[OOC] Soldiers of Fortune

[Maxx]

---

“The devil would be powerless if he couldn't entice people to do his work. So as long as money continues to seduce the hungry, the hopeless, the broken, the greedy, and the needy, there will always be war between brothers.”
- Suzy Kassem

---

---

The diary of Abbot Edward Westerfell

Year 5061 of the 23rd Roc

Plenmos 18, Malza

The spring crops have begun to be planted. The brothers spent the last nine days distributing the abbey's seed reserves to the peasants and watching as they plowed. The peasant crop is good this year; they are hard workers with strong backs. Only one faced the whip for improper planting behavior. I should probably take the whip authority from Josiah- he enjoys it far too much.

As I left my morning prayers, I happened to notice a band of mercenaries traveling past down the old grain road. What a strange lot they were, creatures of all kinds: fairies and orcs and an augury with its most revolting charge. Indeed, I even saw one of the accursed ones with them, a cave-dweller strolling in broad daylight! My goodness, the monstrous have gotten so cavalier! I remember the days when such monstrosities would be chased back to their burrows beneath the sand! Now, these rowdy bands of outcasts will even approach a holy place such as this, their minds blank save for their wanton lust for blood and power.

We live in a time of such strife. Each day, one hears of another revolution quashed or another lord cutting down his brother in the name of reckless greed. Lords throw more money now at building armies than they do at tithes for the church or even the adornments for their own great halls. By the time most people hear of these affairs, it is on the lilting tongue of the bards who troupe from town to town, spreading stories of knights and heroes and warrior-princes smiting evil from the land. If only half of that was true...

To the contrary, the face of war should be this rowdy lot, these blood-soaked outcasts bathing in the crimson pool of another's greed. No one will tell stories about them, how they died for a cause they did not believe in, how they bled to assert political power unjustly derived. They serve no crown or master or philosophy, only their own desires for carnage and glory. Perhaps it is best they die a forgotten battlefield death. I'd shudder to think what such folk could do if they left a mark upon this world...

---

Soldiers of Fortune is a fantasy RPG set in the world of Tithe, a setting developed over many years by myself and several collaborators (some of whom are in this RP). This RP will follow a company of mercenaries as they navigate the contentious political landscape of Tithe's many governments, seeking fortune and glory on the battlefield. Tone-wise, the story will likely be similar to a slightly darker Fire Emblem, with a focus on the themes of comradery between outcasts and the struggle of personal power versus the greater good.

This is a closed, invite-only RP. The format is pretty causal— there's no minimum or maximum post length and no posting order. I'd prefer that writers try to post at least one per three days.

---

---

The Iron Pride Mercenary Company is in its tenth year of operation. Founded by Adam Bradshaw, the company is of relatively average note, known by some, but not all, in the business. They primarily operate in the human-occupied territories of Southern Tithe, such as Nepharie, Talbor, and Dolorod. In the past, the company has performed rather perfunctory and apolitical jobs: guarding caravans, hunting bandits or pirates, and occasionally capturing bounties. The company tends to be small for mercenary bands, but has been known in the past to be highly efficient for their size, making some of the more frugal government officials in Tithe fond of them. An Iron Pride mercenary can expect to make 5-6,000 Mona a year, roughly equivalent to $50-60,000 USD, counting for inflation.

[Maxx]

---

<Map WIP>

Tithe is a single continent in a much larger, undiscovered fantasy world, with environments and fauna reminiscent of North America. Within the land of Tithe, many sapient races coexist, from the industrious humans to the naturalistic fey to the subterranean darklings. Many cultures and religions exist within Tithe, and because of this it is difficult to truly summarize its culture in a short snippet. Generally, Tithe is divided into fifteen regions. Most of the world’s population, about 60% or so, can be found in Southern Tithe, typically everything south of the northern border of Talbor, while the north tends to be less populous (and significantly more dangerous).

Nations of Tithe

Concordius: The homeland of the fey, Concordius is a natural haven filled with some of the most unique environments in the world. Much of the western part of the country is filled by the Great Fairy Forest, a misty temperate rainforest where the fey trace their origins to. Concordius is a true theocracy, the government run by the leader of the Maelen church and the law directly informed by the law of the Maelen religion. The land is patrolled by warrior-priests called Faerie Knights, who keep the peace, enforce the law of Mael, and preserve the environment. Many fairy courts exist in Concordius and while they have no direct authority, many government officials sit on them and their influence certainly alters government policy.
Government: Theocracy, run by the High Priest of Maelen. All land is property of the church.
Primary Inhabitants: Fairies, Auguries

Dolorod: Dolorod is a vast, dry desert which spans much of southeastern Tithe. Few people actually live in Dolorod, and no central government actually holds the area together, save for the eastern region of the area where several merchant city-states facilitate the exchange of goods and services from the south to the north of Tithe. In the center of Dolorod is High Hill, a religious monument sacred to Maelen worshippers as the site of the origin of creation. High Hill is inhabited by the mysterious Droal, beings of carved rock who seldom interact with outsiders.
Government: Monarchal city-states in the east.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Fairies, Orcs

Frozen Wastes: Basically uninhabited, the Frozen Wastes is the coldest place in Tithe. A supernaturally-cold wind current runs across Northern Tithe called Fathach’s Wind, and this current is responsible for keeping the ice states from melting. The current, however, also runs across the mostly-flat wastes, becoming colder and colder until it hits an absolute low around -130˚ F. Most of it is unexplored and, quite frankly, unexplorable.
Government: None.
Primary Inhabitants: None.

Haderlock: Spanning much of the northernmost region of Tithe, Haderlock is a cold and harsh nation with a great deal of instability. Most citizens live in the central valley and southern cities of Haderlock, while the mountains are barely inhabited if at all due to the frigid temperatures there. Haderlock is constantly at war with its neighbors the Icefolk, who believe Haderlock belongs to them, and as such the nation is constantly battered by small groups of guerilla fighters who freeze agricultural land and destroy government buildings. The Haderlockians would probably just leave if it weren’t for the fact that 70% of all the gold in Tithe and 80% of all the silver can be found in the mountains.
Government: Feudal monarchy, with various duchies controlling various lands under a single king.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Orcs

Ice States: The northwestern point of Tithe is inhabited by the Ice Folk, strange humanoid creatures composed entirely of ice. Due to the 1000+ years of isolation the ice folk have enjoyed as being Tithe’s sole indigenous inhabitant of the north, ice folk culture is completely alien from the rest of Tithe and the ice folk seldom interact with any other races.
Government: Feudal democracy, a collection of many feudal lords with independent states who vote on policy.
Primary Inhabitants: Ice Folk

Ignion: The massive land of Ignion stretches from Talbor in the south to the Frozen Wastes in the north, yet encompasses vast stretches of nigh-uninhabitable desert. Beneath the ground, however, the darklings have built themselves an enormous, technologically-advanced empire. Tunnel systems run beneath the surface at various depths, connecting subterranean colonies to one another. Life in the dark is difficult, but the darklings’ combination of superior senses and high intelligence have allowed them to flourish for many centuries in isolation. In addition, the Phoenix Mountains, which run the length of Ignion’s western border, is the homeland of the orcs and the adopted land of the hobs, both of whom constantly fight against the few aboveground darkling cities (and each other) for the resources of the fertile valley.
Government: Imperial monarchy, a sprawling empire controlled by a central bureaucracy around an emperor.
Primary Inhabitants: Darklings, Orcs, Hobs

Jikari: Jikari is separated from the rest of Tithe by Dolorod, and similarly has a dry climate. However, where Dolorod boasts nothing but rocks and sand, Jikari is home to a sprawling savannah filled with bizarre creatures: dragons, pegasi, griffins, cockatrices, and basilisks all originate from Jikari, as well as many magical plants and shrubs which are used by alchemists. Jikari sits atop the richest vein of Tears in the world, its mines able to pull a dozen or so of them from the ground each month. The entire government and society of Jikari revolves around this trade, with extreme measures in place to keep the process of mining and processing the tears secret.
Government: Aristocratic monarchy, consisting of a king and a series of officials from both governmental and business positions.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Fairies, Ostarans

Minotaur Territories: The great plains in the center of Northern Tithe are home to the minotaur. While not all minotaur recognize this area as exclusively their property, governments of Tithe do after a relatively recent major war between Haderlock and Ignion caused upheaval across the continent. The minotaur territories are vast and green, filled mostly with fields of rolling grass. The minotaur travel with the seasons, grazing upon the grass and living in relative peace.
Government: Individual tribal authorities.
Primary Inhabitants: Minotaur

Nepharie: The Grand Nepharie Empire once covered almost all of Southern Tithe, controlling every nation except for Talbor for many hundreds of years. Several revolutions and religious schisms broke the empire apart over the last few centuries, but you couldn’t tell based on how the imperial government behaves. Nepharie still manages to be the largest country in Tithe, possessing nearly 40% of the continent’s population. The nation represents the best of human-fairy cooperation, possessing beautiful human architecture (thanks to its rich veins of marble) and stunning landscapes preserved by the fey. In the west, the east ostarans produce much of the nation’s produce and live in relative peace under the aegis of Nepharie protection, though their rather disgruntled western neighbors are none to please about this arrangement. Despite no longer having the blessing of Concordius, Nepharie prides itself on its divine providence and justice, and its imperial courts are touted as the single shining light of justice in all the land. That said, their judicial system actually is quite advanced, reminiscent of modern court systems with a judge, jury, prosecutors, and universal legal coverage for defendants.
Government: Imperial monarchy, with an array of appointed satraps who report directly to the emperor.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Fairies, Ostarans, Auguries

Ostaria: Separated from Nepharie by the Harvest Mountains, Ostaria is the homeland of the ostarans. The north is mostly rugged grasslands divided by tall hills, while the south becomes wetter and wetter, eventually giving way to swamps and tropical rainforest in the far south. The ostarans are incredibly wary of outsiders given their fraught history of conflict with Nepharie, and few non-ostarans ever get to see this land. Much of the culture of Ostaria is different from that of the rest of Tithe, with their different language, religion, and crops due to their more tropical environment.
Government: Feudal monarchy, a loose collection of duchies united under a single monarchy.
Primary Inhabitants: Ostarans

Robore: Robore is one of the weirder lands of Tithe. While technically owned and governed by Concordius, the condition of Robore is so that most Tithans consider it separate from Concordius. The outskirts of Robore seem normal: coastal temperate forests, mountain grasslands to the east. The center of Robore, however, is cordoned off from the rest of the world by an endless wall of Robor trees, trees with bark harder than steel that are about the height and diameter of giant sequoias. This impassable barrier insulates Robore from the outside world. The inside of Robore is filled with bizarre plants and animals found nowhere else in the world, from humanoid frogs to gigantic fire-breathing moths to bioluminescent centipedes the size of wolves. Somehow, the forest of Robore’s depths is magically-animated and behaves in a way unlike any other place in Tithe. Due to its uniqueness, travel in and out of the forest through a single winding path is heavily-restricted by the mysterious Cernunnos, a powerful arcane entity reminiscent of an ent or treant.
Government: None, though the theocracy of Concordius claims the entire place as a nature preserve.
Primary Inhabitants: Fairies, Humans, Minotaur (occasionally)

Stellona: The fallout from the corruption of Sylvestre, Stellona is a sparsely-populated region of Tithe constantly menaced by their neighbors to the north. Ever since Grand Nepharie collapsed, Stellona has been a sort of wild west of Tithe, home to societal outcasts and dark magic-users outlawed from their old homes. Much of the land is unclaimed, save a few small and heavily-guarded city-states. Other areas, meanwhile, possess ancient castles or cobbled-together dwellings inhabited by mad, or simply evil, wizards.
Government: Anarchical, with occasional small monarchies.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Orcs, Minotaur (occasionally)

Sylvestre: Only legends tell of the wicked monstrosities that lie within the haunted marshes and forests of Sylvestre. For millennia, Sylvestre has been inhabited by the hags, beings of incalculable arcane potential who seek to spread chaos and havoc across the world. Hags are the most ancient creatures in Tithe and have lived in Sylvestre for an untold number of millennia (though of course the Maelens date their existence to a few years after the date of creation). While not all hags are pure evil, many of them deal in arcane arts far beyond the scope or understanding of the rest of the world, giving them untold power that they rarely put to good use. Few people ever enter Sylvestre, and those who do often end up at the bottom of one of the land’s many swamps of bubbling hot mud, pulled down there by the many wicked creatures of the land or first toyed with by the bizarre machinations of the hags.
Government: Hag-led despotism
Primary Inhabitants: None

Talbor: The homeland of the hobs and adopted homeland of the humans, Talbor is a land of equal parts industry and corruption. Run by five separate consuls representing five rival clans, Talbor is near-constantly at war with itself. Control of the fertile central Maceron Valley and the role of king is decided by a tournament between the five consets, a tournament which is almost always filled with political engineering and corrupt business dealings. Despite all of this constant strife, Talbor manages to be a fairly productive nation; much of the world’s iron deposits can be found in Talbor’s Trapjaw Mountains and the iron tools and weapons manufactured in the forges of Maceron are high-quality and universally sought-after.
Government: Feudal monarchy, where the five consuls and the king decide the law of the nation.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Hobs (occasionally, though they seldom stay long)

Venera: Formerly part of Nepharie, the land of Venera contains the highest population of non-fairy magic-users in Tithe. In the pursuit of greater knowledge of the machinations of the world, the Venerans founded the Magical Academy many centuries ago, an institution which studies both magic and the natural sciences. Many of the ways Tithans understand the universe were founded here, and many more secrets are yet to be revealed. Veneran society revolves around magic, with those rich and powerful enough to obtain a tear making up the ruling class. This makes Venera a sort of magistocracy, where only those capable of the arcane arts have any particular power in government or society. As the supply of magic in the world decreases, however, the Veneran aristocracy grows smaller and smaller, and attempts to increase the supply of magic in the world become more desperate than ever before.
Government: Magistocratic republic, run by a ruling class of wizards.
Primary Inhabitants: Humans, Fairies, Ostarans, Auguries

Current Events in Tithe

---

---

Eight races make their homes in the land of Tithe: humans, fairies, ostarans, darklings, orcs, hobs, auguries, and minotaur. Some races are widespread across the continent, while others are concentrated in specific locations. Nonetheless, each of these races have their own cultures and abilities that could make them helpful on the battlefield. Below, you fill find a brief summary of each race followed by a link to a google document containing more information on them for interested players.

Races of Tithe

Humans: The most common race in Tithe, humans are industrious, resilient, and highly-adaptable. They are the most well-rounded race of Tithe in terms of physical abilities.

More on Humans

Fairies: The oldest race in Tithe, the fairies are smallish winged creatures known for their potent magical abilities. They are fairly physically-weak, but are the only Tithan race capable of casting magic from birth.

More on Fairies

Ostarans: The ostarans are another common race of Tithe, small and hairy folk reminiscent of halflings or hobbits. They are swift and nimble on the battlefield, using their superior dexterity to their advantage.

More on Ostarans

Darklings: Relatives of the fairies, the darklings inhabit the deep tunnels and caverns beneath the deserts of Ignion. Their advanced technology and superior senses give them advantages over other races, though they are blinded by the sun.

More on Darklings

Auguries: The Auguries are one of two kinds of beast-folk within Tithe, crow-people who live in a loose collection of treetop rookeries across Southern Tithe. They are highly dexterous and have perfected the art of necromancy, often charging into battle with vicious bone homunculi.

More on Auguries

Orcs: Native to the harsh mountain climate of Ignion, the orcs are enormous, muscular creatures known for their penchant for warfare. Orcs are the most durable sapient creatures in Tithe, capable of shrugging off hits that would kill other creatures.

More on Orcs

Hobs: Once the inhabitants of the now-human Talbor, the hobs are a martial race of goblinoid folk without a home. Hobish warriors are some of the best in Tithe: strong, well-trained, and bringing the most masterfully-crafted steel available into battle with them.

More on Hobs

Minotaur: Inhabiting the lush plains of Northern Tithe, the minotaur are great and powerful bison-men known for their pastoralism. Minotaur are the strongest race of Tithe, able to lift incredible weights and pull three times their body weight.

More on Minotaur

---

---

Tithan magic is based around a phenomenon called The Pulse, a web which connects the life force of all living things. Through manipulating the pulse, one can alter the behavior or physiology of living things. Only fairies can utilize the pulse from birth, while all other races must consume a very rare artifact known as a Tear to use magic. Several schools of magic exist based on types of living things: animists, who study animals, botanists, who study plants, myconists, who study fungi, and somists, who study specifically the biology of sapient creatures.

More on Tithan Magic

[Maxx]

@Ghost Note @Fernstone @Dragonbud @JunkMail @SepticGentleman @Spoopy Scary

ASSEMBLE, MY KNIGHTS

[Mixtape Ghost N]

gay

[SepticGentleman]

𝕀 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕒 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖

[JunkMail]

@Skai

You like?

[Mixtape Ghost N]

can my character be the one that invented nudes?

[JunkMail]

Iulian

Name: Iulian Demeas

Age: 28

Race: Jikari Human

Gender/Pronouns: Him/His

Appearance:

Iulian is, without a doubt, one of the most solidly built people one could ever meet. While not particularly enormous in stature, standing just shy of 5'11, he is solid as a rock. He is broad shouldered and stocky, like a silverback gorilla stuffed into a man's body- easily surpassing two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle which flows from his legs to torso around shoulders to arms and full strong neck in an uninterrupted, unemphatic unity of strength.

Iulian's face has the makings of what one would consider attractive, with high cheekbones and a squared jaw, but any hint of suave lady killer has been lost to years and years of the hunt. Replaced instead with a more ghoulish appearance that some may say has its own roguish charm. His mouth is like a knife, and his face like a blade, his smile the flicker of light across a dagger revealing long canines and a rough tongue. His hair was long and tangled and greasy when hung down, concealing a face so scarred with old wounds it was impossible to tell where one began and another ended. His nose had been battered to his cheekbones; his heavy forehead nearly lost in a fierce tangle of eyebrows; but one can always see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines- as they glow with some sort of supernatural iridescence even in total darkness. Unlike most Jikari who are known for their deep olive tans and beautiful skin, there is surprisingly little color to Iulian's skin. It is white; not like another man’s white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl - as if he hasn't seen the sun a day in his life.

Attire:
When in battle or simply traveling, Iulian wears armor that at first glance appears to be of fairly normal leather make. Thick and padded, protecting mainly the torso, forearms, and legs of the body and held together by adjustable buckles and straps rather than sewn into one cohesive piece. When pressed about this, Iulian will beam and heartily insist that after a good meal it can become rather uncomfortable and the adjustment is necessary. What is sewn into this armor however is genuine battle grade steel that protects the shins, upper arms, and stomach area. The steel is segmented rather than sheets, sacrificing a small amount of protection for greatly improved dexterity. The steel built into the armor's cuirass is layered into the leather armor and is largely obscured, but can be slotted in and out of the leather when the armor is removed from the wearer's body- allowing for relatively easy maintenance. The armor is kept in relatively good condition despite its near constant wear (functioning both for protection and daily travel wear) and is protected from the elements by a bear hide coat.

When the environment is not suitable to his standard wear or armor is inappropriate, Iulian wears a simple tunic and trousers with a traveler's cloak. Not one for fashion, and as a traveling blade he has little need for nice clothing, far preferring function to form.

Outward Personality:
Outwardly, Iulian is a fairly quiet man that manages a peculiar mixture of relaxed and energetic depending on how much alcohol is in his system. He's not particularly talkative, oftentimes politely refusing to talk about his life in the cult and the stories of his many hunts. However he is not unfriendly, regularly laughing along with the group or interacting and speaking his mind without necessarily speaking at all. He has a large presence and a forceful voice even if he rarely uses it, so when his does rise beyond that gravely undertone people listen.

Iulian's very nature is that of extremes as a result of the lycanthropy affecting his mind. When he does things, he does it with passion akin to that of a zealot, but when he cannot be bothered he really cannot be bothered. Lycans by their nature are prone to aggression, and his particular brand being that of a pack animal means that those he views distinctly below him in the pecking order might very well be ignored altogether if they get on his bad side. A man of the 'welps eat last' mentality, but far from a bully as many of his kind are. Years and years of channeling his aggression means that for the most part he does not lash out if it is not the heat of the moment, but the beast is still very much alive and well within him. If food is scarce or if tensions are high, Iulian is almost always one of the first to snap being predisposed to the primal entity inside him.

Bonds: Money and the thrill of the hunt. As seen in nature, predators just cant help themselves when something runs.

Goal: Iulian was raised with the mentality of 'find a mate and return with a child' driven into his head. He understands that this outlook is antiquated, and that forcing a person into the life he himself must live might not be the best thing to do in the rapidly changing world- so in the meantime amassing a decent sum of gold and finding someone worth fighting for along the way stands at the top of his list.

Character Flaws: Iulian is a lycan, and is constantly at odds with himself when it comes to managing his more primal desires. Prone to aggression and extreme acts, Iulian is particularly more volatile than the average soldier in spite of the benefits of his affliction. Trained medical experts and other monster slayers may recognize his affliction outright and treat him as the very kind of monster that he seeks to destroy. Iulian has and always will be combating the worlds view of him as a wolf in sheeps clothing- because he is just that: a monster pretending to be a man.

Backstory:

Iulian hails from a tribe, or cult of sell sword warriors that live deep in the savannas of Jikari. This tribe has no official name or banner beyond their uniting affliction, and is largely referred to as simply the generalized Misthios'. From a young age, children are inflicted with lycanthropy of the hyena strain- granting them great strength and supernatural stamina in exchange for a loss of control and permanent alteration of who they once were... and raised as warriors and monster hunters for hire. The men are the hunters and gatherers, and the women maintain leadership positions as the cult is matriarchal in nature. Many male lycans do not remain within the tribe for long after they have completed their two decades of training and set off on their own to spread word of their practices and to introduce fresh blood into the tribe when they return with mates.

This tribe, and Iulian, are entirely carnivorous as a result of generational lycanthropy changing their diets and natural builds to be more reflective of their animistic counterparts and are never in one place for more than a few weeks, instead traveling from place to place following game animals in their never-ending hunt. Iulian has been off and on his own for eight years traveling Tithe and solving problems. Rain or shine, sleet or snow, man or monster. As long as there's coin involved and a sense of direction, Iulian is not far away.

Skills: Iulian's nature as a lycan grants him great raw strength and reflex both in and out of his hybrid state, and phenomenal hearing, sight in the night, and smell. Furthermore the sheer power behind his jaws in hybridized form allows him to punch through armor like tissue paper and tear apart weapons, tools, and armor with relative ease. Furthermore Iulian is a skilled monster hunter, and is familiar with everything that can go bump in the night having spent every day of his life honing his craft. Finally Iulian's nature of living with danger has led him to become an alchemist that would make McGyver smile, and a field medic capable of field dressing most wounds that would otherwise be far worse or life threatening if left alone. Beyond this, Iulian is a skilled swordsman and an excellent tracker and scout, having spent most of his life hunting down things that do not want to be caught.

Magic: Iulian is a competent alchemist, specializing in field alchemy that oftentimes is used to magnify certain aspects of one's person to deal with particular threats. Iulian is not capable of making a person stronger, or faster than normal as the time and ingredients requires are not conducive to life on the road. Instead, his potions function to improve and limit physiological functions of the body. Examples of this would be improved night vision, slower lactic acid buildup, potions that slow heart rate to prevent blood loss or allow one to hold their breath for longer, concoctions that improve the blood's ability to coagulate, or introducing a compound to the blood that makes it dangerous to consume depending on the quarry. Because these potions are oftentimes made quickly and improvisational in nature they come with side effects that can be dangerous and even deadly if taken too much or compounded with other potions.

Weaponry: Iulian wields a silver long sword and a steel long sword, but only one at a time. He also carries a hunting knife and meathook for day to day chores and uses- these two are rarely used for much else.

Other: Wew lad music time

[SepticGentleman]

Scrapbeak

Age: 25

Race: Augury

Gender/Pronouns: Male, him/his

---

Appearance: Scrapbeak is a mostly plain-looking augury, slightly above average in height (3’9) and weight, and of a fair build for someone in his line of work, though hard to tell thanks to his small stature and coating of feathers. His most prominent feature, and key to his namesake, is the small scrap of metal adorning his beak, covering a split he acquired in his youth. The right side of his face is also quite scar-heavy, though those were collected during his early years as a mercenary. His left leg, in its absence, has been replaced with a crude wooden prosthetic, though auguries’ natural sense of balance allows it that level of crudeness.

Attire: Both in and out of combat, Scrapbeak is dressed in a drab scarf, an olive green cloak with belt straps, a beige padded vest, a dark tan gambeson, and a chainmail tunic underneath all of that. He’s certainly not one to bother with maintaining a pleasant appearance, or spend any coin on better wear.

---

Outward Personality: Scrapbeak has become a rather reserved, mild-mannered, somewhat somber fellow as he’s aged. Once he was more eccentric and ambitious, but those feelings have long since left his person. He is always focused on the task at hand, preferring to see jobs and assignments done quickly and without any hassle.

Bonds: A looming sense of guilt and a desire to pay back old self-inflicted debts both spur Scrapbeak to continue doing what he does.

Goal: Scrapbeak wishes to pay back his home rookery for their wasted efforts in acquiring a Tear for him, in the amount of a million’s worth of coin.

Character Flaws: Scrapbeak feels he is ‘broken’ in many aspects. He is physically unable to utilize magic to any proper extent, thus he is broken in that regard. He’s received numerous injuries throughout his life that have scarred him, and in some cases, impaired his capability as a mercenary. All of this, with the addition of over a decade on the road, has bared down on Scrapbeak to an extent, and he often finds himself clouded with thoughts of self-doubt, the inability to pay his debts, and being seen as a failure in the eyes of his people.

Backstory: Scrapbeak, born Karnak Karapet, hails from the Karapet rookery near the eastern coast of Nepharie, close to the border of Jikari. His childhood was a rather ‘exciting’ one, in the words of some of his fellow auguries. He enjoyed descending the rookery and exploring the surrounding expanse, often traveling to the coast and scouring the shore for childish interpretations of buried treasure, most times receiving some new injury in the process - the most prominent of which was when he’d fallen from a small cliff and split his beak open on a rock. But none of those injuries ever stopped him from going out the next day.

When he was six, Karnak discovered an unmarked shipping crate that had washed ashore, most likely originating from a pirate vessel from the Southern Isles, and pried it open to discover little but a small collection of old metal utensils, plates, and other forms of scrap in rather poor condition. Somehow, he became enamored with the hoard, spending days polishing off all the rust he could, and at some point, deciding to patch his cracked beak up with a small sheet of iron and some resin. The rest of the rookery took to calling him Khiao-Parr, or ‘Metal-Beak’ in the common tongue.

Karnak’s fascination with metal found its way to adorning small, inanimate kisha with utensils and scrap, which some of the neighboring younglings mocked him for, but a handful of the elders considered it a spark of creativity. Encouragements to become a soulcrafter filled his mind, and along with ambitions of one day building a grand, towering kiy-kisha of both bone and metal, he endeavored to be the one that the rookery would bequeath an immensely prized Tear to. Karnak entered as an apprentice to the rookery’s resident soulcrafter, showing much dedication and promise.

When the time came, Karapet’s one available Tear, purchased for a hundred thousand Monas - a million’s worth of coin, having taken many years to accrue - was presented before the apprentices, and Karnak was the one chosen to partake of it. But after all was concluded, a heart-rending fact was discovered - Karnak could not fully feel the Tear’s power within him. He tried, he focused as intently as he could, he searched for the Pulse, but he couldn’t even do so much as bend a blade of grass. Every excuse came up - perhaps the Tear was a fake, perhaps he was simply a late bloomer, but as time passed, the conclusion became unanimous. Karnak was, at the core of his being, flawed. The precious Tear that the people of Karapet had worked so much for had been utterly wasted on a nak-karta - a magically stunted augury.

Karnak quickly became the subject of ire and ridicule within Karapet. Very few sympathized with him, and all the rest simply hated looking at him, being reminded of all the wealth that had effectively vanished into thin air. Furthermore, there would be no one to properly take the soulcrafter’s place should he pass away, and the rookery would crumble without anyone to interpret the will of Khiar-koff, and keep the tribe in his good graces. All of this worry and uncertainty surrounded Karnak, crushing his normally happy demeanor, and eventually, he just couldn’t bear any of it anymore.

So he left.

Karnak, no longer feeling welcome, left his rookery behind, and traveled into the heartlands of Nepharie. In the years that followed, he found himself taking up oddjobs and low-risk mercenary work. While not so at the start of his self-inflicted exile, he later came to feel an overwhelming sense of remorse for what circumstances had inflicted on him and his people. One hundred thousand monas, a million’s worth in coins… he felt it was only right to somehow pay it all back, however many years it might take.

Karnak became a full-time mercenary, gradually improving his abilities as such, and slowly saving up considerable amounts of coin, spending none of it for himself save on essentials. Every few years, he traveled back to Karapet, giving a sum of ten thousand monas to his people at a time, leaving soon after to return to work. As the years passed, most of the harsh feelings towards Karnak faded, yet he never let up from his task. Every coin would be paid back, no matter how long and how much work it took. The soulcrafter, slowly succumbing to old age, watched with regret as with every visit, the memory of the ambitious, high-spirited augury he’d called an apprentice became more and more distant, replaced with such a sad, broken, transient thing.

It has since been over a decade. Karnak has paid 30,000 monas back to his tribe, out of the goal of 100,000. The soulcrafter of Karapet is still alive, but no one believes it will be long before he dies. Karnak has become a well-traveled mercenary, earning the nickname ‘Scrapbeak’ from those he’s worked with, for a very apparent reason. He has visited several magical consuls to see if something could be done about his condition, but no good ever came of it. At some point, he attempted to travel to Kara Kapa, a major rookery based in the hostile land of Stellona, in order to request that they send one of their own soulcrafters back to Karapet to take over, should the current one pass away. Attempting to make the trip alone cost Scrapbeak his leg, by way of one of Robore’s many bizarre and oversized forms of plant life that he’d run afoul of. Damaged and discouraged, Scrapbeak retreated to safer lands, and has not attempted the trip again since.

In an attempt to expedite his acquisition of wealth, as he fears that Karapet’s soulcrafter’s death continues to loom, Scrapbeak has taken up arms with the Iron Pride mercenary company, hoping to come into more lucrative contracts and opportunities. He has so far been with the company for about two months.

---

Skills: Scrapbeak wouldn’t win any mercenary competitions with unmatched skills or prowess in combat. But he has put himself through many, many arduous tasks over the years that have tempered his capabilities, even under major amounts of pressure. He’s a fine shot with his crossbow, and he’s certainly no slouch with his hatchet. And of course, being an augury gives him some degree of stealthiness that larger beings might lack, knowledgeable of ambush tactics and hiding spots out in the wilds. What’s more, Scrapbeak is something of a jury rigger, as a result of many years spent fiddling with his equipment, his crossbow, his leg, and so on. He is by no means a master of the tinker’s art, but he believes he can improve.

Magic: Scrapbeak is incapable of utilizing magic in any regard, much to his chagrin.

Weaponry: Scrapbeak carries a crossbow that he has taken exceptional care of over the years. He is also equipped with a small steel hatchet that, while unassuming, can make a fair cut. While an augury might be expected to carry weapons bearing their tribe’s mark, Scrapbeak has long stopped feeling like he belonged to one - and thus, he has gone without the traditional weapons of his people.

[Spoopy Scary]

Dies Irae

D I E S I R A E

---

_{"I've long forsaken my mortal-bestowed name. I serve now only my God."}

══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════ _______________________________________________ _______________________________________________ ═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════ Dies Irae _______________________________________________ 34 | ♂ | Human _______________________________________________ Father Irae ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Lithe and lean. ► Skin Color - Olive. ► Hair Color - Black. ► Eye Color - Brown. ► Other - Calloused hands and scraped knees. Clean shaven. ▼ D O S S I E R ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Birthplace - Talbor ► Career - Priest of Iroh ► Bonds - The Clergy of Iroh and the duties he must fulfill as a priest. ► Goals - Toppling corrupt regimes. Deliberately ambiguous. ▼ M A G I C ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► N/A - Irae chooses not to practice magic per his beliefs and condemns the harvest and consumption of Tears. ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Medicine & Alchemy - As a priest who eschews the use of magic, he has turned to the more conventional means of healing. Alchemy allows him to tap into the energies imbued into the earth for quasi-magical means of healing, albeit slower and with greater side-effects. He's well versed in venom and poisons and can create antidotes fairly easily given the proper ingredients. Furthermore, he has in-depth anatomical knowledge of multiple difference races and can perform first-aid and even emergency surgeries. ► Diplomacy - It should be no surprise that someone as calm and level-headed as Father Irae is fit for defusing volatile situations. He has a way of reading people that helps him find the right word for most situations and bringing about momentary peace until the party can figure out the next best course of action. He is also capable of giving the members of his company spiritual guidance. ► Intelligent - Well-learned, knowing a great deal of both history and religious denominations. He has traveled a great deal which has given him a globalist perspective of the world, at least a little bit of knowledge of most places in the world, as well as a decent sense of direction. He has a cunning and strategic mind with a good grasp of tactics. Another huge boon is his unwavering faith bringing him such existential comfort that he maintains clarity of mind even in the midst of chaos. ► Performance - As a priest, he gives sermons and spiritual guidance. As part of his training, he knows some antiquated chants in a dead language, which has also given him a decent singing voice. Not especially useful in a mercenary company, but perhaps useful should a distraction be necessary. ► Combat - It is clear when you speak to Irae that he has a bit of a colored past, and one way or another, he learned how to use one-handed weaponry. Supposedly he had left that life behind him and is with the company now to give other souls the guidance he never received as a young man, but his skills are as sharp as ever. ▼ E Q U I P M E N T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Weapons - A black ceremonial dagger with gold trimming. ► Armor - N/A ► Containers - A satchel containing medical supplies. ► Food, Drink, Potions - Rations consisting of cured meat, dried fruits, nuts, roots, and bread. ► Miscellaneous - A gold reliquary shaped like a cross with a sun in the center.

══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ Nary a one to ever see a man dressed so humbly or plain, and certainly not e'er a mercenary. His actual person is oft obscured by his clergyman cassock, complete with the clerical collar, made of black linen and cotton. It is topped off with a black shawl that is fashioned into a hood and drapes over his shoulders. To wear boots is to break tradition out of necessity, for his old moccasins have worn out long ago. However, underneath is neither a man too weak to fend for himself nor a warrior's physique, but perhaps one who is accustomed to travel and toiling over the land. Standing at an inch shy of six feet, his height is not particularly intimidating, but regardless a fair deal higher than most other humans. He weighs as much as twelve stones, speaking to his fitness if nothing else and is at least stronger than he appears. His face and his hands is the likely the most you'll ever see of him. His Veneran descent is apparent in his face, starkly contrasting him from the people of Talbor, through cut features like a sharp jawline and squared chin, high cheek bones, and olive skin. Thick black eyebrows rest over his deep brown eyes, and though his nose looks more Jikarian in its bridge, the tip of his nose curls down into a more hawkish shape to reclaim his Southern Isles bloodline. His hair, should you ever catch him with his hood down, is black and long and usually tied up in a low ponytail. His hygiene is very well maintained despite his willingness to perform painstaking labor, and regardless of how tired he may feel or how few hours in the day there is left, he makes a point to make sure he and his vestments are cleaned. Father Irae is poised and put-together, usually keeping his hands where others can see them whether his fingers are steeple, holding them in front of his person, or held together in prayer. His posture is always straight, and has well-developed habits such as bowing his head to every newcomer or in acknowledgement of a person within a conversation. He tends to gesticulate when he speaks, and one of his more common gestures is a sweeping open palm as if he were giving someone a gift. His voice, though a low and fruity baritone timbre, speaks smoothly and softly. It's calming, a voice one might imagine reading a story to them as they drift asleep. There's almost a musicality to it, like low rolling ocean waves on a quiet moonlit night in how it rises and falls, as if he were constantly musing in trochaic tetrameter. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ Calm. Collected. He always seems certain and unafraid, but not to the point of arrogance or being brash. It's more like the certainty that no matter what happens, things will be okay in the end. However, being a man with layers of complexity, neither is he complacent. He sees it is better to be an agent of action in the world than it is to be its subject. There is something comforting about a person who seems so sure without being cocky, a feeling of safety and sincerity which is only complimented by Irae's voice and almost-paternal demeanor. What you might expect from any other honest priest, you can expect from him: charity, forgiveness, guidance -- nothing is off limits with him, and he doesn't seem to pass any sort of judgement on whoever speaks to him. It is as he claims, it is not his role to judge, but to hear your pleas and guide you thereafter. The only ones worthy of judging are the Gods. To say nothing of his own judgement, of course. Aside from the secrets he himself holds that he withholds from others, the role he plays is that of the benevolent Priest of Iroh, Prophet of Man. There is an underlying sense of superiority or pity for the other races of Tithe, but he does not hate or dislike them, as the Ironian faith remains as a denomination of the dominant Maelan religion. Rather, it is an unfortunate case that not all of Tithe's creatures can be guaranteed the same fate as humanity. In fact, he even yields some respect for the faeries, as they are naturally able to wield magic and therefore must be descendants of divine blood. In all other cases, he finds the use and wielding of magic to be profane and that the consumption of a Tear is the equivalent to attempting godhood. It is for this reason he does not attempt to practice magic himself, though he'll keep those beliefs to himself in the company of those who practice (even if he cant hide his overall disdain for magic in general). He is a remarkably intelligent individual, well-read and studied with an in-depth understanding of medicine and anatomy, history, and theology, though he couldn't seem less interested in political sciences. He has the wisdom to back up his intelligence as well, as the information you have is only as valuable as how you use it. Despite his aforementioned biases, he still comes across as a kind and understanding individual who is willing to lend spiritual guidance to anyone who asks for it. However, the calmness he displays in every situation is in fact displayed in every situation. Even in the presence of death, he appears unshaken, which would make him seem unmoving or callous. Whether this is truly the case or he's so fervently faithful that death doesn't scare him remains to be seen, but he is not so callous that he would ignore or forget those in mourning or trauma. At his best, Irae can be level-headed, decisive, and generous. At his worst, he can be dogmatic, deceitful, and cold. ═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════ Irae is a very private individual who doesn't speak much of his past, and what he does speak of, he speaks of blood and regret. The tale he tells isn't so different from other Talbor men: he worked the land, and he bled for the land; a land ruled by corruption, a corruption that was succeeded by further corruption, and he fought and killed in three separate wars defending that corruption. The broken illusion of justice led to disillusionment, and the smell of iron in those God-forsaken mountains was indistinguishable from the blood that soaked into its infertile soil. Irae's most haunting moment, he says, was when he was about to slay his enemy, only to see the horror and remorse in his enemy's eyes and realized they were also human and from the same land. The moment lasted long enough for an ally to come in and kill the man in front of Irae for him, only to move on to the next one. The tale Irae tells differs only in that he fled, marking him a deserter. He traveled far and wide to escape conflict wherever he went. He learned the roads mapping Tithe like the veins mapping his body, and he learned that, like veins, where the roads branched so too did the flow of blood. Wherever there were people, it seemed, so did conflict, and so did death. How ironic was it that the dominant religion of this world preached the sanctity of life -- all life -- and yet no one did a thing to preserve it? The war was where Irae's life began and where it ended. If you asked him where he found his faith, it was after he traveled Tithe and returned home to northeast Talbor. Only after traveling Tithe did he find a temple devoted to Iroh, and it was there he decided to commit himself to the prophet's teachings. In truth, Irae's tale is a white lie. He harbors no malicious intent in his deceit, but in knowing that the greater public would rest easier in the shadows of lies. Though it is true he is a Priest of Iroh, prophet of mankind, he has been one far longer than he lets on and he makes no mention of the secretive faction lurking beneath the institution's foundation. There is no name or written doctrine, known only by its members as the Day of Wrath. Death is as sacred as life, the only promised fate, and a necessity of the natural order; all life must die.

In this respect, its members are as much a guardian of the grave as they are perpetrators of it, smiting the undead as often as condemning the living. This is not to say that Irae and his ilk are serial killers, but have unique views on death and don't deal with the same qualms as Maelan worshipers. However, as self-appointed defenders of the natural order, this unique priesthood also targets enemies of their faith. This aspect of their practices is treated with utmost severity and is typically reserved for those who violate the natural order, mass murderers, and high-ranking theological figures of corrupt bent. Irae, among a few others, is in the unique position of being both a priest and an anointed assassin.

He was active during the war, but he was not a soldier. He was an independent agent doling out justice where appropriate. Talbor has no shortage of corrupt lords and ladies seeking to take advantage of the chaotic environment, but was never caught out in the open and didn't lift a finger to help either side during the hob invasion. He had no political loyalty to whoever would inherit the throne and didn't seek to seat any one person upon it. He was unique in his order that he chose not to inherit the magic of Mael for personal beliefs, but neither is he lesser for it.

With a duty to uphold to his order, he cannot simply stay put in his temple to Iroh. So, he began to travel under the guise of a wayward priest lending out his services. Only in recent months did he find the mercenary company. Figuring that was as good a cover as anything else for his purposes, he joined them under the pretense that they'd have someone to provide spiritual guidance, and offer diplomatic and minimal-collateral solutions should the situation call for it. In the time since then, however, at least one thing became clear if nothing else: he's a priest with a colored past and is more capable than he appears. Whether he's taking the path of redemption or up to something else remains to be seen.

---

_{"Have mercy on the soul I send to you, Iroh, as they meet their Day of Wrath."}

---

[FernStone]

Cerridwyn “Ceri” Dyrys

Age: 26

Race: Ostaran (West)

Gender/Pronouns: Female, she/her

---

(Image will come later)

Appearance: At around 2’6”, Cerridwyn is on the shorter side for her already short race. She has a sturdy and stout build with strong arms from years using a bow, but a fairly plump torso and legs. Even so she claims to be the thinnest to come from her family (which could be true, who knows). Her skin is a medium brown tone with ruddy, reddish undertones. It is marked by a variety of scars from years of fighting with most having healed well and covered up by layers of clothing. She has a particularly nasty burn scar on her right left chest, shoulder and arm which is years old. Her hands are calloused and rough. Ceri’s hair is dark auburn in colour and thick and curly, almost impossible to tame. It’s long and falls all the way down her back. Normally she will keep it tied back in a braid so that it doesn’t get in the way, but she refuses to cut it. She has somewhat large, dark brown eyes. Her face is round and generally lacking in sharp edges, with thick reddish eyebrows and a turned up, snub nose. Ceri stands tall (as tall as she can), with an air that’s a mixture of pride and aggression. Though not noticeable to most she’s always alert unless around the right company, in which case she can completely relax.

Attire: Outside of battle, Ceri wears practical and comfortable clothing with little care for appearance. Her most common attire is a sleeveless, knee length tunic on top of a long sleeved undershirt and baggy trousers. She’ll often wear bracers and leather boots. In warmer climates she’ll go without the long sleeves. Most of her clothing is in shades of brown, green, grey and sometimes blue.

Armour wise, Ceri wears leather armour that covers her torso, arms and legs. It is thick and padded but light enough to not restrict her movement. It’s specifically made to allow her to remain fairly flexible and nimble while wearing it, in a way prioritising this over sheer protectiveness. On her left hand she wears a leather bracer which half covers her thumb and forefinger to act as an archery guard. Often she will wear the leather torso piece underneath her normal tunic.

---

Outward Personality: How Ceri behaves heavily depends on the people she’s around. She is incredibly untrusting when it comes to strangers and those she views as outsiders. To those she counts in this category, which is most, she will ignore them at best and is incredibly vicious at worst. She is rude and sharp with outsiders and any hint of irritation towards her will lead to violence in response. This gives her a generally aggressive and violent outward personality that only goes away around those she considers herself close to.

Around people that she trusts, which is few, she is like a completely different person. Originally this was only other Western Ostarans but now she views the company in much the same way as she would her Freedom Fighter allies - something akin to a family, and at the very least close companions. Ceri is naturally very social and full of a constant energy that only grows in groups. She is incredibly friendly in general and strongly values the company of others, going out of her way to not be alone. She tends to be bright and talkative with a lot of joke cracking, even if a lot of those jokes are at the expense of others. She can be quite blunt and sarcastic, likely to protect and help others in the company but just as likely to accidentally say something hurtful to them. She tries her best and is adept socially, but grew up in a harsh, militaristic situation which shows in her interactions with others. She treats all those she trusts as equals with little care for their race, though she is incredibly xenophobic otherwise (and is untrusting to any newcomers that are not Western Ostarans).

Bonds: Money and companionship, being an incredibly social person means it is one of the main things Ceri seeks day to day.

Goal: Ceri is mostly in it for the money, but is also strongly driven by finding another goal of her own, after years of not solidly having one post leaving the Freedom Fighters. She wants to 'discover herself' seeing as most of her life was spent pursuing a futile and shared goal. So in a way her goal is due to not having a solid aim in life and wanting to find that.

Character Flaws: Distrustful and xenophobic (particularly towards anyone from Nepharie) due to her upbringing. One of her biggest flaws outside of this,to overcome, is her belief that violence solves everything. She is more likely to respond to an issue with violence than words, which serves to both isolate her from others and causes more problems than it solves. If she has an issue with a friend she probably won’t tell them what it is, but rather just hit them and count it as solved. She doesn’t believe in showing mercy in a fight either, and is quite likely to just outright kill opponents even if they surrender. Her blunt and harsh words are another flaw - she often struggles to empathise with others' pain. Less seriously, due to her feeling like she betrayed her own people she constantly overcompensates in the current group to prove she is a part of them and valuable.

Backstory: Born in Ostaria, Cerridwyn grew up in a militant and incredibly anti-Nepharie village. Most of the people around her were “Freedom Fighters” in the Harvest Mountain Conflicts, including almost every member of her family. Her childhood was incredibly turbulent - constantly jumping between helping in the farms to feed the village and some semblance of training as soon as she was old enough with the other children. Aside from this she spent a lot of her time learning from her older brothers, of which she had three, or helping her mother with her younger sister. Growing up where she did she ended up with strong anti Nepharie sentiments and goals of a united Ostaria. While her childhood was heavily conflict driven, it wasn’t one she’d count as unhappy - outside of the risk of losing family members she enjoyed life growing up (including learning to fight).

At age 16 she was deemed old enough to join the “freedom fighters” and aided them in their attacks. While she was often in groups with her older brothers, who helped protect her in her naivety when it came to conflict, she had to quickly learn to protect herself. As the years went on she grew more and more used to fighting and more aggressive, violent and untrusting of those outside her village. However her doubts began to grow as year on year nothing changed, and more people from her village were lost to raids on military outposts. At age 20 she participated in a farm burning that went wrong in which she ended up directly hit by fire in her upper right side. She spent almost a year recuperating from it only to rejoin the battlefield, even as her convictions in their cause were weakening as she saw her village spiralling into poverty and their goal getting nowhere.

The turning point came just under a year later, in a clash with the Nepharie army. The band she was part of was almost entirely wiped out and she only escaped due to attacking at more of a range. In one conflict she’d lost most of her family and many of the people she’d grown up with. This was enough for her to truly see the futility of the conflict and fled rather than returning home. From here on she travelled and sold her skills as a mercenary, somewhat aimless but figuring she may as well make money with what she could do. After a while she came across the company and decided to join, missing the days where she wasn’t alone. While at first she was incredibly distrustful of them all, gradually her walls came down and she now counts them as comrades and treats them with a friendliness she normally only would towards other Western Ostarans. She’s still distrustful (and rude) each time a new member joins, and can take months to warm to them. She’s been in the company for around three years.

---

Skills:

Archery: Ceri’s main skill comes in her ability with a bow, something she learned from a young age and honed through years of combat. She is an incredibly accurate shot - she will always hit a bullseye or apple on someone's head under normal circumstances. She shoots well under even the most difficult conditions or battles as it is basically second nature to her.

Close Combat: Though not as skilled at it, Ceri is still a competent fighter with a sword. What she lacks in strength she makes up for with speed and a knowledge of where is best to hit. She is adept in using her small size to her advantage. However, due to her focus on ranged she can only be considered around average in comparison to other mercenaries / trained soldiers.

Dexterity & Flexibility: Like many Ostaran’s, Ceri is far more fast and nimble than her physique would suggest. She is very flexible and can get into incredibly small spaces or spots that others cannot reach. This means she can get into tight places that other members of the company can’t, useful for many reasons.

Cooking: Though she certainly wouldn’t get paid for it, Ceri is a good enough cook thanks to being forced to learn from her mother. She cooked a lot for other Freedom Fighters while on the go meaning she’s pretty good at making not horrible, and filling, meals when travelling from random ingredients.

Magic: None.

Weaponry: A cyfansawdd, her main weapon and one that she’s never without. She also carries a long dagger for close combat. She owns a crossbow just in case she was unable to use her cyfansawdd for some reason, but she rarely carries or uses it.

---

Other: Worships and believes in the Smiling Court, even if she doesn’t talk about it much and keeps it fairly private.

Theme Song

[Maxx]

@JunkMail @SepticGentleman @Fernstone Accepted.

@Spoopy Scary Ur gay.

...

...

But also accepted.

[Spoopy Scary]

@JunkMail @SepticGentleman @Fernstone Accepted.

@Spoopy Scary Ur gay.

...

...

But also accepted.

@Maxx

Your intimidation is the most flattering compliment I could ever receive.

[Dragonbud]

Rowan

Name: Rowan of the Turning Leaves

Age: 24

Race: Fairy

Gender/Pronouns: AFAB - He/Him or They/Them interchangeably.

---

Appearance:

All the common traits of Autumnal Fae are found in Rowan. Dark brown eyes that are large and rounded. Red hair that is chopped short, and sharp facial features. Well, not completely sharp, Rowan has pretty chubby, rosy, cheeks, which he puffs out when he's frustrated. Rowan is a little shorter than the average fairy. He stands at 2'8, but swears he is an even three feet tall. He always stands up completely straight, often with his arms crossed over his chest or braced against his hips. Rowan, always, stands up straight, especially around people taller than him, making direct eye contact with people when he speaks to them. Weighing in at 25 pounds Rowan is small in every sense of the word. On top of being short and thin they appear to have very little muscle development in their arms and legs, clearly not the body of a seasoned warrior.

His voice, by some accounts, does not seem to fit his body. Unlike the high pitched and soft voices of Fairies in movies, Rowan has a more raspy and gruff voice. While this might be a bit surprising to people first meeting Rowan, after time this voice sounds less rough and tumble and more like a young man trying to sound intimidating. But this is not always the case. When he is excited, tired, or caught off guard, his voice tends to take a higher pitch to it. Pointing this out usually ends with some rapid fire curses and some rude gestures.

But given this Rowan tends to...stick out among other Fae. Fae who love to groom and flaunt their wardrobes. His hair is messy, rarely brushed out of it's tangle, his clothes are dirty and torn in spots. While other races might not notice this, other Fairies do, and Fairies love to make a stink about it.

Attire:

Like most Fae Rowan sticks to a very natural color scheme when it comes to clothes, as well as rough hewn fabrics. He favors shades of green and brown, which help with the natural camouflage Fae have in the forests. Most of his clothes are slightly ill fitted, especially around the chest, but if questioned he claims it's easier to move in looser clothes. Rowan's favorite outfit, and the one he is spotted in the most, is a simple. A linen tunic, and trousers. Both of these articles have several patches and repairs in them, suggesting they are rather old.

In battle very little changes. Rowan does not wear armor. The only thing the Fae does to prepare for a battle is roll up his sleeves in preparation to cast spells. The only other change is the spell book, bound in leather and tree fibers, moves from his bag to his outstretched hand.

What Rowan will not wear, however, is shoes. He feels like it is a disrespect to Nature, and severs his connection to the natural world. The most notable thing about Rowan's attire is a leather wrapping around his left wrist. He never takes it off, and nervously fidgets with it when he think's no one is watching.

---

Outward Personality:

Upon first glance Rowan kinda comes off as a dick. Permanent scowl on his face, arms always crossed in front of his chest. He won't speak unless spoken to. But if he is talked to he answers questions quickly and curtly, why say a sentence when a word would do? He's also incredibly defensive, ready to point fingers and verbally attack if he thinks someone is against him. But people who get to know Rowan can tell this is a cover up.

Rowan, in reality, is really shy. Nervous around people, so he puts on the prickly exterior to avoid messing up. But sticking through the cracks is a genuinely gentle individual who enjoys quiet company. An anxious and lost fairy who really just needs to hear a couple of jokes and sing a couple of songs. He also snorts when he laughs.

Bonds: He would have given up long ago, to die alone and forgotten in a ditch somewhere. But he made a promise, and promises are very important to the Fae.

Goal: Rowan is always striving towards getting stronger, in the magic sense. Discovering magical artifacts, learning ancient and unknown spells, exploring dusty libraries for forgotten tomes. But Rowan's ultimate goal is to learn a spell to break a powerful curse.

Character Flaws: Coming from a society, and way of life, that is all about tricking each other, and throwing each other to the dogs at the first slip up, has left Rowan struggling to trust others. He also finds it almost impossible to ask for help, seeing it as a weakness. He immediately assumes if someone wants to help them that this will be used later against him. Any sign of good will is a trick and an debt. Because of this Rowan rarely opens up about his feelings, and instead uses lies to keep people from getting to know him.

Backstory:

The leaves in the great oak tree had just started to turn orange when a Fairy was born.

Rowan, born Rowena, was the third child in a family of talented performers and musicians. It was joked that they learned to sing before they could talk, and went right from crawling to dancing. While other Fae children played in the streets, Rowena was learning to play instruments, favoring the pan flute and lute above all else. And while Rowena was quite reserved, shy around other children, they came to life during a performance. They were often hired for parties and other gatherings, drawing large crowds of faeries. So it came as no surprise when Rowena was chosen, as the tender age of fifteen, to travel with Lord Dryden of the Summer Breeze and his entourage, as his minstrel, announcing his presence and accompanying his meetings and parties with music.

For several years Rowena traveled with this group, but as they grew older, it was clear that they longed for more. And the night they turned seventeen the Lord Dryden released them from their duties as his minstrel, encouraging the young Fae to travel the world telling stories and playing music.

And while Rowena was excited to be free to choose their own path, they had grown unhappy with their presence. They needed something new, a rebranding to mark the start of their journey as a traveling bard.

This was when Rowan was born.

At first nothing but a stage persona, long orange hair tucked into a feather cap, breasts bound with cloth and leather, a mysterious and flirty persona that left audiences captivated. But soon, Rowena realized that they were far more comfortable being Rowan. And so Rowan remained both on and off stage, drawing fans from far and wide as he traveled. One night a member of his audience caught his eye. An Ostaran, with messy long hair, bright green eyes and a mess of freckles across his face. Something about him stood out to Rowan, and the Fae tracked him down after the show.

He said his name was Rafferty. And Rowan was instantly smitten.

The pair traveled together for awhile, first as performer and...manager of some sort, although Rafferty had only ever managed chickens. But slowly the two morphed from traveling companions to lovers. Rafferty was Rowan's balance. When the Fae got frustrated or in over his head, Rafferty was always there to lead him through it. And while Rowan could b cynical and rude, Rafferty was always kind and open minded. And no matter how large his crowds were, Rafferty was always going to be his number one fan.

But not everyone was a fan of Rowan.

Fairies are...tricky creatures. They like to poke and gossip and cause problems, especially with other Fae. It was simply their culture. And Rowan enjoyed a good deal of mischief. Many of his songs were...inappropriate to say the least, many of them insulting to minor Fae lords and ladies. And one of their songs happened to be about a Fae named Eoin having...relations with a goat.

And while the audience found these songs quite funny, Prince Eoin of the Clouded Sky didn't.

One night, as Rowan and Rafferty settled in for the night, buzzing with excitement at the success of the last show, Eoin suddenly appeared in a gust of icy wind. Eoin was infuriated, as this song could damage his reputation in the Winter courts, and as a lover of Maeb, he had quite a bit of power on his side. With a flourish Eoin unleashed a powerful curse, a sickly black beam crackling in Rowan's direction.

Rafferty pushed him out of the way. Saving the fairy and taking the curse onto himself.

Petrification. Frozen in rock, a scared look on his face, his arms outstretched in a permanent shove.

Eoin found this quite entertaining, listening to the distraught wails and sobs of Rowan, and found it a suitable punishment for the song. And he vanished. Leaving Rowan alone with his trapped love. Rowan remained, clung to the stone statue of Rafferty, for days. Completely distraught and heartbroken. He didn't understand how someone could be so selfless, to take something so terrible upon themself to save another. But Rowan knew his simple magical skills would not be enough to fix him, he needed to be stronger.

So Rowan left the forested grove, growing vines and grasses around the stone form of his love, hoping to shield him until he could return. And he would return. He would return with a way to break Rafferty's curse. Or he would die trying.

He was no longer Rowan of the Turning Leaves, he self exiled himself. Ashamed that his tricks and cruel jabbing had caused an innocent such harm.

He was just Rowan now. Rowan of Nothing.

Public History:

Four years ago Rowan joined The Iron Pride Mercenary Company. He introduced himself as a Botanist Mage in need of money and protection while traveling. What they were seeking with the company? Access to any magical tombs or artifacts that Company happened to find, for the purpose of study. Rowan has adjusted quite well to the Company, working hard and without fuss on any mission he is sent on. But he mostly keeps to himself, not wanting to socialize with his companions. He does, however, seem quite curious about what his companions know, and if you have a fun fact Rowan will listen.

---

Skills:

Magic: First and foremost Rowan is a mage, a Botanist, and a pretty competent one. In a fight Rowan is able to use nature magic to slow down or trip enemies. While his magic is not extremely damaging, a thorn whip to an eye hurts no matter what. And outside of battle Rowan can identify most magic effects and texts with relative ease.

Mobile and Quiet: Rowan is able to move pretty quickly and pretty quietly, even moreso when in a forested area. Being able to fly is an added bonus.

Navigation: Rowan has traveled through most of Southern and Central Tithe, can easily read a map or stars and use navigational tools. Also as a Fae Botanist he is attuned to the nature of an area, able to find the fastest and clearest path to a destination.

Plant Identification and Application: Another perk of being a botanist is being able to easily identify flora and some of it's uses. Rowan is by no means a healer, but might be able to find a plant to numb some pain or knock a dude out.

Magic:

Rowan learned magic while he was a charge to the Summer court, but only recently began expanding his skills. However, in the last four years he has become an adept Botanist quite quickly. Rowan enjoys Botanist magic, finding his connection to Nature as a Fae quite comforting. Most of their magical skills fall under the influence category. Using grasses and other plants to control the movement of groups of enemies, such as using tall grass to trip enemies or cause terrain to be difficult to move through, or use bark and vines to shield allies from attacks.

He is less familiar with adaption magic, finding it to be a little...uncanny. Adaption has only been used by him instinctually, thorns shooting from their arm if they are grabbed, or hardening his skin into bark to tank an attack.

Weaponry: Rowan isn't skilled in physical weaponry at all. He carries a small knife on him, but that's more for cutting fruit. He also carries a staff. It is a well decorated with carvings of runes, colorful ribbons, and a simple metal ring pressed into the head of it. However this is used more for balance while they are casting. If Rowan is hitting someone with it, it means someone got too close and they are exhausted of magical energy.

---

Other: Rowan as once a well known Bard, playing a lute to accompany either stories or singing. It's been several years since Rowan has played his lute.

Theme

i hope i get called gay

[Mixtape Ghost N]

Morag Nog

Age:
26

Race:
Orc

Gender/Pronouns:
Female - She/Her.



Appearance:
A statuesque Orcess. Much like other orcs, Morag-Nog is taller than humans. Standing at a solid 6'4, and weighing 250, her very thick bones add curvature to her body. Broad shoulders, thick limbs, all accentuated by her thick muscles that are common to all orcs. She's an imposing force, the kind of Orcess you don't want to meet in a dark alley. Or else you might get your balls strung up on a rope. However, plenty of that intimidating factor disappears once she starts talking - that, or they see her choice of clothing. Now, Morag-Nog has typical orc characteristics; thick green skin that has been scarred many times. There are plenty of other blade scars that aren't as severe, all over her, but I don't feel like describing them all! Her head is diamond-shaped, with a very thick and strong jaw. That jaw accents her underbite, two large, razor-sharp tusks. With thick, red lips that are of a lighter hue, and a small, triangle-shape, and a hooked nose. Her eyes are large, and olive color, usually having an annoying glare to them directed at the world. Her ears are large, round, and very pointed at the tips. Finally, Morag-Nog's head is bald but she has various tattoos on her body.

Attire:
Morag-Nog dresses with class - defying all stereotypes about orcs. Morag-Nog wears dresses and puts on jewelry. The kind of outfits that look more in place with royalty. That's when she's out on the town. When she's at home or inventing, she goes for the more practical outfits. Or practical for this time era. I don't know shit.

Outward Personality:
Morag-Nog is a classy, yet hard-assed and overtly judgemental. Morag-Nog has a veil of elegance, class, and always being in control of her emotions at all times. Usually, Morag-Nog is the strong silent type that keeps her mouth shut until it's needed. Of course, she's the kind of person that has a low tolerance for idiots and people who do the opposite. Usually, she's the first one to attempt to shut them up (most morons keep running their mouths). Morag-Nog is a woman of knowledge and changing perceptions... she wants to improve the life of Orcs and all other species and she believes that's through advancing technology. She is always out seeking to find new technologies and other knowledge to improve her life. However, Morag-Nog has a bit of a bias against the Darklings... seeing them as oppressors and vicious beings.

Backstory:
The story of Morag-Nog begins in Dolorod, specifically the easternmost part with all the rich merchants and stuff. She was born as a slave, never met her parents nor did she even have a name. The slavers were vicious, brutal people, who instilled discipline and order in her and many others in an attempt to drive up to her value a bit. It was a rough time but Morag-Nog tried her best to interact with and socialize with other slaves - until she was bought. It was by wealthy merchants out in a place known as Kadia that got rich by falling into money and trading with other businesses. She was brought into their house as a servant... however, the experience was stranger than she thought. She was made to clean and cook around the house but she was also taught academics and other basic skills. Eventually, she came to be treated as one of their kids and was apart of their family.

There was something wrong here... whenever her family had or attended a gathering; she was brought up a lot as if she was a mere accomplishment, and she heard the word "civilized a lot". Morag-Nog brushed that off, but she was a very studious Orcess that didn't waste time in absorbing as much knowledge as she could. The coastal kingdom of Kadia had a lot of different interesting people... and eventually came across a human woman named Draya at a marketplace. Draya was a very eccentric but interesting and intelligent woman and she was more than happy to show Morag-Nog her inventions. The two parted ways, but Morag-Nog was interested in her and eventually found herself coming back for more. Morag-Nog, inspired by the woman, tried to drift towards being an inventor but it was hard given how the knowledge was hard to come by.

Eventually, Morag-Nog asked Sarah to be her apprentice and the eccentric Sarah was more than welcoming of the idea... as it was stroking her ego knowing that some rich brat wanted to learn from her. The young Morag-Nog and the Draya spent a lot of time together, in fact, most of the former's free time was spent with her. Morag-Nog ended up on the road to becoming the world's greatest inventor. However, in their interactions, Morag-Nog got some different perspectives from Draya. After all, you're bound to pick up on some stuff after spending a lot of time. And soon enough, Morag-Nog learned the truth: that her parents didn't love or care about her (or did they?). She was adopted as something to flaunt over the rest of the rich families that they rescued and "civilized" a disgusting orc out of the wastes. It all came together, everything finally made sense: the looks, the comments, and everything in between finally had a rationalization in Morag-Nog's head.

After a certain point, she just left the Kingdom of Kadia in the dead of the silent night with what she could carry with her. She only told Draya the inventor before she went on a long journey from one place to another on her way to the Orc homeland, Ignion. Of course, it wasn't what she thought it was... the exact details get messed up but she found the home of the Orcs. She found herself the Orc tribes and introduced herself as a freed slave and they took her in... of course she had to work for it. Morag-Nog went from a royal to a farmhand, and in the pursuit of finding her people and true culture, anything was worth it. It was difficult going from the privileged lifestyle to the more rough and rustic one.

And the Orcs didn't exactly like her because she wasn't, well, raised in their ways and made up various insults and nicknames. However, she tried to press on because she really couldn't go back home. She was trained in the Orcish ways of combat and their culture as she tried to integrate into their society... and failed. It was seeming hopeless... then she was drafted into the Orc's little war against the Darklings. She had little idea what the war was even about, something about the taxes being too damn high. Either way, Morag-Nog honed her combat knowledge by fighting the Darklings, participating in various top-secret raids on their farms, and the siege that went wrong... the Siege of Brimshard.

Morag-Nog was there and it was a horrible, bloody affair... that told her that she had no place with the orcs, either. She was one of the survivors, and after the Siege Morag-Nog once again, cut and run. However, she eventually linked up with a mercenary company known as the Iron Pride... it was time for her to start doing what she wanted and that was do all sorts of wonderful things for the world. Acting as a mercenary would allow her to travel the lands and get a little bit of money on the side. On her travels, Morag-Nog created her signature weapon: the Tusk, and she's been with the company for about six years.

Skills:
Morag-Nog is intelligent, an inventor, and an okay-ish fighter. She's better at shooting stuff than those up-close encounters, though.

Magic:
No Magni.

Weaponry:
So far Morag-Nog's magnum opus is the: The Tusk. It's more or less a repeating crossbow created from several different parts. It's a rapid-fire crossbow without getting into the mumbo jumbo. It's still a rudimentary weapon that needs work, but it has an effective range of around fifty meters and a max range three times that (though hitting something from a hundred and fifty meters would probably not do a whole lot against armor). It can fire a barrage of around twelve arrows before Morag-Nog needs to reload, but she modified it to be able to take most kinds of arrows.

But if someone gets too close she has an ax.

Other:

[Luminous Beings]

I'm brainstorming characters and will join if one comes to me

[Maxx]

@Dragonbud Ur gay, but also that backstory almost made me cry. Accepted.

@Ghost Note Ur a bitch, but you are, also, accepted.

[Mixtape Ghost N]

@Maxx i'll show you how gay i am when i fuck you in the ass

[Maxx]

@Maxx i'll show you how gay i am when i fuck you in the ass

@Ghost Note

I didn't call you gay you dumb booty hoe

[Skai]

Senna

Age: 26

Race: Darkling

Gender/Pronouns: She/Her

---

Picture to Come

Appearance: In comparison to her fellow Darklings, Senna is quite beautiful. Or at least she would be if she cared about her appearance. Being blind doesn't exactly help with that either. She keeps her hair short so that it is manageable, and her bangs just barely drop over her eyes because she can't tell that they're too long. Her eyes were once as red as a ruby, but now they have a cloudy haze over them. It is the only obvious tell that she is blind. Her skin is the color of grey bark, with a brown undertone to it similar to that of a black poplar tree. Her hair is white and wavy. Senna stands at 3'5" with a curvy build. Her arms and legs are strong from years of climbing in the caves, but she is small enough to fit through the smallest of crevices.

Attire: Senna still sports the traditional dressings of a Darkling. Her desert inspired clothing covers her from head to toe. At first it appears that Senna is covered by a long, dark brown cloak resembling the wings of a bat. This cloak is always pulled above her head, and she wears a small brown samurai-style hat with a string to tie under her chin that also matches the color of her cloak. Poking out from the collar of the cloak is a beige cowl that protects her neck from any light. When Senna reveals the clothing underneath, she wears light brown pants with wrappings around her ankles and feet should her boots mysteriously disappear in the daylight. On her torso she sports a long sleeved tunic, a belt of ammo with holsters for her scimitar and pistol on each side, and gloves with wrappings around the wrists to prevent unnecessary removal. She has become adept at fighting under the protection of her cloak and jingasa hat, but at night she lets the jingasa rest against her back and often removes the gloves.

---

Outward Personality: As a child of Gallor, Senna believes that it is important to be strong. In any situation, Senna is brave and determined. She processes whats happening around her like she processes her way of sight. She listens, thinks of the best route to take, and takes it. She is rather stubborn for a blind darkling, but she has learned to yield to the wishes of others if it means she will get her way some other time. Even though she has a tough exterior, Senna is still a young darkling. She uses humor to avoid any deep emotions, and often makes jokes about her lack of sight instead of beating the ones who make them. If she were to attempt to stare menacingly at her enemy and was told that she was staring at a tree, she would ask if the tree felt intimidated to avoid the embarrassment. - To this day, Senna's family hates the senna flower. When Senna is reminded of it, or handed one, she is filled with grief for the loss of her sight. Even though her mother hates them, Senna yearns to see the yellow petals again.

Bonds: It is the will of Gallor to become strong, and to use his strength to serve her community. Since she hasn't done much for her family and home, she wishes to become the strongest darkling in Tithe.

Goal: Senna has the belief that if she gathered enough coin to earn a Tear, she would be able to use the magic to make a living for herself. If she discovers her purpose along the way, she will use the coin she's earned to help her family. She also wishes to prove herself to her family and community back home.

Character Flaws: Senna has much to learn. She is still living off of the high of mercenary work, and has not learned what true sacrifice and survival feels like. Sure, she's lost a few fights, but she hasn't had to overcome any extreme situations yet. She has survived this long on cunning and skills, and often her cocky nature gets her into trouble. If she is ever put into a life or death situation, she will have to rely on her courage and colleagues to get her through it.

Backstory: Senna was born to a small community of darklings in one of the many caves of Ignion. Her parents named her Senna after the small yellow desert flower common in their area. Their love for their daughter grew into an intense worry for their child's safety. Senna spent her first five years within the cave, with only a few rare visits to the larger communities and to the ground above only under the light of the moon. She quickly grew to resent her sheltered life. Her curiosity and restless mind made helping her parents with the crops and going to school a bore. She began to wonder what it was like to walk in the light of day despite what her parents said about the sun's burning touch. She began to feel trapped beneath the earth, and at the breaking of dawn on her seventh birthday she'd had enough. Under the protection of her mother's cloak, Senna snuck out of the cave and took her first steps into the sunlight.

While her parents warned her of the sun's effect on her kind, Senna never imagined that it's warmth would feel so... nice. With every step into the outside world, she grew fond of the hot desert air. Still, her curiosity was not satisfied. She had a goal to accomplish: to find the desert flower she was named after. She imagined that it looked quite beautiful under the light of day. It was a childish need, and she was too young to fully understand the risks of her venture. Yet with every step, Senna felt free.

With her head bent low, her eyes scanned the desert ground for the yellow flower. Her mother's favorite. The first sight of it's bloom filled Senna with joy. She'd found it. Her mother's favorite flower. She picked as many as she could to bring home with her, but in one careless move she exposed her hand to the sun. She immediately felt her skin roast. She pulled her hand back into her body and tears welled in her eyes. She'd fortunately covered it just in time to prevent blisters, but she suddenly yearned for the darkness of the caves. Her body turned back in the direction of her home, but she realized that she'd walked too far. The entrance was nowhere in sight, and by the shadows of the senna plant she could see that the sun had risen high into the sky. She was lost.

Senna reacted the way any small child would when they've found themselves in an unfamiliar place. She sat down where she was and cried. The only hope of finding her parents would be to stay where she was and wait, she thought. They'd look for her. She'd been gone for hours now. Certainly they were coming for her. Her tears eventually dried, and while she didn't look directly at the sun she felt her eyes grow sore from the bright desert earth and white rocks that surrounded her. She blinked, and blinked, but the feeling didn't go away. She wanted to close her eyes, but she was worried that if she did, she wouldn't be able to see if her parents were close by. She had to keep looking. They could walk past her and never know it, but she could call out for them and then they'd see her.

An hour later, a search party of her community found her. By the time they returned to the cave, Senna was blind. Her parents, although devastated for their daughter's loss, felt that Gallor had blinded Senna to make her stronger. They also believed it was to punish them for raising Senna to be weak. They vowed that day to never shelter their daughter again.

For a few years, Senna remained in the cave until she could navigate with the use of echolocation instead of her sight. She could even make it through the darkest regions of the cave better than the elders. Her parents began to believe again that their daughter could still have a bright future. That Gallor would be proud of her strength despite her condition. While her education wasn't up to par with the larger communities of Darklings, and it was difficult to teach a blind Darkling their ways, Senna was one of the smartest pupils in her class. She never let her blindness stop her from succeeding. She was often teased by her classmates because she'd wandered into the sun, and when their taunts became too much Senna lashed out. They never saw her coming, but she saw exactly where to hit to make them shut up.

As tough as Senna made herself out to be, the taunts still affected her confidence. She continued to get in fights until her parents had enough. She was given lessons separately from the class and was given more work in the crop fields to help the community earn a living. Unfortunately for her family, Senna had the exact opposite of a green thumb. When her family realized this, they begun to save coin every harvest so that they could send her to a good school in one of the large communities. Senna, on the other hand, had no intentions of becoming a scholar. School was boring enough now that she couldn't read or write. She'd had a taste of adventure when she was seven. Even though she'd been blinded by the feat, Senna yearned for the freedom outside of the caves. She convinced her parents to put their savings towards their crops and not to worry about her. She would venture into the lands of Tithe on her twentieth birthday to seek out a Tear so that she could provide for the community in other ways. Her parents were skeptical at first, but after a year of failed attempts to make Senna "see" reason, they realized that Senna had to do this to feel worthy of Gallor. On her twentieth birthday, they gifted Senna with a belt of ammo, a scimtar, and a wheel-lock pistol to protect her from the harsh world above. They gave her proper clothing to protect her from the sun's harsh eyes, and prayed to Gallor that their daughter would return home stronger than ever.

Now a free darkling with the will of Gallor to guide her, Senna ventured into the lands of Tithe to find her way. She took odd jobs at first. Simple tasks only darklings could accomplish due to the nature of them. Darklings were excellent spies and thieves, a rarity of a mercenary because most stayed underground, and Senna was among the best even if she was still adapting to the world outside of the caves. For the next few years, Senna grew her reputation and her skills. She even returned home every year to share her coin with her community and restock on ammo.

While Senna enjoyed her freedom to travel Tithe, she soon learned that she would need more than just her own skills to take on higher paying work. She searched for groups of mercenaries, but none took kindly to her small stature, blind eyes, and race. But, but by the will of Gallor, Senna found herself in the same land as the Iron Pride Mercenary Company. Their reputation was far greater than hers alone could ever be, and she'd heard many stories about their conquests and wealth. It took quite a bit of convincing to prove her worth to the Captain, but after a few weeks of pestering, Senna was accepted into the fold. Two moons have passed since she was accepted.

---

Skills:

Enhanced Hearing: While Darklings already use echolocation to sense their surroundings, years of relying on this technique to see has given Senna an enhanced ability to see most things around her using the vibrations, or waves, of sound. In a loud room, Senna can sense where each object or person is located. In a quiet area, Senna must click her tongue, snap her fingers, or tap her foot to see where she is going. She often uses a combination of the two to make sure that she is correct.

Near Perfect Aim: Years of using the wheel-lock pistol, and many many days of practice, has given Senna the skills to shoot an apple off of the top of someone's head. (If someone would volunteer, she is sure she could do it.)

Swordsmanship with a Scimtar: Since the bullets for her pistol are rare in Tithe, Senna uses the scimtar to fight in close quarters. She even uses the sound waves of her blade clashing against another to see around her.

Climbing/Parkour: As a Darkling, Senna already possesses a keen ability to climb walls and trees. If she is careful enough, she can even jump between high objects, buildings, and trees. She often climbs walls to get her into buildings instead of picking locks.

Magic: None yet.

Weaponry: Senna is equipped with a scimitar, a belt of ammo, and a wheel-lock pistol used sparingly because of the rarity of bullets. Both weapons have holsters upon the belt for easy carry and are concealed beneath her cloak.

---

Other: Senna is ambidextrous.