnight away.

"What about you, Cold Hands, why not tell us a bit about yourself? You know as much as there is to know about the rest of us," The leader of the party, a minor hedge knight from Kron-Nesis suggested with a friendly and honest smile as he drained most of his tankard of ale.

"Happily," Cold Hands agreed. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Why do they call you, Cold Hands?" the elf ranger of the party teased.

Cold Hands smiled and moved closer to the young elf. With a playful nod, she softly brushed the side of elf's face, admiring the beauty of the woman. "My hands have always been very cold."

The elf's mouth opened with shock, before settling into a familiar impish grin. "Your hands are absolutely freezing."

"Yes," Cold Hands smirked.

"Is that really your name though, Cold Hands? Surely you must have a proper name?" The hedge knight inquired mid-drink.

"Names are power. A friend, Aumak taught me that once," Cold Hands replied with a heavy pause. Memories she thought that she had long since banished returned to her. But she welcomed them nonetheless. She no longer felt the feelings that she had once felt, and the memories no longer hurt her. Out of habit, she forced a smile to cross her lips. "I just prefer to just be known as Cold Hands. It's as good of name as any."

"Of course, it's a fine name, a fine name for a capable warrior," the half-orc fighter from the Fang Lands intoned jovially, slapping Cold Hands good-naturedly on a shoulder. "You said once that you'd joined the monastery at a young age, right?"

"Mmm, yes. I have been a servant of the Radiant Sun for as long as I can remember. My parents gave me to the order before I could even walk, much less speak."

"They gave you away?" Her companions burst out almost in unison. The elven ranger managed to almost choke on the sweet wine she drank and the half-orc looked personally offended on her account.

Cold Hands laughed, it seemed proper, "You misunderstand. In the lands of the North it is a great honor to give your child to the faith. And it is a great kindness for the monastery to take in a child. There is a heavy price for raising anything, much less a child, in the land of ice."

"So, you grew up in a monastery, then?"

"Yes, I was raised by the brothers and sisters of the Order of the Frozen Heart. It was a wonderful life. Not an easy life of course, but a good one. A simple life, a life of learning and faith. I spent my days with the other neophytes, children mostly, first learning the simplest rituals of my order, then how to read and write, and finally studying the ancient texts housed in our monastery. From our elders, we learned how to meditate, how to center ourselves, how to find peace. To master yourself, is to master the world as the Abbotess always said."

Cold Hands leaned in closer to the table, lowering her voice as if whispering a secret,"Although, I must confess, I enjoyed our physical lessons the most. Training with the warrior acolytes of the order was always my favorite part of the day. They were strict, unforgiving teachers, but it made us all the better, it made us strong. They taught us the many ways of armed and unarmed combat, how to fight, how to protect, and how to survive."

"Wait, they taught you and the other acolytes to fight?"

"Of course, attaining enlightenment requires not the betterment of not just the soul and mind, but the body as well."

"But fighting?"

"My order has always maintained a robust view of the duties of an acolyte. All members of the order are expected to be able defend themselves and those in need. The frozen wastelands does not ignore weakness based on the depth of faith or innocence, the land is harsh and unforgiving," Cold Hands offered with a shrug. She took a slow sip from her tankard of ale, a faraway look on her face. "I remember in my twelfth year our teachers sent us out into the the wild for several weeks with only a small knife and a couple of days worth of supplies. They had taught us well though, and only a few of us perished."

An awkward silence followed, and the adventurers exchanged quick glances that Cold Hands magnanimously chose to ignore. She did not expect those who had not faced the endless cold of a winter night to understand.

"So, those movements that you do every morning and evening? The twirly stuff...They're fighting techniques?" The dwarven barbarian of the group finally interjected, doubt clear in his deep voice.

"In a way, they are, yes," Cold Hands replied with a fond smile. "They were among the first forms I learned."

"Ah well, you can fight, I will give you that, Miss, but I don't put much stock in your fancy dancing," the dwarf huffed. "How did ye come to be an adventurer then? You're the first woman of the cloth I've ever met outside of a temple, not that I've met many robed ladies, of course.

"My order is a bit different from most," Cold Hands answered knowingly. "Like all acolytes of my order, when I came of age, I ventured forth into the world. Seeking to learn, to teach, and to do good. And I have continued my journey ever since. It has been a most interesting experience—"

"That's not all though, is it?" the elven ranger interrupted with a wry smile and a tone of conspiracy. "I've heard you asking questions in every city, town, or even outpost we've stopped at. Always the same name."

Cold Hands nodded, she did not make a practice of denying the truth if it could be helped, dishonesty was an unbecoming of a true believer, "It is true, I have a personal reason to travel as well. I am looking for the great wizard Aumak. We grew up together and he is dear to my heart. Our paths diverged some years ago, and I would like to speak with him again."

"When did you last see him?"

"Five years ago, and then nothing, until I heard rumors that he had passed through the great gate of Tarantis less than a year ago."

"Aha, so thats why you joined our party?"

"Partly," Cold Hands answered truthfully. "But you seemed like the right sort of people, perhaps a bit rough around the edges...but good people nonetheless." Laughter followed, and Cold Hands drained the remainder of her ale with a broad smile.

A Hunter's Story

"What's that? The Order of the Frozen Heart. Aye, of course I know of them, boy," the one-eyed hunter replied. "Crazy bunch of fellows in robes. No, not wizards, they ain't wizards, they're more like priests. Stark raving mad, the whole lot of them. Why else would they build a castle on a cursed mountain? Building a castle on any mountain is bad enough. But a cursed mountain, well, that's just asking for trouble, isn't it?"

"So you've met them?" The youth asked.

"Have I met them? Course' I've met them. One of them. What was her name...Cold Hands something or other. She was a strange one. Didn't seem like she was all there. Her smile, you know, it seemed like it was just there for show. Good fighter though, she could throw a mean punch. Bloody terrifying if you ask me, a woman that size shouldn't be able to decapitate an orc with her fist, it's just not right..."

"Wait," the scholar pleaded, scribbling in the journal he had opened in his lap. "Where did you run into this woman? And how?"

"Where was, I? Ah, how I met her?"

"Yes, please, but slowly."

"Well, you see, I was hunting hunting this dire wolf that been preying on the livestock and even a couple of villagers in the town of Sarmo. Wasn't supposed to be any different from any of the other jobs I'd taken to hunt down some marauding beast. Still, that old wolf was a mean one, he was old, and he was damned smart. He took a good chunk out of my leg, he did."

The hunter paused, and subtly nodded towards his now empty horn of mead. "Ah, all this talking is making my throat a bit parched...Perhaps, another drink would help to loosen—"

"Another drink! Of course! But please, continue!"

"And well, that was the problem. See if it's not the cold that gets you in the northern lands, then it's the beasts, and if it's not the beasts then it's your fellow man that tries to gut you," the grizzled hunter said, shaking his head disgustedly, finishing his fresh horn of mead, and gesturing to the barkeep in a fell motion. "So there I was, dragging that godforsaken lump of wolf behind me, when who do I run into but the bloody Red Banner."

"I'm sorry, the Bloody Red Banner? I don't have any notes on them," the young scholar interrupted apologetically.

"Who? Oh, the Bloody Red Banner, nobody important, just some cut-throats and thieves, scum. Suppose they're all dead by now, least I haven't heard of them in a long time."

"I see."

"I expected it was the end of me. Now sure, I wasn't going down without a fight, what would my ancestors say if I didn't bring one or two bandits with me into the grave. But, well, I was outnumbered, and slowly bleeding out."

"A precarious position to be in," the scribbling scholar agreed.

"I'd only just managed to mutter a prayer to the Sun, the Radiant Sun, when this wisp of a girl appeared, she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She introduced herself as Sister Cold Hands, much to the amusement of the bandits, and then she did the damnedest thing. She asked the bandits to leave. She didn't even have a weapon, at least not as far as I could tell. The bandits were of course less than convinced, although they did laugh mightily at the idea of surrendering to some lunatic."

"Do people often travel without weapons in the northern lands?"

"No, why would they do that? A man without a sword is a dead man, there same as anywhere else."

"But this girl didn't have any weapons?"

"Aye, like I said, she was unarmed."

"Hmm, I see."

The scarred hunter grinned, "She didn't seem to shook up about it,though. I figured she'd turn out to be a mage or something. You know, the fireball hurling kind? Only mages are dumb enough to let a band of bandits charge them. But she wasn't a mage. At least not any sort of mage I've known. She just danced between their attacks, jumping around like some damned snow leopard, before she struck the first bandit. I knew from the sound his skull made when she hit it that he wasn't getting up again, not in this life at least."

"She killed him?"

"Damn near took his head off," the hunter guffawed. "Now trust me, boy, I've seen a fight or two in my day but I've never seen anything like that. That girl fought like a proper warrior, like she'd been trained, you know? But it was different, she didn't fight like some drunken tavern brawler, knight, or pit fighter...no, it was different...like some, I don't know, it was like some dance, except she kept on sending bandits crashing into the frozen ground with broken limbs and cracked skulls."

"How horrible. Please continue."

"Horrible? More like justice. She managed to pummel five of the bandits before the rest of them lost their never and scurried off to wherever it is the damned Bloody Red Banner decide to hide when they catch a beating." The aged hunter laughed, the scholar could tell that it was not the first time he had run afould of the Bloody Red Banner. "And then, she practically carried me back to the monastery at Atan, except she called it a fortress of course, damn girl, it was a castle, but in the far north, a bloody castle is about as impressive as a fortress. How they got all that stone up that mountain, I could never figure out."

"Verryn," the scholar carefully began, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. He could feel how much lighter his coin purse felt on his belt. "I don't mean to be rude, but what was the point of this story again?"

"The point? Well, the point is lad, keep your hands to yourself if you see one of them robed ladies up here or you are going to find yourself with some broken fingers."

The Order of the Frozen Heart

The Order of the Frozen Heart

In my travels across the realm of Telduria I have encountered many of the religious orders and the servants of the great faiths that traverse this fascinating world. However, few are to my mind as interesting as the small community of warrior monks and nuns of the Order of the Frozen Heart.

The Order of the Frozen Heart is an enigmatic order of warrior ascetics that reside in the furthermost reaches of the Unknown North. Throughout the realms, the Order of are renowned for the peerless warriors that are trained within the walls of the fortress-monastery of Atan. The so-called Frozen Hearts possess a fierce fighting ability and adeptness at surviving in the harshest of natural conditions.

Founded several centuries ago by Erech the Wise, the Order of the Frozen Heart grew out of dissatisfaction with the weak spiritual teachings and relative inaction that plagued the established religious orders. Although it was once seen as a heretical movement, the Order of the Frozen Heart is now viewed as merely a particularly militant and eccentric offshoot of the Order of the Radiant Sun. According to my sources in the Court of Stars, relations between the two orders is polite, but frosty.

The Order of the Frozen Heart stands out from the other religious orders in the heavy focus that is placed on developing not just the soul, but the mind, and the body through rigorous physical training. Religious acolytes of the Order of the Frozen Heart are expected to be able to survive and thrive in the world outside of the monastery. I have heard stories of young acolytes of the order being cast out into the inhospitable tundra of the Unknown North in order to test their capacity for survival. Further, unlike many other religious acolytes, members of the Order of the Frozen Heart are strongly discouraged from relying on the charity of others and they are forbidden from secluding themselves from the secular world for too long.

The central dogma of the Order of the Frozen Heart is that enlightenment is only possible through complete mastery of the self and suppression of all emotions.

The Fortress-Monastery of Atan

The heart of the Order of the Frozen Heart is the fortress-monastery of Atan that stands on a crag overlooking the Cold Sea, north of Urland and the Court of Stars. Famed for its massive stone walls and towering keeps, Atan also houses the great library of the order and a small community of devoted religious acolytes. Although some have stated that Atan was originally the citadel of Erech the Wise, the keep actually predated the sage by several centuries, having been founded long before the creation of the order by a tribe of nomadic warriors. Those I have spoken with suggest that to gain entry to the hallowed halls of the Order of the Frozen Heart a visitor must gift the order with something of immense personal value.

The Monks and Nuns of Atan

The religious acolytes of the Order of the Frozen Heart are ascetics that live highly disciplined lives. Unfailing kind and helpful, the Frozen Hearts spend most of their days studying religious manuscripts, meditating, or practicing the beautiful form of unarmed fighting for which the order is famous. The monks and nuns of the order are known to spend years at a time away from the monastery, traveling across the realms and serving the order as required. They are highly respected for their unwavering willpower, talents for elemental magic, and fearsome abilities in battle.

During my all too brief time with one of the religious acolytes of the order, a young woman who I knew only as Cold Hands, I was fascinated by the lack of emotion that she displayed. According to Cold Hands, she had sacrificed her emotions in order to follow the path to enlightenment. A practice I have since learned is not uncommon among senior members of the order.

Excerpts from Garend's Guide to Telduria

[Girlie1Bomba]

Mercaidi Kin'Myla

꧁꧂

of the Shir-Lalancanne

Friends call her Mercie. Guildmembers call her Wicked.

~Titles:

Wicked One of the Underhanded (alter-ego), Dark Star as acrobat/actor, Ghost Watcher as scout.

~Age:

97

~Race:

Mixed blood: Dark Elf, Night Dwarf and human.

~Training:

• Mentored by Eldest sister Pashae as Scout: weather reader, climber, stealth, survival, flora/fauna recognition.
• Mentored by Eldest brother Daestimane as Soul: hunter, tracker, trapper, pathfinder
• Trained by ShamanMother Miir as Spiritualist: rituals, Communing, reading/sign recognition, seeing/soothesaying, Shadows and Mists.
• Mentored by Circus performer Volante the Wicked Serpent as acrobat/actor
• Trained by former Gladiator Noeflitos as swordfighter/dirty tactics
• Mentored by former GuildMother Ashalra as assassin/toxin crafter.
• Trained by Underhanded teammates as 'Guild' member: streetwise/blackmarket/negotiate contracts/appraise goods/craft weapons.

As Wicked One

~Equipment:

• Linferre-Atuol - The StarBlazer Bow – a most prized and powerful item. Once mastered, the user will never again have the need to purchase another arrow ever again. The power of the stars and suns above have been harnessed and a missile of energy will fire forth from the bow. Mercie only will ever use the power in dire situations. For not only is it fatiguing after prolonged use, but she does need anymore reason for others to chase her down, kill her and steal her stuff.
• Shadow Waker Cloak – This is an assassin's dream. The device is actually the upper part with the drawstrings; the flowing cloth can be of any material. Once activated, Mercie may 'fade' in to darkness. The shadows are like commanded waters of the abyss to her. Mercie may ‘swim’ through complete dark in any direction. Also she makes no sound in low light situations. But if activated for too long, ‘things’ from the other side of that liquid abyss notice her and will try to claim her for their own and she will be forever trapped in the dark. She may take up to two others with her… if they dare.
• ‘Wicked One’ light-weight armour – this is her signature look when she dons the persona of Wicked One, the Archer. Once activated, this enchanted armour sprouts like a fast growing flower, covering her entire body, including face. It increases her bulk and height to seem much larger yet weight increases but minimally. Mercie is still allowed quite a lot of motion for the armour is made with light-weight flexible mithril plates that are still strong enough to deflect weapon blows without breaking. And the truth of it is, is that she wears it all the time. It is actually hidden in her bodice. She will only use it when she needs the persona; she wants to protect her alter-ego afterall.
• Four ‘throw-weighted’ daggers
• Durable, utility serrated edged knife used as a off hand weapon.
• Short sword with hidden poison spike in pommel.
• Multiple arrow heads for specialty uses. i.e. Armour piercer, shattering, hollowed for toxin delivery, whistling etc.
• Skull, bone, claw, feather, hair 'trinkets' and other ritual casting devices in her kit.
• Black leather travelling/fighting ensemble: includes jacket, battle skirt, boots and archer gloves.
• Regular clothes, cloak and travelling shoes

~Spell skills:

Communing with spirits of Shadows and Mists. Shadow travel: See Shadow Waker Cloak

~Other skills:

See training above

~Affiliation:

Assassin’s Guild

~Personality

Quiet, Calm yet Intense - Time has burdened her with hard choices and hard living. Gone are the days of blind ambition and pride to prove others wrong. But then again, gone are the big smiles, hearty laughs and random acts of hugging. The mix-blood now rarely says much unless necessary. So jaded is she that she rarely jump scares or gives up a surprised face. A dragon could be roaring in her face and the ground sinking around her and the woman would still keep razor sharp attention upon what she does. Mercie has nerves of steel, a heart of stone, yet eyes of fire. There is a slow burning intensity for such a small thing that even a look from her may sear your soul. But such a look is actually part and parcel of her now; she seems to bore holes in anything she stares at because she is taking in as much info as possible.

Cynical and Clinical- Being used and getting burned so many times has made her never take things at surface level. She always looks for the ‘how’ and ‘why’ answers to things and always questions authority. That is not to say she will not try anything once. She is adventurous enough. In fact, she takes all her various forms of training seriously and has strict training and ritual regiments and each time she does something, she does it by the book: crisp, clean and complete. This tends to lead her to want get things done right; she will do it herself. But when it comes to team play she knows she must relent for she has learned first hand about strength in numbers and benefits of a reliable teammate. Oh, and do note, however, that it is never out of the question for Mercie to get down and dirty. In fact, you best be served to expect to deal with some of her changeups.

Sharp Mind and Keen Senses – Unless she is trancing or executing a ritual, one will rarely find Mercie daydreaming or spacing out. Aloof as she may seem, it does not mean she is ignoring you; undoubtedly, she caught what you said and is just contemplating your words. Again she pays attention to details and her mind is constantly thinking. Mix that In with keen senses and a quiet disposition and you have a trouble sensor. Be prepared for her to suddenly or violently burst into action. Word to the wise then; in those moments when she is absolutely still and in utter silence? Watch those amber eyes. If they are open, it means she is still processing what she has picked up on. If they are closed, it means something is about to happen but lightning fast.

~Quirks

Mercie is quiet and calm with that oh-so-edgelord-me appeal about her, but she also cannot help but sneak in a practical joke or two. Most likely these go undetected since none will expect this from the mix-blood but it is not unknown for her to leave precariously balanced buckets of water above slightly ajar doors. Oh and the sharp tongue-in-cheek comments she lays upon those of authority in the Church? Those spout up everyso often. And do watch out for the faces she makes behind their backs.

Mostly a night owl, if she has to be up early in the day, expect her to be rather gruff and grumpy. Coffee or the like will definitely put you on her good side. Speaking of good side… she can get a bit offput and even insulted by outright rude or disrespectful folk. Expect that mean streak to come rushing out at the offender with blood red rage. And speaking of blood… she is a killer through and through. Do know that if she says she will kill you, this is no joke nor idle threat. She will go out of her way to kill you. If her weapon is out, she means for it to drink before she sheaths it.

~History

She never knew her true birthparents, but the spirits of Mists, to whom she often spoke, hinted to her that her parents were an unlikely pair of halflings. One parent was an offspring of a suberranean Dark Elf and a human slave, and the other, an offspring of a Night Dwarf and a human priestess.

The Spirits had also shown her the youthful faces of human scouts that had found her. They had also shown her as a little screaming bundle of joy amidst a pair of broken and bloodied corpses. They had also shown her receiving judgement before the Shir-Lalancanne elders. The foundling was deemed to be an innocent being worthy to be 'absolved of the evils done by her fore-fathers.'

And so in the Great Valley of the mountain range that bordered Estorna and Vesh, the Shir-Lalancanne Clan named the absolved spawn: Mercaidi Kin’Myla which literally translated as 'The Saved Devil-girl.' Much disdain and contempt was given to such a mixed breed mongrel monster, but as it was, any foundling taken to camp before the Elders must be raised as their own. And so they did raise her, and very, very well one might say. For although Mercie did not have the towering height nor the musclebound body of her brown-skinned Sisters and Brothers that raised her, she had the nimbleness and body awareness of her underground ancestry. She was a natural hider, expert climber and but oh, was she ever deadly accurate with the bow.

The mongrel girl took to Miir, the MotherShaman, as Miir would soon take to the mongrel girl. This foundling was growing at a much slower rate than what the Shir-Lalacanne Clan was used to but Mercie's expertise in ‘Communing,’ the act of whispering to spirits, was eerily surpassing any that had gone before her at her youthful stage of life. Perhaps it was already in her blood to be attuned to spirits but the spirits of the Shadows and Mists took to her rather easily. Too easily in fact.

~~~

Much alarm was raised by the Shamans of the Clan. And so soon enough the MotherShaman decreed that Mercie receive no more Communing training, for further training would only end up in doom for the clan. And thusly, Miir cut herself off from Mercaidi.

Just when she thought they had finally accepted her, this dagger was thrust into her heart. Oh, but too much pride and ambition the youthful Mercie held in heart; that dagger could not kill such things. And so willfully, the mixed-blooded girl furthered her Communing upon a dangerous path; alone. And what she learned was all much too much for any youth. And as the years passed, she finally succumbed to the power she attempted to wield. Being a raw and non-properly attuned Lone Spiritualist, one day held her trance too long, and she was taken on a shadowy trip to ‘the other side.’

When that fateful journey ended, she found herself awakening at the Cave of Ol' Lady Wise Bear, No’Rilee. Mercie had no recollection of what had transpired, but oh, the bodies...

There were 7 in total. And two of them were her beloved brother Daestimane and her beloved sister Pashae. The blood of her clansfolk showered her in misery and shame. And to make matters worse, they had blamed her for such foul murder. Mercaidi did the only thing she could do; she fled her heart and home, never to return again.

~~~

Far from her families home she ran, far away and into the territory of Estorna. For almost 2 decades she laid low, living off the land and earning a mystique as the 'Ghost Watcher'; she who watched out for the weary traveller and protected them from bandit and beast alike. And then came the day that would forever change her life.

The wolves pressed in on the lost traveller and Mercaidi fought them off and shot the wolves dead. The Ghost Watcher had saved the man’s life, but she was badly injured and would no longer be able to fend for herself alone out here. But the man she had saved was none other than famous acrobat and performer Volante the Wicked Serpent. This man would not leave his saviour out here to die alone.

To reciprocate her heroic act, the acrobat took her back to the Circus and they nursed her back to health. And soon enough she took to this travelling life and found she had a knack for doing athletic acting. Mercie graciously allowed Volante to take her under his wing. She blossomed as a performer and so he made her officially part of the travelling Circus of Mirth and Wonder's acrobatic troupe by annointing her The Dark Star. She truly was happy to have a family that wanted her and loved her for who she was and did not judge her because of her bloodline.

~~~

But then came the day Missus Falionis, ‘The Blind Seer’ told her that it was coming. Puzzled and bewildered, Mercie merely shrugged it off. But the sounds of the drums… The beat and pattern was unmistakeable. At first she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her but more and more occurrences of that hypnotic rhythm found her. Most of the time she heard the drums when alone. And loudest when it was dark.

She should have Communed, but alas, that life was behind her and as such, speaking with the spirits was out of the question to her. Big mistake. It finally came calling and found Mercie. It was none other than Ol’ Lady Wise Bear herself, Ro’Nilee. The gigantic ursine beast tore through her dreams like a razor through a sleeping babe’s neck. When all was said and done, Mercie was alone in Shadows and Mist, standing nose to nose with the immense murder machine.

“You will continue to flee and flee and flee, foundling. But the past will not rest. It will still call to you, even if you will not listen. Family after family, run then. A façade for another façade you will see. You came to my dwelling for enlightenment. You did not listen. You did not want to hear my words. I warned you of the trade; you knew the cost of the bargain. And here it is in full. You can no longer run from our pact.

You asked for power greater than the MotherShaman. Well, then here it is in Names: Plaisire, Draevyni and Ki’Drahs. Power greater than your MotherShaman. You will learn who murdered your siblings. You will avenge them. Then you will come home to avenge your betrayals. I will be waiting for you when you are ready, foundling… you will be ready too.”

The slash from the great claws of Ol’ Lady Wise Bear tore off half her face and exposed fully her left eye. Such horrible trauma to her face, oh, yet no onlooker would be any the wiser. It was a spiritual attack, not a physical one. Only in reflection could Mercie see what Ro'Nilee had done to her face; only the mirrors to her soul could see such ugliness.

~~~

Over the next few weeks she mulled it over and finally came to a decision. It was spring when she began packing her things. Once more she would flee. But before she left, Volante, her rival, mentor and friend caught her as she was about to leave her Circus family behind. Only several words she needed to utter; “It’s time to go. Not a single arms length from you and yet I already feel tired of running.” He hugged her then and kissed her forehead. He had already seen the signs; so many had he seen upon the path of the tormented runaway. Volante actually thought she would stay but alas, he was wrong... as he always was. He let her go, but not before dropping a couple of names. She left for good and wandered the years till she found her way to a secluded and complete recluse couple on a homestead in the Vesh borders.

They took her in and for a year she earned her keep as a farmhand. Again, she was loved and well received. That was until the day she mentioned the three names that No’Rilee the Ol’ Wise Bear had said to her. All things changed right then and there. Of course, they knew of the names. But if Mercie wanted to know what those names meant, then she must trust the old couple and follow their every word. Then and only then would she be given the keys to unlock said names.

The training she received was gruelling and pushed her to her limits. Several times, she nearly died by accident or was nearly killed outright. The old couple were not the jolly homesteaders they seemed to be. No, instead the wife was finally revealed as former GuildMother, Arahlsha and the husband was former Gladiator, Noeflitos.

One name would lead to the next they said. And so now they were training her to deal with the first name; Plaisire. As soon as they deemed her ready, she was introduced to a secret membership of assassins known as The Underhanded. These were the masked group that took jobs from those in ‘positions of high prestige and power, yet wanted to keep their hands clean of dirty work.' And so over the years, she earned her keep as an accomplished assassin. So very pleased with her progress, her surrogate parents and patrons bestowed her powerful gifts in recognition of her mastery. From mother Arahlsha, Mercie was bestowed the bow; Linferre Atuoll and the Shadow Waker Cloak of Arahlsha. From father Noeflitos, she received his re-fit warrior armour made of Dwarven mithril. The set was re-fashioned to fit her new persona: The Wicked One, Archer of the Underhanded. These were gifts worthy of 'taking care of their old friend,' Plaisire.

Again the years passed until she finally knew that it was time to move on. She was Communing again, but it did not take speaking with spirits of Shadows and Mists to know that she was on the right path. A single glance Mercie cast into the mirror and she saw the ghostly image of her mauled face staring back at her. It was healing.

It was time to go.

[Strange Rodent]

Nar Zalaam

---

Nar Zalaam, Pyromancer Maestro

---

---

Titles: Some call him "The Wandering Pyromancer", though this isn't formal.
Age: He stopped counting at 28, as he had better things to do. He looks mid to late forties.
Species: Human

---

Equipment:

The Book of Ishamel

A book which details the life of a legendary pyromancer named Ishamel. Through study and understanding, one may distill spells from its pages. The longer the passage, the more powerful the spell.

It is bound in fairly plain looking leather, with vellum pages. It's not written in one singular hand, or using one pen. Rather, it's many different styles, languages, inks, and content. The only similarity they bear is how poetic they are. Even the non-poem writings possess a certain unmistakable fluency and descriptiveness.

Some passages relate to Ishamel's relationship with the deep, however. Nar has developed some theories around this. He's named it "Low Fire", and he thinks it will burn far below 0C, and it will come from despair. The first is obvious, but generally pyromancy feeds off the stronger emotions like anger or love. Despair is strong, but in all the wrong ways, and could potentially fuel a freezing flame from deep within one's soul.

Wandering Kit A backpack full of things Nar could use on a long trek. It's a rather extensive list, due to just how long he's spent developing it.
Quarterstaff A cheap, durable, and deadly weapon for when pyromancy is impractical. It's ~9' long, 1" wide, and 1 1/2" thick piece of oak. He has been trained in it by peasants in exchange for money while he traveled, and is quite handy with it. Of course, he will prefer to use pyromancy where possible. The weapon itself is easily capable of shattering bones, so long as there isn't steel in the way. Because of this, he uses it mainly in defense from wild animals.
Robes These robes are more of an amalgamation of different fashions from around the world than one particular piece of clothing. They're relatively short, only going to knee height. Of course, he has some very sturdy boots and pants under it. It's mostly optimised for practicality.

---

Spell skills:

Pyromancy: This shouldn't come as a surprise. While his life has been a cluster of different events, pyromancy has been the singular constant. After his duel with the knight, there has never been a moment in his life where pyromancy hasn't been there for him. Strangely, he hasn't become consumed by the power it offers, as so many are.

His pyromancy comes in two main varieties, which he has named Ishamel and Nar. Very creative.
Ishamel tends to be very focused and efficient. At times it almost feels like it's holding back. The fire burns intensely hot, and is conjured by speaking words from the Book of Ishamel while contemplating your understanding of them.
On the other hand, Nar tends to be much more wild, but still far more focused than most pyromancy. It always feels like it's being held back, and can easily be identified and separated from most pyromancy. It tends to blow things up a bit.

---

Other skills:
Study: If there was something he would put his skill at pyromancy down to, it would be this. He has become very skilled at finding the right information for the job at hand, whether this be in a library, book, situation, or person.
Traveling: One might not consider this a skill. Nar would beg to differ. If one can travel as much as he has within the time he has, it definitely is a skill. He is accustomed to using a map and compass, packing light, walking (so much walking), sailing, and learning local languages and dialects to a level that allows survival. Even finding forest food when none other is available.
Communication: He is very used to communicating his ideas to others and understanding what others are trying to say. He has Taught many people and been taught by many people, and that is the root of this skill. He learns and teaches quickly as a result of this.

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Training:
Nar has been trained by uncountable tutors in the art of pyromancy to such a degree that those who are beholding it are spellbound (not by rule, for obvious reasons). Chief among those tutors are the Old Man and the Book of Ishamel. He can weave firestorms the size of warships, or place a singular point of super hot fire exactly where it needs to be.

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Affiliation: He isn't affiliated with any order, religion, or country in particular. Although, he has a notable distaste for the inelegance of the Order of Fire. He is of the belief that they don't know how to properly control themselves. He agrees with some of their ideology, but not their practice.

---

Personality: Nar has a personality that is brimming with a youthful curiosity, though it has been tempered by age. To elaborate, he will pursue anything and everything that interests him with an utmost dedication, but use the wisdom he's gathered over the years to guide himself.

He tends to find himself lost in contemplation of fire when he has a spare moment, especially when there is fire present. Campfires aren't for sharing stories, singing, or cooking. They're for discovering anything at all about the nature of fire. Because of this he has a very deep understanding of his art, and how it affects other objects. He also tends to let of a contemplative air, which most people find quite contrary to his standing as a maestro pyromancer. He also performs startlingly well under pressure, only losing a little bit of control. On the flip side, this 'zoning out' can cause him to miss some important things. While he will generally pick up on loud noises or large movements, he may miss smaller details. This isn't helped by his age, either.

He loves a good jest, and will often give cryptic answers to questions for shits and gigs. Even if they could be answered in a few concise sentences. He's also able to find the funny viewpoint on a given situation in a slightly absurdist manner. This has led to some people feeling alienated by him laughing at their suffering, but he's not really of a mind to care about that.

He views mistakes as learning opportunities, although some of the mistakes he's made have really ruined some people's lives, and he struggles to move past that. He will actively try to reduce collateral as thoroughly as he possibly can. Although, if he is unable to do this he suffers a guilty streak, causing him to run from the problem. He knows he shouldn't run from it, but this only serves to cause more guilt.

---

History
He usually starts his story with the day his gift unveiled itself, so I'll do that. He was the eldest sibling in an upper class merchant family, and he had mistakenly offended a Knight. He must've been having a bad day, because he challenged Nar to a duel. The knight was wearing plate mail, and Nar was wearing no armour. The knight had a sword, and Nar was lucky to have a stick. Nar wouldn't take this without a fight, however. Within seconds he was bested, and as naturally as breathing, his rage rose out of his fist, and became fire. By the end of the fight, the knight had a cheek melted off, and Nar had some nasty cuts.

The surge of power interested Nar. He'd never experienced anything quite like this. He spent the next five years studying everything on pyromancy he could get his hands on. When he ran out of reading material, he watched fires and studied the emotions it brought. Every pyromancer that came through Kron Nesis was hired to tutor Nar, and by nineteen he had made a small name for himself as a young scholar of his art.

All too soon, he had exhausted his resources on pyromancy. The teachers had no more time, the books only said so much, and his hearth fire was evoking the same emotions over and over and over. He figured the best way forward was to travel the world, and collect some piece of knowledge from each area. And so he set off with a sum of money, some clothes, and some food. He headed north out of Tarantis, towards Vesh. Unfortunately, he was never much of a spendthrift and had spent most of his money by the time he reached Vesh. He decided he'd work in the farmhouses along the way for food and board.

In one farm, he met an elderly couple and their thirteen children. The youngest was called Fiona, and was the same age as Nar. She cared for her parents while all the other siblings worked in the fields, kitchens, or forests. Nar decided to stay longer here, as he had nowhere better to be. On top of that, he was interested in Fiona. He hadn't been interested in something this way since he discovered pyromancy six years ago, and in the small amount of time in a day when they were both free, Nar and Fiona grew closer. It took longer than Nar would've liked, but they became lovers.

One night, when they were... doing their deed in the forest, Nar's pyromancy reared its ugly head. From his pores poured fire instead of sweat. He didn't feel the heat, and only noticed when Fiona began to scream in pain. She had blackened skin all over, and some of it was smoking. He carried her to her parents farm, put her on the doorstep, and ran. His guilt was stronger than his love in every way, and his will was stronger than his muscles. He kept running until he passed out.

He woke up in a wagon, covered in blankets, but shivering. He was deathly sick, and drifted in and out of consciousness all the way to Urland, where he soon found out he was to be sold off as a slave on the black market. It was his first major scale pyromancing, and it went wonderfully. He had managed to burn everybody around him to death within seconds. As an added bonus, he was able to mitigate property damage to some faint blackening. After about a month in Urland, he met an Ithell Scholar who specialised in the study of the stars. This scholar was carrying a certain book that Nar had assumed nonexistent until now. The Book of Ishamel. After a few days of hopeless pestering, Nar managed to get him drunk enough to wager it against the entire Zalaam family fortune in a game of dice. Fortunately, lady luck was smiling on him that day, and he won by a narrow 12 points. He was finally in possession of the most rare book on pyromancy in history. He spends the next few years holed up in Urland, doing nothing but studying The Book of Ishamel. The insights he gains are impressive, and he makes a significant name for himself. People had begun to actively seek him out as a tutor. This proved useful to him, because he was able to legally earn money through pyromancy.

The student that impressed him most was a young human named Tetheras Pessoa. He had something that Nar could only describe as a gift. Teth had a huge amount of raw power he could tap in to, but not too much control. They spent a few months in Urland before shipping out to Ithell at the behest of the mages guild. During these months, and on the way there, Teth developed his grasp on pyromancy so quickly that Nar was almost ready to name him an equal. They had daily sparring sessions aboard the ship, and while Nar still managed to win most of them, Teth would consistently slip through Nars defenses. The sparring made the captain nervous, but they were both confident enough to quell flames before they did any significant damage to anything.

Nar noticed that over time, Teth would grow more reckless. He was growing more aggressive as time wore on, but Nar thought nothing of it. In hindsight, this was a very bad idea. As it turned out, there is an affliction that plagues skilled, yet uneducated pyromancers: Fire fever. It causes the afflicted to become increasingly more power hungry. It drives them to burn everything around them, just to watch the beauteous flames. Nar had never faced it before, so he didn't know to look out for it.

After four months in Ithell, they had both learned much. Nar had refined his pyromancy to heights he hadn't dreamed of, and Teth had never been far behind him. One day, not entirely out of the blue, Teth was found burning a supply ship from Urland. As Teth's mentor, Nar was asked to deal with the situation. So Nar went down to the docks. He forced the fire Teth had started to die down, to which Teth responded with more fire. Naturally, this led to a fight. Teth had totally forsaken his defense, though. This made it incredibly easy for Nar. With one hand he warded the flames from the dock, and with the other he fired off a beam of intensely hot fire. He meant only to his Teth's arm, but alas, Teth was moving too much and took it straight into the gut.

He wasn't happy with himself, naturally. If he caught this earlier on, he could've saved Teth. Instead, Teth was dead by his hand. As he is accustomed to doing, he ran from his problems. He made a brief announcement of his departure before stealing a rowboat and heading north. And so the next leg in his journey saw him hopelessly lost at sea. This was a period of massive growth for his mind (which he credits in part to sunstroke). He had several revelations while lying in a tiny rowboat, clutching the Book of Ishamel. The most profound being Low Fire. He hypothesised on the existence of a third flame type based on Ishamel's relationship with the night. When he had nothing better to do he would sit and think on despair, and how it would power a flame. The days saw nothing but him, the Book, and the sun. The nights saw something quite different, though. The stars were eyes to see his elaborate displays of exquisite firecraft. Bolts of flame licked wavering strokes around the boat, boiling any water that happened to come into contact with it. Perhaps most strangely, words rang through the air.

This is how he was seen by a small fishing town who lived on a coast in the north. They sent a longboat to pick him up, and he was taken in. They nurtured him back to health out of the kindness of their hearts (to this day, Nar has not forgotten their kindness. He means to pay them back in full next time he finds himself even remotely close to the north). When he had returned to health, an old man who wore a blindfold and a raven feather cloak showed up in the village. Nobody knew who he was, but he was asking for Nar.

The old man turned out to be an old fire wizard from the far north. He allegedly had family ties to Ishamel, and felt the Book's presence. He brought Nar to his homestead, and taught him the north's take on pyromancy. They spent every spare hour studying the Book: at first as teacher and student, and after time as equals. Nar has no idea how long he spent there, but it was long enough. On the last day Nar was there, the Old Man removed his blindfold to reveal a completely melted face and scalp. He told Nar to be careful with fire, and make sure it doesn't consume him as it does so many others. (I can't do justice to how profound this was to Nar. He had never seen under the blindfold before, and it had just seemed to go unnoticed after a certain point.).

The Old Man, after revealing his face and warning Nar of the internal danger of fire, requested that he deliver a package to Curael Endir, in Illvandrin. The journey there was cold, long, and somewhat boring, so I'll skip over it. When he arrived at the forest entrance he got chills. He'd heard of how the forest will attack those who enter if they mean harm, and he was entirely unsure about how it'd react to his pyromancy. Much to his relief, it held no objections. He'd never seen such a magnificent forest, and spent the first few days getting lost in its beauty, before stumbling across a scorched area. It was here he realised that while fire can be destructive, it is also a natural force. It's only a problem because humans make it one.

In Curael Endir he was treated as an outsider, which he wasn't used to. Finding the person he had to deliver the package to took weeks of constant detective work, but when he found him it turned out to be another student of the Old Man. The package was just a few rocks, but the other student knew what was really going on. Nar had been sent as eyes for the Old Man, so he might check up on his student (It was only now that Nar knew the Old Man could see through others' eyes. Perhaps he was more than a pyromancer?). Nar spent as little time here as he could get away with. There was something that kept him on edge.

Next, his travels brought him westward. He planned on going through the archclericy, and through Eamonvale. His goal was to get to the Darkeene Protectorate. Of course, something surpassing odd happened on the way. Due to a battle he'd heard of, he gave the Fool's Pass a wide berth. This turned out to be much more wise than he could've anticipated. As he looked upon it all he could see were magical storms, melting the souls out of those who were caught in it. Even at this distance, Nar felt a slight pressure from it. He had no doubt he could protect himself from it for a few minutes, but there was no way he would last longer than that. The sheer power on display made him realise just how close he had come to death. The amount of wasted magic did bother him, though. Whoever created that storm was taking out the army, sure, but he was doing it in a way that would wipe out thousands of civilians. He felt hollow as he wondered if Fiona died from this, or from Nar's burns. The image of the storm haunts him to this day. He wonders if that type of magic could offer some insights on Low Fire, based on the utter despair he could feel within the storm, much like how you feel the charged air in a thunderstorm.

With a newfound lust for Low Fire, he traveled south to the Darkeene Protectorate. He was fully aware that they had very few mages there, but he wanted the opinion of a scientist. He figured that finding out the physical requirements would help immensely. Unfortunately, the scientists had nothing groundbreaking to say. Doubtless they helped, just not as much as Nar had hoped. Slightly disappointed, he made his way back east through the war torn mountains. He didn't have much to fear from soldiers. Humans burn.

And now we catch up with the present, where he has made his way back to Kron-Nesis.

Theme:

Burn The Witch, by Radiohead

[pandapolio]

Zakhul

Name Zakhul

Titles Beast of Balcoth
Age older than he can remember
Race Daemon
Training The battlefield is the best educator in the art of war one can find. Zakhul has fought in many a battle throughout his life. Experience has grown his skills with very little legitimate training. For a few years he had a swordsman train him in the basics, but he in no way achieved mastery of swordsmanship.
Equipment

-simple clothing: Simple riding clothes that are nothing special. Higher quality than what a peasant would wear, but nowhere near what a noble would wear.
-sword: A simple sword made of quality materials.
-scrolls: A few scrolls for writing.
-feather pen: A pen for writing on said scrolls.

Spell Skills

-Illusion magic: Zakhul utilizes illusion magic to change the placement of his attacks by just a few inches, mostly geared to messing up their timing. He also uses the magic to disguise his more demonic features.

Other skills

-Hand to hand combat: He is an expert in hand to hand combat, preferring to fight barehanded than with a weapon.
-Good Situational awareness: He is very good at keeping track of everything on the battlefield after he has noticed it. This allows him to stay away from environmental hazards and stay wary of foes outside of his vision.

Weaknesses

-Incredibly lazy: He is unwilling to put effort into nearly anything, unless the incentives are high.
-Overconfident: Years of not being killed has made Zakhul believe he is somewhat indestructible.
-Slightly insane: Imprisoning his mind has broken it slightly causing him to become slightly insane.

Affiliation his pillow(his one true friend)
Personality All Zakhul wants in life is to do nothing and be entertained. Of course that is not how life works, so he often misses any entertaining event he hoped to see. Zakhul is often calm and unguarded when he speaks. He doesn't understand why he should try and lie about things, because who could harm him. More likely to toy with an enemy than kill them instantly he can be seen as cruel. The more accurate description is that he doesn't want the excitement to leave. He often spares his defeated enemies in exchange for a favor, hoping they will become entertaining once again.
History
Zakhul is one of the ancient demons that were summoned when the harvester reigned. He was a ferocious fighter that utilized incredibly quick movement and illusion magic to overwhelm and confuse his enemies. While not quite royalty he was held in high regard by the other Daemons he interacted with.

After the crucible Zakhul had been caught on the outside of the barrier, having his mind freed from the harvester. Unsure of where to go he attempted to find a safe place to get his bearings and learn what happened. He came upon an abandoned fortress that appeared to have fallen into disrepair only a few decades ago. Exploring the fortress he made his way to the lords chambers and looked upon the bed. On looking at the bed a wave of exhaustion overcame him and he stumbled forward. Collapsing to the ground Zakhul could feel his eyelids shutting on their own, as if some force was forcing them closed.

He slept for many years before being woken up by a party of adventures looting his hidden castle. After driving the adventures away he decided to go see how the world had changed.

Leaving his castle he used minor illusion magic to disguise his daemonic features and set out into the world. He spent many years just wandering around the world, spending nights in any dry place he could find. He observed and tested the people of this planet, trying to learn more about them. He began to see the puny mortals he had terrorized in a new light and became fascinated by them. To him their multifaceted nature was extremely interesting to him, because of the one sidedness of daemons.

Zakhul began to start interacting with the humans more closely, moving into a village as a “trader” and becoming part of a community. After a few years he would leave and find a new town to stay in for a while. He continued like this for a while before he started to notice changes in him. He had lost his lust for power and felt more comfortable in his human form. He felt different than before he started this journey, more...less. He felt less “all powerful”, more mortal. He knew he was still as powerful, but he had begun thinking like a human after lifetimes among the creatures.

This realization shocked his mind, that he was becoming something he had previously viewed as weak and pathetic. That he no longer truly felt like a daemon. The worst part though is that he now viewed his past actions through the morals and viewpoints of humans. Fleeing to his hidden home he tried to reconcile what he had done with his new conscience. Unable to do that he imprisoned his mind, creating the detached creature that exists today.

[Opposition]

The Forbidden Archivist

Name
Ishtar Astarte Resheph

Titles
Keeper of the Forbidden Archives, The Blighted Recordkeeper, The Cursed Doomsayer

Age
49

Race
Human (Wight)

Training
Ishtar has no official training, but she spent a great deal of time around other necromancers and cultists. Thusly, she has quite a bit of insight into their darker arts.

Equipment

🟒Carapace Gauntlets | Ishtar carries no weapons as she sparsely has the physical strength to wield one. When she finds herself unguarded in her human form, this custom-made pair of gauntlets she procured in her time working with a cult of undeath are the best she has. They appear as a number of interlocking steel plates connected to form a pair of gauntlets that sit far up onto her forearms. What may seem out of place is the fingertips of her gauntlets, as they are curved into razor-tipped claws. Ishtar opts for these over any other weapon because they are specially made not to shatter or fall off if she eschews her human form.

🟒Canopic Jar of Heart | Being the last of Ishtar’s canopic jars in her possession, she guards it with her life. Her jar of heart governs the free flowing of her circulatory system despite her heartless form. It is no more than a foot tall, and doesn’t provide too much trouble to carry around. The clay jar depicts an ornately adorned human starting to succumb to the bony form of an undead Lich.

🟒Stolen Page of Forbidden Lore | Ishtar has a lot more planned than she likes to give away. When told to fetch a book for the court wizard, she managed to carefully harvest a page from On the Nature of the Dead and the Risen, Volume IV: Liches, Wights, and other Immortals in the Darkness; By Lacerus Golgathya. Surprisingly, the nature of the page has nothing to do with Wights like herself...

Spell Skills

🟒Necrotic Ritualist | Ishtar is an adept purveyor of necromantic magics. These skills have been afforded to her through careful research of innumerable occult grimoires and ancient books. While most of her spell-like abilities revolve around vile rituals and complex feats of spellcasting, they most commonly manifest in two ways. The first of which is her ability to drain life from living entities. This lifedrinking manifests as tethers of dark energy stemming from her palms. This spell is how Ishtar sustains herself as a wight, but it also perpetuates her Curse of the Blighted. The second notable feat of necromancy revolves around suspended reanimation of dead entities. While Ishtar has found herself able to conjure up massive surges of lifeforce to drive into these creatures, her distance from her canopic jars and weakened form leave her abilities in a fledgling state. As it stands, Ishtar is almost entirely cut off from her reanimation abilities, leaving her only able to bring diminutive creatures such as insects alive for any prolonged periods of time.

🟒Doomsayer’s Dark Speech | Having so great a capacity for knowledge of the world’s Eldritch inner workings leaves the mind scarred in palpable ways. To perpetuate her research, Ishtar has deciphered the linguistics used by ancient necromancers and other vile dark artists known as Dark Speech. Dark Speech sounds guttural and inhuman in its syllabic incantations, and merely hearing the words seems to twist at the souls of all living creatures— inciting panic and violence as simple seeds in the back of the mind. While these effects appear as scarcely more than discomforting thoughts in humans, small minded beings such as insects and other vermin of the world often heed the words of Dark Speech as they are whispered into their heads. With her extensive knowledge of Dark Speech, Ishtar finds herself able to worm commands into and understand the communication of vermin creatures, though larger entities may choose to disobey. She often wields this power to command insectile creatures or other small pestilential animals at her will.

🟒Twisted Form | As Ishtar drifted further from humanity, her abilities as a Wight fluxed rapidly. Despite her concealed human appearance when fully energized, she has the ability to twist her body back into the aberrant form she finds herself trapped in. When morphing back into her wight form, Ishtar’s limbs elongate, her spine bends in its place, her face takes on a misshapen cast, and she moves with a cunning swiftness. While she may be particularly susceptible to physical strikes, wights are able to move with great agility and remain as excellent casters focusing mainly on voracious offense. Because Ishtar’s abilities are tied to her canopic jars, her twisted form is strongest when she is in close proximity to greater amounts of her canopic idols. While further away from her remaining jars, her abilities are inhibited to an even greater degree.

Other Skills

🟒Dark Lore Archivist | Due to her time in captivity aside innumerable undead cultists alongside her work as the Forbidden Archivist, Ishtar has amassed an astounding hold on knowledge of the world’s dark lore. Her knowledge of topics concerning the dark arts and other vile facets of life are nearly unmatched. When it comes to uncovering secrets or encountering devilish riddles, Ishtar is an exemplar of the art.

Weaknesses

🟒Doomdreamer’s Vile Lore | To maintain forbidden lore in the capacity and extent that Ishtar does takes a toll on the mind. With her brain so constantly immersed in the dark lore of the world, Ishtar is consequently plagued by vile nightmares almost every time she opts to rest. In sleep, Ishtar is constantly haunted by phantasms of her greatest fears. Because of this, her life is wrought with insomnia and and a certain incurable fatigue. Ishtar is almost never at her peak alertness or physical condition. The hallucinatory images that visit her in dreams only cause her mind to drift further from reality as the days pass.

🟒Withering Lifedrinker | Ishtar’s extended lifespan has come with as many banes as it has boons. Originally, Ishtar used her necromantic arts to artificially sustain herself from bodily atrophy caused by disease. Her fixes will always be temporary, however, and Ishtar is feeling the effects of such mortal flesh. Her body is weak, and it grows weaker with every day. Due to her extensive overuse of her arts, Ishtar’s body would be unable to sustain itself naturally without the support of her necromantic rituals. As such, necrosis and atrophy have to be combated in Ishtar’s daily life. Her body crumbles easier, her bones break with less force, and she becomes exhausted more quickly.

🟒Curse of the Blighted | The radiance of the vile nature emanating from Ishtar stems from her corrupt magic. She’s become so tainted by her arts that her very touch blights the world around her. Ishtar finds herself unable to touch living or ripe plant matter without it withering into a crumbling shell of life.

🟒Preternatural Inversion | Coinciding in part with her Curse of the Blighted, Ishtar finds her horrifying presence extending beyond plant life. She finds that most natural entities and the fauna of the world to be very perturbed by her presence. Animals almost always regard Ishtar with fear or hostility. She finds it very difficult to interact with commonly kept animals. On the converse side of things, this strange curse seems to work in another way. Vermin-like creatures such as parasites and pests seem to regard her with an eerie curiosity. She will often find herself constantly pestered by ominous swarms of insects.

🟒Witch’s Superstitions | As a byproduct of being raised around so many strange cultures involving the more darker arts of magic, Ishtar has picked up innumerable superstitions carried by the cultists around her. To the common man, it would seem that Ishtar just hinders herself with a number of inane taboos. In strange circumstances, Ishtar will often be found performing unnecessary rituals and rites to keep herself at peace.

🟒Canopic Imprisonment | Because of the nature of Ishtar’s tainted body and soul, her necrotic magic sustains her life through the Canopic Rite of Animation. This, while providing the benefit of sustaining life, also ties her sustained life to five canopic jars that carry her isolated and preserved organs: the jars of Lungs, Stomach, Liver, Intestines, and Heart— each carved to depict the shape of a different animal avatar. When one of these jars is smashed, Ishtar loses a great deal of her physical and magical abilities. Should all the jars be smashed, Ishtar’s body would stop working and she would crumble due to the rapid aging effects of her long but staved-off life.

Affiliation

🟒Exiled Fugitive in the Order of the Radiant Sun and its offshoots
🟒Blighted Recordkeeper of the Grand Kingdom of Kron Nesis

Personality
Despite her youthful appearance, Ishtar comes off as a shattered soul that has seen too much. There is malice in her gaze and contempt in every word she speaks. Despite this, she is by no means a violent soul. While standoffish, Ishtar combats her opponents first with her vast knowledge before ever resorting to lash out physically at an adversary. In such endeavors, Ishtar may come off as slightly arrogant and conceited. This doesn’t change her overarching mentality however, for deep inside Ishtar truly wishes to protect the world from the dark secrets she’s plagued her brain with. This leaves her with quite the loner mentality, but Ishtar is not opposed to working with others should she respect their intellect or abilities.

Even beyond that, there is still some noticeable softness to Ishtar’s heart no matter how deeply she buries it. This comes alive in the presence of some of her habits. When one enters her workspace, they would notice a number of plants dotted around, all of them wilted or dying due to her Curse of the Blighted. Nonetheless, Ishtar secretly wishes she could cultivate life as easily as she could before she chose to cultivate undeath. When it comes to the fauna of the forest that react to her with ominous rage, Ishtar still tries to befriend the animals around her. She’s taken to doing this through masking the scent of death on her person with a number of concocted perfumes, though none succeed in great degrees.

History
On a date long lost to history, a young girl was born in the fragmented Eamonvale to a stalwart warrior and his bride. They called her Inanna Astarte Resheph, but that was not a name she would bear for many more years. She grew up well taken care of by her two parents as they adhered strictly to religious dogmas of the distant temples of the Archclericy. Because of this, Inanna’s parents were rather strict in sheltering her during her upbringing. This caused the young girl to be very curious about the facets of the world from which she was kept. Perhaps things would have been vastly different for her had Inanna been able to maintain that happy family life, but as a swathe of pestilential vermin overtook the city and local fields, food grew sparse and the food that was available was often plagued with disease.

Inanna’s mother was among the first victims of the plague that struck across Eamonvale. To deal with death so young was not easy for the young girl, and her father’s warrior mentality did not do much to assist her. Inanna chose to shut herself away, severely disconnecting from the people around her. As much as she wanted to stay locked away in her room, though, Inanna found her solitude maddening. When her father was so often lost in his own work, Inanna often took to the village’s library where she could bury herself in books. It was at this local library where she befriended a librarian who would notice her plight and offer suggestions for books of fantastic tales. It was one particular genre that Inanna found herself drawn to as she sifted through massive catalogues: stories of battling lords of undeath.

It wasn’t as much the heroes of her stories that captivated Inanna’s interest as much as the cultists of the undead. Her nascent mind was mesmerized by the concept of escaping death. Inanna could only imagine what she could have done to save her mother if she had the power of her profane role models. That wishful thinking morphed into something much more profound and urgent when Inanna found that she had caught an atrophying plague herself. She poured herself into her studies, seeking out only books that could clue her in further on the secrets of necromancy. Things came to a head when Inanna began to piece together a simple necromantic concept called lifedrinking, which acts as a form of staving off death and necrosis by consuming the life force of other prepared through various means. The implications of such a dangerous tradition were entirely lost on Inanna in her pursuit to escape the fate of her mother.

This first casting of necromantic magic was infantile, but it succeeded nonetheless due to Inanna’s careful research and vastly expansive amount of sourcebooks. To feed herself in such a spell, Inanna was required to drain lifeforce from a living animal. This task was easy enough with a few grazing fields in close proximity to her residence in Eamonvale, and for the next few weeks, Inanna managed to combat her atrophying body’s symptoms. Such careless spellcasting didn’t go without notice much longer than that, however. For it wasn’t only Inanna that whispered of dark arts in Eamonvale’s night air.

The night appeared quiet, but Eamonvale was anything but as a procession of sickened cultists in their twisted forms paraded through the streets. Most citizens locked themselves away in the homes, and that seemed to do the trick. Any guardsmen that went out to face them met the same fate as his brothers that went before. The cultists were not there to take over the town or raze it to the ground, though. They toiled up to only a number of houses, calmly forcing their ways inside and taking a small number of inhabitants as slaves. All of the captured townspeople had one thing in common: they were vile figures known only as evil among the populace. Inanna may have thought she was safe locked away with her father, but as the procession smashed the door open, she saw visions of doom for the first time. It was revealed that a number of Eamonvale residents had given a list of vile people to the cultists as a form of tribute as to allow the good people to survive. What Inanna soon learned was that she had made the list. The librarian she had so often found helpful had been clued in to the dark musings of the young girl. Inanna sought to fight back with her father at her side, but as she was clasped in the bony hands of her captors, her father looked to her only with a longing gaze of despair. He now knew of her toilings and he had no intention of forgiving her.

With no hope left, Inanna is taken towards the center of Telduria to a camp on a desolate stretch of land somewhere between the Coven of Barrows and Morazuin. Hidden away was an encampment of cultists subordinate to the liches of the Coven of Barrows, many of whom were undead themselves. It was there that Inanna had in spirit died, born again under the name Ishtar in servitude to the worshippers of undeath. While a number of her duties were more physical in nature, Ishtar was by no means strong enough to accomplish much. It wasn’t long before she found herself lucky enough to act as a keeper of all the stolen books coveted by the cult. In her work, she spent hours sorting through them and maintaining the upkeep of the makeshift library as her superiors scoured the texts in hopes of finding relevant ancient knowledge to further practice their art. It was at this post that Ishtar was first really acquainted with the breadth of everything necromancy had to offer.

Finally realizing the power of the knowledge at her fingertips, Ishtar felt a duty to protect the secrets that ‘her’ library acquired in hopes that she could bring what she had learned back to the Archclericy should she ever be able to escape and flee to the temples— a wishful hope that she never gave up on in her time at the cultist escarpment. Her good-natured motivations did, however, dwindle over the years as Ishtar opted to start using the necromantic arts she studied freely to give her the necessary abilities to endure the years of servitude.

Ishtar spent innumerable years at the escarpment, aging very little in her time there due to her growing necromantic prowess. As she originally expected, an inevitable surge of troops in allegiance to the Order of the Radiant Sun tore through the encampment like gale force winds. In this instance, Ishtar felt a fear she hadn’t felt since her time in Eamonvale. In a decisive moment of deception, Ishtar surrendered herself to the Order acting as if she had been an innocent captive the whole time she was there. It was this bluff that allowed her to be rescued and taken back to Valon. With her manipulative wit, Ishtar offered that since she had been in such close proximity to the vile arts entombed in the forbidden grimoires of the cult that she could assist the Order of the Radiant Sun in protecting further minds from being tainted by such knowledge by acting as a keeper of their Forbidden Archives. Although things didn’t start so glamorously, it wasn’t more than a handful of years before Ishtar went from a simple recordkeeper to the title of Forbidden Archivist. In her cunning trickery, she had found herself just the position she needed to propagate her studies to an extreme degree. She was exactly where she wanted to be: protecting and studying the eldritch knowledge hidden in ancient books of dark lore.

Things weren’t all so perfect in Ishtar’s life, though. She had become so reliant on her vile magics to keep herself upright, that her own upkeep had become more and more difficult to hide from her superiors in the order. Her body deteriorated in greater degrees as she began to look more like the twisted undead she had once forsaken. In a cowardly effort to maintain her position as Forbidden Archivist, Ishtar locked herself away in the archives, forbidding entry to most, and even then visitors were only accepted on sparse occasions due to a number of off-the-cuff excuses. Her body was failing and atrophying away, and she knew only one way to stave off the inevitable. Ishtar chose to seek out a powerful ritual called the Canopic Rite of Animation— a decision that she would never be able to reverse. Throwing caution to the wind, Ishtar locked herself in the archives, viscerally extracting a number of her organs and preserving them magically in enchanted canopic jars. Doing so allowed her body to function as though the organs were present as long as she sustained herself on lifeforce drained from living beings. These canopic jars had to be kept whole, for if they were broken, her body would slowly fail. While most of her jars were kept scattered about and hidden in the Forbidden Archives, she always kept her Jar of Heart in close proximity.

It was at this point that Ishtar became acutely aware that she was becoming something less than human. Necromantic lore according to the Canopic Rite of Animation would have referred to her as a ‘Wight’: a creature tainted so greatly by vile magic that she now almost fully sustained herself on her dark arts. Her body, when not sufficiently energized via necromantic draining, would warp beyond human recognition, echoing a twisted reflection of what she once was. Her limbs would elongate unevenly, her spine would stoop and bend, and she would move as a monster bounding about in agile voracity. Realizing what she had done, Ishtar gave herself the ultimatum that the dark lore she surrounded herself with had to be protected at all costs lest others find themselves in her position. She gave notice that the Forbidden Archives would remain sealed for a number of years, but suspicions in other administrative portions of the Order grew far to great to disregard Ishtar’s actions.

In an act of complete subordination, a paladin of the Order disregarded the orders of his superiors and raided the archives to press Ishtar for answers. The confrontation that followed did not end well for either party. As the paladin stumbled from the archives having been wounded a number of times, he charged down the temple’s corridors for help. In his battle, he did manage to shatter one of Ishtar’s canopic jars, thusly wounding her greatly when he uncovered her secrets. Ishtar knew she had to flee.

When the paladin returned to the archives with reinforcements, it was discovered that the doors to the archives were sealed behind a massive tumorous gate of flesh and pestilence, growing back as the Order’s men slashed at it as if fighting to protect the archives. This was the result of a massive ritual spell prepared by Ishtar in a last resort to protect her canopic jars and the lore of the archives. After the completion of such a powerful necrotic ritual, Ishtar knew she was drained and had no chance to fight back against the whole of the Order of the Radiant Sun. She fled the Archclericy altogether heading for The Grand Kingdom of Kron Nesis to disguise herself as a simple human mage. She found herself offering to work for the court wizard, hoping to one day strategize to retake the archives before the seal is broken and her canopic jars are shattered. As selfish as her motivations may have seemed, the twisted creature recognized in her final moments in the archives the dangers in her art. Now seeking to protect others from its vile grip, she finds herself consumed with the perpetual protection of ancient secrets from the populace, though her laymen’s position doesn’t offer much as it stands. In the end, Ishtar is simply grateful she was able to cut deals with the court mage in Kron-Nesis. Her particular knowledge had value to him, but Ishtar is kept under a close watch as the court mage did well to detect her true nature despite her facade.

[sly13]

Aldon Athan

Basic character sheet
Name: Aldon Athan
Titles: Lord of the night/ Blood King
Age: (appears early 30’s late 20’s) Actually countless eons
Race: Vampire- (was Human)

Appearance

Training:
Trained to be an expert swordsman before being turned. After he became a vampire he was taught more advanced skills that complemented his newfound speed and strength along with the secrets of magic.

Equipment what you're lugging around

My Hider

Void sword- Aldons custom made sword “void” is a work of art that took decades to create. It is accurately named as it has the strange ability to absorb magic and store it within. TO most this sword would be absolutely useless as it weighs an incredible amount and is nearly impossible to lift to a normal man. Lucky though because of Aldons Vampiric strength he is able to wield it as if were light as a feather.

Black leather outfit with hat- As shown in the above picture Aldon wears his black garb almost everywhere he goes regardless of the situation. For one it is because he prefers to look his best at all times but in the rare cases, he is about with the masses of common folk he protected from the sunlight.

Magic Portal Pendant- This pendant is linked to a portal within the castle of Aldon and allows for the wearer to travel back to the castle at any time. Because it is only a simple pendant and was one of the first magical items created by Aldon it is only able to be used once a month before recharging and he must be within a reasonable distance to be used properly.

Spell skills Do you have any talent with magic

Blood magic- Aldon can use both his own and others blood to ability his other magical abilities. Of course, his being immortal any magic combined with his blood has a greater effect than that of a human or other race.
Summoning- Aldon with his long lifespan has come to study the evil art of necromancy. With his great power, he is able to conjure an army of the undead provided he has the body’s or skeletons to use.
Fire- While one of his lesser used abilities Aldon can conjure an manipulate fire in both offensive and defensive manners. Being a vampire however in this regard means Aldon will hurt himself as well when using any kind of fire magic.
Teleportation- When this ability is in use a beam of hellfire erupts from the ground and flies into the sky which is visible for many miles. Once Aldon has left the spot he was once standing the beam slowly closes in circumference until it is completely gone. This ability allows Aldon to travel about halfway across the continent. He rarely uses it though as it lets out a large amount of his vampiric aura and is easy to recognize.

Bat form- as stereotypical as it is Aldon can transform into a bat or a swarm of bats to move more easily.


Other skills Any other skills that are useful?

Compel- Though he rarely uses it Aldon can compel another person to do as he wishes with nothing more than eye contact. This however by far Aldons weakest ability as a Vampire. Because of this the most he can do is have the victim forget certain events or make them do a basic task. If the individual were to be put in danger the person will break out of the spell.

Affiliation Are you affiliated with any nation or order?
NA. Just his own castle

Personality A quick rundown of personality

Aldon was once a kind man who fought to protect the kingdom he once called his home. over time, however, he has seen the darker side of humanity and has seen how little humans care for one another and quickly they are to forget the hardships each other face. Because of this he has grown quite vengeful and has let his evil intentions take hold once again. He cares little to what happens to those he fights against. He will often make his opponents lose all hope while fighting just to see them live their few minutes like a scared child.
Yet through all this Aldon still hopes to see the humans find their way once more and forget their petty issues. He has even gone so far to allow certain opponents to win who have proven to show selflessness in battle or that he deems worthy. This, however, is a very rare occurrence.

History

Most of what you would read in the ancient text or textbooks in a school Aldon has seen firsthand. Aldon was there during the first great wars where the titans of the world for the first time tested each other might. Aldon was not only a soldier but also a monster hunter who had pledged his life to end the evil creatures who had sworn to destroy humanity. He was a loyal soldier who had become quite the acclaimed warrior throughout the lands until one fatal night when his life changed forever. While out fighting with some of his men he was infected with an illness that took a strong hold of him. Acting almost like the flu he didn't think about it as he made his way back to their castle. Once arriving his body had gone cold as he began to lose vision. The medics quickly took him to the infirmary to do what they could but were saddened to see the life fade from his eyes. That night all the people within the castle mourned the loss of one of their best.

That next morning when the sun rose the nurses heard a loud scream coming from one of the rooms. When they entered they couldn't believe their eyes, in the corner trying his best to hind from the sun was Aldon. He had grow slightly taller was much for well toned and built and had an air of power around him that was almost mixed with fear. Most shocking however was that his eyes were now a blood red color. After many examinations the leaders made the conclusion that Aldon had been transformed somehow by the best that had hit him. He had become the everything he had sworn to destroy. The only thing that stopped them from killing him there was the fact through all of this Aldon showed no signs of mental change and seemed as if he was still a warrior of good. Aldon to all around him had not changed at all in terms of his attitude. He was still a kind man who helped whoever he could. He stayed with the temple head for many of those early years as he was the first one to defend him from what some of the townsfolk wanted to do to him. However this would be the first lesson on how his new found abilities could be a curse. One day the elder man like all mortal men could see his days drawing nearer to the end and could see how he no longer had time left. Finally on his bed he was taken in the night, it was a peaceful end considering the world they lived in. Aldon found the man laying still in his bed and Aldon weeped for the old man. As time went on Aldon saw everyone he had grown up with slowly grow old and pass away as the way of life took its course as Aldon was stuck disobeying this very law of the world.

One night when the town was asleep he left knowing he had nothing left in the city and fled deep into the forest where he planned to live for the rest of eternity. In the deep forest split off from the rest of civilization he found a old castle that had been left from one of the many past wars. Here he stayed and studied all his powers had to offer. He learned all sorts of magic that would classify as evil if used in the wrong hands and arts that would shake even the most stone cold men. As he grew older he grew stronger as well almost as if the vampiric curse only added to the insult towards the laws of nature and life. As time went on he continued to hunt down monsters in the world trying to save humanity from the vast number of monsters that were bent on bringing about their destruction. He had even ran across some of his own kind who had turned along there time as a human as well, not that they were nearly as old as him at this point but still old perspectively. They had never been given the love and kindness he was shown when he first turned and were rightfully angry at humanity. It saddened Aldon to see such a thing happen to his own kind but knew he couldn't necessarily blame the humans either. He opened his gates to any vampire he could find showing them they no longer had to live their life in fear and anger but had a chance at life with love and kindness.

Many centuresy passed as Aldon and those around him stayed within the castle only leaving to see the state of the world or to simple stretch their legs and search for others like them. All seemed good in the world until it descended. The Harvester. With brought the armies of demons straight from heel as it rampaged through the lands leaving no survivors in its wake. Seeing as the humans were unable to stop such a event Aldon gathered his armies of the undead he raised and his fellow vampire lords went to stop this creature and its armies. The battles were intense as Vampires and Demons clashed in the battlefields of Telduria that would determine the fate of the world. After a near 20 year war Aldons army finally came to the crater were the Harvester itself stayed. The actual events of the battle are unknown to all accept for Aldon and the Harvester but what is known was in the crater were the Harvester first appeared is where it was finally vanquished at the Hands of Aldon Athan.

To most this would be a time of celebration and a time for parties, but this was not the case for the rulers of kingdoms who saw this most worrisome. The idea that a being as powerful as the Harvester who was able to desamat the world to such a point was able to be beaten by a person who as far as they could tell was immortal lived with in the world with them terrified them. They concluded that if this creature was allowed free rain over the world then there would be nothing to stop him. Not even a month passed the end of the war on the demons and Harvester the armies of man marched on the castle of Aldon and try to end him once and for all. Still away from the castle with most of his army and some of the other vampires he was unable to stop the destruction of his once home as the nations descended upon him hoping to crush him while he was weak. After the battles Aldon and the other Vampires fled into hiding leaving the humans to believe that they had succeeded in killing the powerful Aldon Athan.

Aldon and the other Vampire lords fled to secluded parts of the world building their own castles remaining in hinding awiting the time when they would exact their revenge. Since then the name of Aldon Athan has been to lost to all but the ancient text hidden deep within the libraries and churches. To most he has become a legend and a horror story to children who is nothing more than just that, a story told to pass the time.


Other
Theme- Castlevania symphony of the night metal cover.

[Stitches]

The Fairy Werewolf Girl, in all her glory.

Adrian Westley

Name: Adrian Westley
Titles: N/A
Age: Hard to tell. She looks young, barely reaching adulthood.
Race: Human (Werebeast)
Training: N/A
Equipment: At the moment, Adrian has no proper equipment. She has yet to acquire any.
Affiliation: The Faerie Court

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Spell skills
Curse of the Werebeast: In moments of great distress, or on the full moon, Adrian struggles in vain to hold back the beast that she becomes. It appears like an amalgamation of a dog and a girl with leathery skin, coarse and wiry patches of hair, cloudy eyes, and a deformed half-face which slopes into some sort of muzzle with crowded sharp teeth and slits for nostrils. Flaps of skin hang off the dense packs of muscle across her body, which twists itself into the general shape of a beast whilst still retaining that uncanny human appearance to which a werebeast is easily identified.
Fae Sight: After spending such a long time in the land of the Fae (and eating the hearts of some of its inhabitants), Adrian has absorbed its magic. She can see what the faeries see, allowing for improved vision and the ability to detect magic. She cannot cast any, but she emits an aura of fae magic that can be detected.

Other skills
Life In The Woods: perhaps Adrian’s strongest talents lie in her intimate understanding of nature. This ranges from exceptional tracking, hunting and foraging skills to a well grounded knowledge of medicinal chemistry, as if she has lived in the great outdoors for her entire life - several times over.
Flighty: Adrian is built for speed, in both of her forms. She may be a fair deal weaker than the typical human or werebeast, but what she lacks in strength, she makes up for with speed, agility and a decent measure of stealth, banking on the idea that if she is hard to catch, she is hard to kill.

Personality
In short, Adrian is a human who pretends to be a human.
Adrian exudes a sense of the uncanny. She has those quiet, contemplative looks, ones of such serenity yet also such intensity that they’d make even the hardiest knight a little bemused. Her gait is uneven, bouncing from leisurely stroll to awkward shuffle, to a sort of frantic scurry depending on how far away the person she is meant to be walking with has gone. She has a reserved and dreamy demeanour and when she speaks, it doesn’t sound natural; as if she had placed great thought into some phrases and blurted out some more.

Adrian works carefully to perfect her manners but it is clear that, wherever she came from, she isn’t from around here. Sometimes jokes fly clean over her head. Idioms are lost to her. There are some mundane quirks of life that nobody would ever think about, from frying an egg to using a catapult, that manage to enrapture the little waif. She has a fixated curiosity over whatever manages to grab her attention the most and a compulsion to follow.

That said, do not think that Adrian is a dreamy airhead; the young woman is closely guarded about her secrets, jumpier than a cricket and difficult to befriend. As if her previous oddities didn’t make her suspicious enough, she stubbornly holds on to her past like a mithril lockbox and there’s only one soul in Telduria who’s been lucky enough to get the key. She gets uncomfortable around strangers, crowds...general unfamiliarity tends to set her on edge. Unfortunately, everything is unfamiliar. She is always on edge.

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“Stay as long as you like, little one, but remember: you may never return once you have left, and the world will not be as kind as we.”

Adrian Westley was born in a land of cold, hard earth. Food was scarce in this frigid plain, but the small cluster of huts seemed to know how to get by - which lichens should be scraped from the frosty stones, what bait to use to lure in those shaggy white bison that roamed the tundra when the days were long and bright. Adrian grew up on cheese and tough slips of flesh - warm cabins that smelled of peat smoke with the sounds of drums and whistles, dancing by the fire. She lived in a world of tradition carefully documented, meticulously followed. Rituals and superstition gripped her village like the chilly fog that rolled in from the mountains. She remembered the war paint and the flint hatchet. The sacrifices that pinched their bellies in order to appease their gods. These memories are foggy, indistinct, but lodged deep in her heart and her unconscious mind. They torment Adrian with their alluring glimpses into the world before the demon war. She does not remember the name of this village. The names of her parents evade her grubby hands whenever she plunges into recollection to find it again. Wherever she came from, it was ancient and surely lost to the ebb and flow of the winter winds and layers of snow. At this point, it could not matter less where she came from - Adrian’s life revolves around how she came to where she is now.

As with many ancient tales, it began with a land far away, and it involved a monster.

Coherent memory started with the demon war. Her village had evaded it for a very long time, but the inevitability of their spread had brought their beasts and monsters onto the snowy plains. Life was always a hardship where Adrian lived, but this was torture. Her people were condemned to a slow starvation, or a quick butchery at the hands of the twisted aberrations that lurked in the shadows. Adrian was too young to understand that this was happening but their fear seeped into her heart. The first attacks were brief and easily won by Adrian’s hardy neighbours; the demons and their ilk were merely testing the waters, seeing how efficiently they could wipe out and claim the little village for their own. When the first true onslaught was due to roll in, Adrian’s kin would be completely eradicated.

Adrian’s parents were quick to notice this. A mother’s blood is attuned to danger and they knew that watching their child die before they succumb to the monsters was a fate worse than butchery or starvation. They turned to their supposed deities at this time - more offerings were sent to the standing stones. They sang and danced and left merry trinkets, and sometimes received bushels of berries in return, or earthy vegetables that could never survive in such a climate. This was the undeniable proof of their patrons’ existence - it gave Adrian’s mother and father a hope that could not be extinguished by all the demons in the land. Unfortunately, the beings that watched over the Westleys were not omnipotent - a flurry of werebeasts leapt upon the family as they returned from one of these rituals.

Adrian does not know what happened between the sight of these hulking behemoths lunging across the plains and her first glimpse of the lush woodland grove she awoke in. Her fragile memory covered it up to save her sanity - all she had of the event was a throbbing wound in her side, packed with poultices and wrapped in a cloth so sheer and soft that no shaggy bison could have provided the threads for it. She cried and slept for several days, left alone in the patch of mossy grass with nothing but the birdsong and the warm breath of the sun on her face. She believed she was dreaming. She did not know how death worked, but assumed that this might have been the afterlife she had heard so much about. She wanted to see her family again.

When the crying abated, the creatures that saved Adrian crept in and started to feed her and bathe her. They would never give any of her questions a straight answer, and prefered distraction over discussion. Through increments, she came to understand what was happening - an evil force was sweeping over her world, and these creatures took her away at the behest of her parents. She would be safe in this land, and free to stay as long as she pleased. It was a far cry from the rocky expanse Adrian was plucked out of - a dense forest, with trees larger than any she had ever seen. The emerald canopy was speckled with golden patches of light, and a great manner of fruits hung from the boughs high above. The world was populated with a whole host of animals she had never even heard of before - not to mention these strange creatures, which could only be seen when they wanted to be seen, garbed with pieces from the woodland they inhabited. They varied in size, stature and beauty, but none were harmful and few were helpful. It took a long time to learn of their names, and longer still to learn the ways of this great and dense forest. But Adrian had all the time in the world to become accustomed to her new life.

Adrian grew at a snail’s pace, the changes so slight and indistinguishable that she could barely tell when she was taller than those little flower-studded playmates she hung about with. The only changes that she was aware of were the dark ones. The pains and cramps that seized her body like clockwork would imbibe her with an overwhelming sense of fear and anger. Memories of the world that she came from were torn up from the hazy depths of her mind - she had only felt pain like this once before her time in the Grove. Her life from before and these ritualistic transformations that she underwent were invariably linked. When she awoke, it was always difficult to forgive herself. Animals lay in warm red pulp and ribbons. On the worse occasions, some of her little friends were dismembered, their delicate ribcages peeled apart and a sticky crimson chasm left in the wake of whatever horror had taken over her body. She was always forgiven, for her friends knew that it was never truly her fault. She had learned, once, that there were others like her but she had been kept away from them because of this condition.

It marked Adrian. It changed her perspective of the Grove. She could not fully enjoy herself, nor could she lose herself to the games and the fruit without inevitably circling back to the frozen village and the pains and the butchery. For the longest time she forestalled her return to whence she came because she knew in her heart that she would be utterly alone. Adrian did not know much about that world, but she knew enough to understand that monsters were feared and cut down - and that she was human no more. As naivety gave way to reasoning and contemplation, she started to figure out that she was no true resident of neither the Grove nor the snowy world of her distant past. All the while she would play games and learn the names and habits of the fish in the stream. She would light fires when the cold of the night settled in, and make shelters out of branches and downy feathers. She would transform and then withdraw for days afterwards, wracked with self loathing. Soon she could climb those enormous trees as easily as her playmates did. She knew how to hide in the gorse and the heather, and how to make the call of the wood pigeon or the swallow. Life in the Grove came as naturally as breathing.

One day, Adrian knew it was time to leave. She felt it with an absolute finality that left her with no time to waste, no goodbyes to be said and nothing to pack, Adrian ran resolutely out of the world that had kept her safe for so long. She kept running until the trees shrank and dissipated into a pleasant, but cool meadow, and ran headlong into the legs of a man in a patchy black cloak. “Please,” she panted, barely able to keep her lungs and her heart in check, “I need you to help me find my parents.”

[DinoNuts]

Victor Strade

Name: Victor Strade
Titles: N/A
Age: 34
Race: Human
Training:
Due to most of his fights facing him off against beasts and monsters, the combat training he had accumulated over the years have been molded to best deal with them. Traps, tools, lures, makeshift rituals, and caution have helped him achieve victory more so than sword play.
Years of monster hunting have taught him important lessons to take into account when chasing a or fleeing from a monster. He possess the basics of dealing with common creatures.

Equipment:
As a hunter, Victor's kit is never constant and is pre-prepared and set specifically for each hunt.

An adventurer's kit, an advanced one in his case, is a must have for anyone in the monster hunting business. Whetstone, bandages, torches, maps of the local region, mortar and pestle, sleeping sack; every common item that someone in the wild would need to survive is always strapped to the sides of his mount.

Basic potions, tonics, and poisons. A man physically much less capable than the foes he faces requires special medicinal boosts to grant boons in certain situations. The alchemical solutions he carries on him are minimalist at best and cause clutter, forcing him to only carry the bare minimum and craft any specifically necessary ones beforehand.

Spell skills:
Victor possess no magical skills, forcing him to rely on trinkets and scrolls he might purchase or identify in the wild.

Other skills:

Tracker. Years of experience have granted Victor the art of reading prints, scents, droppings, and rituals to help him understand the behaviours and movement of common monsters.

Information gathering. Victor is no clairevoyant. Most of his hunts force him to not only interact with nature, but the people affected by the monster. Talking to the commonfolk to piece together information to paint the bigger picture is second nature by now.

Alchemy. Due to his lack of magical affinity Victor was forced to adapt or fall behind with the hunting of monsters. To counteract this Victor began dabbling in alchemy at an early age. This has now left him with a mediocre understanding of crafting and consuming mixtures that either benefit him or harm his target when applied.

Affiliation: Adventurers Guild

Personality:
Victor is world-weary. He has seen most of what he needed to see in order to mature, has suffered enough, and consequently understands the strife others go through. He has a temperamental nature, but his aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism but there’s a faint warmth to his personality that makes him a little more welcoming than most. He still operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’.

History:

Victor had a rather middle-class upbringing. Born to a merchant father in a town nestled safely amongst the core territories of the northern alliance, Victor spent his childhood assisting his father with his travels for sales or covering the homestead with his mother. Although he wasn’t admitted to higher forms of education, he was luckily taught literacy and competency.

The constant traveling with his father was something he enjoyed, not due to the nature of his profession but due to the occasional adventurers they met or sometimes just glimpsed preparing for a expedition. He was truly in awe of not only their status but also often heroic deeds.

Years passed and he was granted the choice of picking up his father's mantle which he obliged to, forcing himself to appease his parents. Luckily his miserable behaviour wasn’t ignored by them, prompting up discourse whether he’d rather pursue a different career. Victor was adamant with his want to chase after the career of an adventurer, something his parents weren’t keen on due their more realistic understanding of the skills that would require. Nevertheless his persistence convinced his parents to trial him, something he eagerly accepted and began preparations for.

After his official signing into the guild with barebone armor purchased from the cheapest smith, Victor joined a small party to start his journey with. He began completing miniscule contract after contract, racking up measly pay. The job was tough, and he had to hop from group to group due to the disbandment or loss of the previous one.

As time passed, Victor was met with the harshness of the world they lived in. Failed contracts with loss of life left him and whatever members he joined up with not only without pay but emotional, physical, and eventually financial scars. As the work he took up began increasing in difficulty, failure turned from a farmer losing his tools to the villages losing their loved ones, families being destroyed, homes being annihilated. Every escape from death turned into luck, the feeling of control over the outcome of his tasks slipping. All these surging discoveries caused Victor to begin distancing himself from family and friends to allow him to more focus and dedicate his time to preparing and succeeding with his contracts. Then, his peers and their attitudes began displeasing him too. Their behaviour turned lacklustre and their desire for fame and glory trumped over the genuine need to help those who require it. This disgusted Victor and encouraged him to distance himself further from group work.
As such, Victor was left to his own devices. Dedicating so much time to this craft drove him to adapt and continue by taking contract after contract on his own.

Many years have passed. Early mistakes made when contracting alone, even with permanent damage done to his body, were seen as valuable lessons. He picked up alchemy to accommodate for his lack of magic. He relied on tools and traps to compensate for his lack of party members. He invested in scrolls and trinkets to trivialise certain monsters. Large gashes and scars that taught him which limbs to plate and armor and which to free up to allow agility. All these lessons and more are what allowed Victor to survive this long and hopefully continue surviving.

With contracts taking him all across Telduria he recently settled running jobs primarily in the southern parts due to conflict. Of course, life had a way of complicating things when everything starts to get simple. When a girl came headlong from the forest, begging Victor to help her find her parents, Victor was hardly aware of the task that lay before him...

[webboysurf]

Primary Character

Darius Stormhawk Character Sheet

Darius Stormhawk

_{T I T L E S}

Justicar, "Brand"

_{A G E}

40

_{R A C E}

Human

_{T R A I N I N G}

Darius was raised practically from birth to hold a sword in his hand. His focus had always been in the art of wielding two swords, attempting to best the phrase "The best defense is a good offense." Living among bandits and general rogues helped teach Darius the art of larceny. As a man of faith, Darius' training shifted to the proper art of warfare and in the proper education of moral philosophy and theology.
_{E Q U I P M E N T}

• Sabers: The signature weapons of Darius Stormhawk, two well-balanced and ever-sharp blades are almost always at his sides. Rumor is that the swords are blessed every morning in his daily rituals and that the steel is a mixture of Adamantine and Silver, making them incredibly durable and potent against certain enemies.
• Stormhawk Armor: One of the few remnants of his life amongst the Stormhawk bandits, the armor is unique in its interlay of thin sheets of metal and hardened leather to create a set of strong but light armor. The dull brown and green tones help him blend into his environment. The armor is also designed for the placement of three silver daggers and a miniscule shank in relatively hidden portions of the armor. The outfit is brought together with a green and brown cloak with a hood.
• Ledger of Justice: A magical item of note in possession of certain justiciars. The book is enchanted in such a way that each ledger is linked to the archives of a certain temple of Justice. This allows for the record-keeping of justice dispensed by members of the Order, while also acting as a form of communication and the passing down of orders from the Grandmasters in Valon.
• Travelling Pack: A travelling pack that Darius carries with him when travelling. Contains all the essentials, from a tent and a bedroll to rations, rope, and a grappling hook.

_{S P E L L S}

• Light of Judgement: A rather simple spell that holds significance to members of the Order of Justice, the Light of Radiance is sharing in the power of the divine in order to create a light that ranges in intensity from the flame of a candle to the intense light of the sun. The most reliable method to reveal a Brand of Justice. Doesn't require much energy to cast and sustain.
• Brand of Justice: A powerful and draining ritual. Used by Justiciars to brand criminals and those on trial. The powerful aspect of the spell is that one who is branded and in the presence of the Light of Radiance not only experiences pain, but is forced to tell the truth to an individual who is shining the Light of Radiance.
• Sap: A spell designed for the purpose of draining the physical energy out of a target, Sap helps to minimize the threat a target can pose. The spell requires a moderate amount of energy to cast, and it takes time to reduce a target to the point where they are no longer a threat.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

• Swift Combatant: Speed is his greatest weapon for someone like Darius. While his armor could, in theory, protect him from a weapon, it's best to not tempt fate. His combat style also relies on using two weapons to overwhelm an enemy with a flurry of saber strikes to get through one's defenses.
• Agent of Justice: Darius is trained in the art of extracting the truth from individuals of interest. Part of his training as a Justiciar involved him learning all 101 sanctioned methods of extracting information from targets without the theatrics and painful ritual of using spellcasting.
• Larceny: While it is a past he'd rather forget, Darius is trained in the arts of breaking and entering. He can pick most standard locks, and is able to slip his hand into the pocket of most individuals. These skills often go unused (seeing as Darius is an agent of Justice), but he knows how to dirty his hands when necessary.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}

Archclericy of Valon; Order of Justice

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

To call Darius an individual who seeks to protect and save the poor and innocent would be a drastic misunderstanding of his motives and character. Darius is fueled by the trauma of his childhood. He is not one for small-talk or continuous acts of kindness, though he is known to take pity on others from time to time (especially as age and a leave of absence have softened him). He is not caught up in the zealotry that others in his orders show, however. He believes in the Divine, but uses his faith and abilities to fuel his search for justice.

Darius is one who gets along in a rough, violent crowd. His favorite past-times are wood-carving, heavy drinking, and gambling. He is not one to back down from a challenge, but isn't necessarily arrogant or "holier-than-thou." His mood and attitude is shifting now as he is four decades old. He is beginning to lean away from drinking excessively with friends or meeting his steel against near impossible odds. His attempt to settle down on a small farm on the outskirts of Vesh.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Excerpt from Justicar Sunblade's Petition

...I hereby ask this court to hear my plea for the sake of Darius Stormhawk, a bastard of bandits who faced Judgement. The child, upon meeting, showed no signs of ill-will nor wickedness. The scars and brand upon his body are signs of physical and emotional abuse. If Darius Stormhawk is released into the world, there is a significant chance he will become a threat to society at large. The Order of Justice can provide him a path of redemption.

As for his skill, his natural talent is the most remarkable I have seen in my life. While unorthodox, I tested his talents with a practice blade while travelling back to the Archclericy. His swordsmanship ability nearly rivaled my years of formal training. While I swore to be objective, I feel it necessary to express my wish to see him serve this Order rather than see his talents used as a mercenary... or worse...

Justicar Garkan Sunblade

Recommendation for Promotion

Upon a formal inspection of the talents of Acolyte Stormhawk, it is clear that his talents would be best suited in travelling and dispensing justice. He has excelled in combat trials, his talent seeming to rival that of some of our seasoned enforcers. Most remarkably, he has taken well to the education in the faith and in the means of extracting information.

Paladin Tyrin

Incident Report

Paladin Sunblade and Justice Stormhawk have been brought in for questioning regarding the execution of a family of seven, with the inclusion of a four year old child. Upon a preliminary review, the reasoning provided by both individuals is satisfactory. The crime was reported to be cannibalism, a crime of the highest grievance to those in the Order. The execution of the individuals acted as fair punishment for the adults, while the execution of the child was determined given the significant spiritual and physical harm sustained through the eating of similar flesh. This judgement remains in line with our standards, and it has been determined that no further investigation is necessary for these events.

Paladin Carin

Grandmaster's Verdict

... It is the judgement of this Court that Justicar Stormhawk is met with no formal punishment. The circumstances of Senior Paladin Sunblade's death remains... dubious. The testimony provided by the Defendant, Justicar Stormhawk, was verified through the use of spellcraft during extensive interrogation. It is believed with certainty in this court that Justicar Stormhawk did not use lethal force against Senior Paladin Sunblade. It is also believed with certainty that Senior Paladin Stormhawk violated the tenants of his oath as a Judge in this Court in attempting to act as an executioner.

This all being said, it is the opinion of this court that Justicar Stormhawk be removed from active service and allowed a leave of absence from his responsibilities to the Order of Justice. The toll of losing a dear friend and mentor has led to the rash decisions by members of this Order in the past. A small farm that was recently gifted to the Order in the Kingdom of Vesh can be made available to ensure Justicar Stormhawk is kept busy.

Grandmaster Veranis

Objective History

The Bastard of Bandits was born 40 years ago wandering among a band of murderous nomads near the Ashen Wastes. His father was the Chieftain, his mother a concubine. Since his very birth, he was raised to be a warrior. Only the strong could survive in that environment. While in the Ashen Wastes, the Stormhawk Clan of Bandits would make excursions into the Nyrae region. Darius was trained as a child to pick locks and pockets. He proved himself a beneficial member of the clan.

Around the age of 13, Darius encountered the Order of Justice. He watched as a Justicar and his Junior Justice brutally slaughtered the entire clan, the Acolyte falling half-way through the battle. Darius was brought to the Archclericy of Valon, Justicar Garkan Sunblade seeing a spark behind the eyes of the child. Darius was one of the oldest initiates brought into the Order of Justice, and many doubted his ability to serve. He took to the teachings at the Temple with a passion, and saw Garkan as a surrogate father after the death of his biological father.

By the age of 17, Darius took his vows within the Order and became a Junior Justice under then-Paladin Garkan Sunblade. For his first three years, he traveled with his mentor across Nyrae and Kron-Nesis. Together, they were responsible for the judgement of over 100 individuals. Garkan Sunblade was not known for giving individuals a fair trial, though there was never proof or suspicion of wrongdoing. The Judgement for those who broke the laws of the faith or the land was execution almost every time. Darius followed in this path of bloodshed, taking the name "Brand" for his signature use of a traditional brand when dispensing punishment (and for a branded mark upon his back that was given to him as a child by his father to signify his role as a Stormhawk).

When Darius was 20, Garkan Sunblade was promoted to the rank of Senior Paladin. Darius was allowed to travel on his own while his mentor took on a more rigid role as a judge in the Archclericy. For the next fifteen years, Darius alone managed to dispense punishment to an estimated 500. He grew increasingly disliked among his fellow Jusiticars for his excessive use of violence. The stories from this period of his life are mostly considered fables... and many of his executions went unlogged. Darius was unchecked and unregulated. He took on bandits, assassins, soldiers, thieves... their families were rarely safe from his rage as well. His resentment for those who broke the law was clear. They were a plague who destroyed lives like his... created monsters like Darius. This hatred and destruction ensured Darius would never be advanced to the rank of Paladin.

At the age of 35, Senior Paladin Sunblade went to bring Darius in to answer for the proliferation of murders he was responsible for. Rumors have circulated for years as to what exactly happened when Garkan confronted Darius. The general assumption was that Darius slaughtered his former mentor before he could answer for his own crimes. The truth of the matter was that Darius asked for a favor: he wanted Garkan to fight at his side one more time to track down a group of criminals that had defiled and drowned a child. The band of criminals was larger than anticipated, and the two members of the Order of Justice fought bravely. Darius was the only to make it out alive.

A month of intense interrogation saw no admittance of guilt. No evidence could be found that the Justicar killed his master. So an agreement was struck between Darius and the upper echelon of the Order of Justice. He took a leave of absence in order to "pray and reflect upon his career." After living a life where he knew only murder and destruction, he found a new life as a farmer in Vesh incredibly dull for the first few months. But as a year passed... and then another... he found an inner peace. There was comfort in living a normal, quiet life. The life that Darius wished he could have always had.

Three months ago... everything changed. A young man had found him... an Junior Justice with a letter from the Order. Tides of change were lingering on the air, and it became clear that capable soldiers would become a necessity for the Order to keep up its appearances for the Council. His quiet life was a sign that Darius could be redeemed... perhaps repentant even for his actions. So the letter saw a reinstatement into active service, with the Junior Justice filling in the role of an assistant to the Justicar.

The past three months have been particularly quiet. Darius guided them through Nyrae to act as executioners for some minor offenses and to provide some training in the act of justice to his Ward. Their journey then veered south, down into the Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis. A week ago... the two found themselves in Tarantis, the Jewel of the South. They found a place to stay at the residence of a local judge, who provided a soft bed, warm meals, and plenty of wine and liquor to waste an army. It was only a matter of time before orders from the Grandmaster himself were sent... orders to partake a war.

Secondary Character

Cressida Tyril Character Sheet

Cressida Tyril

_{T I T L E S}

Junior Justice

_{A G E}

17

_{R A C E}

Human

_{T R A I N I N G}

Cressida Tyril is more of a scholar than an enforcer, and her training reflects that. Can she lift her sword and shield and use them somewhat effectively? Yes, about as well as a poorly trained soldier, with her skill in a bow being similarly underdeveloped. His mind, however, has been cultivated more completely. She took to her studies well, managing to develop her magical capabilities beyond that of his current mentor.
_{E Q U I P M E N T}

• Sword, Shield, Short Bow: The Traditional weapons of an enforcer of the Order of Justice. For close-quarters combat, a longsword and heater shield suffice. She carries a short bow and a quiver of arrows as well.
• Armor of the Order: While only a Junior Justice, the nature of Cressida's assignment granted her access to armor typically reserved for proper Justicars. A set of well-crafted plate armor is in her possession, which she upkeeps fairly well given the pair's constant travel.
• Travelling Pack: A travelling pack that Cressida carries. It contains a small tent, a bedroll, rations, rope, basic camping tools, and detailed maps of Telduria.

_{S P E L L S}

• Light of Judgement: A rather simple spell that holds significance to members of the Order of Justice, the Light of Radiance is sharing in the power of the divine in order to create a light that ranges in intensity from the flame of a candle to the intense light of the sun. The most reliable method to reveal a Brand of Justice. Doesn't require much energy to cast and sustain.
• Brand of Justice: A powerful and draining ritual. Used by Justiciars to brand criminals and those on trial. The powerful aspect of the spell is that one who is branded and in the presence of the Light of Radiance not only experiences pain, but is forced to tell the truth to an individual who is shining the Light of Radiance.
• Seal of Faith: A spell designed to repress the powers that defy Nicarous and the Light (undead, daemons, etc.) through a draining spell that requires physical touch. The spell ultimately acts as a power of will, the caster versus the target. Powerful targets could easily resist and overwhelm a Junior Justice.
• Healing Hands: A traditional healing spell that can accelerate the natural healing of the body. The longer the spell is cast and the more power exerted into the casting, the quicker the healing process. It cannot restore an individual to life, nor allow the regeneration of limbs.

_{O T H E R S K I L L S}

• Tracker and Hunter: A strange talent that Cressida has developed, the Junior Justice is an exceptionally talented tracker and hunter. She is often sent to hunt wild game when with Darius in the wilderness.
• Agent of Justice: Cressida is trained in the art of extracting the truth from individuals of interest. Her training is not as extensive as Darius' methods, but an increasing significance was placed upon the use of seduction and subterfuge in her training to extract information from others.
• Herbalist: Cressida's expertise in nature extends to her understanding of flora. She knows which plants are safe to ingest and which are dangerous, and she knows which plants have potentially curative properties. When healing magic doesn't work, Cressida usually has something that can be of help to the sick or dying.

_{A F F I L I A T I O N}

Archclericy of Valon; Order of Justice

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

A stickler for rules and a scholar, Cressida is an individual one would expect would prefer to stick to being a judge exclusively in the Order. Cressida is an unusual case, however. She enjoys time in nature and away from the hustle and bustle of city and temple life. Her natural talents in herbalism and hunting/tracking make her particularly attune to life in smaller settlements. This is one of the reasons she sought to stray away from being a stationary judge, instead intending to take her talents to the fringes of civilization.

Cressida's insistence on following the rules as written sees her in constant conflict with other members of the Order, including her mentor. She is exceptionally persistent and arrogant in her beliefs and judgments, unwilling to compromise in most situations unless absolutely forced by a direct order. It is unsurprising that these traits landed her as the trainee of someone like Darius.

_{H I S T O R Y}

Cressida was born into a world of conflict. Living near the border of Nyrae and Eamonvale, her life was in constant chaos. By the age of seven, her village was the target of two separate raids. All eight members of her family (her two parents, grandmother, four siblings, and herself) had been injured or taken hostage as a result. The following year, on Cressida's eighth birthday, her entire village was razed to the ground. Two of her older brothers had managed to survive with her, as they were out hunting the day of the attack.

The next year and a half was spent living in the wilds. They hunted and gathered their food... though vengeance filled their blood. When a very small gathering of rebels welcomed the three wayward children into their camp, they had no idea the floodgate they had opened. The children slit the throats of every rebel in the camp... but they were caught. A Justicar had been in the area, and sent them to the Archclericy for trial.

The two brothers served a stint as indentured servants to the Order, since they were thirteen and fifteen and deemed to be in a position in which they should have known better than to commit murder. Cressida... she was underestimated. The Judge deemed she was a young woman who at worst was caught up in the nefarious plan of her brothers. Her punishment was to join and serve the Order of Justice. Cressida, being a child who enjoyed the teachings of her father and grandmother, was not displeased to have the opportunity to continue proper studies.

She spent most of her days and nights for the next eight years reading and studying. She read opinions of the Judges in high profile trials, and would often speak with her superiors at the Temple to question their rulings. Needless to say, she made enemies in the Order despite being only a child. Every teacher and mentor to Cressida became so increasingly frustrated they would often pass her off to someone else. She could not be denied a promotion within the Order to Junior Justice at the age of 17.

Grandmaster Veranis knew what to do with the girl. Reports were that a certain exile of the Order had found tranquility in his quiet life... but that did not mean he didn't deserve a new punishment. Cressida was given orders for Justicar Darius Stormhawk and instructed to deliver the orders to him in Vesh. Upon arriving at a small farm in Vesh, it became immediately apparent to even Cressida that she had crossed the wrong people. Her new mentor was harsh and took the rules liberally. He would bend the interpretation of law to suite his own purposes... he was the counter to everything Cressida believed in.

She has a duty, however, to follow and learn under the Justicar. Perhaps it is her arrogance or stubborn personality that prevents her from just abandoning the order and finding a quiet life in the forest. But Cressida knows it's something else. Despite his harshness, Justicar Stormhawk is different from the other members of the order. He's a closed book written in a strange language with a hint of familiarity... and Cressida can't resist the challenge of figuring out who exactly the Justicar is and what he's done.

[VeridianSeeker]

Maellinn

Name:Maellinn
Title: The Baker
Age: 33
Race:Human
Training: Maellin has been semi-professionally trained in baking, specializing in pies.
Gear:Assorted baking supplies, pellets and sling, a well worn knotted club, One bull oxen named John and a cart fitted with a wood oven and filled with everyday living supplies.
Other Skills: Other than baking, Maellinn has been taught to read and write, can do arithmetic and geometry, knows how to trap small animals, is learned in the peasant use of the sling and club, and has fancied herself somewhat of a survivalist the past four years.

Personality & History

Maellinn is an entrepreneur full of courage and adventure. Despite not being a great wit or diplomat, and only an average businesswoman, she fully enjoys herself and the company of her good friend John. She is recognizable by her optimistic outlook on things, love of humour, and small town idealism; however, despite this she is not helpless and has been looking out for herself for the past four years, traveling from one corner of the world to the other.

She grew up in a small hamlet out of Urland, where she learned to bake under her father. When she turned 16 she had inherited the bakery and baked alongside her mother to support her father, who had slowly fallen ill. By 18 her father had succumbed to his disease, and his organs simply stopped doing their job, he died soon after.

Despite the loss of her father, Maellinn and her mother continued to run the shop together for another ten years before Maellinn decided to chase “silly rumours and dreams” as her mother put it. In reality, Maellinn has headed out into the world in search of the Everlasting Fruit, a mythical fruit named for its taste, which is said to enlighten the taster with the perfect flavour, and is further rumoured to never leave after it has been tasted.

[Fetzen]

Vathalar

V A T H A L A R

// T I T L E S

None so far.

// A G E

Vathalar is 28 years old.

// S P E C I E S

Werebeast amalgam comprised of wolf and satyr, but still retains some humanity.

// T R A I N I N G

Vathalar has received training in utilizing his sole magical talent, but aside from this there's not much to go on in terms of 'formal' training. In other words: Him handling a sword could be considered an insult for any master of the art, for example. However he knows quite well how to survive on one's own even in very rough environments.

// I T E M S C A R R I E D

• Simple clothing in the form of a thick linen shirt and trousers. Above that he posesses a hooded cape for colder and wetter days and a pair of light leather boots.
• Food and water for two days (as a human).
• A few coins. Enough to buy some more food or rent a chamber for some nights, but not more.
• A stolen riding horse. It's quite useless for him in his beast form, but makes traveling as a human a lot easier.

// M A G I C S P E L L S

Telepathy
- 'I have arranged a meeting with our most important agents. I feel that with this boy we have a very valuable asset in our hands: Just imagine all those dreadfully inefficient torture sessions being replaced by this pure elegance!' -

Without any prior knowledge about the person Vathalar wants to contact, the average individual's mind is a pretty well guarded and safe place against this ability. Even if an attempt to tap into another mind succeeds, the information obtained by Vathalar can be considered garbage for the major part. One can say that only lesser beings such as animals (dogs, horses, ...) really struggle to defend against this basic form of telepathic intrusions.

However even the most strong-willed and intelligent individual can miss one of those if the right circumstances are present. Just as your general attention suffers if you're drunk or just too busy with something else, defending against the telepathy gets more difficult and the success rate drops. It's at this point where the danger lies: Each successful intrusion yields him insight into another mind's inner workings. As his knowledge about a certain individual grows he can produce harder to fend off attacks which yield a clearer picture. In the most extreme form he can gain arbitrary access to currently ongoing thoughts and sensory impressions. Directly querying one's memory is a different task though and mind control is out of the question. It is possible for him though to influence moods and thoughts, to try and lure his victim into the direction he wants it to go.

The knowledge acquired about a certain individual behaves no different than any other memory: If it has lost its relevance for too long he will most likely forget about it and have to restart the learning curve from anew. Also it's not like he could be much of a multitasker while being telepathcially active, but he can do so both in his human and his monstrous body.

// O T H E R S K I L L S

The living blood
- 'Normally blood dripping from an injured animal stays on the branches and leaves it touches and doesn't... eat them ? Look at all those small craters!' -

The vast majority of individuals shares a common understanding of blood: As long as it is flowing within the confines of their body everything's fine, the moment an injury occurs it serves as a fast-acting, makeshift sealant. This is also pretty much how Vathalar's blood behaves, but his now anomalous nature produces additional, more strange properties:

Towards himself it is an efficient healing agent, capable of dealing with infections as well as performing reconstruction work. This, given enough time, resources and rest, can include the regrowth of limbs and restoring organs (if the dysfunctionality has not been lethal up to that point).

Towards his environment however it behaves very differently: Most organic compounds which are not his own will be identified by his blood as foreign contaminant and treated as such. While it is technically not an acid-like reaction it has a similar effect. Now normally his blood is safely contained inside his body, but there's no bloody fight without the occasional spill here and there. It might be wise to watch one's steps and not allow too much of it to come into contact with one's boots or non-metal parts of armor. Of course direct skin contact is the worst thing that can happen, immediately causing pain and injury if not washed off quickly.


Cured from humanism
- 'More arrows to the knee, quick!' -

Monstrous form

_{(image not to scale)}

Vathalar's human body is a very far cry from being impressive, but due to the outcome of the experiment he has voluntarily subjected himself to it only makes up the smaller part of his entire being. In other words the werebeast inside him is of unusually pure blood, causing it to be much more impressive than it's more average cousins.

The outcome of this is that Vathalar, once transforming, turns into a beast that takes the usual growth in terms of size and muscle to a rather extreme. He becomes far less evasive and agile than he is as a human and also a lot louder, but his strength and resilience increase very dramatically. His monstrous form requires far more food and water, but on the other hand it also doesn't have much of a problem with hunting for much larger game -- including humans and other species, even though he doesn't like it. But just in case his enormously large and sharp teeth are also excellent can openers, so it's unwise to think that the average steel breastplate would make yourself unchewable. Aside from this there are also sharp claws at hands and feet to grab things and impale them if necessary.

His monstrous form is best suited for plain and somewhat chaotic mass demolition. A group of heavily armed and armored, sluggish soldiers is a feast waiting to happen. A single, fast-moving and agile fighter however can cause very serious trouble.

// P E R S O N A L I T Y

Vathalar is rather introvert and careful when it comes to foreign people, but once his knowledge about that person has improved a little that can quickly change. Also, due to his past, he has learned quite well how to act as a jovial, very talkative person from the beginning if he has an interest in getting to know a certain individual on his own. He's quite intelligent and not that afraid of, well, getting close to the borders of what is legal and what not as long as it serves his purpose. However he strictly refuses to commit himself to anything really nasty. As far as his werebeast is concerned: He tries to hide that as good as he can for he is perfectly aware of the consequences. So it's not usual for him to go missing here and there for a while, only to return seemingly out of nowhere later on.

// A F F I L I A T I O N

None.

// H I S T O R Y

Vathalar was born in Barnak, a small village in Eamonvale which is located close to the kingdom's south-eastern border. Embedded in a wide string of hilly land, the settlement clearly profits from its vicinity to the fertile Kingdom of Vesh. Thus it comes as no surprise that he was born into a family of peasants. For the major part of his childhood and youth there did not occur any notable events whatsoever and Vathalar was allowed to live a farmer's life with rather little education, but a lot of physical work.

However it is a known matter of fact that Eamonvale as a whole has a troubled history. Effectively it is a nation of separatists still in a constant struggle with those they separated from. The cruel methods of the King Of Crows still are very present in its inhabitants' minds and the war with Nyrae only serves as a constant reminder. There are important and influential people inside Eamonvale who are sufficiently afraid of old times in order to strive for unconventional methods when it comes to the defense of their kingdom.

One day a small group of royal knights along with two of the court's mages entered Barnak and set up camp in the local tavern. They were seekers, recruiters of the armed forces who were not searching for your average able-bodied male but for people with special talents instead. The men and women called in the entire younger half of the village's population for individual inspection. For the vast majority the procedure was over soon-ish, but Vathalar's scrutiny took a lot longer...

It was at this point that his intrinsic talent for magical access to foreign minds was discovered, something he had been completely unaware of. In spite of all the training that would be required in order to pull it out of its dormant state, it was decided that the king would definitely have use for him. This meant that he'd be separated from his parents and familiar environment with immediate effect, but while it came in as a shock for his family he himself wasn't quite as disturbed by this news. He'd finally start to see some other parts of the world and if everything went well his post would be comparably comfortable since he wouldn't have to go to the frontline.

Actually, about two years later, Vathalar found himself behind the frontline in Nyrae. His task: Obtain information about hostile activities and report back. He had been given another identity, introduced to the enemy's society and settled in one of their villages as an innocent looking newcomer. The fact that he had been a humble peasant in his previous life had made him perfect for the job as he was completely unknown.

Things went well for over a year, but then came the night when things went wrong. It had been one of those usual evenings: Vathalar had gotten hold of someone who he believed could hold vital information. The usual routine had been to try and get into contact with the man, build up some kind of relationship strong enough for an innocent looking invitation into his own, humble housing at the edge of his new village -- and get the guy sloshed until his mind was weak and would virtually reveal everything as long as one could filter out all the mental trash caused by the beverages and ask the right questions. What Vathalar didn't know, what apparently his victim's friends also didn't know, was that the man was relatively new lycantrope. Too bad it was a full moon's night...

He could feel the sudden urge of violence and fury in the other man, but it was a tad too late. Vathalar managed to escape, ride away on his horse, but he had been bitten. He knew that the man probably wouldn't remember him anyway, but the curse would start to take hold of him from the next full moon's night onwards. Returning to Eamonvale was pretty much pointless as he'd be hunted there for his... change of kind... in the same manner he'd be hunted for it in Nyrae. He'd turn once a month for a night while staying normal for the remainder of the time, so continuing with the operation at another place was as good as falling into despair.

Things seemed to work out, but Vathalar was very well aware that his job had just become significantly more dangerous. Also the constant pressure to hide his other self and the constant fear that he could once fail doing so did have its impact onto his psyche. Everybody knew that there was no cure for lycantropy except death, or was there ?

Now there is a nation where the principle of taking nothing for granted is thriving a lot more ferociously than anywhere else: Ithell. Unlike being a werebeast, trying to develop a cure for the curse is actually not that despicable. Via his 'job' of extracing information, Vathalar learned about a researcher named Jacob Utryin who was actually working on a method but had been unsuccessful so far. Anyway, as he could feel his psyche crumbling, Vathalar decided that it was worth a try.

He left Nyria, spent nearly all of the funds available to him on getting to Ithell and, several months later, stood on the very doorstep he had been searching for. Of course the man had not openly announced that he was searching for a test subject, but Vathalar's gamble that he'd secretly accept offerings in order to continue his research turned out to work. He was let in and, after prolonged discussion, both sides agreed that Vathalar would be the guinea pig. A failure couldn't make things worse, could it ? At least his predecessor had come out alive -- however, in fact, nothing had happened with that one at all, except for a lot of added frustration and distrust.

To say that Jacob had boosted the aggressiveness of his method in the meantime would have been quite a bit of an understatement. Once he had fired up the weird looking magical apparatus Vathalar had no true idea of, opened his telescope and pointed it at the correct patch of sky it was as if Jacob was trying to utilize the destructive power of the Red Anomaly itself to separate and destroy the wolf part.

Now there was an effect, and one could say that it actually wasn't that much off from what the designer of this contraption had had in his theoretic mind, but there was a small issue: It wasn't the beast part that was cleanly ripped out and annihilated from Vathalar's being, but instead his human aspect was destroyed for the major part within seconds while the wolf part was crippled, but still somewhat alive. With hardly any human aspect left immediate transformation was triggered. The wolf part, in pain and sensing the danger of death, went on a rampage. Hearts needed to be eaten in order to try and restore power.

The first thing Vathalar happened to get his teeth into was Jacob's assistant, a Satyr coming from the Dominion of Kelnore. Then it was Jacob's own turn, who was an ordinary human. The wolf inside Vathalar incorporated the power consumed much more deeply inside itself than usual in order to repair the damage dealt. In fact it, the Satyr, Jacob's humanism and what had remained of his own humanity merged into what could be considered a new species.

Vathalar's memory of that night has been erased in the process. All he has are fragments that he can't truly put together again. He's now rather a werebeast cured from humanism instead of a human cured from the werebeast. The monster is the dominating part, but only physically so. He still is in full posession of his intelligence, way of thinking and transforming. However the process has turned a little... unstable. The urge to turn beast can occur at seemingly random points in time and resisting them long enough in order to get away can be hard.

Things have happened a mere several months ago, so he's still struggling to deal with his new self which he partially can't explain. So far he has not decided if he should try and return to Eamonvale, but he's currently stuck in Kron-Nensis anyway.

[Natascha]

Deleted accidental message...

[Heyitsjiwon]

Yikes.... glad to see you're doing fine now!