[CHAR] Relics of the First Age

[psych0pomp]

Fygawren Aescau

NAME | Fygawren "Fyg" Aescau
AGE | 31
GENDER | Female
FACTION/ALLEGIANCE | No faction, but she has juxtaposed herself against the Order of the Third Moon
APPEARANCE |
Fyg stands a little under six-feet but hunches underneath her worn but well-hewn red cloak. She lets her long silvery locks hang down away from the hood as to give the appearance of a crone. Usually, only her tanned chin and full, but chapped, lips are showing. She leans heavily on a sturdy and gnarled staff with a thick amber-hued crystal embedded into the top of it. It has no luster when the sun hits it. Instead, it's heavy and provides quite the knock if swung at someone. People seem to leave her alone. Especially if she is coupled with a handful of homemade poultices and the unfortunate flock of birds that enjoy using her shoulders and staff as a perch. It'd help if she wouldn't feed them every chance she got.

When Fyg isn't trying to act with discretion, she abandons the shroud of the cloak to show her full form. Her silver hair is tied behind her in a long braid and wreathed with pretty, but terribly intrusive, flowers. Her skin is a deep tan, and her one visible eye is the same color as the crystal on her staff. The other is hidden behind an eyepatch. Of course, when the sun hits it just right it becomes evident that it's see-through. Her armor is a dusty, reinforced leather that she takes care of. Around her waist is an assortment of colorful clothes and scarves that are haphazardly woven together in some semblance of a belt. Her pants are a thick canvas with high leather boots that match her asymmetrical gloves adorning her arms. Yet, they cannot hide defined musculature from years of harsh living.

RELIC DESCRIPTION | THE IRIS / Elemental - Plant 🌿

APPEARANCE The Iris is not only named as it allows one to harness the power of vegetation, but it is also ocular in shape and size. It has flowers and leaves embossed on its white surface. It's meant to be worn much as it appears.
ABILITIES

• Plant Growth - Capable of causing rapid production of plants from seeds, ground, or inert vegetative material (i.e. her wooden staff.) The size and type of plant depends on how much power she expends. Fyg is quite fond of vines and nicely calls them 'her little helpers.'
• Restoration - Fyg can rejuvenate or revive a dead plant. She can even go as far as to remove pestilence and plague. That being said, she couldn't cure an entire field, but she could do enough for someone to survive off of.
• Speak with Plants - It works just as it sounds. Of course, the information exchanged is incredibly elementary, but it's good enough to not get lost in the woods.

FLAWS |

• Flighty
• Fickle
• Unkempt
• Incessant Talker
• Blunt & Crass
• Untrusting
• Argumentative
• Headstrong

SKILLS|

• HEDGE ALCHEMY While nothing that could rival a well-tended lab, Fyg concocts her own poultices and elixirs. They're mostly for tending to wounds and ailments, but she knows a few that could wreak havoc on one's body. She's also aware of certain volatile mixtures.
• MERCANTILE One might argue that talking circles around someone and goading them into lowering the price or changing the exchange rate might not be the most important skill. Still, it's kept Fyg alive.
• APPRAISAL A bit of spit and a good shine, and Fyg can give a decent prediction about varied and numerous valuables. If she tells you it's worth nothing, be skeptical.
• ACROBATICS To traverse the ruins of the Great Plains, one needs to be fleet of foot and agile of fingers. Fyg is quite nimble and graceful when she needs to be.
• CARTOGRAPHY & MINOR STAR READING This is the only skill that Fyg cultivated out of a curiosity instead of a necessity. She loves making maps and star charts. They may not be entirely accurate, but they're better than a blank sheet of parchment and your head in the sand.
• FIGHTING DIRTY Sure, she can summon plants to her side, but a show of magic is not always needed or warranted. Fyg knows her way around taking out opponents without too many moves wasted. Does she feel good about it afterward? Sure. Why wouldn't she?
• BOTANY She can summon and speak with plants. This skill comes with the territory.

BIOGRAPHY |
Fyg grew up in the Great Plains underneath an old stone structure of hands, their moss-covered digits reaching towards the skies. Her mother, a strange woman by the name of Bautild, always told her that it was a monument to the old, believed to be false, god Kheris. The older woman would then spit the seeds of her fruit to the ground and wipe her lips before laughing. “Leave the men to their gods, and let them eat each other from the starvation of that divine grace.”

The young girl was a spry thing of curiosity and tangled silver hair. She’d climb ruins, run across the plains, and “tame” any animal she came across. Her mother taught her the ways of her people, how to survive and thrive in an environment filled to the brim with consequences. While the two lived alone, traveling caravans would stop by often to trade goods. Fyg would hear stories of the world. She’d hear about the dwarves of the mountains, the great Etrid, the destroyed throne of Kheris, the deep woods of the druids and long-forgotten elves, and the haunted ruins that dotted the plains. Having received a map from one of the merchants, she marked all these fantastical spots for further exploration. Her mother watched her and said nothing, except for when Fyg became curious about the forests. Bautild would always shush her with stories of relics and formulas for various “potions” that she crafted.

Fyg was a teenager when she came across a settlement south of one of her favorite ruins by the Hands of Kheris. There she became fast, if not chatty, friends with several of the villagers and entreated them to the secrets that her mother shared. When she returned home, the pitch of night clawing at the sky, Bautild chastised her with vitriol that had never graced her voice before. She grabbed Fyg’s chin and held it tight as her golden eyes pressed into her daughter’s. She begged the girl to never return to the village and never speak of their life again. Fyg nodded, eyes filled with tears. She’d never seen her mother so scared before.

Unfortunately, it only took that fateful day to incite flames upon their quaint home. It came, months later, in the form of figures bearing torches. Fyg didn’t remember much of that night, sleep and terror taking an equal part of her memory. What she did remember was her mother’s hands feverishly shaking her awake and telling her to grab what she could. Then there was their hurried sprint across the plains. Fyg turned back once to see her mother face the figures in the darkness. She could have sworn that light both otherworldly and natural poured from Bautild. The shadows called her a “wytch” and Fyg her “wytch spawn.”

They took shelter in some labyrinthine ruins far from where Fyg grew up. In the hazy light of the morning, Bautild kissed her daughter’s forehead before wrapping her in her old red cloak. That would be the last time Fyg would see her. The bleary image of her silhouette against the horizon before nothing. Fyg would spend the rest of the week numbly wandering the ruins around her, doing the bare minimum to take care of herself. One day, an old stone pathway gave way and sent her plummeting into the depths below. The incline was too steep and slick for her to climb back up, and so she had to traverse the ruin's innards to find her way out.

Of course, there wouldn't be a story if she didn't find something down there. After some time, there was a light at the end of a long stone tunnel. She found herself in an ancient arboretum. In the middle was a massive tree that poked out above the ceiling and into the sky above. That was her way out. Unfortunately, the branches were too high for her to reach. In her desperation, she caught sight of something that didn't belong. A skeleton jutted out from the trunk of the tree itself. It was only visible from the waist up, and its boney arm was outstretched and held aloft by vines. In its hand was a gorgeous wooden staff, seeming to sprout from the tree itself. Yet, what caught Fyg's attention was a glowing object in the skeleton's eye socket.

Assured that she had no other choice, she grabbed it. It was warm in her hand, and the grass underfoot awoke and sprouted anew. Yet, nothing else happened. Fyg stared between the skeleton, the tree, the staff, and her escape. She could die down here, or she could... one has to remember that she was a teenager in the middle of the Great Plains just having lost her mother to the faceless hunters in the night. Reason wasn't her bedfellow as she did what she had to to survive.

That day changed Fyg. She transitioned from a wide-eyed youth interested in what the world had to offer into a wry adult that wanted to take those offerings from the world. This was set in motion by a traveling grifter by the name of Fergus Nort who thought her powers and skills were useful. She made a living off brewing the alchemical elixirs and poultices that her mother showed her as a child, looting ruins she came across, selling coordinates of said looted ruins (omitting that she had removed the valuables,) and selling said valuables to the highest bidder. It helped her carve out a living amidst the transient turmoil of the Great Plains. Fyg was referred to by the loving moniker "Grass Wytch," which she denied vehemently while secretly reveling in such a title.

Time passed as it was wont to do, if anyone knew how to make it stop Fyg would be interested in having a word. After a while, shady business tactics became notoriety and said notoriety became problematic. Fyg decided to let her hustle across the Great Plains air out and head South. Of course, this wasn't entirely by coincidence. During the years that followed Bautild leaving, she'd learned of the ones responsible for her mother's disappearance all those years ago. The Third Moon had made an enemy, even if they didn't know or care.

Upon hearing of the Inquisitor's abdication of the throne to the prince, soon to become King, Fyg needed to see the entire thing for herself. A part of her wanted revenge. Another part wondered if her mother would be there. And the last part of her, the strongest instinct she possessed, wanted to make some more coin from the fools of Etrid.

PERSONALITY/MOTIVATION | Fyg is an odd duck. Which is ironic, because sometimes ducks find her interesting. It may be her proclivity to create fruit and seed-bearing plants and feed fowl, bird, rodent, or otherwise from the bounty. She's quite close to being known as a "pigeon wytch." Yet, it's those actions that offer true insight into herself as a person.

She isn't cruel or corrupt, but her nature is much like running your hands harshly over bark. It may be uncomfortable and a little painful, but it doesn't provide any lasting damage and may take care of a forgotten itch. Fyg is slow to make friends but quick to make associates and "meat shields." A fast talker and even quicker with her hands, she can weave a ring of words around anyone with the competency of a scholar. Are those words born from eloquence and sensible sentence structure? Maybe one shouldn't listen too closely.

Fyg is slow to anger, hard to trick, and very hard to love. It might have to do with her fondness for the dirtiness of nature, proclivity to have heated discussions with trees, and tendency to be a roost for an exceptional amount of city birds.

RELATIONS |

• BAUTILD AESCAU Mother Despite their separation at Fyg's formative years, she still holds her mother in the highest esteem. She has no idea where to look for her, and fears that finding her would only provide problems for Bautild. Still, they did not part on harsh terms.
• FERGUS NORT Partner in "Crime" Someone had to teach Fyg to be a shady grifter. Yet, little did Fergus know that Fyg would become even shadier than himself. While they are friends, there's a bit of a rivalry there.
• ORDER OF THE THIRD MOON Religious Organization Can suck an anatomical part that she doesn't seem to own, but it's honestly anyone's guess on whether she's bluffing or not.
• PIOTR Her Animal Familiar? A fat, gray dove with a black beak and even blacker eyes. He finds himself a traveling companion of Fyg. He's quite judgemental of her decisions, or at least that's the entitlement Fyg imposes onto him.

SECRETS |
Bautild has kept many things from her, and she in turn has kept many things from Piotr.

[Jamesyco]

Eisen Oppaldr Garnin

Name: Eisen Oppaldr Garnin

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Faction/Allegiance: The Kingdom of Cellhád - Clan Garnin

Relic Description: Garninac Minor - Currently in the hold of the champion of House Garninac this is pretty much the bladed sword handed to the failing son or cousin in this case of the house's this blade typically holds magic which can temporarily enhance the power of its user. It does this by taking the strength out of a person's mortal wound and can give some minor abilities. But there is a minor detriment to this; some senses and the body will deteriorate slowly without fresh blood and killing.

Its more powerful cousin, Extremus Garninac, which is hosted by the most powerful clan, adds lifespan to the user permanently. It can also heal the user's wounds by taking parts of those it slays, meaning an individual could be untouched if he is wounded. His opponent is not without something to fulfill its bloody requirements, which is easy with the number of people desiring to take the clan's lead. The user will begin to deteriorate, which also leads to periods where contenders for the place do not attack to weaken the opponent. Which typically works.

There is a theory that has not been tested often, but both are the same entity, and together they add the strength of all previous users to it. But for a short duration before their body begins to degrade rapidly until their death. Except for the original creator and user who is long dead and likely not even of blood relatives to the weapons' current heirs.

But the Minor half of the relic is a short sword that would be secondary to a spear. Made in an older fashion, similar to ancient period germanic swords. Without a long flat handguard seen in medieval swords, but something small and ornamental instead.

The Extremus is a spear and an ornamented wooden staff wrapped in steel bands that strengthen the integrity of the pole and hosts the more precious materials such as copper and gems along its length. It has a sheath near the bottom where a short sword once went leading to the knowledge that the two items were likely once one. But, most do not risk that chance.

Appearance: A thick man, standing around 6'10, his face is rather basic but for a full beard and long braided hair blonde hair. Typically hairy underneath with a stocky body with muscle flush with the others rather than toned. It could be considered as lanky and thick in all regards. His eyes are a dull blue. But he weighs around 280 lbs, which is not fat for most of it, he does have some but a lot of that is muscle.

Flaws:
Prone to heat - heat affects him greatly; he is built for temperate and colder climates. Deserts and other hot places are his worst enemy without some adaptation to those areas. He is more likely to get sick in these areas as well, and any disease from these areas will likely weaken him deeply.

Defensive personality - Typically a defensive individual, which means strikes to him as an individual (some would say honor) sometimes to a point where some simple insults or playing around could expand into something worse if not explained properly in a short amount of time.

Relic - An unintended side effect of the weapon is that it almost requires blood. Without a killing strike on an opponent, it will kill the user slowly. Sapping his strength until he is a husk lying on the ground dead.

Thick and evergrowing - he is thicker than most, and aside from being a walking tank, overheating, generally being slower than others, and just larger than most makes him an easy target to hit. It does allow him to survive an attack, but the fact he is easier to hit doesn't make up for that fact a lot. This also makes him weaker as his pituitary gland has malfunctioned, he does continuously grow in both weight and height.

Naturally, without the malfunction, he would be around 5'4 with a weight of around 180 lbs. A standard man's, but due to this his nerves have not grown out past their natural place, so his fingers do tend to lose feeling, same with his lower legs and feet. His life span is also likely to cut in half leading likely to his death in several years as his body won't be able to sustain the mass he will grow.
He also typically walks with some form of aid, such as a stick or spear to give his body support for prolonged periods of movement, he does not need this full time, however.

Reliant on others - This mainly has to do with the basic needs, such as food collection, healing, he gained his championship for a reason, and it wasn't a weak peasant. He typically had others do that for him, hunting he has done but cooking it would be a problem. He could be considered stuck up and an asshole for this trait.

Uneducated - His entire life he spent in near-total physical training, doing things to improve his body. Which would in turn lead to a lack of mental and social skills that would be learned, such as writing, reading, socializing with people his age. Probably some trauma due to being hit repeatedly with sticks to drive him to train and to work.

Skills: (What sort of non-relic skills/abilities make your character stand out?)
Clan Champion - A person who has earned his place as the cousin and champion of his clan. He is not a blood relative of the current leader, but he earned his place by killing the original champion. Compared to most, he is extremely proficient with most weapons. Ranged or melee, but his calling is the spear and polearms. He is nearing expert ratings with the weapons with a weapon such as a spear, or early form of halberd or poleaxe but still nowhere near a master.

Cold adapted - the cold is his home; he is like a husky wanting to stay in the snow instead of being in the warm house. He loves it, and it is where he is more comfortable and adapted to. He can stay outside longer than most, he can move around faster than most, and he can typically get whatever he needs from the frozen water pellets and flakes with knowledge on what might go where.

Thick - Being hit typically doesn't damage as much as it would in some areas of the body. Arrows might have a harder time reaching something vital; weaker opponents and weapons that aren't meant for doing a lot of flesh damage will have harder times damaging his body with effect. Axes and thick heavy swords are the way to damage him the best.

Clansman - Those in his clan, even if it is just a smaller clan, are strong and united. They may fight and bicker over who should be what, who should become the next clan leader. And they may even try to kill each other, but they are still brothers in arms. Out of the different families in the clans, they are united, strong, and determined to assist one another in a time of need.

Biography:

A man grew from his family's name, being raised to be strong. His direct family would feed him more, make him work more, and force his body to the limits to become as strong as possible. From a young age, he would hunt only things such as boar, be the sole person to find and cut wood for fires, and be almost abused as a physical slave until his mid-teens. But by then, he was well on his way to become a man, puberty with the amount of nutrition he received and how much he worked shot him up in mass. He was ready to become a warrior and his family's leaders, primarily his uncle and cousin. He would train him using sticks, and he would continue to hone his skills as a spearman by hunting boars. Learning how to properly maneuver a polearm around to strike vital points.

Nearing his twentieth birthday is when he became a warrior, becoming one of the community watchmen. There, he would get some professional training on weapons other than the spear, axe, and sling. This is also where he was first introduced to the sword and the previous holder to the clan's Championship. The original owner would train him in his technics and ways with the short sword, sword, mace, and bow. We all know what would happen, and two years later, Eisen would become the champion of the clan. But there is another goal, and that is to try and become the leader of the clan as well.

Personality/motivation:
The man is usually very stoic around most people, around some people, typically those he trusts, it can feel as if he is relaxed around them. But aside from that, he seems as if he is a dullard or a hardass. Usually, insults do get to him (especially those about the size of a person), as he is a bit of a dullard but it can be quickly rectified with some explanation, even if it is a lie. He will likely not know, his life prior to becoming champion was that of being a hard-worked boy in fields, in the forests, and in small sparring grounds where he would be whipped for hours with sticks that were meant to be swords and other tools of war and defense.

But it was ingrained in him that he will become the next leader of the clan, he is the strongest, he is the largest it may as well save his life if he is worthy of the combined relic. He is the true warrior, he is a warrior, and a leader, he has to be, he is fucking huge. Huge means leadership qualities right. Likely not, but in this clan it does. He likely would have as well if his family didn't believe him to be the next coming of the Ancient creator of the clan and gave him some education in the world aside from stick hits here, and basic language skills. Hell, he doesn't even know how to read or write, and math is likely just witchcraft to him.

Relations:
Clan Garnin - Every member he will hold a special place for in his heart, as this is the major of the people he knows and will know. There are few that leave the village for things other than war, and hunt. There are some traders, but not many likely numbering around ten to twenty in total, not regarding any children they may have outside of the clan's land. But this is his primary source, of everything.

Final Point - Secrets: There may be a chance he is related to the original owner of the full relic this is an unlikely chance, but the other did experience a form of gigantism as well. The ancient and original leader of what would become clan Garmin was just larger but had a good mental ability that went alongside his physical strength. He doesn't really know of this yet, but those in his clan predicted that he is supposed to be the next coming of the ancient clan creator in their eyes.

But a secret he does know is that he is not the smartest man in the world, but he does have a general sense of morals.

[Renny]

Oz

_{"Would you like to witness my tricks?"}

---

Unmasked

Name: Ozymandias "Oz" | The Grim Jester
Age: 23
Gender: Male

Faction/Allegiance: None
Relic Description: The Mask he wears allows for the creation of something out of nothing. The placement of said creation cannot interfere with another living structure of matter or be living itself. A structure cannot be created without a clear, stable image and understanding of the desired object. No object created can supersede the will or ambition of the Relic wielder. Structures created by the Mask dematerializes within 24 hours of creation unless a clear dematerialization time is set during creation. Various sizes and functions can cause differing effects. Exceptionally strong structures, in exchange for unnatural strength, must be used alone. Others will require the Relic wielder to make a pact or sacrifice with the Mask. To make a pact with the Mask or to commit to a sacrifice to create a stronger structure is the most dangerous of undertakings. The unique structures created by the Mask is directly tied to Ozymandias' spirituality and strength of will.

Flaws: Ozymandias' has a troubled psyche. He is mostly self-serving in all his endeavors whether they be acts of kindness or willful arguments to defend his opinion. That being said, Ozymandias does carry himself with a near permeant air of detachment, a severe degree of fickleness and indifference came with that territory as well. A lack of friends, family, and overall affection turned into a social impairment, that in turn made him quite the actor; which is to say that Ozymandias is not all that trustworthy and responsible, lest it benefits him.

Skills: Most important is probably his survival skills. Capable of hunting and sheltering himself against the elements. He's a practiced user of spears, daggers, bows, and a rather unusual master of the sword. He learned this for various users working out the old guildhall he worked at. This hodgepodge mixture of mentors has his form vary from weapon to weapon, adding to his already vacillating combat style. Like his namesake, he works mostly on misdirection and tricks, though it appears all of this sits on a foundation of finesse and dexterity. Outside of that, he is somewhat of a people-reader. Establishing universal expressions with certain emotions. His voice is also rather flexible, allowing for him to effortlessly raise his pitch and tone to match a certain other persona of his.

Biography: Ozymandias has a checkered and complex past and for the sake of brevity we shall condense it into something digestible. His childhood was wrought with hunger, his parents--selfish creatures abandoned his sister and himself during a particularly terrible winter. They survived that winter through grit and luck. The two children would go on to find work in The Great Plains. As the servants of a lesser guildhall, the two had found shelter and honest work. The next summer Ozymandias' sister would vanish instead of returning to their cot.

Internalizing his abandonment, Ozymandias worked steadily in this Guildhall until the age of 20. Between this he picked up tricks and skills from the various warriors, both old and new that regularly sought employment. Over the years he had begun to notice the Guildmaster's lecherous eyes on the little girls that accompanied the warriors or merchants and a suspicion had sprouted from once-innocent memories of bruises and tears from his elder sister. Once he was sure of the Guildmaster's guilt, rage and darkness was born inside him. A few months later, the Guildmaster ended up dead and the Guildhall was razed to the ground.

Throughout the lonely years, Ozymandias realized a few things about himself. First was that he enjoyed killing; it soothed an ache inside of himself. It gave life to the Grim Jester. The second thing he understood was that anonymity was a gift. It hid, protected, and allowed for one to be themselves; unfiltered and unabashed. No one could judge what they did not truly see. Did not truly know. It was not until a bent-back peddler offered him The Mask did Ozymandias find his purpose. His sovereignty. To see the chaos unshackled in the hearts of those most grounded, most calm. To see fear breed into terror on the brows of those who feel the most secure.

Personality/motivation: Ozymandias is seemingly dual natured, fooling even himself at times. While normally meandering around as Ozymandias he comes across as quiet, disinterested, and mostly caring or kind. He easily helps out those in his immediate space, creating a sense of humaneness about him. He carries an old satchel around and typically has a book out to easily separate himself from others. As the Grim Jester he's more calculated, vocal, and cold. He wears his distaste for people like a veil, letting it flow here and there obviously. Every move and action taken is carefully thought out in order to inspire fear and plant chaos. Though lately he's found his motivations becoming grandiose. He wants people to understand a degree of his pain of abandonment while also creating a proper place for his newfound hobbies of murder and his fledgling dream of controlling others indefinitely.

Relations: N/A as of now. I'm open to suggestions.

Final Point - Secrets: His identity as The Grim Jester.

[Kazemitsu]

Hider

Name: Feng
Age: 29
Gender: Male

Faction/Allegiance: No one except those he Respects, currently Uk'Dhar.

Relic Description:
The relic is a perfect disc made of some sort of black metal. It looks to have glyphs carved into it along the outer edge from a long dead language.

• Strength: When the relic is activated his already impressive strength rises even further to frightening levels.
• Speed/Reflexes: Like his strength his speed and reflexes increase beyond normal human capabilities, which is a great boon for the giant.
• Endurance: His body toughens to the point he might as well not even wear armor when he has this aspect active, this includes being highly resistant to harsh elements.

Appearance:

Feng is a behemoth of a human male standing at six feet and eight inches tall with darkly tanned and heavily scarred skin. His eyes are gunmetal gray and set deep in his sockets, his heavy brow making them shadowed. In his portrait is his battle garb, normally he'd be wearing thick cloth pants and sleeveless shirt with a leather belt and boots. All of which are tan or brown.

Flaws:

• Stubborn: Sometimes seen as good, but he's very set in his way of thinking and how he does things and refuses to do otherwise.
• Angry: He's a very angry individual, thankfully it's kept in control, mostly about how he feels people are blinded by unquestioning faith.
• Blunt: He says things as bluntly as possible, going right to the point without using soft language. Very undiplomatic.
• Anti-Social: He's not one for large groups of people, or people in general really.
• Reactionary: Sometimes he reacts to things without thinking, commonly in a violent manner, which can cause many issues.
• Violent: He's a violent man and will choose to use actions instead of words. Like punching a noble in the snoz for a verbal slight.

Skills:

• Craftsman: Due to living alone for a long time he has learned to craft his own things. Weapons, Armor, Utilities, his cabin, and furniture.
• Weapon Use: He knows his way around various melee weapons. He found they follow a lot of the same attack patterns and abuses this, like using an axe like one would a sword.
• Herbalist: He lives in the wilds, through trial and error he has learned the properties of various plants and what they might be useful for.
• Tracking: He can track to a degree, it's not his best skill though.
• Fisticuffs: When all else fails, a good punch to the face is always a good thing. Through all the brawls he has been n he has learned effective ways of giving a beat down and avoiding one himself. This includes grappling and wrestling.
• Rage: It's less of a skill and more of a...situational capability. He can trigger and use his often hidden anger to improve his physical capabilities like taking more hits without feeling it and hitting harder with fist or weapon.

Biography:
Feng genuinely doesn't talk about his past much unless it's related to something going on right now. He chose the life of a hermit in the northern mountains of Azukhar. Really he came from Kingdom of Cellhád but he wasn't one for toeing the line and trying to prove himself for some usurp-able position. He had no desire for those kinds of politics, or politics in general. So he moved far north. The harsh wilderness tempered the youthful Feng during his travels, and when he settled down it only got better.

He knew he was on top of the dwarven communities, he rarely traded with them when he truly needed something. Most of his time spent in the mountains was spent on digging into the stone for ores, crafting various weapons to fill what time wasn't spent mining, and surviving. He could hunt and trap just not very well, there were stories of a giant man wrestling bears in nearby villages.

One day was special though, while he was mining his pick struck something with a immense shower of sparks. He discovered some sort of black-ish coin with little glyphs along its edge. Upon touching it a strange warmth coursed through his body. Something magic was at work but he didn't think much of it and pocketed the coin to inspect. He had work to do, and strangely seemed to have more energy to continue working.

It wasn't until a few weeks later he was figuring out what was happening, the Coin was doing something magical to him. But magic was outlawed, not that the laws really applied out in the mountains. He was starting to wonder if magic was as terrible a thing as that church spewed back when he was traveling through the kingdoms. So being the hermit revel he was he began practicing use with the Coin Relic to learn what it could do.

Luckily the Relic was simplistic and didn't take very long to figure out. It boosted his physical capabilities, one at a time, for as long as he had energy to sustain it. This wasn't a bad thing, so he had to wonder again why that church was so adamant about these things being evil. He was already a self imposed exile, so what would it hurt to investigate. He had no social standing to lose. So blocking up his cavernous home, his mining was to make a cave, with a giant boulder he left the mountains to get answers. Logical answers.

Personality/motivation:
Feng is a simple man mostly driven by survival. Living a life mostly in solitude in the cold northern mountains does not exactly build, or reveal, a sound mind. He's quiet and wary, if paid attention to they'd notice (if they could see his eyes) that they'd be in constant motion looking at people and looking for exits to a room. Despite his wary nature, and probably not being of sound mind, he can be a fairly kind man. He's just...brusque in his ways of showing it.

When he's provoked however the wariness is gone, and so is any form of kindness. Anger ensues, which leads to him lashing out. Many would call it childish behavior, meeting words with violence. Feng calls it "Not dealing with fancily worded bullshit." He meets verbal slights against him, or those he may come to care about, with physical violence. Physical slights, well they get violence as well but it's ramped up to ten. He utterly hates being touched without his permission, but if it's a greeting (hand shake, forearm grab, etc) or a friendly gesture he lets it slide.

Despite living in the mountains he has been growing more curious the more he hears about The Order of The Third Moon and why people so blindly follow it. He didn't believe magic to be something to be scared of, it was just another tool in the worlds arsenal.

Relations: Currently None.

Final Point - Secrets: Given the amount of scars no one would notice one on his chest. His Relic is actually between his skin and muscle and is barely noticeable.

[josephb]

Leofric

Name: Leofric Hallard
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Faction/Allegiance: Yellowmoor
Relic Description: A silver ring with a single emerald encrusted into it. The ring has the ability to slow down time.
Appearance:
Flaws: Leofric is a very cautious man, sometimes he’ll be a bit too slow to react to a situation if it means getting someone into danger. With his age, his strength and speed are just not as good as they once were.
Skills: Leofric as spent most of his life practising with all weapon types and he can easily handle himself in a fight. He also has basic hunting and smithing skills. His main trait would be his charisma seeming to make people who follow him very loyal to him.
Biography: The family of Hallard was a well-respected family from the city of Greytry but not one of real note. Occasionally one would become a somewhat high-ranking member in the army or another may have become a lawyer but rarely have any influence in the big picture of the capital city of Etrid. Leofric was the last son in the line of the Hallard’s with his mother dying in childbirth and his Father not bothering to marry again.

As the years went on and Leofric went from being a child to a teenager, it was clear to see that he would rise high in whatever he did, being intelligent and charismatic. He picked skills up quick and could influence people to do what he wanted. His favourite activity was archery though, he wasn’t the best archer but it was what he loved doing. On his sixteenth birthday he enlisted into the army to the annoyance of his father who wanted him to become a lawyer like himself believing Leofrics talents were wasted just being some common fighter. For years he learned how to fight with the sword and how to fight in cavalry practising his skills. Year after year he rose quickly in the army, mainly due to the fact he was one of the few members in the army who could actually read and write making him perfect for command along with his talent for leading people as well.

In his mid-twenties he fell in love with a woman named Bethany and a few years later they were married, some years after that Bethany gave birth to twins a year before Leofric had turned thirty. They seemed like the model family for Greytry. A commander in the army from a well-known house with his wife who was a healer and they’re son and daughter were perfect to them.

Six years later Leofric was in command of around a hundred men to deal with a small uprising in a town a few days ride from the capital. Everything seemed to be going fine and it looked like Leofric was on his way to being one of the biggest commanders of Greytry but that’s when he received the news of the imprisonment of his wife. On his way back after he put down the starts of a rebellion one of his men who had stayed at the barracks had ridden as fast as they could to Leofric and told him how a cleric from the Order of the Third Moon had arrested Bethany and taken away their children claiming that Bethany was a Witch and had been using witchcraft to be healing people instead of prayer. Leofric with around twenty of his men rode as fast as they could to Greytry to defend his wife from the accusations against his family.
When he arrived at the city, one of the gates was opened and he was let him with his men, but that’s when he found out what had happened. The love of his life had been burned alive before she was even given a trial, his father had been stabbed to death when he tried to stop what was going on and Leofric was now wanted for harbouring witches. A friend had warned him there wouldn’t be a trial though and he’d just be killed straight away and he was told to get out of the city and flee. Leofric couldn’t leave without his children though and was told the cleric who’d accused his wife had them. A few of his men went with him not wanting to leave him on his own to retake his children. They reached the mansion were and a small skirmish happened at the gates and Leofric and his men managed to get inside. Leofric found the cleric praying in a finely decorated room covered in silks and tapestries, everything seemed to be covered in jewels and gold. The cleric was unrecognizable after Leofrics anger took over him butchering him over and over again with an axe. On an alter in the corner of the room was a small box. Leofric walked over and opened it without thinking and took the one item that was in there, it was a ring. As fights continued through the mansion Leofric searched for his children. The mansion had caught fire from some candles being knocked over. Leofric found his son in one of the rooms on his own but he couldn’t find his daughter and his son didn’t know what room his sister was in. The flames started to get bigger and started to engulf the mansion. His men dragged him out when there was no way to check the more into the mansion. They fled the city and rode for the Great plains knowing they were all wanted now, some had managed to get their wives and children before the assault on the mansion to gather supplies and horses just outside of Greytry.

When they reached the Great Plains there was around thirty of them in total. After a few weeks of moving around looking for a place to set up and live in they arrived at a small motte and bailey with a wooden palisade. Speaking to the ruler who called himself ‘The Lord of Yellowmoor’ he allowed the refugees to move into the small town. They moved in there and made it their home, away from the grasp of The Order. It took years for Leofric to get over the loss of his wife and daughter. It was two years later when he found out what the ring did. When he found out the ring slowed time, his depression only worsened believing that his daughter was left in the mansion and he could have saved her if he’d only used the ring. As his son got older, his son talked more and more of going back to Greytry to look for his sister believing she wasn’t in the house. Leofric believed it was a stupid dream.

The years went by quickly in Yellowmoor, with little happening. There was the odd skirmish with some bandit groups but nothing the town couldn’t handle. Leofric spent most of the time learning how to smith iron making basic weapons and armour but nothing as strong or as exquisitely intricate that he used in Greytry. Some of his days were spent hunting different types of animals with there not being much food from crops with the lands mainly uncultivated. Leofric thought this would how he’d end his days until his son left in the middle of the night with a few of his friends, rumours said they he was heading to Greytry to track down his sister.

Personality/motivation: These days Leofric is a quiet person, thinking instead of speaking. Just because he doesn’t speak much, doesn’t mean he likes being alone though. He loves listening to his friends speak and joke with each other. His main motivations are to try and keep his people safe, especially his son.
Final Point – Secrets: Seeing that it’s been many years people would more than likely not recognize him.

[BigPapaBelial]

Q'Ral Dinrah

Name:Q'Ral Dinrah
Age: 46
Gender: Male Troll, hidden under a large set of furs and leathers to appear like a very large human
Faction/Allegiance: Troll and Orc Clan Ixalarah from Northern Cellhád

Relic Description: Ixalarah Sceptre - A sceptre or club made from a large double fist sized onyx stone, supported by a birch wood handle, reinforced by black iron loops around the handle and head.

-Confers upon the wielder enhanced speed and agility.
-Gives the wielder increased durability.
-Allows the wielder to cast healing and support magics. The most powerful of which is an Aura of Well-Being that can bring a grievously wounded person back to their feet. This does not heal them but allows them to ignore their pain and wounds.

Appearance:

Standing a solid 7 feet and 3 inches tall. Q'ral is actually a rather non-descript Troll to be honest. There is very little to make him unique from the basic green-grey Troll variety he hails from. Tall, thick skinned, brawny bodies that make up the most of Troll and Orc physiology. When he's not trying to pass as a remarkably tall human, he wears the classic furs, leathers and hand stitched wool or cotton clothing that the Troll and Orc clans are known for. His colours of furs tend to be wolven grey, with leathers dyed black or grey.

Currently to allow him to pass through lands where he may lose the relic of his clan, he's wearing an immense mantle and cloak of furs and leathers. Visible furs is one Dire Wolf, and a Kodiak bear. A hood with the wolf head sewn onto it shades his face. It's a disguise so he can safely move about the Human, Elven and Dwarven lands.

Flaws:

Troll-Orc Logic - Trolls and Orcs as a race operate on a more primal understanding of life. So alot of things that Humans, Elves and Dwarves do, well let's face it seem strange and down right odd to him. Sitting at a bistro or a restraurant and pay for food to be served to you for instance. Why not just go hunt, skin, gut and cook your own food?

Something on the air - Having grown up in Troll and Orc country which is cleaner then most lands, well the scent of cities is odd. Makes him a little leery of entering cities and large towns.

Personal space? - Trolls and Orcs are very tactile beings, they touch, and feel and worry at things to get an idea of their use or material, yeah suddenly having a large Troll paw reach up to stroke your cheek. Strange.

Raaargh! - Even the most calm of Orc or Troll Shamans and Earthcallers will lose their temper sometimes. And a berserking Troll or Orc is something to behold.

Skills:

Trollish Earthcaller - The Priesthood of the Orc and Troll Clans. Trolls and Orcs who commune with the earth and the ancestors there to gain insight and answers to questions.

Trained in living off the land

Trollish sculptor - Using his claws and hands to mold and push stone, and mineral into shape.

Orc/Troll Physiology - Orcs are hardy bastards, Trolls on the other hand are big powerful behemoths with the interesting ability to treat earth and stone like it's peanut butter, carving through it with claws and hands with ease. They are also prone to throw rages in times of great pain or danger, often to their own detriment, often leading to their own deaths, but in those moments of Super-Charged Fight or Flight, the Fight is so strong they can lay low dozens maybe hundreds before they fall under it all.

Herbal Medicine - Living among the Earthcallers has given Q'Ral a knowledge of herbs that can heal, ease pain, and if mixed right cause pain.

Biography: Q'Ral was brought up among the Orc and Troll Clans. One of the Beast Races of the world of Azukhar. Great groups of strong warriors, might shaman, deep delving miners and seekers of peace with land and magic. The great Orcs and Trolls don't shy from danger, but don't go looking for it most of the time either. Though there is always that black sheep who specializes in war and might.

But Q'Ral is not like that. From day one he'd always found the quiet of a mountain meadow or cool of stone to be better companions then a hard sword or the feel of blood. His was a world of sculpting with marble and speaking with the ancestors through hard work and feeling the earth around him. As a young Troll he'd stride across his Clan's land to find new deposits of stone and minerals. And the Miners would come to look and dig forth great hunks of amethyst or semi precious metal to bring back and fashion into great works for the clan or sell to the finer folks in the cities. As Q'Ral grew he took more and more to the ways of the Earthcaller, the so called priesthood of the Trolls and Orcs. Those that would spend time in the mountain crags speaking with the Ancestors of Old Great Ages. Seeking wisdom and answers to Clan questions.

It was well he was on a stroll in the mountains that he found his calling as an Earthcaller. He'd found a crevasse, deep and old, moss crawling all up and down it's sides, and way down below an old underground river raging. He'd started to climb down, his hands gauging great hunks of stone from the wall as hand and foot holds. But then he slipped. Perhaps it was a hidden hunk of iron he hadn't counted on. But something made one of his handholds not be a handhold and he plunged. Missing great spikes and sharp stone until he landed in the water below. And swept away in it's current. He worked to keep his head above water as the crevasse became a cave and then that cave closed up above his head. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop his tumbling in the water. Until as he feared he'd be carried into some angry Underdark. He saw a light. Above, he kicked and heaved, and thinking his air would run out before he reached it he thrust his hand up and through the darkened water and the light he thought he saw two Orcs and a Troll. They reached in and pulled him up. But he passed out. And when he woke a fire was beside him for warmth and a rough map showing him the way out, and a note reading, "We watched you. Would be a shame to lose such a good Earthcaller." Signed with the name of his clans founders Hadal Ixnal, T'ik Alarax and Brok Dinrah.

The story he told when he returned, was almost unbelievable to the Clan, that their great founders fromm the early second age would come back to save one single Troll. Preposterous. But some of the other older Earthcallers. They knew. They understood. Q'Ral would find himself inducted into their ranks soon after. Soon being relative as it took four years of training.

It was a decade later though at 40 that he would be gifted the Ixalarah Sceptre, for the next Great Earthcaller, first among peers. When the current one retired or passed, Q'Ral would take his place.

But while he waited, he decided he wanted to travel abit. And despite some of his clanmates saying it wasn't a good idea he decided to head for Soft-folk lands. The lands of the Humans and Elves. Maybe visit the Dwarves. Fellow delving folk.

Personality/motivation:

Among Trolls and Orcs, Q'Ral is kind, watchful and caring. He takes his responsibilites as a healer and a Earthcaller seriously. But as there are usually many Earthcallers among a clan he is at the moment free of his duties. He is among the Passing Earthcallers, those who help with deaths and funerals and the clan is hale and hearty.

He's also still got a little bit of wanderlust in him. So this has brought on the trip into the Soft-folk lands. Wanting to learn somethings about their lifestyles. Just to say he didn't spend his entire life int he hills and mountains of the Orcs and Trolls.

Relations: Most of Q'Ral's family is back in Cellhád. So there are few Trolls and Orcs between Cellhád and Uk'Dhar that he may be related too. And even in Uk'Dhar there may be no Ixalarah Clansmates at all.

Final Point - Secrets:

-With the abundance of larger then normal people in the world, it would not be immediately obvious that the disguised Q'Ral is a Troll. (General Player base secret)