Character Sheets can be found below. Before being posted here, characters should be explicitly approved by the GM
Character Name__ _ _ _ _
A G E | G E N D E R | L O Y A L T Y | G I F T | C A L L I N G__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
A description of your character's appearance, motivation, and personality.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
A description of your character's life, experiences, and circumstances up to this point.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
A description of items regularly in your character's possession or owned by them.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
A description of your character's abilities with The Gift, Five Wheels rating, favoured schools, and how they're used.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Three ❖ to four ❖ of these ❖ go here
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Three ❖ to four ❖ of these ❖ go here
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Your character's hex code and any other miscellaneous information. Feel free to use bullet points. ❖ hex code
[color=6B8E23][h1][u][color=A52A2A]C[/color]haracter [color=A52A2A]N[/color]ame[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h1] [img]Character Image[/img] [sub][h3][u]A G E[/u] | [u]G E N D E R[/u] | [u]L O Y A L T Y[/u] | [u]G I F T[/u] | [u]C A L L I N G[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub]
[sub][h3][u]C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] [i]A description of your character's appearance, motivation, and personality.[/i]
[sub][h3][u]B A C K G R O U N D[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] [i]A description of your character's life, experiences, and circumstances up to this point.[/i]
[sub][h3][u]I N V E N T O R Y[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] [i]A description of items regularly in your character's possession or owned by them.[/i]
[sub][h3][u]T H E G I F T[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] [i]A description of your character's abilities with The Gift, Five Wheels rating, favoured schools, and how they're used.[/i]
[sub][h3][u]S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] ❖ [i]Three[/i] ❖ [i]to four[/i] ❖ [i]of these[/i] ❖ [i]go here[/i]
[sub][h3][u]W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] ❖ [i]Three[/i] ❖ [i]to four[/i] ❖ [i]of these[/i] ❖ [i]go here[/i]
[sub][h3][u]C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R[/u]__ _ _ _ _[/h3][/sub] [i]Your character's hex code and any other miscellaneous information. Feel free to use bullet points.[/i] ❖ [i][color=A52A2A]hex code[/color][/i][/color]
2 6 | M A L E | P A R R E N C E | F O R C E & T H U N D E R | K N I G H T / W I Z A R D__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Newly crowned crowned king of the Parrench, Arcel is an enigma to all but those closest to him. He appears a thoughtful and steadfast young man, devout in faith and just in deed. Open to counsel, he is nonetheless resolute in his course once it is set. Rarely is Arcel's blood seen to run hot, though his voice is often raised in quip or jape, as his humour is almost invariably good. Indeed, he hears praise for this from the Somnian order. His is the calm of one chosen by Dami to lead. There are those who whisper that it is all-but unnatural. A young man should have passions. He should make mistakes! Yet, even they would admit that they are glad of his readiness to take the throne and lead so well at such a green age. At all times, this young ruler comports himself in a manner befitting his position.
Yet there may be more to the king than there appears. Many call him Arcel the Blessed, for it is almost without doubt that he is Dami's favourite son, or else beloved of Vyshta in the eyes of his handful of yasoi subjects. The near constant good fortune that follows him through life simply cannot be explained by mundane acts of man and nature. Truly, it stretches even the bounds of magic. Everything goes Arcel's way: at least personally. In battle, otherwise brave enemy soldiers turn coward miles from encountering him, bowstrings snap, castle foundations crack, roots trip charging knights, and swords stick in scabbards. In the palace, there has never been a conspiracy that he has not rooted out, but these are remarkably few. Always, even the most insidious of schemers seem to feel remorse when within the walls of Solenne. On the sea, storms seem to dissipate before he can sail through them and even shoals seem to collapse or make way for the vessel on which he travels. Truly, Arcel the Blessed is a holy man.
And yet, the young king remains in a constant state of readiness. One can feel the constant glow of energies, bound together in an almost yasoi fashion, that seem to follow him. He is always drawing, always prepared and, more than once, it has saved - if not his own life - the lives of his friends, family, and allies. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but Arcel the Blessed, First of his name, King of Parrence, wears it with the utmost grace and dignity.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
While most people in the present recognize Arcel as 'Blessed' and supreme in his good fortune, this was not always the case. Born third child and second son to King Rouis of Ile de Parrence, his boyhood would see the relatively large domain of his father expand to eventually encompass what are now the borders of the modern Parrench state. Through sword, trade, and diplomacy, the various duchies, counties, and lesser kingdoms were brought to heel and the two princes and princess lived in awe of their father.
Yet for all of the king's triumphs, it seemed as if the second son's young life compensated by way of tragedy. First came the death of his brother Laurent shortly before Arcel's seventh birthday, elevating him to the position of heir presumptive. It is not known for certain what impact this had on the boy, and the man does not speak of it, but those who were close to him note that he became solemn and gravitated immediately and with great seriousness towards his newfound duty.
It was four months after his tenth birthday, when he was just starting to gain his first magic, that the crown prince fell while climbing a ruined stone watchtower. It was an old thing from the Avincian days that occupied a far corner of the castle grounds and a favourite spot for him, his sister Adeline, and many other children. While Arcel was able to recover, partly thanks to the immediate help of the royal Wizard of the Blood, he very nearly broke his neck. His father had the accursed structure torn down, but similar incidents of misfortune followed: a foot slipping out of the stirrup while climbing onto a horse caused the animal to bolt and nearly led to him being trampled, a trip on the stairs was only prevented from being disastrous by a passing knight's well-timed intervention, and a terrible frostbite from playing in the snow for too long on a hundri's day nearly cost him a few toes. The whispers that he was somehow cursed grew in volume until he heard them given firm voice by his own parents.
It is unknown what sickness took him that year, but it must have been a grave one, as King Rouis called, in confidence, upon the finest physicians and wizards that the realm had to offer. When they could not resolve the issue to their ruler's satisfaction, young Arcel found himself packed up and shipped off to Grands-Arbres to seek healing among the yasoi. Meanwhile, the Queen, close to her fortieth year, walked about heavily pregnant and, nine months after her son's departure, died in childbirth. The infant, a girl named Tiphanie, was stillborn and revived only through blood magic, ineligible to inherit. Told of the calamity, Arcel wished to come home and was forbidden from doing so. Thus, with an initially heavy but increasingly light heart, he lived among the yasoi within the towering cloud forests that they called home for three and a half years, until the day after his fourteenth birthday.
It is unknown precisely what took place there and even the normally affable yasoi remain tight-lipped about it, but the Arcel that returned seemed healed in body, mind, and spirit: ready and eager to take the reins as heir to the kingdom. For the next ten years, the youth would travel about the lands of the Parrench peoples, incorporating ever more into his father's growing kingdom. He personally brought the ferocious Tourrare of the Northeast steppes into the fold and he remains the only king to which their proud lords have willingly bowed since the days of the Avincians. He also took as his wife the brilliant and beautiful Eleanor of Nazaire, daughter of the powerful Duke Odo, bringing the expansive duchy and its vassal holdings into the realm and effectively ending the consolidation of the Parrench kingdom. Nine months after their wedding night, she produced twin children: Rouis, named for his grandfather, and Joan. In between her patronages of various religious orders, Eleanor began seeing immediately to their care and education.
Yet, with the ink on the writ of homage only recently dried and King Rouis' second crowning still under preparation, the old monarch found himself called to join Aun-Echeran in rest. The Eskandr, vile paiens that they are, did not even wait for the period of mourning to end, nor did they give a thought to the Gods in which they had chosen not to believe. On the first day of Loël, the holiest feast of the year, they poured over the Southern frontier, looting, raping, and murdering. The uncrowned king completed the final three days of the mourning period before casting off his black robes. If Arcel's manner was calm and steady, it was resolute. The Eskandr would ever prey upon the peace-loving peoples of Parrence if they were unable or unwilling to defend themselves. The southern barbarians were without morals or honour and needed to be routed so thoroughly that they would never march north again: so thoroughly that they would now be the ones to guard their borders in fear of Parrench hordes.
Crowned on the Ides of Verdi in the Cathédrale de l'Etoile Sacrée in the capital of Solenne, King Arcel now turns his wroth upon those who would harm his people and his realm and promises to fight them with every fibre of his being. In this great Holy War, one people will flourish and the other will fall. He is determined that his will be the former.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Kingly Articles, including the great seal of Parrence ❖ Longsword of the finest Mycormish steel, named Silver Ghost ❖ A rich coinpurse ❖ A trio of mysterious vials that serve an unknown purpose but are always on his person ❖ A brooch with the portraits of his dear children filigreed inside ❖ Horses galore, of the finest pedigree. His favourite is an ivory white plains charger named Éclair
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Wheel Rating: unknown (rumoured either very high or rather low depending on your source)
Schools: Essence, Force, and [REDACTED]
Unlike many of the noble caste who make a great show of lifting apples into their mouths at dinnertime, inducing their banners to flutter grandly, and warming the drinks of their ungifted allies, Arcel is rarely seen to put this set of abilities to use. Outside of more domestic uses, few have actually seen him fight, and scurrilous and unfounded rumours occasionally find whispered voice that perhaps the young king is not actually much use in war. There are some, however, who swear to have witnessed him on the battlefield. All that they warn is to never, ever make him angry. Fortunately, they amend, the king is a very patient man.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ When stirred to emotion, Arcel is a passionate and powerful speaker. ❖ The King is generally an excellent consensus builder. He is reasonable, gives the impression that he actually listens and, if all else fails, can rely on a commanding presence despite his young age. ❖ Arcel has received the finest of educations in both the mundane and the magical. He his very literate, well-spoken and read, and can communicate well in yasoi, Avincian, Drudgunzean, the Tourrare dialect, and some Eskandr in addition to his mother tongue. ❖ There is something subtle but unplaceable that makes it seem like a very unwise decision to set oneself against the king.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ In his fortress of stoicism, Arcel can often seem remote from the everyday concerns of his peers. ❖ There are rumours that his mysterious childhood illness is not truly cured but rather merely held at bay. ❖ Arcel's humble nature often precludes him from seizing opportunities that may come his way for fear of appearing arrogant. ❖ His degree of battle prowess is not widely known. This, compared with his young age and youthful appearance ensure that he does not command very much respect from his enemies (and even some potential or tentative allies).
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hex code: 00aeef
Talit'yrash'osmax__ _ _ _ _
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2 3 | F E M A L E | Y A S O I | F O R C E, S P A T I A L & B L O O D | D E R V I S H__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Talit is, in many ways, the most yasoi of yasoi imaginable. Tall, slim, and dark-haired, with large gold-green eyes and bold, colourful tetsoi, she is quite striking and stands out immediately in a crowd. She is perhaps closest to caricature in character for she is never not pacing, fidgeting, absorbed in multiple pursuits, or talking at someone regardless of whether they're even pretending to pay attention or not. Talit loves being amusing and original. She relishes those chances to show other people something fun or interesting. Her lust for adventure and intriguing experiences and possessions seems to know virtually no bounds, and she seems summarily unlikely to let anything get in her way. Overprotective older family members? That's Disney princess shit. A human race increasingly wary and unwelcoming of her people? A mere trope. Not a coin to her name? Slaying dragons makes you money... An entire missing leg? 'Tis but a flesh wound!
Well, that's the rub, isn't it? That last one's a bit of an inconvenience. On the surface, Talit (or Tali, as she's known to humans) just kind of takes it in stride and is able to stand on her own twofeet foot without much issue. She's really just putting her best foot forward, though, and I think you may be starting to get the picture of what she's like. Beneath the veneer of easygoing, self-deprecating good humour, having one leg does bother her a bit. Truth be told, it isn't even so much the disability - she's otherwise a magnificent physical specimen and has ample magic to compensate - it's the fact that it has to be such a big deal. She is, has been for a dozen years, and has also grudgingly accepted that she will probably always be recognized primarily as 'that one-legged lady' in the eyes of others. It also doesn't help when you come from a culture that assigns your middle name based on your most obvious characteristic or widely known deed. Talit is going to do something so great someday that they'll have to call her 'seramosh' (dragon slayer) instead of 'yrash' (one leg) once and for all.
Beyond being a slightly frustrated caricature of yasoiness, Tali is rather self-aware, especially by the standards of her people. She has strong opinions and strong opinions often cause conflict, so she has become a master of deflection and distraction: an offhand comment, a joke, a question about something that a conversational partner is passionate about. She has a whole repertoire of tricks: anything to avoid conflict or unpleasantness. Life is short (and even shorter for puny humans - ha!) and she's determined to enjoy every ounce of it. Like most of her people, Tali has a strong dislike for anyone who infringes upon the freedoms and safety of others, but she won't express it. A direct attack is often too costly and opens oneself up to harm. Sudden and absolute is the path to take. You finish your enemies without mercy and - if possible - before they even know that they're your enemies.
Truth be, told, though, Tali would really rather avoid making enemies at all. She was raised on the stories of epic journeys that her triple-great-grandmother told her. They were fodder for her young imagination and remain favourite subjects of her various paintings, alongside things that she encounters during everyday life. She'd like to see more, though, and do so safely. Tali often (semi)jokingly comments that she wishes she could snap her fingers, make herself empress of the world, and bring about a utopia. Sadly, she acknowledges that things just don't work that way. Maybe she could change them though. Maybe she should! The question just is... where to begin?
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
A child of prophecy...or not. Tali is secretly relieved that she's not some goddess incarnate. She'd like to stick around past age twenty-five. More coming soon!
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Belts, straps, and bandoliers galore ❖ A small pouch full of flavoured chicle gum from a Myxashim tree. She has learned not to chew while doing Dervish things. ❖ A brightly-coloured kerchief that a man she loves friend gave her years ago, when they were kids. ❖ A couple of rolled up pieces of parchment, a horsehair brush, and some oils to help make natural paints. ❖ A pair of 'cane crutches' which are basically just a primitive version of forearmcrutches. She goes through these like toothpicks and just uses her skill in Blood Magic to create more on demand. ❖ A coinpurse which, in theory, is full of coins. It's usually tucked somewhere hard for pickpockets to reach. ❖ A dagger tucked into her boot. Don't worry. It's mostly for mundane things. Mostly. ❖ Knapsack full of her Dervish gear when she's not wearing it and needs to bring it somewhere.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Wheel Rating: Fifth Wheel. Yup.
Magic Schools: Force, Blood, Spatial, Essence (in that order)
Tali was first identified as a prodigy with the Gift at about the age of nine. Since then, with some ups and downs, she has grown considerably in her ability to use it. Originally well over fifth wheel, it was believed by many that she was destined to be one of the Five Bringers since she was born in the right year as well. The loss of her leg and the blood that it held cost her close to a fifth of her mana and ended speculation that she might be any sort of deity.
That said, Tali is still both prodigiously strong and determined not to make the most of her Gift. It's not that there's some active antipathy. She's just chosen a path that doesn't focus on the independent use of magic. As a Dervish, she uses chains or cables (she prefers neither) to travel rapidly through forests, urban, and other elevated areas, rapidly uncoiling them with Force magic and launching them at obstacles. When anchored, she can pull herself instantly in three dimensions, moving with great speed and fluidity, detaching and reattaching from anchor points. In combat, she makes use of punch or kick-daggers, poisoned dart launchers, the chains themselves, and mid-length pop-out blades to compliment her movement and launch dizzying attacks from unexpected directions. Indeed, given the irrelevance of traditional locomotion, all of her extremities are tipped with weapons and, occasionally, even her elbows, knee, and stump. Unlike Dervishes of lesser power, often in the 1.5 - 3 range, Tali's ability to draw and create matter with Blood Magic allows her to rotate her weaponry in and out in moments and at will: crucial in making up for the disadvantage of having one less limb to work with. She often doesn't carry chains or cables either. After years of practice and a number of near-falls to her death, she has mastered the art of creating and dissolving these on demand and while in motion in a near-endless loop.
On open ground, Dervishes focus on creating an exclusion zone of whirling chains and blades, picking off approaching enemies and projectiles with these. In general, they must be excellent at keeping track of multiple stimuli at once, and Talit excels at this. While most are reliant upon switching out blades before combat, she once again uses her abilities with Blood Magic to simply reshape them. She puts these talents to further use, forming dagger-tipped chains that she will only whirl temporarily before releasing as projectiles at enemies, guiding them with Force Magic. Finally, she often modifies the chains themselves to either be great reverse 'sails', generating massive winds, or to be razor sharp blades, screaming along at over two hundred miles per hour, ready to scythe through anything within a radius of ten yards. Of course she can just clumsily use magic the traditional way too or... smack you with her crutches. Where's the fun in that, though?
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Three ❖ to four ❖ of these ❖ go here
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Three ❖ to four ❖ of these ❖ go here
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Your character's hex code and any other miscellaneous information. Feel free to use bullet points. ❖ Hex Code: 598527
44 | MALE | PARRENCE | FORCE & ESSENCE | BERSERKER__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Dauntless A man that’s seen and fought it all, very little can surprise or intimidate Arnaud, even the most sided of odds. With this comes an air of jovial confidence towards any sort of adversity, seeing such things as potential challenges to reinforce the notion of him being the strongest but also enhance his own arsenal. He is not easily rattled or provoked, like a Rhinoceros in its peaceful habitat.
❖ Unrelenting Whether in the battlefield or in the mundane, Arnaud doesn’t just stop. He finishes what he started, even if it takes everything from him. It is this desire to see everything to the end that he’s earned his notoriety as bloodthirsty and unstoppable. Very few have ever stopped Arnaud in his tracks, even in conversations.
❖ Deferential Arnaud is polite and greatly values manners. He often humbles himself when exchanging with others, friends and enemies alike, often giving off the impression he’s a gentle and jovial unit. All who have underestimated him have perished, however. He provides respect to all those he meets and even more so to those who defy him with shows of courage.
❖ Gluttonous Not only with food, though a big man like him’s gotta eat, but with anything that can be remotely pleasurable. Arnaud tends to do many things in excess with a minimal grasp of temperance. A residue of his life as a near-King, although he is never crude or inelegant about it.
A beast of a man coming in at 194 cm tall and slightly over 200 kg of pure might. Once somewhat leaner, the years have added to Aheri’s bulk, which has done nothing but enhance the absolute unit that he is. His dark hair and beard remain long and maintained, although shorter than his days as a warlord. He only wears his nose-ring as jewellery from his past life, a sign that he’s almost entirely integrated in Perrench culture, but couldn’t fully let go of some of his more ironic pieces to go along with his white, body-wide tattoos.
Nowadays he wears armour like many of his fellow knights, albeit with frequent sacrifices to his arms and legs to favour movement. The Lion’s crest is built upon most armour he wears. In a more casual setting, he is usually content with a typical brown robe with a mere rope at the waist to keep it together and a pair of regular trousers. He also doesn’t walk barefoot.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Uru Zuyr The Rhinoceros The Dusted Beard The Strongest Man in the World Aheri
Born Aroun Maobe, he was the first son of Beirut Maobe, the King of the Zuyr people. A people with deep roots in Belzagg, but had drifted into a more nomadic lifestyle that ultimately detached them from their feuding continent in search for more fertile lands. It is when the lands that would eventually become Virang that Beirut’s ambition flourished, and would be Aroun’s burden to bear after his death.
A powerful people, made strong by ceaseless conflict and raiding, led by a powerful leader had everything it needed to make something great of this land. However, when Aroun was just 15, his father would perish in battle, putting the Maobe family’s might into question. The young Aroun would gain the moniker of Aheri the day his older cousin sought to take the throne. A mage himself, far more versed in the arts than Aroun, and yet it would be the cousin’s skull that’d be obliterated between the teenage beast’s palms. For he was already a formidable fighter, and a behemoth of a man.
Might didn’t make everything, and while the Zuyr still valued a leader as the strongest, it would be only thanks to his brother, Bashir, that their father’s ambition would enter the realm of possibility. Aroun was the might, Bashir the strategist. Their endeavours would go one for almost twenty years, countless battles to slowly assimilate more and more of the birthing Virang, until they reached an impasse with the natives of the lands that would later become Malabash. They needed more. More hands, more resources, more weapons.
The Eskand menace in the South didn’t come to deaf ears, even far in the North, especially with the aggressive expansion made by the Zuyr and the trade routes they would begin to open. An opportunity both Aroun and Bashir saw. With Parrence nearly crippled by the southern raids, the northern border was ripe for the picking by yet a new menace, also versed in raids. Albeit, one way over its head.
The first year, it was easy picking. Especially with Aheri the warlord spearheading the assaults, most champions stood no chance. It seemed dire for the fragilized empire. When Aheri came to sack and claim one of the small vassalized islands, he would be confronted by an all too familiar sight: A legion of armoured men ready to die with their commander having no chance against him.
What he didn’t account for was the lieutenant taking charge when the head of the defensive force was killed. A young, likely foolhardy rider Aroun would eliminate in a single hit. And yet he couldn’t help but respect the man with the Lion emblem. It is said that a mighty battle ensued, both sides clashing and no victor emerging for a good hour. Very few lived to tell the tale, but the Lion had managed to sink his teeth into the unstoppable rhino’s neck and subdued him. An impossibility, to be sure, and yet the raiding party’s numbers had completely dwindled, and Aheri was surrounded, slashed and impaled. The monster of the north had been stopped in his tracks by one many would simply call ‘The Lion Knight’.
Whether by genuine entrapment or stubbornness, Aheri was captured and his men either fled or were finished off. A prisoner of the Lion and a useful political tool to repulse the northern raids. They had their king, or at least former king, as he would end up disgraced like his father had after death. He was no longer their King by sheer might, or at least that is what Aheri believed. The times had changed, Bashir had brought prosperity without the need of archaic, tribalistic shows of might, but Aroun would no longer be their King. He would not accept it, for he was now a burden to his people.
With the threat of the South persisting and the North quelled now that their royal blood was kept as a ward, King Arcel considered it a waste to keep Aheri imprisoned. His might was renown and his experience crucial. And with that came an accord: He was to follow the strongest, as his people always did, which was the very King that the Lion served. A solemn oath of fealty, serving as a royal advisor and executioner to the king. And in exchange, a chance at redemption as a disgraced King. A great ally could be made of the Zuyr should they accomplish their wild but promising goal of founding their own nation. The promise of royal backing of Bashir’s endeavours was made between two men- not representatives of nations or royals, men who stared each other in the eyes without chains or guard. And swore to one another.
The young king reminded Aroun of himself in some way. Young, underestimated and carrying a massive burden, yet fearless to the threat ahead- fearless toward the Aheri himself. To this day, the now newly baptised Arnaud Maobe has only knelt to two: The Lion, and his King. The two living men that have his full respect. He carries out his promise day by day, fully accustomed to the culture of Parrence. Right up to the very Pentad being accepted in his life.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Le Détroit - A massive battle axe with a pointed tip to double as a spear. The design is very Perrench, though the shape of the spear resembles his own weapon’s unique form in his chieftain days. It is weathered on one side, a testament to how much it’s been used, both in combat and as a tool for executions.
❖ Suhu’Ali - A sleeping drug. A small dose of this powder can help most go to sleep. A full blow of it to the face can put an elephant to sleep.
❖ Mkobo - A hallucinogenic drug used recreationally by his people. Arnaud doesn’t consume the stuff, but has used it against his enemies in the past and sometimes offers it to battle-scarred comrades to help them find some peace.
❖ Sidi - A pain drug. Used to dull pain, although needs to be dosed correctly at the risk of paralysis or even heart failure.
❖ Majini - A wicked drug used to ‘manipulate’ others. Some consider it a curse that even a gris-gris can’t help with. When eaten, it puts the victim into a frenzy where they often exhaust themselves to death and sometimes even enter fits of murderous rage. Small doses have been used to greatly enhance the brutality of soldiers in battle.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Third Wheel - Force & Essence - Leadvein
Arnaud never had any true initiation in the Gift beyond traditions that existed in his faction’s culture. Nonetheless, with his propensity for fighting and exceptional physical might long his bloodright as a Leadvein, he naturally developed the Force branch of mana, first using it to essentially enhance his already mighty blows, and now his very stomps have the potential to generate small-scale earthquakes and shockwaves. Loud battlecries that can repulse even fully armoured men too close to him are some of the fearsome things some have told about the Aheri.
Destroyer of the earth, generator of storms (massive air currents generated through Force magic), the moniker of ‘Strongest Man in the World’ can’t really be contested with factoring this facet alone. As a Leadvein, he has a natural talent for assimilating 'Force', being Kinetic energy, and utilizing it in destructive ways with little risk of harming himself.
His secondary Gift branch is Essence, a common one found among the top mages in the Zuyr people. It is almost entirely internal to the caster with rare hallucinogenic purposes applied to the enemy. Aheri uses it mainly in two ways: Self-enhancement, which has led him to develop his own unique ‘buff’ in recent years, and creation of drugs typically found in his culture.
❖ The Lion’s Triumph: An homage to the one man who bested him. Aheri roars in a similar fashion to a lion, causing a surge of adrenaline and other potent substances to course through his being before ground himself in a grand earthquake. His sweat becomes steam and his body becomes particularly hot. Now every step and strike he only lightly winds up is capable of causing massive seismic blasts for a brief period. He is also quite faster.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Absurd Physical Might Even without the Gift, Arnaud has been known to stop Rhinos in their tracks with only his hands. Coupled with great proficiency with many spear and axe-like weapons, he is a threat to even strong mages without using an ounce of mana. It is said his grip is so great, he can crack rocks with it.
❖ Very Fast for his Size When he starts running, very little can stop him, and he continuously gains momentum. But even in the heat of the moment, he catches many off-guard with how quick he can land some strikes, even if he isn’t going to be dodging many attacks himself (Mobility =/= swift attacks).
❖ Battle-hardened Moulded by hundreds of battles, a man like this has the willpower few can compare to. Not only has his decision making improved with the passage of time, but he can withstand the worst of odds and come out on top no matter how arduous the path is.
❖ Cultured From Belzagg to West Severa to Rettan, Arnaud has made his mark in many places, and not always as a conqueror or raider. He is versed in many cultures that surround Virang and can hold conversational-level exchanges with many languages common in the area.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Tunnel-Visioned Once he’s fixated on something, it’s hard to distract him, especially if he’s worked up. Though even mundane curiosities can get him caught up in spirals of exaggerated interest for an entire day.
❖ Collateral Damage A man that’s known for generating earthquakes and laying entire lands to waste through sheer might is bound to be a hazard to allies and foes alike.
❖ Winded He’s fat and getting old. His stamina isn’t what it used to be, which some can definitely use to their advantage if they’re bold enough to tire him out.
❖ Illiterate Scholarly work was not for him, he was a warrior and operated through doing things. His brother was the wittier of the two. He does understand some texts in Perrench, more so out of crude memorization and actual reading ability, from his conversion. Surprisingly, his lingo is actually not that bad, as he has a pretty good memory.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hex code: 7F4C20 ❖ He remembers the name and face of every opponent he has fought and killed.
Sasha de la Estepa__ _ _ _ _
23 | S E C R E T | P A R R E N C E | T H U N D E R - E S S E N C E - B L O O D | K N I G H T R I D E R__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
[ Tourrare ]
Born as a surprise (and unlikely) second child to a huntsman and his wife, Sasha was the second child of a Tourrare family that would end up joining houses with a renown Lord of the tribe. Like many of their kind, Sasha is thoroughly knowledgeable and experienced with animals, especially horses, and is frequently seen tending to the largest ones.
Their place among the Tourrare society is unique, however, as they seldom interact with others while the obscure but spreading myth of the Golden Blood spreads outside the lands in which their people live. Unlike their people, Sasha is generally seen as inauspicious and avoidant of others, whether outsiders or fellow Tourrare, with minimal regard for status or cultures. It is a surprise that they have lived this long as such a recluse and outlier.
[ Squire of the Lion ]
One thing that always captivated Sasha was the existence of exceptionally large or exceptionally small creatures. To ever discover these mesmerising beings, they would have to discover the world - a terrifying notion to the reclusive and discreet Sasha. This wanderlust that clashed with their innate revulsion for a break in the comfortable routine has brought them to becoming a pupil to the Tourrare’s most promising warrior, and their brother-in-law, Asier Arslan. Although the rapport between Sasha and Asier had been budding about as long as he had been close friends with Giselle, their sister, allowing for the now veteran of the battlefield to easily relate to the challenges brought by Sasha’s temperament and quirks.
[ The Kitten Knight ]
Baptised the “Kitten Knight'' as a humorous jab to their position as a Squire to the Lion (and that they’re smaller than Asier), Sasha is neither a Knight (yet) nor harnesses the awesome powers of kittens. It is interesting to note that cats do seem to be attracted to Sasha and will frequently demand food while mounting their shoulders. They have little aversion to it, if not sometimes overwhelmed by the numbers. These creatures are nice, predictable and don’t make them question their actions. Unlike people. They still don’t quite understand the purpose of this moniker or any humour behind it.
[ An Immovable Rider ]
Few have ever seen what lies behind the layers of metal, mail and padding that protect Sasha from the world. The weight of such a getup does not appear to bother them, and if anything is something sought after with Thunder and Essence Magics keeping the extreme nature of it under control. All that protection and the helm elevate Sasha to about 5 feet and 7 inches, however their natural height is closer to 5 feet and 3 inches. Pale but healthy skin can sometimes be seen in the rare occasion Sasha removes their armour - usually for blood ministration - but little else is known about their appearance beyond the reflections of slightly golden hues beneath the cracks of their helm. Heavy and efficient at blocking out noises, it is a safe haven for an easily overwhelmed creature like Sasha.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Sasha was a surprise to their family, coming a handful of years after their sister, Giselle, to a family that had been trying to conceive a male heir. Ultimately, whether Sasha’s very sex was in accordance would matter little, as their development would prove to be difficult to the family, leaving them to see Giselle’s childhood friend and future groom to be their son figure. Nonetheless, despite their odd nature and peculiar physical features such as their eye colour, Sasha was accepted among their people.
A recluse for most of their childhood, it was said that Sasha only began to communicate verbally at the age of five and actively avoided others. Especially during gatherings - they were overwhelming. Still, it did not take long for the oddities surrounding Sasha to attract attention, and eventually the unveiling of their miraculous “golden” blood. It was known that, in rare occurrences, mages could be born with immense resilience to afflictions which first appeared to be Sasha’s case but the additional phenomenon had yet to be documented: The blood could greatly accelerate healing when ingested by another.
The Tourrare believed in an envoy of Aun-Oraphe, although the Holy See was very reluctant to concede any such notion to a tribe that had always been poorly regarded by the rest of Parrence. Nonetheless, with more attention on Sasha came more consideration for the person by their entourage. With a wheel test and surprising knack for mimicking her teacher’s, Asier’s, Thunder, it was deemed more than beneficial to make due with Sasha sometimes overwhelming quirks with the promise of a formidable boon for the Tourrare. Although perhaps their brother-in-law simply wished for Sasha to get as big of a chance at life as they could.
Sasha remained blissfully disconnected from the geopolitical machinations of outsiders, having almost never left their steppe. Their daily life consists of handling beasts, training and ensuring the peace in their people’s territory while always wearing those heavy, clunky layers of metal armour before stepping outside. A tranquil existence if not increasingly stressful with the prolonged absence of their mentor who had gone to the war. When the news of Asier’s potential capture reached home, however, a promise was made to his wife in daughter: Sasha would bring him back, lest they never show their face again from under their iron helm.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Aun-Ipté’s Embrace: A massive amalgamation of metals used to form Sasha’s armour, mostly composed of iron. It is all managed and kept in one piece with a constant magnetic field that can be felt when close.
❖ L'Alabarda de la Estepa Daurada: A long, iron halberd with gold ley lines that trance through the bar right up to the tip and blade. Very good synergy with Thunder Magic.
❖ Hierbamonte’s Bulwark: A large, circular shield with brass coating that could almost be called a tower shield.
❖ Arriscat: Sasha’s Hierbamonte Horse, a massive mare standing over 220 cm, generally used for field work and heavy carriage work. Not a very fast beard but has the strength, stamina and back to handle a heavy rider and heavy armour.
❖ Segu: A dwarf cat species gifted to Sasha from a Djamantese noble that was treated with their blood. It is as small as a kitten and often seen on their shoulder. It remained home, but Sasha kept a crude drawing in their helmet.
❖ Vemonankh, the Staff of Perdition: A Hegelan-made staff found in the Tyrannus Gehenna’s hoard in Mont Errant. A staff that increases efficiency in charge drawing and thunder magic casting. It is considered to be of very high quality, just shy of the best. A strong offset to one of Sasha’s weaknesses.
❖ Tyrannus Monsigneus Egg: Acquired in Mont Errant with the staff, it is believed to hatch soon. It has been trusted to the Tourrare forces that came with Asier and survived.
Sasha, despite being a recluse, was quick to learn anything that involved the Gift with a strong inclination for Thunder and Essence magics. In theory, they can use all five schools to some degree, but three are their main focuses:
❖ Thunder: Sasha’s strongest spells reside here. Most of her notions were acquired by the tutelage of their brother-in-law and do not disappoint. Whether it’d be magnetism of lightning strikes, they can do most of it.
La Llança de Echeran-Zept: Most of Sasha’s gathered charges are focused onto their spear, making for very strong spatial compression, making for a devastating strike. The magnetic field that keeps their armour stable with some pieces made to levitate around them to more easily gather charges. Until Sasha’s next attack, a lower dice than normal is used to defend (cannot defend allies too). In exchange, the next attack will be a level higher. This limit can be removed by spending a turn charging the spell (no movement), disallowing defending of allies. With the Staff of Perdition, a coin flip can determine if this charge is skipped.
El Mur de Oraphe-Zept: Energy is drawn and converted into thunder magic that re-enforces that bonds of the iron worn by Sasha and eases swift intervention when an ally is in danger (with their massive shield). Sasha’s defence roll increases a level but the offensive roll takes a penalty as this considerably slows them down. They can use their normal defense roll to protect an ally this round too, but cannot attack or have attacked this round. So long as the horse is at play, a 4 dice with the winning result being 4 can get an additional defense in.
❖ Essence: Focused mainly in internal magics, especially on themself, Sasha orients her efforts in keeping the soft, little creature hiding inside the armour safe. It is also a school of magic that isn’t too negatively affected by their blood type.
La Sang de l’Or d’Oraphe: Sasha’s abnormal blood, stemming from both their mana type and a unique mutation in the actual blood cells, has strong healing qualities but loses its strength after a few minutes outside of the body, making it only useful fresh. A coin flip will determine whether Sasha refuses treatment or allows part of their body to be exposed to offer their blood.
❖ Blood: Sasha will mainly use this school of magic for mild injury healing and drawing from metal of fallen warriors to repair their own armour/equipment or create powerful defenses for their allies. For bigger heals, if they opt to not use the blood, they will suffer a penalty to the healing as they lack the experience and human contact to properly execute such a feat.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hyposensitivity to Touch and Pain ❖ Obsession with extreme sizes - Can quickly and accurately calculate sizes of things and distances to a degree. ❖ Immense Vitality ❖ Very good with animals
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hypersensitivity to Sounds - Prone to Meltdowns ❖ Absolutely no social tact ❖ Inexperience - High anxiety from routine breaking ❖ Slow Drawing and Slower movements
There is not much to say about his appearance, for Gèrard is not a man you recognize for his heroic stature. He possesses a fair skin tone and adequate musculature. He has a stern face, and his head is clean shaven. Gerard dresses like a typical Rezaindian priest, and is rarely seen wearing anything but the robes of his order.
To his allies, Gèrard may appear aloof. Unless there is a goal to accomplish he rarely has much to say, and sometimes even appears bored by regular conversation. The only times he seems to speak at length are when he is praying or giving someone instructions. He is truthfully very introverted and feels more at peace doing what he wants to do without the suffocating presence of others. His social circle is small, but each relationship is quite deep.
Gèrard is a warrior now, but his scholarly nature still remains. He has not let hubris consume him, and is always prepared to accept new knowledge. What he lacks in youth he makes up for with persistence and discipline. When attempting to understand a new concept or learn a new skill, Gèrard can spend hours toiling away in his study or practicing wherever is convenient. He is not above asking others for assistance in this respect, and he even seeks the expertise of commoners when necessary.
Despite being a fairly reserved person, Gèrard exhibits a darker side when battling against the Eskandr, for it is they who set him on the path of vengeance. He feels a sick sense of satisfaction any time he manages to kill one of them. Drudgunze is exempt from this hostility, though Gèrard doesn’t necessarily trust the cousins of his sworn enemies. He justifies his wariness by pointing out the number of Drudgunzeans that have pledged their services to Hrothgar.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
As the fifth son of the noble Castello family, Gèrard had no expectations of inheriting his family’s lands or titles. Like any nobleman, he could have wormed his way into a comfortable seat of authority via bribery and nepotism, but in pursuit of self actualization Gèrard turned his eye towards a more virtuous lifestyle. At the age of 13 he declared to his family his intention of becoming a religious scholar, and with no reason to refuse his parents arranged for him to join the Stresian priesthood.
It was known that on the Ensollian coastline, there lay an ancient landmark that existed since the times of the old empire. It was a Stresian monastery, home to a group of thaumaturges that sought complete understanding of the natural elements. The reclusive researchers living there were reluctant but, after receiving a generous donation from the head of the Castello family, the servants of Shune agreed to raise young Gèrard as one of their own. Maybe they figured he would soon grow tired of the ascetic lifestyle and go home, leaving them with plenty of gold with which to pursue their studies.
Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Gèrard was happy there. He secretly hated living under the expectations of the nobility. Away from the pretentious feasts and stuffy etiquette, the youngest son of the Castello family was able to flourish and focus purely on his personal development. After a few weeks went by it became clear that the nobleman was there to stay, and the monks began to teach him in earnest. Gèrard drank in knowledge like water. He was not some stereotypical genius, but he was unusually determined in his studies. He always had a disturbing number of questions to ask his mentors, and their frustration grew to the point where they had to take turns each day to supervise him. When they eventually grew tired of answering his endless inquiries, Gèrard holed himself up in the library and read books until the crack of dawn.
And so his life went for many years. Gèrard spent his 14th birthday there, and on the same year he awakened to the Gift. When he was given the wheel test, many of his teachers were embarrassed to find that their student was stronger than they were. Then his 15th went by, and his 16th... he was old enough to become a sworn member of the order, and he did so with pride. Once in a while he would leave the monastery to fulfill his Stresian duties, like collecting newly recovered texts or investigating some mystical ruin. His regular visits to his family slowed by the time Gèrard was fully grown, and soon he was communicating with them solely through letters. This bothered no-one. He was never the favorite child.
At the age of 26, Gèrard was deep into his study of Arcane magic. He had become a Luminary, the fourth highest rank in the order, and when Tristan and Misha came to the monastery it was decided that he would be their master. The three formed a unique bond together. As the years passed, the two apprentices came to treat each other like siblings, and in a way Gèrard was like their father. Where he used to take pride in his own growth, he now found joy in theirs. While he was always strict with his students, the young master cared for them deeply.
Their peaceful lifestyle was not destined to last. A year after Gèrard met his students, the monastery was suddenly attacked by an unforeseen Eskandr raid. Under the concealment of powerful magic, a warband carrying no flag stormed the complex and began killing everyone who resided there. Why had they come? Were they weakening Parrence in preparation for a full scale invasion? Did they desire the knowledge stored within the centuries old library? There was no way to know. The Eskandr asked no questions nor did they answer them. Every Stresian on the premises was summarily executed, and everything of value was plundered.
A scant few managed to escape the raid, including Gèrard and his two apprentices. That day was the first he had ever used his magic to kill another human being. He had no choice after all. He couldn’t let his beloved students die. Arrows were incinerated in midair and berserkers were cooked inside their own armor as Gèrard fought desperately to break the Eskandr encirclement. When an opening presented itself, the three broke out and fled into the nearby woods. They were not pursued. It was possible that the pirates had gotten what they came for and simply went back home. The escaped found shelter further inland in a nearby town, where they numbly secluded themselves while processing their great loss. A detachment from the local lord attempted to investigate the smoking heap that was once a monastery, but all they found were corpses. No clues were found about the invaders save for their nationality, for an Eskandr longboat had been abandoned on the shore.
It was without question a traumatizing event for the three, but Gèrard suffered the greatest heartbreak of all. He had known the scholars there for over a decade. He knew every single one of their names. He knew their hopes and dreams. They were truly his family and they were now gone forever, including the place he once belonged. Gèrard failed to overcome his grief and move on. As time passed he became obsessed with the idea of vengeance, and though he bid his students abandon him and live their lives peacefully they would not do so. Underneath a darkening sky, the trio made a pact with each other. They would avenge the fallen as one. And so, after days of travel, they prostrated themselves within the halls of a Rezaindian monastery…
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ An ironwood staff inlaid with a crystal sphere ❖ Several bottles of oil and other flammable mediums ❖ An inscribed steel sword of Eskandish origin ❖ A light leather bag containing provisions ❖ The Book of Wrath
Gèrard is a well rounded magician, but he greatly favors Arcane over other schools. As an expert pyromancer, fire and light are like clay in his hands. He has a strong grasp of both offensive and utility spells which makes him competent in any sort of engagement. He often uses special oils and flammable liquids to help augment his casting when there are no significant sources of heat available. Gèrard has exhibited several spells thus far such as channeled arcane lances, light refraction, fire walls, and dragon’s breath. There is still much more in store.
Using other types of magic in battle is something Gèrard has considered and will likely pursue as the war continues, especially after he duels against other elite casters and learns their tricks. He simply needs more opportunities to apply his magical studies to real combat.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Stresian Thaumaturge Gèrard’s theoretical understanding of magic is far higher than the average hedge wizard. While the bulk of his study has been in pursuit of Arcane mastery, he understands the principles behind the other magic schools well enough, and may eventually add them to his repertoire given enough inspiration to do so. The potential of his spells are limited only by his imagination and mana capacity. ❖ Learned Being a son of nobility and a former Stresian, he is highly educated by the standards of this era. ❖ Daring He has repeatedly demonstrated willingness to engage enemy champions, regardless of their level of strength or the number of soldiers defending them. ❖ Bilingual He learned the language of Eskand in order to insult its people in a tongue they can understand.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Truecaster’s curse Like all who possess this blood, Gèrard’s spellcasting options are defined by the energy sources that he can find or make for himself. ❖ Average swordsmanship Though he carries a blade, Gèrard isn’t a top class duelist. He cannot win a fight against a more skilled swordsman without resorting to magic to bolster his offense. ❖ Untested Until Hrothgar’s invasion of Parrence, Gèrard’s fighting experience mainly came from training and skirmishing with poorly equipped coastal raiders. He still has much to learn about the art of magical combat. ❖ Vengeful He has anextremelynegative view of southerners. Only the most unlikely circumstances would keep him from trying to attack them on sight.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Red Rezaindian ❖ He is a distant ancestor of Charles Castel, Yalen's adoptive father. ❖ F92D00
22|F E M A L E|R E Z A I N D I A N O R D E R|__ _ _ _
|F O R C E & A R C A N E|I N F I L T R A T O R__ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Osanna is of average height and build, though her arms, back, and legs are corded after a decade of dedicated training in the sword and stealth. She has brown hair just longer than shoulder-length, light brown eyes, and full lips. There is a tattoo of a skull on her left hip.
She is affable and educated enough to move between most social circles. She is inquisitive by nature, intelligent, and often shows a dark sense of humor. Her motivation is entirely based on the Rezaindian Order. She is no rebel. She believes in her God, in her calling, in her superiors. For those interested in a more nuanced or contrasting worldview, she may come across as dull, but she is nothing if not dedicated.
Osanna sees herself as a tool to be used by the hand of her God and is motivated first and foremost by performing that duty well. She is not inhuman, however, and feels a desire to be liked by her peers. She covets close relationships but is not ill-contented with her life.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
| From Osanna’s Journal |
Our order is not filled with those of noble blood. It is rarely touched, even, by the wealthy, though our Abbotts and Bishops, perhaps, hold that lofty station. We are the extra children, the unwanted, the last-born to homes rife with mouths to feed. We are the sons and daughters of Parrece’s lowliest scoundrels and criminals.
And still, Echeran takes us.
I was no different. Left at the Convent at Chiroux as a babe, I was accepted into the order as all donations are—clothed in the shades of the Echeran and given a purpose.
For years, that purpose was simple— to clean and mend cloth and tend fires. I learned to read from the Menanne, to sing praises to the Gods, to say my prayers first to Echeran and then to the others of the Pentad. The nuns taught me the geography of our world, basic arithmetic, the Avincian tongue, and the ways of caring for the dead.
All the children of the convent were taught such until we reached the age of twelve when we were given to the suborders. I was slotted to wear the Grey, to spend my life in the careful preparation of the dead and their mourning so that they might pass safely into the care of Echeran’s hands. But— Echeran spare me— I was not happy with that calling. My entire life, I had watched the Reds, the strong-armed women in their rich, crimson capes and real steel strapped to their sides. There were a handful or two who lived regularly in our convent, and I am only a little ashamed to say that I idolized them.
I watched their training with avid interest, taking rough chores in the stable or gardens to be closer to their labors. Their shadows were more familiar to me than my own as I made myself one of them, listening to their talk, their laughter. At night, when the rest of the convent slept, I slipped into the rooms where they kept their practice weapons and drilled the forms I had learned from watching them practice in the day.
In all this time, it did not occur to me to take what I learned to my superiors, to show them that I deserved the place that I longed for. I was always a guarded, quiet thing, so it was nearly a full year into my training with the Grey Rezaindians of our order that I was caught with a borrowed sword in my hand in the shadowed recesses of our convent’s land.
I was terrified. As a biddable child, I was never much in trouble, and the seriousness with which the red-cloaked sister hauled me to our convent’s upper floors had my head spinning with imagined tortures. Would they kill me? Take away my chance of becoming a nun? Or worst of all, banish me from my home and the protection of the convent?
Instead, I was taken before the abbess and a woman in black who I knew to be of prominence in the convent. I was not sure of her order. They and the Red Rezaindian who had discovered my transgression asked many questions about the length and nature of my nightly training sessions, how long they had gone on, and to what level of skill I had reached. I answered truthfully, too frightened to do anything else, and when I told them that I had done it out of respect and awe of the red-cloaked sisters, the abbess smiled. She told me that I had done well, that my skills would serve Echeran. She told me that my blade would kill for our order.
And so it has.
My training began in earnest then— at night much of the time, though I have never known for sure if it was because of the secrecy of the Black Rezaindians or because my teachers preferred the dark hours to the light. My natural abilities with stealth were given direction, my knowledge of languages expanded, and an understanding of poisons and antidotes drilled into my mind. I was given regular training with the red sisters, though I then understood I would never be one of them. My mornings were spent in meditation, my afternoons in study of The Gift.
Then, when it became time to pay back the order for all it had given me, I began to kill, and to kill well. I accepted requests from my abbess passed, often, from above even her head. When I proved successful, I was moved wherever I was needed, given contracts both close to home and far afield. I have ever been one of many. A tool to be wielded. A knife in the dark.
Such has been my life for years, and so would it have continued if not for the call to Relouse from King Arcel of Parrence…
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ A long, thin-bladed side sword. It has a simple, worn leather hilt, and the blade is real steel. ❖ A long knife for parrying ❖ Two well-balanced throwing knives ❖ A collection of powdered poisons and antidotes ❖ A set of hollow darts (no blowing necessary) ❖ Sturdy leather boots, a few changes of simple, dark garb ❖ Boiled leather cuirass, bracers,and greaves ❖ Long black cloak wide enough to serve as a blanket ❖ The Necessities: Travel Rations, Bedroll, Sewing Needles, Thread, Rope ❖ A stolid grey mare named Shade
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Five Wheels Rating: 2
In general, Osanna's magical ability is small. It is her cleverness that makes it so useful.
Favoured School: Force
Osanna primarily uses Force magic to augment her impressive abilities with swords, and to a lesser extent, knives. This is her main offensive magical ability, though there have been instances in which a small amount of telekinesis allowed her to down an enemy— throwing sand into eyes or manipulating a poisoned dart for instance. She does not have the capacity to levitate herself or other large objects, but will occasionally give herself a push to leap a little farther, move a little faster, or hit a little harder.
Secondary School: Arcane
Osanna primarily uses the Arcane school to draw power and to hide when she needs to get away quickly. The sisters of her convent taught her to bend light around herself and disappear into shadows, though she is not powerful enough to disappear completely in bright light. Once or twice, it has been helpful to flash a little light into the eyes of an opponent or make a glow to see by in the pitch dark.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Sword Mastery ❖ Stealth ❖ Knowledge of Poisons and Antidotes ❖ Intelligence
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Low Magical Capacity ❖ Poor Defence (relies on hiding and subversion) ❖ Poor understanding of lands and people outside of Parrence ❖ Poor Mounted Combat ability
D I C E S T A T S__ _ _ _ _
-Can flip a coin (roll d2) to gain a stealth attack or defense bonus (+2).
— Osanna gets to roll 1d3 for her stealth bonus (+2) instead of a coin flip. In low visibility (fog, rain, shadow, night, smoke, etc), odd numbers grant the buff (a 66% chance). In good visibility or bright light, evens give the buff (33% chance)
-May choose to roll with 5d3 if her attack involves multiple impact points. (d20 for one large impact point.)
-When stealthed successfully, cannot suffer a catastrophic wound.
— Successfully poisoning enemies grants some form of dice control. OR A flat bonus on rolls involving poisoned attacks, but she only gets so many per engagement. (To be refined.)
A tall, fair, statuesque woman, at 178 cm in height, Hildr’s distant Eskandr blood runs thick.
Her main motivation is to live life to its fullest and take care of her blood brothers, although there have been rumors that the person who healed her blindness is still alive.
She loves to piss her opponents off to make up for her own general lack of possible ways to approach a fight. Her attitude does not carry over in her day to day life as she is fairly shy and can be intimidated with words without any intention to violence.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
A Drudgunzean with an unusually high wheel score: almost fifth. This gift was nothing but a curse for the girl at birth as her condition left her blind until a healer of the old gods came to cleanse her of her condition, allowing Hildr to see for the first time at the age of three.
She always admired her father, later inheriting two of his blades. Her prowess with fighting more wildly than the average knight was looked down upon by her fellow Drudgunzeans. This caused her to become a traveling hire blade that mostly resides in Eskandr’s region.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
a pair of arming swords along with her armor.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Fourth wheel, Leadvein, being gifted with Force. The gift plays a large part into her fighting style as she uses it to leech the enemy’s kinetic energy and puts it into her own attacks. Having been blind for the first three years of her life, Hildr has an above average sense of hearing, smell, and touch. This, however, does leave her rather handsy around people she’s close to.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Combative skills around spears ❖ Hunting ❖ high raw magic ❖ Heightened senses
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Barely any knowledge on magic ❖ quick to lose her temper ❖ Bad with romance ❖ Socially awkward
From black hair to her brown and darkened garbs, Tilda is lean and fit, and though she presents herself as someone to forget, her songs are to be remembered. With a small physique yet nimble limbs, she manages to glide through larger crowds when she wishes to be unnoticed, as the songs she creates are not born of solely her creativity, but rather her ancestors, heroes, and folk tales and their stories of courage, hope, and the reality of situations. Tilda is a bard that hopes to remind people of history, and that if they want change, only they can spark it - but not herself. Tilda sees herself as a messenger, an unimportant pawn to grow the view of both history and Ipté. Tilda is a constant traveler because of this, and she doesn't see reason in attention to herself. More importantly, Tilda wishes to uncover her purpose - why she was given The Gift and the talent of music and song in the first place.
Tilda finds value in understanding, and expresses empathy to those who are having a down day. Though it provides temporary comfort to herself, Tilda enjoys healing the souls of others, especially if it happens to be by song or tale. On the contrary, when the woman gets minimal opportunity to perform, a sickening lack of self consciousness, self respect, and self confidence starts to show itself. In this state, Tilda isolates herself from necessary conversation. Overall, Tilda is a sad and lost soul who tries to thrive on mending other souls.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Tilda was born to Henrue (80 years) and Drusae Ulmer (73 years) in Salterberg, raised alongside two older siblings (Grimoire and Denne, both age 39)and a younger sibling (Christoff, deceased). Born to a rural lifestyle, Tilda was not born to sow seeds or grow cattle - that would be left to Grimoire and Denne to do, with Christoff being the one to run the family market while Henrue and Drusae taught Tilda what they could - the stories of the past.
Tilda was not the only one who was given The Gift. Her father showed small blood magic, often using it to heal both plants and creatures. Her older twin sisters, Grimoire and Denne, showed small amounts of force magic. Christoff was the only one of the four without The Gift, and he often confided in Tilda - at least until she was given The Gift herself, that of medium force magic, at that.
In the hubbub of the region and trying to find others to talk to now that her brother had left her be, Tilda took interest in the traveling caravans that performed. One of the bards there, Thyra from Eskand took interest in the then teenage Tilda, and taught her what she knew of instruments and songs. Tilda trained 4 years under Thyra, watching and learning from her stories and performances in Salterburg. At her offer, though, Tilda refused to join her in her caravan - though she knew she would travel in her future, she felt as if her family needed her for a while. She wouldn't stop her interest in song, she just needed time to prepare herself for the world.
It was when she tried reconvening with her brother that an incident happened. A mistake, she told herself. An accident of nature, she told her parents. It wasn't her fault that the wood creaked under Christoff's feet the more he spewed words of twisted despise towards The Gift. It wasn't her fault that the bridge seemed to collapse over the river - she had tried to save him!
But her mana was all but spent. Not even her overexerting herself saved him. She was found by Denne a few hours later, passed out near the bank of the river, lucky enough not to have been dragged in as well.
Tilda spent many months in isolation, plucking away at her lute and often heard singing to herself. Occasionally, one could have seen her using her Force magic to enhance the song, per say. This was Tilda's first written song - of her brother, a story that her parents and sisters knew not completely, having been told white lies at the time of the incident. After a few more creations of folk heroes, Tilda performed for her first time.
From there, she traveled, trying to spread her parents', Thyra's, and her own stories. Tilda never made any songs about recent heroes, mainly because she believed that they were getting enough praise as is.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
Longsword of Faiths - Said to have been passed down to the youngest daughter, this thin longsword requires dexterous hands to handle. For Tilda, it is more of a sentimental item than a weapon, though she will use it if she needs to in close-quarters. Etched into the handle are the symbols for Ipté, Chune, Oraphe, Echeran, and Dami, with an inscription on the blade that reads: "May the faiths guide you". Lute - A worn lute that has seen better days, Tilda uses this for performances. Viol (AKA: Viola/Fiddle) - A more pristine instrument that Tilda rarely takes out. Compass - Made herself, Tilda has a compass that has decorative vines and leaves carved into the exterior wood.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Auditory - From the chirps of songbirds to the screams of the damned, Tilda can use noise to her advantage - whether to distract, enamor, encourage, or disturb others in combat or in performance. Telekinesis (Defensive) - As a reaction defense, Tilda can use her limited telekinesis to block an expected melee attack against her with her longsword. She can also use her telekinesis to play and make her instruments hover in the air. Support - Tilda can grant buffs to ally speed and power behind their melee or ranged strikes, granted that they are not magical. In addition, she can debuff an enemy by making their attacks harder to perform, as if their weapons had greater resistance. Five Wheel Rating: 2.5 Favored School: Force
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Tilda is a natural empath and a good listener. ❖ Tilda is forgiving and patient, allowing her to be a good advisor. ❖ Tilda is good at hiding her emotions when she wishes to be seen otherwise. She finds it most difficult to stay as a charismatic persona for a while.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Tilda lacks a sense of self-worth, often putting others in front of herself to a fault. ❖ Tilda is not good at making decisions, nor being responsible for anything important. ❖ Tilda is visibly weary around bridges, whether they be around water or up high in mountains.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Your character's hex code and any other miscellaneous information. Feel free to use bullet points. ❖ Hex code 1: #08D4F7 ❖ Hex code 2: #F72B08
3 2 | M A L E | P A R R E N C E | T H U N D E R | K N I G H T R I D E R__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Tourrare ]
Asier is one of the Tourrare, a founding tribe of Parrence which occupies the northeastern steppes. The area is an important pastoral land. It's sparsely populated, and has an arid climate. Due to this geography, the communities are more isolated and distinct from one another compared to the other regions of Parrence. Asier was a son of a Horseman, born and raised in Hierbamonte (Perrench: Herbeumont), which was later granted as his fief when ennobled by King Arcel to Baron of House Arslan. The Tourrare are typically passionate people, known for their warm hospitality and close familial ties, often villages would offer children to forge close unions between them. They are also territorial people, having a strong dislike of those from the outside telling them what to do. This can lead to conflicts with lords from the other four Parrence tribes who attempt to impose their rank in efforts to rule them, leading to a rebellious and an unruly reputation. Asier being seen as a local Tourrare lord has not faced opposition to his guidance of the people, with the Tourrare seeing themselves more represented under the wise rule of King Arcel with one of their own being in his favour.
❖ [ Family ]
Asier is a proud family man. He married a local huntsman daughter, Giselle, who has so far successfully birthed their daughter Maëlle. He plans to have many more children, though the demands of Parrence keep him away from his wives’ bed. Unfortunately during this time period, the infant mortality rate is high, so many attempts are made to expand the family. Giselle is a proud and independent woman, running the homestead in Asier’s absence and building support for him at home by acting in his name. Behind every good ruler, there is a great wife. Maëlle is cherished and beloved, a father’s daughter, who is often found riding upon the horses. She is treated like a Princess, with ponies as far as the eyes can see.
❖ [ Lieutenant du roi ]
After his success in leading the defence during the Battle of Sarnia, Asier in commendation was ennobled by King Arcel to serve as his Lieutenant and granted the title of Baron Arslan. Asier is appointed to serve as Lieutenant-Général in a Governor's absence, and check on their conduct when present. This position allows opportunity for growth, able to learn from the best in the kingdom on the matters of warfare. It is said that King Arcel hopes Asier to make use of his position to become one of his trusted chess pieces in the creation of the Parrence Empire.
❖ [ Blue-Eyes ]
The Arslan family is renowned for their characteristic sapphire blue eyes, Asier is the same. He is 5ft 7 (1.7m) in height, his body is lean with muscle from years of raising horses, built for stamina. He has long black hair which is tied back in a knot, with his beard braided on the sides of his chin. His body was scarred with a number of scratches, cuts, and cuffs from hard living as well as some earned on the battlefield.
L E G E N D__ _ _ _ _
The Lion of Tourrare / The Lion Knight
In the mythology of House Arslan, its progenitor, Asier holds one of the prime places as a legendary dynasty figure alongside others such as heroine-tyrant Alizée Arslan, the Red Lioness, and the untold story of Ayla Arslan, Lion Cub of Varrahasta.
Asier Arslan, the Lion of Tourrare is depicted as a Parrench knight who embodied the epitome of chivalry, and played a key role in the service of King Arcel in repelling the Eskandr hordes. His hair is as long as a lion’s mane, brilliant sapphic blue eyes, tall in body, thick in muscle, wearing radiant plate armour. He gained the favour of the mythical king of beasts, Arslan, who empowered him with the might and bravery of a lion. It is said that Asier was such a heroic figure, that it was Arslan himself who also served as his steed. It is after this blessing that House Arslan was born, after the mighty king of beasts. He was accompanied by a lion pride in battle, a literal one man army as he slew the great Eskandr scourge, Ragnar Jörmungandrson, the Blood Baron.
Over the generations, oral traditions have greatly embellished Asier’s story. Perrench historic texts are very scant on the details, with little evidence pointing to the existence of Asier Arslan. The Arslan’s of Torragon have challenged Perrench historians on the grounds that they have rewritten history for propaganda, diminishing the importance of Tourrare people in the founding of their nation.
It is said that History is written by the victors. What remains of the true story of Asier Arslan is to be seen.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
House Arslan. The Lion’s Pride.
Asier was born of a humble Tourrare Horseman in the village of Hierbamonte in the Northeastern Steppes of Parrence. Horses are the main trade of the region, the people rearing them for generations since the days before the rise and fall of the Avincian Empire. Following his fathers footsteps, he tended, managed, and rode the horses. He often played with the others from the village, growing close to one of the neighbours' daughters, Giselle. It was through her father, the local huntsman, he learnt the ways of the spear and the bow. He grew up to marry his childhood sweetheart, Giselle, who bore him the daughter Maëlle.
Whilst raids were commonplace in the early Parrence kingdom, it was during these early days that he was called to war to defend the northern border from Zuyr incursions, serving in the cavalry. It was in the forge of battle where his skills trained as a huntsman were tempered into that of a warrior. It was through battle he learnt to harass his gift, the abundance of metal allowed him to develop his power, finding practical use for it on the battlefield, greatly enhancing his defence and offence. It was during a disastrous battle at Sarnia, where he fought against the mammoth Zuyr King Aheri. Many were slew before the giant, the doors about to breach. It was said that during these final moments of defeat, Asier roared like a lion, heart swollen with courage as he battled the behemoth to a stand still. It was said that it was Asier prowess in battle and bravery that stemmed the tide, earning him the reputation of the Lion Knight, but this would be a disservice to the events that transpired, and the incompetence shown by the Parrence leadership.
News of the battle had reached King Arcel’s ears, a king of wise judgement, ennobled Asier to that of Baron, taking on the name of Arslan, meaning Lion, for the courage and bravery shown. Granted the Fief of Hierbamonte, he was offered the opportunity of respite to consolidate his position, before being called to war as Lieutenant du roi to serve the King against the Eskandr menace.
Lightweight leathers with metallic plates used to amplify defensive magic.
❖ [ Steed ]
Owns five Lusitano horses. Arpegiar, Espirito, Fresa, Jerónimo, and Peonía.
❖ [ Gear ]
Transports gear used to maintain the horses, camping, travelling, and military.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
No formal training. Third Wheel.
❖ [ Thunder ]
Main gift used. This has been honed for defensive purposes, used to divert and deflect attacks by metallic weapons by repelling them. Can be used to attract metal, increasing accuracy. Subtle use of the gift.
❖ [ Force ]
Can be used to increase the power of attacks and penetration depth of arrows and his spear.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Courage ]
Asier is known for his courage in battle, especially when the odds are stacked against him, acting bravely for the greater good. This is not to be mistaken for foolhardy, as he will not blindly charge into the fray, but he has survived a charge where the outcome assumed would have been his death when battling Aheri.
❖ [ Tactician ]
As a Horseman, plays the role of Skirmisher, Flanker, Scout, and Raider. By using mobility on the battlefield, can exploit the enemies weaknesses and direct troops where appropriate. Favours mobility based tactics, such as cutting off supply lines, routing troops, etc. Very limited in static battles. During the battle of Sarnia, cut the Zuyr forces from their supplies by setting fire to their ships, trapping them on the island, forcing them to assault the garrison earlier than planned and without adequate preparation.
❖ [ Animal Husbandry ]
Raised as a Horseman, rearing and attending horses, able to horse whisper to tame an unruly animal. Skills have some transferable success with other species of animal. Travels often with multiple horses, transferring between them to prevent from becoming exhausted and maintaining a high speed.
❖ [ Reputation: Lion Knight ]
See Also: Leadership Accomplishments at the Battle of Sarnia gives a positive response in matters involving battle, fighting, and warfare. Seeing him on the battlefield provides a morale boost to troops who know of him, allowing them to feel more secure in their victory.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Tourrare ]
The tribe of Tourrare are known to be ‘a bit different’ when it comes to the people of Parrence. This may be having differing customs, alternative words, pronunciation, or accent. Some stigma as some may take issue with this. They are seen as unruly and uncivilised compared to the other four tribes.
❖ [ Peasant Born ]
Also see: Literacy Being ennobled is a high honour, but this is not shared with other nobles who lineages before the time of the Avincian empire. There is resentment towards newly created lords, as if it dilutes the meaning and prestige of titles. Stigma from Nobility class as they are resistant to being impressed, “They all say you’re great, but you look just like another smelly Tourrare horseman to me. Prove it”. Being peasant born has an impact on literacy, as Asier was trained only in basic letters for the purposes of trade.
❖ [ Social Intrigue ]
Asier has no experience with political intrigue. Used to the quiet life of the village where everyone knows everyone, strong familial networks, and no secret is able to remain hidden for long. Such a simple life is definitely no preparation for the court. There are many enemies in the shadows.
❖ [ Reputation: Lion Knight ]
Accomplishments at the Battle of Sarnia have caused envy and dislike from ambitious individuals who feel threatened and now view Asier as a rival. These may actively plot or attempt to discredit his name, or attempt to claim his accomplishments as their own.
Her skin is pale unto the point of looking almost undead due to just how little sun one sees when living under the thick canopies of Lindermetz Swamp. Despite the vaguely deathly looking state of her skin it is without blemish, smooth and clear save for the stains of the materials she's worked with and the few callouses on her hands earned from climbing and working with plants. Though she typically keeps her head down and wears a mild-mannered expression her slim face tends to bring out her eyes that possess a deep dark nephrite green colour. Her hair which hangs down to the middle of her back curves with a modest wave and is a rich yet dark moss green colour.
Standing at one hundred and forty centimeters she is a rather thinly built person. Her physique would make a quail seem buff in comparison. She is not as wholly feeble as she appears but she is no physical powerhouse by any means.
For attire she dons a long dark brown robe, the darker color being ideal for concealing the many stains it has accrued both in the swamp and throughout her crafts. It has a big hood which is handy in rough weather. Her long abundance of hair is mostly tucked into the back though her front bangs hang out the front of the hood, covering her face for the most part when she has her hood up. For footwear she wears a pair of big hide boots that look several sizes too large on her feet. They were a gift from one of her fellow siblings, sewn together from the hide of a rat of unusual size that was strangled to death by strugglethorn briars. Hanging from her shoulder by a hide strap is a large bag crafted from a portion of the stomach of a large boar. She typically carries a long crook with her wherever she goes, this wooden tool having been treated with a special resin to keep it from decaying.
Having grown up in care of the Mother-Father in the Lindermetz Swamp she was bound to be a strange sort. With thanks to their enigmatic parent she along with eight others survived in a wild region where close to everything was poisonous and somewhat on the larger scale when compared to species found in tamer wilderness. The Mother-Father however was not a being with a terrifying lot in common with more... Conventional societies. Nettle has been raised with a great knowledge of plants, the swamp and magic but in exchange she's learned nearly nothing in regards to civilized society.
What some see as being distant and spaced out others might see as simply being a rather reserved individual. Both would probably be correct to some extent as far as that's concerned. She is quite mild tempered and takes most problems in similar stride. She prefers to think her way through situations rather than power through things. Nettle is not very outspoken either and she tends to remain distant in most matters. This attitude is not solely out of a fear of confrontation but rather her tendency to get absorbed in her own thoughts, often preferring to dwell on matters that pertain to her pursuits rather than on tangential matters. Some might accuse her of being antisocial but her lack of socialization with others is not out of an aversion to social interaction but rather an unfamiliarity with societal norms.
With having spent pretty close to her whole life in the Lindermetz Swamp she's most at home in the natural world. She's somewhat distrustful of the civilized world given what she's been taught of man by Mother-Father. Even still she's willing to brave any danger should it lead her closer to Mother-Father.
The Mother-Father gave her and her fellow siblings love on behalf of the gods that made them. She will do nearly anything to bring that back.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Her story begins before she was even born with her father, a wandering yasoi bard who spun tales and weaved magic with song wherever he went. Passing through a village on his winding journey he met Nettle's mother, bedding her on that fateful night before venturing onward to new horizons. As for her mother however she remained, living a simple life as a baker's daughter until after many months Nettle was born into their incomplete family.
Though she looked strange the village tentatively accepted the new member of their community. This would not last for long however as shortly after her first birthday Nettle was abducted during the night. Snatched away she was taken into a massive swamp not too far away. It's dense canopy and wet muck reached far and wide within the land of Lindermetz. It was there that she was raised by the mysterious figure that identified itself solely as Mother-Father. The Mother-Father was an enigmatic figure, a misshapen one that lurked beneath a thick cloak which was bound down in ropes, covering every inch of itself. The Mother-Father wore two masks, one for each of it's two identities spun into a singular entity.
Nettle was not the first child to be brought into the swamp. She was in fact the ninth, eight other children preceding her. They all held one truth in common: They possessed an uncannily strong magical potential.
The Mother-Father raised them all as their own, teaching them the ways of the swamp and of magic. They each learned to thrive within the swamp in their own special way, the Mother-Father guiding their lessons to best suit their talents. What the Mother-Father's intentions for them were were completely unknown to them and as far as they were concerned the Mother-Father was simply a caring, loving teacher and parent to them all. It taught them many things indeed, giving them knowledge in many subjects but distorting this knowledge in many ways. They were told they were shaped directly by the gods who created these lands, The Mother and The Father. They were given no understanding of reproduction aside from it's context in animals, being told that their own bodies were fundamentally different. This was only the tip of the iceberg in what was the children of the swamp's slanted education from the Mother-Father.
Then one day it simply vanished. The children searched everywhere but Mother-Father was nowhere to be found, no trace of them left behind for them to find. They were despondent, having lost such a beloved figure from their family with no trail to pursue. After much grieving a few of them were left crestfallen, returning to their usual business. Nettle and a couple others decided not to surrender to despair, each turning to different methods of trying to locate Mother-Father. One started searching deep within the land's caverns, losing themself in a fathomlessly deep network of tunnels as they explored deep within the earth for signs of where Mother-Father went. Another turned to a more scientific method, performing different magical experiments to try and perceive signs beyond the five moons of their Mother-Father's location. Nettle however decided to try and explore past the borders of the swamp, something that Mother-Father had warned them never to do. They were told that the world beyond was corrupted with hateful beings that were similar in appearance but entirely different from them in all other aspects.
It was dangerous, to be sure, but Nettle decided she would be the one to brave the dangers of the world if it meant finding Mother-Father. She set forth on a bold adventure into this strange new world...
And was immediately captured for trespassing on the kings land. She understood their language for the Mother-Father had taught them some basics in case beasts from the outer world attempted to try and steal away their homes. Still, she had no real clue what was going on or why, now a prisoner awaiting trial for her crime against King Otto of Lindermetz.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
She carries: A wooden crook treated with resin to keep from rotting. A satchel wrought from a boar's stomach & sinew. A small metal censer gifted unto her by the Mother-Father for use in casting and in prayer. A pouch of inert cattle fly eggs. A pouch of inert long-bottom roach eggs. Several Strugglethorn Briar clippings. A pouch of deadly Cottonwisp spores. A stone knife for cutting & protection should all else fail. Several varied pouches of assorted powdered curatives. A dried leg of a rodent of unusual size, a species native to the swamp. Several varied pouches of assorted poisonous herbs. A bunch of seeds and acorns collected from trees she's passed.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Blood Type: Greengrowth. Wheel Rating: 4.55
Though she is only midway through the fourth wheel her power is respectable nonetheless though slow to build due to her blood of the green growth. She may still be young and with much to learn but she knows plenty of spells taught to her by Mother-Father. Due to her uniquely inefficient method of drawing she has been trained to utilize her environment, turning areas around her into a harsh swamp that can quickly become a death trap to those unwelcomed by her. Through deploying and empowering naturally dangerous flora & fauna, creating obscuring mists that can cover great distances and overall controlling the state of the environment with enough preparation she has the ability to swallow entire armies within the very swamp she naturally brings with her. She's also accustomed to twinning magic with her diminutive size to help her avoid predators, masking her scent with essence magic, dulling the heat of her body to avoid a serpent's gaze, dimming the light so she may creep in the dark and more.
Nettle also holds a fairly vast amount of knowledge regarding plants, weaving their effects unto living flesh to help mend and cure... Or poison and disable.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Herbology: Her understanding of flora from her land is vast, her mind a veritable repository of knowledge regarding each plant, their properties and preferred conditions.
❖ Animal Ken: Having lived in the swamp all her life she's come to understand very many beasts, becoming familiar with the ways of wild creatures. She is not foolish enough to mistake understanding for friendship but she is able to tell much about even animals she's never seen before largely based on tells exposed through their behavior. The language of the wild is a vast medley but body language is a very common one. Even humans speak it, though they are often not aware of it.
❖ Wilderness Survival: There are many things that come with surviving in the wild. It is more than just knowing which plants are poisonous and how to start a fire. Being able to tell if a predator is stalking you, being able to avoid a beasts's keen senses, being able to move without leaving a trail to be stalked by, being able to seek food in whatever form it may lie, these are just a few of the things one learns when surviving in relative solitude out in the harsh wilds of the great swamp.
❖ Keen Learner: Nettle is among the most curious of her siblings, such is why she left the swamp to begin with. She takes to learning well, possessing an almost yasoi level of curiosity and focus. Hers is a keen mind and she picks up details with ready ease.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Diminutive Stature: With her minute height and naturally feeble body structure she'd have trouble fighting off a rodent of unusual size, let alone a grown adult that works for a living.
❖ Sheltered: Having spent her whole life in a swamp being fed mixes of truth and lies about the world by a strange being it's only natural that she is poorly prepared to suddenly drop into society. What knowledge she holds of nature she inversely holds in the ways of things that lay beyond the swamp's borders.
❖ Half-Blooded: Being part Yasoi her appearance makes her stand out quite noticeably in public regardless of whether she stands amongst humans or yasoi. She is different no matter where she is.
❖ Set Up Caster: Nettle's casting is somewhat slow due to her inefficient drawing methods and thus a large part of her casting currently involves setting up the terrain to her advantage, laying traps and avoiding direct confrontation. While deadly to attack if she's in her element if she's ambushed or otherwise attacked before she'd had her chance to set up some defenses then she's at a firm disadvantage casting-wise.
42 | F E M A L E | Y A S O I | B L O O D & E S S E N C E | M A L E D I C T____ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
At a glance, Lyen fits all the negative preconceptions of Maledicts and swamp witches. She is a collector of the macabre, practices strange and dangerous magic, and may have a startling appearance and candour to any unfamiliar with Yasoi. In truth she is simply curious and genuine, and will very happily discuss the very practical uses of keeping a preserved brain on hand with anyone who asks.
Though she has been apart from her people for some time still carries their ways and features with her: The inexhaustible energy that keeps her unable to stay seated for long, bright eyes that are constantly searching for the next preoccupation, and a direct way of communicating that leaves little room for deception or subtlety. The greatest change in her time away has been her manner of dress, over years she has come to to feel comfortable in Drudgunzean fashion, which somewhat helps lessen the attention her grey skin and yellow markings draw. She ornaments herself with small pieces of her ever-growing collection braided into her thin dark hair, or pinned to the fabric of her clothes; items of varying values from Avincian coins to bird bones.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Lyen was born far from the lands of the Yasoi. Her parents were constant travellers and had happened to find themselves on the border of Drudgunze and Eskand when their daughter was born. While they set out to return, it wouldn't be until Lyen's twelfth year that she would meet another of her own kind. Her mother a ranger, and father a healer of blood magic there always seemed another diversion that kept them in human lands for just a month or year longer.
Their eventual return was met with a Mette'stiroi in celebration. The party marked an impossibly large shift in Lyen's young life. It was the night she discovered her people, her gift, and her future. She was tested amidst the festivities by Byln'Keh'Sibur, an elder who has spotted her showing off blood magic to other young Yosai. She was tested four times in total that night, each with a different group of witnesses to cheer for her results.
Byln herself accepted her as an apprentice by the end of the week, and initially things went perfectly. Lyen was fascinated by and devoted to her training and new home. But as time went on, restlessness began to set in and the confines of her new life became apparent. Five years into her teachings she ran away for the first time. Only to be tracked with a spell and pair of Dervishers and promptly returned to Byln's care. She managed another year before running off again. Eventually the attempts became frequent enough that the her mentor conceded; the remainder of Lyen's study would send her travelling the Yasoi settlements, and find teachers in elders along the way.
The offer was meant to be something of a joke, the Yasoi are spread far with great distances between them, but Lyen's thirst for freedom and knowledge was greater than Byln had expected. She was over 30 by the time she returned to Anentso, having earned golden Tetsoy and her cognomen of 'eternal student' rightly, she wore the mocking joke as a badge of honour. Byln was dead, and deciding there was little left to learn there, Leyn looked east, to return to the human lands of her childhood.
For the past ten years Lyen has lived among humans, only returning west for the occasional Mette'stiroi where she trades in artifacts and stories with others of her kind, and always leaves with an additional Tetsoy to remind her to return again. Her search for knowledge has taken her over most of the continent, but now she arrives in Parrence come to see exactly what sorts of heroes have come to answer the boy-king's call.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
Karambit - A curved blade of four inches, equally useful as a tool and close quarters weapon. Dagger - A thin five inch dagger made of silver, solely used for letting her own blood for use in spells. Surgical Tools - Self explanatory Preserved Tissue - The most unsettling of her collections are about half a dozen jars of organic samples including two brains. Useful tools when it comes to internal essence and blood magic, but few seem keen to learn much more into her research of the subject. Spores of Vil'Drece - a mushroom found in Yasoi lands known for its anti-inflammatory effects when brewed as tea and intense psychedelic effects when eaten raw.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
4W - Blood - Essence - Truecaster
When the elders first discovered her gift, Lyen was using it to make lewd sculptures and small fireworks for amusement. While her magic now takes a much different form, she still regards it as an exquisite tool of nature to be studied and marvelled as much as any of the more gentle types, and finds the idea of 'good' and 'bad' magic absurd although all to common in humans.
While her truecasting limitation makes external blood and essence magics rather predictable and unimpressive, her precision and power on the internal level is anything but. Her maledict studies included detail study of the effect of poisons and remedies on the body's composition allowing her to mimic, or even repress, most symptoms with a simple touch of drawn essence.
Internal blood magic is more complex; generally these spells require drawing from her own mana by blood a producing parasites to infect the bodies of others. There 'parasites', while only surviving for a few days, may have any of a variety of uses: Tracking, energy leeching, monitoring, or damage.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Adaptable: Owing to both her love of learning and complete lack of discipline Lyen is something of a jack-of-all-trades. While she doesn't excel at much anything beyond the use and study of her gift, she has tried a wide assortment of skills for varying amounts of time with poor to middling results. These include; whittling, archery, midwifing, cake-making, tailoring, fishing, plan-fluting, and more. ❖ Anatomical knowledge: A consequence to her studies and precision required to preform maledict spells Lyen knows more about the internal processes of human and yasoi than most medical practitioners.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Inhuman: Her skin being a greyer tone and tall lithe figure make it hard for Lyen to blend in. Humans are exceptionally wary of her after learning about her particular type of magic of reasons she will never fully understand but has grown accustomed to. ❖ Magical Limits: In addition to only being able to truecast, Lyen has a limited drawing range and can only cast within arms reach. ❖ Impulsive: While Lyen might be willing enough to go along with a plan, its rare she's ever able to stick to it; especially if something interesting comes up.
3 0 | M A L E | P A R R E N C H | T H U N D E R - F O R C E | P A L A D I N__ _ _ _ _
Caelum's Mood Theme
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Caelum is no monument standing over men, but he does stand above the average at 6'1". His official weight has yet been tested, if one were to guess, a buck ninety with a proportional body type. His fair skin will burn over prolonged exposure to the Parrence sun, but it can also darken to protect itself against the sun's burning touch. Caelum's dark hair and hazel eyes have been recognized as alluring. Caelum carries some superficial scarring on his back, forearms, abdomen, and chest. These are not typically visible since most of his appearance is covered by his armor.
Caelum is primarily motivated by his faith and love for his holy brothers. He appeals to a higher set of morals when making decisions or judging a situation. These morals also provide a strong foundation from which he is not easily persuaded to step off. It might even be that he will never step off the path he deems to be the most correct in representing his god, Oraphe. Caelum is tolerant of non-believers but does not trust them. He believes the world is corrupt, people are not inherently good, and he is to atone for his sins through good works. He believes that doing "good" requires sacrifice, discipline, and humility - a commitment to surrendering his life to something greater than himself - serving Oraphe, the Creator.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
By blood, Caelum is sixth-generation Avince. His ancestors traced back are descendants of a royal guardsman who also held the title, "Captain". A captain who met his end defending Avince from Fradje Ironshaper 400 years ago. Somewhere between then and now Avince imploded under its own political strife. The conditions of Avince after rebounding from Fradje Ironshaper's success left too many gaps in Avincia's society to be filled by nefarious and selfish men who forced honorable men out by discourse, murder, lies, and public humiliation. Eventually, the roots of Avince could no longer feed the ambitious growth of corrupted branches and began to choose which branches would not be fed. These branches would wither and die, but eventually what was left were those parts of the Avince tree that would fight for whatever nutrients in the soil were left.
The unofficial title of these internal family battles became known as the "brood wars". Caelum's great grandfather would send his son Luca to a family friend in Parrence during the worst of these wars. Luca with his mother would witness their homeland collapse under its own ignorance. Luca's mother would work their family friend's farm until Luca was old enough to help, and eventually Luca would buy a portion of the land to begin his own family's homestead. He would marry a Parrence lady named Isabelle. Luca and Isabelle would have two children, a son, and a daughter. The son became known as Arcosis of House Spaeros. The daughter became known as Emilia of House Spaeros.
Emilia would be married to a Knight who grew fond of her during one of his visits to Luca's homestead. Arcosis would take over the family farm until the death of their father Luca. Arcosis would generate a lot of success by expanding trade and adding manpower to the farm. In the beginning of Arcosis' time, there was not much conflict that kept the economy from flowing strong. He married a ship merchant's young daughter, Yihana, which garnered him farther reach by water. Arcosis and Yihana would rear a young boy named, Vannen, a name that lasted but only two years.
When Vannen was two years of age Eskandr raiders attacked his family's homestead. Arcosis commanded Yihana to flee with Vannen in her arms while he stayed behind to buy time. The Eskandr raiders would kill Arcosis and chase Yihana through the forest near their homestead. When Yihana realized she could not escape, she hid Vannen in a crevice beneath exposed tree roots that protruded from the ridge the tree rested on. Yihana would climb up and then run to the exposed dirt road that would take a weary traveler to Solenne. The Eskandr would spot her on the trail, catch her, torture her, and kill her. Yihana's body would be discovered 15 yards off the trail a couple of days later by a monk traveling to the monastery outside of Solenne. He gave her last rites, investigated her body, and collected some evidence of who she was, but was caught by surprise after hearing a baby cry 60 yards from where he was.
The monk followed the sounds of two-year-old Vannen. Found him wrapped up tightly in a dirty cloth, nestled where Yihana left him. The monk picked the boy up and carried him safely to the monastery near Solenne. Given a new name, the child was raised in the Solenne monastery as "Caelum" or "the little heaven". Caelum was raised to become a monk, but with age, he became more rambunctious and less interested in contemplation. The monks of Solenne realized the boy's characteristics and decided it would be best to give him over to the Brothers of the Unconquered Sun, a monastic order of protectors and healers who live a life closer to the battlefields, a life filled with more actions than reflections, a life suited for Caelum the Rambunctious.
The Brotherhood of the Unconquered Sun would accept Caelum the Rambunctious of Oraphe to their ranks as a novitiate. He would be tested to see which path within the order he was most fit to walk. In the end, he was chosen to become one of the Brotherhoods Paladins, and in sequence chose the Oath of Devotion, the path of the Paladin within the Unconquered Sun that commits Caelum to the highest ideals of justice, virtue, and honor. Following the tenets of honesty, courage, compassion, honor, and duty. This path is revered as one that garners the most respect, and yet demands the most sacrifice.
I, Caelum, solemnly swear my hands will support the innocence and children of Oraphe against all who conspire in darkness against them. I will bear true faith and allegiance, to obey the orders of the Prominence of the Brotherhood of the Unconquered Sun and the orders of the Brothers appointed over me, may I fulfill this oath to my last breath. So help me Oraphe.
I will be without fear in the face of our enemies. I will stand brave and upright, that Oraphe may love thee. I will speak truth always, even it leads to my death. I will protect the helpless and do no wrong.
In this oath I shall defend the Kingdom of Oraphe against those who seek to harm her for as long as there is breath in my body, blood in my veins, and strength in my arms.
Finally, I swear ceaselessly and tirelessly to uphold the honor and ideals of the Brotherhood in thought, word, and deed, and furthermore when abroad to be as a beacon in the darkness to less enlightened realms.
"Take my sword and my armor, put it to better use than I, and remember . . . Oraphe's will." ~ The last words of Oleric the Titan of the Unconquered Sun speaking to Caelum at the defense of Vitroux.
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❂ Holy book of Oraphe ❂ ❂ Brotherhood Seal of the Unconquered Sun ❂ ❂ Prayer beads from the Solenne monastery ❂ ❂ Long sword, forged by the Unconquered Sun's blacksmith ❂ ❂ Falchion, given to him by a dying brother on assignment ❂ ❂ Cloth wraps for cuts and wounds ❂ ❂ Leather sack to hold water ❂ ❂ Satchel full of medicines and herbs ❂ ❂ Flint to strike steel with for starting fires ❂ ❂ Hammer, to repair dented armor ❂
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Thunder Child | Thunder & Force | 4 1/4 Wheel
When Caelum was accepted by the Brothers of the Unconquered Sun as a tyro - beginner, he was tested after taking the oath of initiation. The test is one the Brotherhood calls, the Dawning. It is a process of placing extreme stress on the initiate until there is what they call a, “Flashpoint”. The Flashpoint typically reveals an affinity to either a talent or susceptibility to magic that the child has not yet realized. Caelum’s flashpoint caused atoms in the air to polarize and magnetically charge to where electric began sparking out of thin air. The brothers classified him as a “Thunder Child”, a child who is sensitive to magnetic charges and picks them up easily.
After the Dawning, Caelum was selected to train on the Protector’s path within the Brotherhood, this path would teach him how to use Force. The Brothers believed that if Caelum could learn Force and harness is natural affinity to thunder, he could become an extremely powerful weapon for Oraphe. To do this, Caelum was paired with another Thunder Child and Caster, Maris of Viennes. Maris would train Caelum for 12 years before Caelum earned the rank, Companion-in-Arms (age 18). Caelum would then be transferred to the field under Commander Aldrith of Nazaire’s command, one of the most talented Force users in the Brotherhood. Caelum would train under Aldrith and with a mix of fighters, healers, and two to three rotating paladins over the course of 7 years.
On Caelum’s 25th birthday, he was offered the rank Sergeant and title Paladin. The rank was a mark of responsibility while the title demanded a commitment of character. Caelum did not need to accept one to get the other, it was a choice, as following Oraphe’s will. Without hesitation, Caelum accepted his rank and the title for he knew no other way to repay the institution that offered him a chance at life. Upon accepting the Paladin title, he was offered four Oath’s. The Oath of the Crown, The Oath of the Ancients, The Oath of Devotion, and the Oath of Redemption. Caelum chose the Oath of Devotion, a pact between himself, the Brotherhood, and Oraphe, a pact that he believes gives him a faith-based advantage against darkness (see Strengths & Skills).
"May this little heaven charge the spirits of our Kingdom and cease the heartbeats of our Devils." ~ Maris of Viennes speaking to Aldrith during transfer of Caelum.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❂ Divine Preservation ❂ Oath of Devotion Effect
By the grace of Oraphe, Caelum can freecast without requiring any instruments to preserve or protect himself from casting large amounts of energy. He believes it is the protection of Oraphe that gives him this advantage.
❂ Attunement ❂ Oath of Devotion Effect
A spiritual practice apart of monastic life. The technique connects a devotee closer to their spiritual source, opening a flow or life current that directly pierces the natural senses revealing energy currents typically invisible to the naked eye. When the technique is successful, the Brother experiences a remarkable increase in reading and drawing in energy from their environment.
❂ Blessed-At-Arms ❂ Oath of Devotion Effect
Caelum does not wear an ugly face, but is that what inspires men and women when in his presence? Or is it his devout nature and confident demeanor that invigorates allies, stresses foes, and calms the innocence?
❂ Firm Resolve ❂ Oath of Devotion Effect
The idea of persuading Caelum to do something other than what he has already set his mind on is impossible. The mental fortitude protects him against nefarious magic users who might try to get inside his mind or raise doubts in his belly. He will not budge from which he stands, and he will find a way to overcome the odds no matter how heavily stacked they may seem.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❂ Predictable
He does not lie, not even to his enemy. This type of ideal he must live by makes his actions quite predictable once someone understands the ethics he abides by wholeheartedly. To those who look up to him - its a strength, and to those who do not - see it as a weakness to exploit.
❂ Rigid
The worldview of the Brotherhood does not give much for interpretation. It is either Oraphe's will or it isn't. What could have been an avoidable event, isn't. Instead, his worldview and teaching demand responses to the corrupt world. A response that might create conflicts, enemies, and challenges out of assumptions from the Brotherhood. He is no diplomat and has a blunt bronze tongue.
❂ Honor Bound
Upholding the standards of honor can be a roller coaster, Caelum is no exception. He cannot kill the unarmed, he must quarter his enemies unless given no other choice, and he cannot kick an enemy while they are down. This gives his opponent’s several chances at besting Caelum and taking his life.
❂ Faithful
Those who do not believe in Oraphe’s will, may see Caelum as a blind man hunting wolves. Or better yet, the wolves see that he is blind. Wherever Caelum goes he is an obvious target by anyone who wishes to harm the Brotherhood or the faithful. Caelum may place himself in reckless situations defending the innocent or speaking truth in a situation that may cost him his life.
Standing at 6'10 Kol is heads and shoulders taller than most men, and being well over 300 pounds he weighs enough to make many men think of themselves as being lithe. His build is that of a strong and powerful man as his body is covered in muscles and scars. Kol keeps his black hair short and well kept as his style of fighting would lead for it to be an easy thing to grab, well if they could reach. His eyes are black and seem to have a sharp and solid look to them, but when emotion come to him his eyes almost seem to be a gateway that shows how he feels. They soften, harden, curl when he smiles, like his eyes react with his emotions. He has many scars across his body, the most numerous being on his back, his torso, and on his legs, many of which look quite nasty as many might not have been properly treated.
Kol's more basic gear is a thick set of hides, overlapping metal pieces to make armor, and thick covers to keep himself protected from attacks and the elements, his normal clothing is a bit different from this however. As his position as King, he has made sure to dress himself well, keep himself groomed, and make sure he is well adorned, yet the strange thing he does is he keeps his face clean of hair. Many comment of his behavior, yet he stays his way, often quoting that often when fighting, a proper opponent would use anything they could, hair pulling, eye gouging, anything that gives them an advantage.
Yet when Kol is meant to fight as Kol, Death's Hand King of Strumreef, he dons his armor he gained from his time when he joined the party of Hrothgar when they were both young Princes. There they dared to do the impossible and slay a Tyrannus Monsignus. Kol gained an armor that was designed soley for him, a pure black armor that covered him from head to toe in dragon scales, that break normal blades on the sheer toughness of the armor, and gives this man an additional layer of protection on top of his unbreakable Berserker rage. The Armor was designed to best compliment his aggressive style of Hand-to-Hand combat, giving him increased armored protection on his arms and shoulders to deflect blows, using scales to cover the chest in a certain way to deflect stabs away from him to allow him to charge forward more easily, and multiple leather and hide layers made from the interconnecting hide dragons have between scales to cover Kol's joints and neck to protect the softest parts of his body from glancing hit and attacks. This was a very expensive set of armor for Kol to have made, yet it was the only thing he could have ever thought of bring able to handle his immense power when the moons are all aligned.
General feel, not actual look-
Kol is not this hulking man for no reason, he hungers to fight and yearns to challenge himself. He loves the thrill of fighting, may it be man or beast, he loves to test himself, his mettle, his strength, and his power. Every inch of him wishes to be tested, to be the best he can be. He wishes to be the best fighter, the best king for his people, and the best brother he can be for his Blood Brothers.
His main reason to join in this war being waged by Hrothgar is to join a friend on the battlefield once more, give his men the honorable death they seek, and to make sure his people live in prosperity as they are. As always in the south, the cold is hell on them, their main sources of food come from roving beasts, the sea, and animals they herd and the cheese they can make. But because of this, any small thing could leave his people starving, so often Kol would lead raids, hunting parties, and anything he could do to keep his people okay. His life has been dedicated to those who are close to him and his people.
Kol wishes above all to keep his people safe and prosperous, challenge himself, challenge and harden his people who fight beside him, and to die on the field of battle with his people and Brothers with him.
Kol is a jovial man, who values friendship highly, and regards the bond with all of his followers and his Brothers to be his greatest treasure. His people being inspired by his actions gives him their undivided loyalty and adoration, in turn inspires him to do the most he can for them. He is very generous man who gives gift quite often and rarely hold much back for himself. He admires people who treat friendship with sincerity, while being compassionate to those with whom he bonds, even if he bonds with them from the other side of a blade.
He is not overly cruel as would be expected from the man known as Death's Hand, but tries instead to keep bloodshed and cruelty to a minimum despite his love for battle and destruction. He is fine with not actually winning a battle outright, often leaving with little casualties and the supplies or what they came for from the raid, and is known to even attempt to recruit enemies as his followers after witnessing their prowess for himself. Yet when put in a battle he fights with glee, fighting to his hearts content, breaking sheild lines with his body, and facing off with knights often challenging them to duels.
He insists that a king should be setting vivid examples to be followed, bond with his subjects at personal level, and his way of living should be something inspiring to and envied by all under his rule, not a distant ideal or martyr whose deeds would be praised yet whose path is so full of sorrow and pain that it would only inspire a sense of dread. To him, a selfless king who isolates himself from his people to die for ideals is nothing but a fool, which is worse than a tyrant. He is also in opinion that a king should be vibrant, a figure who is inspiring and leading his people, instead of being a distant loner who concerns himself only with protecting and saving his people. Ultimately, he would grieve and weep over his losses and mistakes, but he would stay true to himself and never regret decisions made as a king. For if he was to, those who died following him and believing in him as a king would have died for nothing in misplaced belief.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Kol is the King of Strumreef, an Island kingdom near the mainland Eskand that is known for being bountiful in fish, trading posts, and hearty men. Kol is a very proud King, he has the loyalty of his people not only from his exploits with the King of Kings Hrothgar Agnarsson in felling the legendary Dragon Mørkt Fjell, Tyrannus Monsignus, his many legendary hunts, raids, and exploits. He has faced many foes in battle, wrestled beasts far above his own size to the ground, brought men far beyond his years to their knees, and faced the most dangerous things with his bare fists and laughs.
Kol has faced countless hardships and realizations in his ascension to the throne, he learned of his naïve view of the world, his lacking as a commander, and the tough choices expected to be made as a king. Yet through his times even with his rocky start as a King, the direct action he took of his ascension had earned the trust and respect of his people. Kol had risen to Kingship from the display of his compassion to his people in slaying his own father. Kol slew his father, Ulfrik the Black Handed, with his Blood Sister Hildr after Ulfrik had nearly collapsed the entire Kingdom of Strumreef. His father had gone mad and slaughtered countless people, and family members, and had hoarded himself and his loyal followers away in their ancestral home. With the help of Hildr, they were able to defeat all those who were loyal to the Mad King, and once he confronted his father, Kol was the one to deal the death blow, marking him as Kin Slayer.
From that point onward Kol dedicated his time to his people and those closest to him, he made sure he took care of them the best he could. He was a generous man, he gave many gifts to those who followed him, and he made sure to take care of his people as he often lead raids, hunts, and fishing parties when areas were doing poorly. Yet when things were good, families were fed, and people were prepared for winter, Kol spent his time with his sworn Sister, Hildr, and eventually his Brother, Vali. The three became synonymous with each other, is known to hunt beasts and monsters, lead raids against the Greenlanders, and always be seen in battle together. With teamwork that has been forged in the heat of battle and the fire of Life and Death
Kol was born to King Ulfrik and Uriel of Strumreef, a kingdom founded on one of the islands connected to Eskand. It is best known for its bountiful fishing routes, strong trade routes, and the hearty people. This kingdom had been standing for multiple generations, with Ulfrik the Black Handed being the 4th ruler of Strumreef it has known quite a bit of prosperity at this point and has been loyal to Eskand and follows the Old Gods. The Union of Ulfrik and Uriel was a planned one, Ulfrik wished to have an heir that was as strong as could be, so with his Blood that of a Mooncaster and Uriel's of a Leadvein, he supposed he could have a child who would be something wholly different.
Kol was the child of this possible union of power, and he lived up to every bit of it. Kol grew very quickly, to the point where his father began even being able to play with, train, and teach Kol from the age of 5 to be a man. As Kol grew, his father noticed Kol's nature, he liked to fight, he liked to prove himself, and he liked to be the center of attention. Given a stick Kol turns it into a sword to slay a monster, a banner to rally troops behind, or a flag to stand and salute to, as he marches it seems he gets people to follow, or when someone tries to challenge him, he will fight them, not with sticks or rocks, but his fists. Once he beat them, they were forced to join him, he went to their homes, asked their parents to play with them, wrestled with them, invited them to fish with him, and do all sorts of things. Kol's very nature seemed overbearing on a person, to defeat them and then befriend them.
As he grew he began to train more, doing physical labor his father or uncles set for him, pushing barrels around, haul the fish they caught, carry and cut all the fire wood for the evening, they did this in possibility to see how far he would go. They trained him and he seemed to always rise to the occasion, as he grew, he started from carrying one of the large fish up at a time, to 2 to 3, then to a whole barrel filled, then even multiple barrels. He began from cutting for hours and making little progress, to being able to cut a full log in a day, to being able to find a tree felled and hauling back pieces to cut up, to being able to fell a tree for wood, and then to fell multiple and haul them back.
Yet the thing that changed most quickly wasn't his strength, but his combat prowess. As he trained, he rapidly grew in strength, skill, and instincts, his skills over shadowed those of his peers. As within a few short years, he had already needed to start to spar against older kids and then young adults just to find a challenge. Yet this rapid growth did not go uncontested, many often tried to bully him while on his lonesome. Many found him being so 'exceptional' and giving them bad looks as warriors would make it where they would be made a mockery of. Often they challenged him to a 'real' spar, using metal weapons as they tried either putting him in his place, or maybe give him a nice comfortable seat far away from the head of the Visitor's table. Yet Kol's instincts were something completely different, against metal weapons he did not falter, let alone feel any form of fear, as he fought them, he used the same methodical attacks he uses in spars to take them out. He had read them, understood what kind of fighters they were, as he beat them quickly without breaking a sweat.
Yet the time came when Kol was met with a hard lesson, not every situation would be so simple. Kol was around 10 at this time when he had beaten a younger man in a sparring session, this was after they had came back from a raid to the North. This man had lost his cool as he had just lost to the equivalent to a child, so he decided to take his revenge in an interesting way. He offered to take Kol out for a hunting trip that him and some other people are going on. Little did Kol know this was going to be the possible last time he would ever see the light of day. As they travelled out to hunt down a Mammoth, the others quietly planned where to dump Kol. As they travelled, they knew they couldn't lay a hand on him, none of them would ever reach the Visitor's table, but that shouldn't include if he was to die because of a monster out of their control. As once they camped for the night, the rest of them quietly packed up and left Kol in the deep cold.
Kol awoke and realized he was alone, in the freezing cold, with no fire, no food, nothing to keep himself anymore warm. Kol was stunned, he was completely alone, he spend multiple hours huddled there in his tent in the freezing cold, hoping that this is just another crazy test he was being given. His family will sometimes do crazy things to test him, have him sit in ice water for an hour without leaving, hanging from the rafters for hours on end without passing out, and all sorts of other things. This might be just a test…Kol was there until night fall, where he had felt something well inside him. His thoughts trying to rationalize what is happening faded as something told him, this was on purpose. They left him, he felt a sense of fear swell in him, he thought he might die out here, in the cold, alone, away from his mother and father. As a loud howl was let out that send his tent flying, revealing to Kol a large wolf standing well over 10 feet tall, it looked to Kol as if he was just easy prey.
Yet something seemed to be different with Kol, his eyes almost shook with rage, his body was heating up, as he felt a roar build up inside him as he screamed to the heavens. The immediate area seemed to shake violently as Kol launched himself forward at the great beast like a spear. He leaped into the air far above any man, as he aimed for the Great Wolf's eye, as he smashed his arm through the eye socket of the wolf and began to let out roars and attacks to this creature till it fell. As Kol ripped his hand out of the skull of the Great Wolf, he saw the position of the moons, all five were high above and seemed to almost soothe him as he looked to them. As he howled to the moon, as it had such energy that it shook the very trees near him from their roots, as he eventually passed out.
Kol woke up the next morning being held in his father's arms, as they travelled through the forest, his father spoke simple things to his only son. Whispers that could be heard by no one but Kol, the whispers of a man who thinks he's alone, as it is constant affirmations of his love for his son. His pride in his strength, his worry of his difference from those around him, and his sorrow that such a thing came to ever pass while he was under his care. Once Kol had been reunited with his people, those who had done such a thing to Kol were sentenced to be executed for leaving the prince to die. Kol wished for something different, he wished for them to be his first hunting partners, as he wanted to hunt some dangerous beasts.
The next few years Kol had showed his true interests, combat, fighting, hunting, he was the embodiment of a warrior. Those who challenged him felt the full force of his might, and then often invited to participate in some of his hunts. He hunted all types of beasts and monster, Great Wolf packs, Great Ursas, Serpents, and any beast or monster he could find. As he fought and killed these beasts he began to receive visions of these beasts, their power almost coursing through Kol as he gained new aspects of power. Kol had became the very thing his father envisioned, a true monster.
Once Kol was 16, his father wanted him to experience their culture to the fullest, he had shown skills in running hunting parties, fishing parties, and taking control of people in dispute, but now came time to see him as a leader in war. So when this is when Ulfrik and his Jarls called for a raid, and the people answered, now with Kol among their ranks. As Kol left his little Island for the north, he had a strange sense of excitement within him, he could test himself on the field of battle, against people who would come at him with everything.
Kol's first kill occurred when he was faced with guards of a city, he was faced with a spear line as he remembered how the Unstoppable Razor Back Boar would rush head long into anything, ripping through trees, boulders, and men with spears pointed in its direction. As he filled himself with images of it, his legs began to swell as he sprinted to the line as the moment a spear tip was to hit his skin, the spear bowed and broke against his body, as he slammed into their shields the metal and wood bowed and broke, as the sounds of bones crunching and men screaming filled the air.
Once the battle was done, blood has been spilt, and prisoners taken, Kol…disliked the feeling. To break a man, to draw their blood, to snuff their fire, it felt strange. It felt wrong, Kol couldn't put it as why, but from the look everyone around him had, he was the one who was strange. To them it seemed fun, invigorating, like this was something that was the peak. Kol held his tounge back, he couldn't speak of his feelings, he needed to be strong, he was strong, the strong fight, the strong *killed*. Kol let out a sigh as he left for his tent, but his father was there to speak with his son. King Ulfrik was to ask his son and heir, "How was your first battle"? Kol broke down and told his father, he didn't like the idea of killing, Kol couldn't understand why, but the mere concept seemed fine, but when blood is on his hands and bodies lay at his feet, Kol's stomach churns, and he feels uneasy.
His father listened to his son and spoke to him, and reassured him that to feel that is fine, that means that you can feel from the heart. Death is a part of life, to fight is to show courage, when you fight a worthy opponent death is always there. Either of you will die, the only decision you can have in that is simple, kill or be killed. Either you die and find your place at the Visitor's Table, or they die and they find themselves judged by the Visitor. As they spoke, Kol found some calmness that his father didn't seem enraged at him, his worry wasn't towards Kol's dislike of killing, but to what could occur if he was to falter if his dislike for killing made him hesitate.
The next day, Kol marched forward with the raiders, as they began to regale stories, Kol began to learn himself through this time. He understood why he disliked to kill, why their death did not seem to sit well with him, he wished for them to join his band. He had always got his way: get into a fight with people, beat them up, be declared the winner, and inviting them to join in his adventures. He tried his same actions, he beat them up, they obviously felt like they lost, and he then invited him to join his hunting party…but it seemed a few things were in the way of his enemies becoming his allies, the first being one he can't get over easily, he didn't speak their language.
This was a dilemma that Kol couldn't really solve easily, yet he did not give up on his ideals. He always did his best, put on a friendly face, weild no weapons, and having a happy voice, yet for some reason people were afraid of the now 6 foot 6 man covered in mud, blood, and torn up clothing. To them Kol was the very thing his father envisioned, a true monster.
Father was the one to guard the realm of work, for he was strong and sure. Yet now he has forsaken his job and fattened with hate, so now I must take his place.
Mother used to guard the hearth and home, and there we were to pray to her. Yet now the home runs cold and none is to be fed since you crossed that line.
Sister walked to market and hurries about town, Yet she now hides from your wrath and scurries around.
Brother fights the Greenlanders and strikes his rival down. Yet you slayed him and stained your own crown.
To act with grace and purpose, I shall always do my best, For the Visitor has arrived to take you off to rest.
TLDR Time Line;
Age | What happened 00 | Koli, Son of Ulfrik is born 05 | Kol begins his 'training' how to be a man, he also begins to become the center of attention and king of the kids. 06 | Kol begins his training in fighting, sparring, doing labors to get stronger as he begins to rapidly grow. 10 | Kol has made many people angry because of his strength that many challenge him to real duels, and often leaves them in the dust. 10 | Kol fought the wrong person, at which point when they lost, they pulled a simple trick to get Kol alone on a hunting trip with him and some friends to leave him to die. 10 | Kol Awoken the Gift and awoken his calling, filling himself with power to kill a Great Wolf, a 10 foot tall wolf, and changing him as person. Learning his love of hunting and fighting. 15 | By this point, Kol proved himself to be an exceptional warrior and a competent leader his skills are matched by few and his hunger by none. He yearns to battle more intense beasts and monsters, as he 16 | Kol goes on his first Raid, becomes enthralled in battle, as he quickly becomes a true force of nature, he learns and adapts becoming stronger. Yet after he realized what he did and feels strange. He spoke to his father, who calmed his son and made sure Kol understood what it means to fight. 17 | Kol goes on his first Raid, becomes enthralled in battle, as he quickly becomes a true force of nature, he learns and adapts becoming stronger. 24 | Kol joined Hrothgar's party to hunt down a Tyrannus Monsignus that has appeared. Kol is excited at the thought to kill such a legendary creature. 25 | The party of Hrothgar, Kol, & Hildr had felled the beast, each of them now being covered in glory, armor made of dragon, and riches from the material, yet it was short lived for Kol as he received news of what is happening in his home, his father has gone mad in this year he was away and had nearly collapsed the entire kingdom. 25.3 | Asked his companions if they could assist him in this trying time Hildr agreed, yet Hrothgar declined, because of his position it would more likely cause too much of a commotion to assist. 26 | Kol & Kildr had finally stopped the madness that Ulfrik has caused in Strumreef, ending with Kol and Hildr killing over 100 people loyal to his father, multiple family members who seemed to have gone mad with him, including Kol's father Ulfrik.
33.5 | Invited Vali to hunt the Super Camo Saber Tooth Tiger 36 | Became Blood brothers with Vali now. 43 | Kol calls for his people to prepare for war, as the King of Kings had called for a Great raid to begin.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Basic Armor- Kol's armor he wears on any normal day is that of thick hides, overlapping metal pieces to make armor, and thick covers to keep himself protected from attacks and the elements. Most of this is pieces he doesn't care to lose, as often when he is in battle he can lose his coverings because of enemies catching it and ripping it off of his body, spells destroying it, or Kol's own magic destroying it in his frenzy.
❖ Dark Armor- Kol's custom armor is made of the pure black dragon scales of the Tyrannus Monsignus. The Armor was designed to best compliment his aggressive style of Hand-to-Hand combat, giving him increased armored protection on his arms and shoulders to deflect blows, using scales to cover the chest in a certain way to deflect stabs away from him to allow him to charge forward more easily, and multiple leather and hide layers made from the interconnecting hide dragons have between scales to cover Kol's joints and neck to protect the softest parts of his body from glancing hit and attacks. This was a very expensive set of armor for Kol to have made, yet it was the only thing he could have ever thought of bring able to handle his immense power when the moons are all aligned. As when he uses his arcane powers he could possibly warp his armor, incinerate the leather of other animals, and melt his armor.
❖ Mørke Greb (Dark Grasps)- A pair of gauntlets made from the scales and some of the spines and horns of the Tyrannus Monsignus, they were made as a special gift for Kol to signify the achievement they accomplished. These black gauntlets have always been used by Kol in every fight, as they are some of the greatest pride he has and that which has defined his being as a warrior.
❖ Knife- It's a dagger, he uses it to cut things. Not people, like food and rope.
❖ Drinking Horn- It's a drinking horn made from the horn of a goat who Kol raised. It has sentimental value as it was close to him and he cared for the goat.
❖ King's Banner- Unlike what the name entails, this is his cloak that he wears on himself. This is normally a very bright color, his favorite is red, which he wears on his back as it is the symbol of who his people are to follow. He always jests that if you are unable to see his 'banner' then you need to work that belly off before you grow rounder than Father.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Berserkers are particularly blessed of Echeran-Sept. They can be found in Eskand.
A rare calling, and found only among the Eskandr, the path of the Berserker is one of controlled madness. These hulking, feral warriors enter a trancelike state, empowering their minds with visions and thoughts of ferocious beasts such as wolves, dragons, and bears and their bodies with essence, force, and arcane magics. Charging into battle, they attack with unmatched ferocity and great speed, greatly resistant to damage and nearly impervious to pain.
Mooncasters are extremely rare, and often possess heightened senses and reflexes. Their base power levels are often quite low, rarely exceeding Second-and-a-Half Wheel. However, they grow exponentially more powerful depending on the position and brightness of the five moons. Given the right position, a mediocre Second wheel magic-user can multiply his power, becoming a monstrous fifth-plus wheel with a capacity ten times that of before. For reasons unknown, it is possible for a mooncaster to also possess a second mana type.
Leadveins are generally solid and balanced. They can safely draw and contain half again the amount of kinetic energy that their capacity would usually allow. They can impart this into physical blows and tend to be highly self-damage resistant. However, they tend to tire easily and can struggle to control their own force.
Blood type: Mooncaster Leadvein
Preferred schools: Force, Essence, & Arcane
Wheel Rating: 2 1/2+, based upon the position of the moons his power can increase wildly.
Kol is not just a physical monster, but also a monster with the use of the Gift. With the blood of his mother and his father had created a Monsterous berserker, being a leadvein enhanced his already naturally powerful physical nature, but then being a Mooncaster enhanced his own reflexes and senses making him a dangerous opponent dueling opponent. With his mother's blood giving him Leadvein, he had a very natural development into the force branch of mana, using it to enhance his blows, create roars and claps that can deflect projectiles or throw fully grown men off their feet, to throw himself hundreds of feet into the air, or to protect himself with a layer of kinetic energy around him to dampen blows if not fully negate them.
Kol did not hear the Gods calling for him as a Berserker and just used force. He had heard the calls and has seen visions of beasts. As he fights, gaining new visions of beasts, enemies, and allies, inspiring him with new powers. As either when he is in the heat of combat or through 'meditation' he is able to harness these visions to something that can increase his own power. By using Essence Kol is able to fill himself or others with visions of ferocious monsters and beasts to enhance himself and/or his allies, cleansing himself of his 'visions' and forced ailments, filling opponents with these visions of beasts to fill them with fear, or to fill his or others Arcane spells with visions of Wyverns and Dragons to enhance the power and ferocity of the fire.
This is not where Kol's powers end, through his fight with the Mørkt Fjell, he was filled with visions of heats, flames, and ferocity he had never seen until then. As he fills himself with visions and remembrances of the great dragon and lesser ones he is able to channel the Gift into that of intense flames. Using arcane mana Kol is able to surround himself with such intense heat that it can ignite wood instantly, breath fire out like a dragon, form fire on his arms and legs to attack with or dissuade grapples, draw from the heat a target produces to fuel his own magics, or even put out a very intense blast of heat or fire to deflect certain magical attacks or just incinerate a target instantly.
Spell Examples:
I'm just using this to give a bit of a flavor to what kind of things Kol would use The Gift for. If you were also expecting me to put his fighting style(s), like I have been known recently to be doing, don't worry baby, I'll get to that soon enough, I wanted to get this up within the year.
Force__ _ _ _ _
Tyrant's Roar- A ferocious roar that explodes with such power that the land shakes, stone crumbles, sends men and projectiles flying, and men die from the shockwaves of the roar. Based upon where the moons are, this roar can cause metal to crack and crumble, stone to pulverize, or can even be heard from miles away.
Wyvern's Glide- Kol will use force to launch himself into the air, as the more he does this, the more energy he can take in, to the point where when he has enough, he is able to use it to propel himself in the air to simulate gliding before he begins to fall and he begins to siphon kinetic energy again. Based upon the position of the moons, it will increase the distance he can jump, the time he is able to hold himself in the air, and even being able to simulate actual flight for some time.
Death's Hammer- Kol uses his Force energy to do a great leap, as once he begins to fall, he starts inputting more of his energy into the fall until impact, where he absorbs the Force he would take from the destructive landing, at this point he causes a crushing blow on whatever he lands. Based upon where the moons are will change the power from a crushing blow that can destroy most stone, metal, and reinforcements, to the point where him landing the wrong way on the ground might send him into the earth too far for people to even think he might have broken into the Visitor's Table.
Dragon Skin- Kol uses force energy to defend himself from all kinds of external attacks, making his body able to take bolts and ballista to the chest and keep running, explosions at point-blank and laugh it off, or even intense heats for an extended period of time without as much as a burn.
Essence__ _ _ _ _
Owl's Wisdom- Anytime Kol wishes to end his rage or any other substances or changes within him, Kol cleanses himself of any foreign substances, calms his mind, and steadies his body. This takes less time based upon the position of the moons, with the base being 30 seconds before his body is put back into a normal equilibrium and counteracting any internal changes forced upon him.
Wolf's Cry- Kol can fill a willing target with energy, vigor, and power allowing them to have visions of beasts empowering them. Giving these people short-lived boosts of power and energy makes them more ferocious than any man. The duration of this, the power, and the number of people he can target increase based on where the moons are.
Wyvern's Rage- When he sees a fire he can 'fill it' with the rage of Wyverns. This increases the intensity, and the heat, but makes the fire die out faster if not around enough burnable items. Often these are completely uncontrolled, as the fires will run rampant out of his control, yet this is often fine as the chaos is normally in the middle of the enemy. Based upon where the moons are and the amount of fuel, the fire and explosion can range from a small blue flame to that of an inferno and explosive wave able to wipe out a small village.
Dragon's Domination- Kol fills a target with visions of roaring beasts, instilling varying levels of hesitation, anxiety, fear, or even incapacitating people. Based upon the positions of the moons, will increase the power as he can fill the target with more of his visions, to the point where he can possibly even kill someone from a pure overload of chemicals.
Arcane__ _ _ _ _
Dragon's Breath- Kol focuses arcane energy at his mouth as he simulates a scream, this is when he starts to pour out the arcane energy into a stream of hot fire that reaches out about 50 or so feet at the base. Based upon the position of the moons, he will be able to make the fire hotter, larger, and stretch out farther, to the point where he is breathing out white-hot fires that incinerate swaths of trees in a moment.
Draconic Touch- Kol covers his hands in a layer of fire as it gives him the ability to burn anything he touches, leaving fire on that he hits, and able to burn close wounds in an instant. Based upon where the moons are, it will increase the power he can put into the fires, the heat, and the intensity, yet can become uncontrollable and start to burn him if he is not careful.
Dragon's Presence- Kol radiates an intense heat in the direction of an attack to either melt the object or overpower the attack. This gets stronger and stronger based upon where the moons are, to the point where he can have an intense aura around him that can incinerate nearly anything.
Death's Touch- Kol learned to draw from the heat of a target, using their energy to fight with, if they produce a lot of heat, they are just fueling your fire, like when he faced against the Mørkt Fjell. However, if they are a normal person, Kol is able to pull enough energy from someone to knock them out if not outright kill them. And based on the position of the moons, this can be done as easily as a simple glance.
Original__ _ _ _ _
Mørk Tilstedeværelse (Dark Presence)- An intense heat begins to emanating and surround Kol as his face begins to twist and contort into a visage of a maddened demon. His veins begin to protrude, his muscles swell, and an emanating aura of heat begins to surround him. His attacks become more ferocious, every hit after the other seems more powerful, his speed increases dramatically, the heat grows more intense, and his body begins to look like it is darkening into a deep crimson. The heat creates mirages and images within it, many say they see a beast, a demon, a devil, but some swear by the idea that it is the soul of the Mørkt Fjell he wears on his back.
Kol is using multiple spells in tandem to enact this demonic frenzy-like state. As he hits, moves, or leaps, he draws and takes in the kinetic energy he would take from the reverse reaction or recoil, channeling in the energy either to keep his controlled rage and physical enhancments up, put into his next hit, or channel the energy he can not contain out into the heat surrounding him.
This was made in mimicry when Kol faced the Tyrannus Monsignus, the power it displayed, the near frenzy it went into, the heat and near-indestructible nature inspired Kol, more enlightened him, and heightened his power, as this tandem of spells and power came about in the midst of the fighting with the Monsignus, allowing him to fight the beast with ferocity and power that was able to hurt it, break it's scales, and through the teamwork of Hildr, Hrothgar, and himself eventually felled the once invincible beast.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Combat Savant- Being born his size, with instincts of a honed warrior, and a love of fighting made Kol a monster who has yet to see an equal in single combat. His skills with unarmed combat is matched by few if any and his reaction speeds are of an otherworldly nature. His powers with the Gift is otherworldly as when met under the moons few if any can match the sheer power he can generate. ❖ Strategy, Tactics, and Leadership- Kol is a fighter at heart but to be a good king you must know how to best lead your people, if it is through famine, war, or hunts, a King must lead his people, to inspire them. Kol is very skilled at this, being trained from a young age to become king after his father, and then needing to employ those skills to stabilize a near collapsing kingdom had proved his skills as a leader. While in war Kol is will often be in the vanguard, giving orders from there as he can see the battlefield change and enact his own strategies most directly. ❖ Tireless- From his many hunts, participation in war parties, and travels, Kol has become preternaturally able to stay awake, operate, and fight for days on end. ❖ Hard Worker- Not only to better himself for fighting but also to make sure he is constantly updated on his realm and the happenings to best take care of his people. He often makes sure he is ahead of the curve on many things, when he knows a dip in food will happen, he will often already have prepared for such an occasion. The same thing applies to combat, as often he trains and spars with others, often trying to figure out everything that could come at him and his people in battle, and eventually teaching counters and other such things to raise the skill of his people.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Obstinate- When he believes in a course of action, almost nothing can dissuade him, even to the point where reason falls upon deaf ears. ❖ Honorable/Gullible- Unlike what is expected of his people, Kol has honor in a fight, tricks, subterfuge, and other such things are not within his being. Leaving where if someone is to surrender, he often leaves them alone, he just asks them to leave the battlefield. This has often led him to be taken advantage of, but it has not dissuaded his nature. ❖ Overconfident- Kol is very confident in his skills, killing the creatures he has, and fighting the way he does leads to such things, he often faces multiple people at once without care, and it sometimes leaves him more injured than he needed to be. ❖ Low Impulse Control- Kol is often controlled by his impulses, leading to where he will say what is on his mind the moment it comes up, often losing himself in battle from the joy he has from it, or even wandering around as he feels and sometimes getting lost. ❖ Hazardous- Kol is often a Hazard when he is to go all out in a fight. He will often cause massive shockwaves, heat storms, infernos, knockout his own people with chemical overloads, and destroy entire areas easily if he is not careful of his power output when the moons are up.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Crimson- I use the word not any code. ❖ Kol means Dark or Victory of the People ❖ Blood Brother of Hildr and Vali, thinks of Vali like a little brother. ❖ The reason Kol keeps a clean face is that he would look like his father, and he hates the very notion that beast was his father. ❖ If Deep Arcane/Atomic wasn't so much studying and theoretical work, Kol would be irradiating everything around him and shooting laser beams.
3 4 | M A L E | P A R R E N C E | F O R C E | K N I G H T__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Maerec stands roughly around 5'10" with an athletic physique. He is not too broad shouldered, nor too thin, making him a model for the ideal build for knighhood. He has medium brown hair that roughly falls around his jawline, often pushed back out of his face. His beard is often trimmed short, but enough to cover his defined jaw. Scars from battles past litter his body, but the two along his face are the most prominent ones that can be seen. His eyes are as blue as a cold winter's sky that holds speckles of life and light.
Maerec can often be seen in simple dark or natural toned colors. Though his station notes that it would be proper of him to wear more ornate or expensive textiles, he often settles for something akin to an 'elevated commoner' attire, finding it much more comfortable in an everyday situation. He often wears a tabard that holds his sponsor's house crest. In armor, much like the other knights of Parrence, Maerec has the standard attire. Per special request, he had the emblems for both Aun-Oraphe and Oraphe-Sept engraved on the inside of each armor piece for good luck.
Having seen both sides of living, Maerec treats commoners and nobles alike with the same politeness and compassion. By first impression, he is indiscriminately charming. He is easy to approach and easily approaches others. Conversation comes easily with Maerec, and often it will be over the simplest of things, as he doesn't seem too particularly interested in speaking politics as a casual conversation topic. He is the type of person that will ensure everyone in a room has been acknowledged at least once, so to not have anyone feel left out. After he opens his mouth, it would be easy to tell that Maerec flows with an infectious compassion. He has been teasingly called a bleeding heart by some of his peers.
Even with all of his glowing optimism, Maerec isn't without his faults and flaws. There are times when he just doesn't know how to hold himself back. He isn't exactly compulsive, but he does not fair well with injustice. Treating someone unfairly may get a warning comment from the knight. Treating one with cruelty will most certainly result in a verbal lashing. There are times where he acts on instinct when it comes to protecting the defenseless whether it be someone getting bullied in court, or getting unjustly attacked. It had aided him in many battles, but also caused almost as much troubles.
Maerec, despite being so personable, is not easy to know. He rarely talks about himself and if confronted by rumors or stories of his upbringings or accomplishments, he with either give few words or find a way to turn the conversation's focus onto others. Under all of his outwardly confidence, he does not see anything outside of the idea of knighthood to be worth of interest. He finds himself rather boring, simple, and solitary. He does not have a lot of people that he finds particular closeness to, and tends to be more awkward around those that truly want to know him for him.
Ever since Maerec was young, he wanted to be a knight in every way. The idea of chivalry, and the physical attributes to go along with it has been his goal. After obtaining it, his dream had not dissolved, and instead, transformed. To be the greatest example of a knight, and to uphold his honor and the honor of his family and the house that sponsored him... that is enough.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Though Maerec's story is not anything particularly unique, it is one that has brought a lot of mixed opinions to the noble courts of Parrence. It is a story that holds the topic of controversy between the ideals of bloodline and merit. His birth was never meant to be. A love that lasted only a few short months through secret rendezvous resulted in an absent father, and a mother having to hide her shame from the scrutinizing eyes of her noble peers.
Indeed, Maerec was born to Lady Hélène of House Dufort--wife to Lord Chapan Dufort. It was during a time where Lady Hélène was in much distress with her husband, that she found comfort in the arms of another. It was by random circumstance that the young woman found him on one of her outings and became smitten with the affection he provided. He was, though, a Drudguzean, and not a noble one at that. Their love was short lived, and Lord Dufort, despite being angry at his wife's betrayal, decided to forgive her if she vowed to cast away her lover and the child. Fearing what would become of her and her reputation if she refused, she took her husband's offer. When Lady Hélène told her lover her forced decision, he left her, never to give her a second glance again. Lady Hélène's maiden in waiting was able to find a common family in Solenne to give her newborn over to. The commoner woman had recently lost her own child during childbirth, and she found it to be a blessing of Aun-Oraphe herself to be given the change to raise such a beautiful babe.
He was given the name Maerec after the commoner woman's husband, a Drudguzean as well. They treated him as their son, with no exception despite him looking drastically different from their fair skin and blond hair. Maerec ran with all of the other commoner children, and worked hard in the stables with his father. He would often see knights riding through the streets on their horses as they went to more relevant areas of the city. And it was the idea of being a protector of the people that fueled his dreams of reaching beyond his station. One day, he would become a knight. And he would be grand.
As much as he tried to keep that dream to himself, he couldn't help but to boast to his friends. He had decided that was what he was going to do, and when Maerec put his mind to something, nothing short of the Pentad could stop him. Of course, this led to many mockings and fights. He endured it all, keeping hold of his resolve. Because of this, he was granted the name Maerec de Solenne by anyone that knew of him.
It could have been by chance, or fate. Whatever it was, Maerec, now just a few years short of being of age was whirled into an encounter that would shape the rest of his life. Tensions seemed to be high that day for whatever reason. There was certainly a growing animosity between his father and some neighboring merchants that seemed to boil over and overflowed into the street. Vowing to protect his father's honor, Maerec stepped in, grabbing a broom, he held it at the ready, mimicking what he'd seen at the circus when he was able to sneak glances at individuals training there. His form was surprisingly accurate. The scuffle between the merchant and Maerec crossed paths with the oncoming knights that were passing through. It forced the knights to halt, and Sir Chapan Dufort stepped in to stop the fight.
Skill and form was not something the knight expected to see from a commoner boy, and it amused him that someone from such lowly upbringings could be so keen. Sir Dufort was a man that enjoyed a good laugh, even if it was occasionally at the expense of others. For this, he offered Maerec a chance to show off his innate abilities at the circus for an upcoming trial. If he were to succeed, Dufort promised to make him one of his squires. It was a sore underestimation of a boy he knew nothing about. And that promise was one he would debatably never regret.
Of course Maerec took the challenge, much to his parents' displeasure. This was his chance and he was going to take it. With no weapon, no armor, nothing but the clothes he wore day in and day out, he made his way to the circus for the trial. All of the boys around his age looked at him in disgust and laughed, telling him that someone must have been pulling a prank. Maerec was able to tune it out, and was granted a training weapon. He would have to do without the armor. He was able to get in a little practice before the trials began.
Surrounding the area were knights, ladies and lords all alike. It was a spectacle if anything. And everyone questioned who that commoner boy was, what what did he think he was? Sir Dufort stood there in silence, realizing that his amusement was about to be turned into amazement. One by one, Maerec felled his opponents, utilizing the skills he'd learned working on the streets of Solenne along with what he had seen and practiced in secrecy. His movements were unusual to the trained boys, and confused their feet and swings as they advanced. In the end, Maerec succeeded his trial, leaving Sir Dufort speechless. Lady Dufort had been there watching the entire time, an unnerved feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Something about the boy she recognized. It didn't strike her until Maerec was brought into a strong embrace by the laughing Sir Dufort that the boy before her, was the son she was forced to lose all those years ago.
Maerec had thereafter become a squire for Sir Dufort. He looked up to the man as his mentor and found adoration for the Dufort family. Though, he could never understand why Lady Dufort always seemed to look at him with an expression that seemed on the verge of tears. Sometimes it was unbearable for him to acknowledge, and he was forced to look away. Sir Dufort's relationship seemed to grow quickly with Maerec and eventually to the point where Sir Dufont would jokingly tell others that the now young man was his long lost son, to which he did not know the actual truth. Seeing how much Maerec was loved by the Duforts and their peers, Lady Dufort suggested to Sir Dufort to sponsor him. Help Maerec become a knight as well. It was an idea that Sir Dufort was hesitant on, but after receiving a major injury on the battlefield to where Maerec defended Sir Dufort until he was able to receive aid, he agreed.
Maerec was recognized for risking his life to save the life of his lord and was officially sponsored by House of Dufort. From there, Maerec made his oath, and was knighted shortly after. Maerec's heart was filled with nothing but love and adoration for the Dufort family for giving him the opportunity to live out his dreams. He was requested to live with the House of Dufort, to which he couldn't decline. Portions of his stipend were given to his family back in the slums of Solenne, where his title Maerec of Solenne has a new and brighter connotation.
It has been several years since Maerec had been knighted, and Lady Hélène Dufort had eventually told Maerec about his birth (which didn't go over horribly, but not well either. Rumors had spread about their uncanny likeness which led to suspicion anyway). Maerec remains sponsored under House Dufort, which Maerec repays with unconditional loyalty.
When the young King Arcel's call for armed allies was heard, Sir Dufort offered his services. Though now, too old and worn to see the battlefield, Maerec was to be sent in his place. Maerec agreed even though Lady Dufort protested. Maerec knew the importance of the young King's call, and that he would need that chance to prove himself just as Sir Dufort had given Maerec the chance. He left House Dufort and set out for Relouse.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
A description of items regularly in your character's possession or owned by them. ❖ Knight's Sword - Crafted especially for Maerec when he was knighted. ❖ Poleaxe - Secondary weapon. ❖ Partial (or half?) Plate (to allow mobility) ❖ Two pendants that he ties either onto his belt or wears around his neck of Aun-Oraphe and Oraphe-Sept.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Third Wheel - Force - Skyborn Part of Maerec's natural ability in combat comes from his strange footwork and ability to evade attacks that normally would not be avoidable. Even his hits that would require one to be surefooted he can do with ease and and then use that momentum to change directions. He may have to sacrifice big powerful hits, but in exchange he gains the ability to whittle down his opponent.
In application, Maerec will imbue his armor and weapons with this force magic, allowing him to be more agile and mobile even in heavy armor. A heavy sword becomes a light sword that is easily wielded and heavy armor becomes light armor for the duration. This allows him the ability to dodge and change directions of his attacks quickly.
In the event he needs to land a more powerful attack, he will focus impact on a single point, only to release it right before making contact. All the the kinetic energy stored up will release just before impact, allowing the blow to contain a multiplied amount of force.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Adaptable Combatant - Despite being a knight who focuses on physical prowess, Maerec can assess the battle and change his fighting accordingly. His gift with manipulating kinetic energy helps with that. ❖ Likeable - In a social situation, Maerec has qualities that allows him to get along with all kinds of people. He can often help try to defuse a situation as well. Having that overall likeable quality helps when making allies. ❖ Loyal - When Maerec vows himself to something, he remains loyal to his word until the vow has been fulfilled or unto his death. Vows and loyalty are very important to him and so if he makes a vow, it is set in stone. ❖ Insight - Maerec can generally get a good read on a person's nature upon first meeting. He is perceptive and catches small hints of notions through how people speak or hold themselves. Even the slightest flicker of a gaze can be caught by Maerec's watchful eyes.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Bleeding Heart - The idea of being a knight of the people runs deep in Maerec, and it is difficult for him to ignore those that are in need. Whether it be they are injured, or a poor maiden's tears. It has gotten him into many difficult situations. ❖ Justice Fighter - Though not easy to temper, Maerec can be quick to temper if he sees blatant mistreatment of the defenseless. Even more so, he does not tolerate when higher stationed people mistreat commoners. ❖ Socially (personal life) Inept - On a professional front, Maerec is witty, clever, humble, charming and charismatic. Catching him on an off day by himself, he may seem almost like the polar opposite. He doesn't like to reveal his true self-- a calm, peaceful and reserved person. ❖ Shield Break - Because most of his skill and ability deals with being mobile, he doesn't do the greatest when he is pinned down by an enemy. Multiple strong and relentless attacks can break through his concentration and catch him off guard. Which can be fatal if he doesn't have the ability to react.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Your character's hex code and any other miscellaneous information. Feel free to use bullet points. ❖ Maerec has vowed to himself that he will only marry a woman who is deserving or is in dire need of his unadulterated love. ❖ #887188
“You think you are the heroes, in a world where we are all simply men.”
2 9 | M A L E | E S K A N D | R A N G E R__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Vali, like many of his Eskand brethren, stands above six feet—four inches or so over, though he’s certainly never measured. His shoulders are broad and he’s got the musculature expected of a renowned raider, but benefits from the bulk of his heavy leathers and furs. His skin is pale and his features sharp, a harshness to the cut of his cheeks and nose. His jawline, though much the same, is hidden beneath a short-kept beard. Vali’s hair is blonde, kept nearly to his shoulders. While he usually leaves it down, he may put it in braids for battles or hunts, to avoid it becoming a hindrance. His eyes are a pale green-blue, and ever watchful.
Though he’s certainly fought enough to earn the scorn of the Northerners, Vali is far from simply a warmonger. He holds a steadfast faith in his Gods, believing they called him to war, but honors them in more than just bloodshed. He values the relationships he’s built among his peers, particularly those of his blood-brothers, and enjoys a good chance to speak and laugh with those he truly cares about. He understands why the northerners view his people with such disdain, but does not believe the notion that anyone is necessarily good among the conflicting sides—both act with self-interest, and he will not begrudge the Parrench for doing so, but the belief will likewise not stop his own fulfillment of his beliefs.
Vali also has his own sort of intelligence, particularly when he becomes invested in a hunt. He prides himself on being able to think like both hunter and prey, allowing him to understand the motivations of his quarry and design the hunt to prey upon those weaknesses. His intelligence is certainly not of a scholarly nature, but he finds great pleasure in the cultivated ability to get into something’s head and pull out its plans and actions—or tip the balance just enough in one way to assure an outcome he wants.
There is, however, a dissatisfaction within him—he feels, at times, a sense of shame in where his skills lie. He’s not the fearsome fighter his blood-brothers are, and couldn’t hold his own against a horde of foes the way people seem to expect of them. He’s younger and came late to the game, leaving the man to worry that his legacy will be paltry in comparison. He can be foolhardy as a result, pushing himself to do things he believes may garner him greater respect.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Some names are given, others earned.
The name Vali, powerful, was given in the small village to a squalling blonde babe in a hut that stank of sheep year-round. He grew, as some are fortunate enough to do, herding sheep as soon as he could count them. A shepherd’s life gave plenty in the way of blood—in the slaughter of livestock for food in the cold of Hundri, or the butchering of predators that stalked the herd.
Yet a different kind of blood spills from the flesh of men.
This was the blood the Gods of Eskand called for, to those who heard them in dreams and death and the cold wind on the southern slopes. They spoke with a voice that Vali, son of Kjell, heard and heeded just after his eighteenth birthday.
With five brothers to guide the herd, neither the sheep nor the family would miss him. So he took up his spear, a simple thing, and joined the great raiders going North.
It was not easy, for one so unblooded—there were many who had soaked in their crimson tides and looked down upon the weak, taking glory and blood and gold as they pleased. One who had not yet proven his life worthy on the field of death was but a camp follower. Even the murder of the weak, the young, and the old was not enough—if a body could not threaten you, it was no more than slaughtering livestock.
Vali, son of Kjell lived months in the disdain of warriors before he too was blooded.
He alone stood in the cobbled street, surveying the wreck and ruin of blood and fire that had once been a town. He was the one the armed rider spotted, the man whom the snorting wild charger sought to run down with the wicked sword in his rider’s hand.
None here would mourn him. Some might take his shoes, the fur upon his shoulders, or his paltry spear. They would not send word home to his family, who would not cry for him if they did. Some would see, but few would remember the way the boy was cut down.
And yet… He was not cut down.
He, too, saw the approaching end. But rather than run or close his eyes like a coward, Vali, powerful, son of Kjell planted his feet against the rough-hewn stone, gripped his spear, and met his approaching death with a thrust and a guttural warcry.
The tip of his spear struck the beast at the base of its neck and sunk clean through the flesh. Screaming, it fell upon the spear and down the shaft, the chipped point finding its way out of the mane and into the throat of the rider.
They fell, and fell, the horse screaming in death, its riding choking on his blood, and Vali shouting for the glory of his Gods. They heaped on the stone in a puddle of dark blood, spear pointed to the sky—and for a moment, all was silent.
Then the body of the rider rose first, glistening wetly in the firelight, and was tossed to the side. Vali, son of Kjell emerged, screaming his victory to the smoke-filled sky, baptized in the blood of beast and man alike. His eyes were alight with a burn that none had seen in him before, like a man born anew in the death of his enemy—and, as some may whisper, his own. He staggered to his feet, snatching his fallen foe’s sword from the ground, and held it aloft as his brethren shouted around him.
He was victorious.
He was blooded.
He was Vali Twice-Born, and this name was earned.
He had his name now, Vali Twice-Born, and a sword that had tried to kill him. He was no longer weak and unblooded—and now truly began to hone his skills for the hunt. Vali’s reputation grew as he did, earning him respect as a hunter among the raiders who knew him.
But there was higher still to go, though Vali himself did not know it yet.
There were some among the highest renown of the roving hordes: Hrothgar the Black, Hildr, and Kol—those who, stories say, slew the great Mørkt Fjell, a beast none thought could die. And yet these warriors proved mortal men wrong.
He never dreamed he could be added to their ranks.
Yet his successes as a hunter spread beyond the lower riders, to even the ears of Hildr and Kol. A year and a half since his first naming, they were preparing for yet another great hunt—a great saber-toothed beast, a Skygge Katt reportedly twice the size of its brethren, had been picking off hunting parties for weeks. None sent after it could seem to find the creature, before being found themselves. Only one among the many who had been found escaped the bloody death, and spoke only of a giant who moved like a ghost and looked to be made of glass.
They needed one who could stay hidden from even the keenest of predators, and track down the most evasive of prey. Seeking to test his mettle, they invited Vali Twice-Born to the hunt—and even knowing the death he stalked toward, the man couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid.
It was Vali who insisted they take only horses that they could stand to lose. They traveled days into the trees, towards the last sightings of their Skygge Katt. Every night, as they camped, Vali would lead each horse a different direction into the trees and tie it to a trunk well away from the camp, leaving a lit candle for himself and both his companions to call for the Visitor’s protection. He sat awake, sleeping only minutes at a time, among the great spreading branches, and watched.
Six days in, and he did not hear the screams of the first steed as it died, not knowing there was something to be afraid of. He only felt the blood spill against the awareness of his Gift, and when his attention snapped to the now-dead horse, he felt the faint force tracings of the beast consuming it.
The next night, he knew what to look for—and sensed the Skygge Katt, seconds before it made its kill, the second horse dying as silently as the first despite the warning of the previous night. Vali focused all the awareness he could into the particular energies of the hunter, following it back into the woods until it vanished beyond the edges of his magic.
That morning, Vali broke the news—they were being stalked and toyed with, victims to the days-long hunt of a deadly creature. This was unlikely to unsettle his companions, as many beasts as they had killed, but served a great purpose—the formations of a plan. The transition from prey to predator, and the turning of the hunt.
On the eighth night of their journey, no one slept. The final horse was tied up, left as an offering to their quarry, and Vali persuaded his companions into the branches with him. There, he dampened their energies, masking the men from the senses of the beast. He felt it cross into the edges of his range, circling and stalking closer with a marked caution and pleasure in this aspect of the hunt. He breathed not a word to Hildr or Kol, fearing even the quietest of voices would chase it away.
When the great beast leapt silently from the foliage onto the horse, Vali leapt too—jumping from the branch he’d crouched on, drawing his own force energy to slow his fall as he plummeted onto the back of the Skygge Katt, for the first time releasing his battlecry. He stabbed into the cat with his sword, metal carving into bone and spilling blood as it bucked, tossing him from its back.
Hildr and Kol advanced from their perches too, facing down the great beast together as it turned on its hunters. Scraped but near-crazed by the scent of blood, Vali leapt forward again, and the battle was on in earnest. The Skygge Katt tried to retreat into the forest and return to an unaware prey, but Vali knew its heartbeat, rapid and frightened now, and could not be surprised.
He was the one to deliver the final blow to the beast—ducking low as it leapt toward him, and surging upward with his blade. The point sunk into flesh, finding the opening between two ribs and nicking the heart. It stumbled, and fought, but could not escape the claws of death as it succumbed to the bleeding.
They returned to the hordes three horses shorter, but with great cloaks of the dark, faintly-striped fur, teeth and claws in excess, and the startings of a bond that would only grow.
The venture that earned Vali his renown came to be known as The Silent Hunt—something that, with time and no small effort on the part of the man, grew to be analogous with Vali himself. It was a moniker he was all too happy to take on, feeling it added to the glory he’d been so late to seeking.
Kol and Hildr did not forget the venture, and he found himself increasingly in their presence—they seemed to develop a fondness for him, and the man could only serve to further prove himself. Nearly two years after the Silent Hunt, they took to him as a blood-brother, like the bond forged between themselves. He was younger, but truly known now by all who spoke their names.
The years since have been kind to Vali Twice-Born, The Silent Hunt—he’s bathed in blood spilled and blood sworn, his bond with his blood-brothers only growing stronger with each battle, raid, and hunt—they’ve trained together and provided great gifts for each other, sworn to be a family until even Sipenta ends and the Visitor’s table has crumbled to nothing.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Blodløst Sverd ]
The Bloodless Sword—the very weapon Vali pulled from the body of his would-be executer. Named for its failure to strike him rather than a lack of bloodshed, it has become the man’s weapon of choice. It is simple steel, but strong, with a wrapped leather grip that has been replaced more than once in his years of owning it.
❖ [ Hand-Ax ]
A small and simple one-handed ax. Vali keeps it in case he may ever find himself without his sword and bow, as it’s small enough to carry on his belt. He uses it primarily for utility, clearing paths in the woods when needed or cutting meat, but has yet to need it in battle.
❖ [ Leathers and Furs ]
His primary armor, thick and protective but light enough to suit his needs as a ranger and a hunter. He holds no particular attachment to the pieces, and often portions of it get replaced after being damaged.
❖ [ Sangløs Bue ]
The Songless Bow, his greatest treasure named for its use in many quiet hunts and the pieces that come from the Silent Hunt. A composite recurve bow constructed with teeth of the Skygge Katt of the Silent Hunt serving as the horn and maple wood as the core. A gift from Kol and Hildr, the bow is expertly crafted and well taken care of, often kept in a simple leather cover.
❖ [ Seiers Drikke ]
Victory’s Drink, a drinking horn Vali had made from one of the teeth of the Skygge Katt, hollowed out to hold liquid. He drinks from it often, not seeing the purpose in carrying it simply for show, but cherishes using it as an opportunity to tell the story of the Silent Hunt—though there are few who may see him drinking who haven’t heard the tale.
❖ [ Skyggehud Kappe ]
The Shadowskin Cloak, a great and heavy fur cloak made from the pelt of the Skygge Katt of The Silent Hunt. The fur is near-black with faint stripes criss-crossing it, and is well taken care of. Though he doesn’t often wear it to battle or to hunt, it is commonly seen on the ranger, particularly when the weather turns cold.
❖ [ Skygge Katt Necklace ]
The other saber tooth of the Skygge Katt, hung on a thick piece of leather stripping around Vali’s neck. It also has a small leather strip near the bottom meant to tie it to his chest to keep it in place during battles or hunts, but is often left unsecured otherwise so anyone near him can see the heavy weight of the tooth as it bounces against his sternum.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Third Wheel | Force | Essence
Vali is a hunter—of men or animal, it makes no difference. He enjoys spilling blood on an open battlefield, but when targets seek to evade pursuit… The Silent Hunt is no stranger to the chase.
His skill lies in Force Magic, with the lightest touch of Essence, spurred to life in the grassy sheepland valleys of Eskandr and honed in the burned villages of the North. He’s developed a keen sense for footsteps and breathing and blood, the hallmarks of life—feeling the force and essence energy surrounding living beings and following it, while dampening the reverberations of his own. He also manipulates the chemicals of his prey, keeping them from feeling the instinctual spark of fear that could give him away. In his youth, it was used to keep track of sheep herds and locate lost members of the flock—occasionally, it would help him hunt down predators that threatened his family’s livelihood and slaughter them.
After he followed the raiders North, he found a new use for it. He practiced his skills on human targets, learning to use his magic to cause small impacts in the ground and follow the reverberations, building a sense of his hunting ground. Softening and counter-acting his own footfalls to avoid detection, while mimicking them elsewhere to flush his quarry right into Eskandr steel.
His techniques of magic are built for distraction rather than attack on the battlefield, but that suits Vali just fine—he’s got skill enough to fight without extra force, and finds his Gift is to the benefit of his fellow raiders, both in catching fresh game to feed them and in finding the few living remnants of razed ruins.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Archery ]
Though he did not pick up the skill until he began raiding, Vali has proven to be quite useful with a bow and arrow. When hunting traditional prey animals, it’s his preferred weapon, offering an opportunity to strike from a distance and avoid detection with minimal effort. He attributes it to his keen sense of energies and perhaps a small capability in guiding the arrow with his Force magic.
❖ [ Animal Husbandry ]
Cultivated by years tending to flocks of sheep and herding steeds, Vali has a gentle hand with animals—primarily farm varieties—and a knack for Essence magic that can keep them calm in otherwise stressful scenarios. He’s excellent at handling horses, and rides a bit better than most as a result.
❖ [ Faith ]
Vali holds true to the Old Gods of Eskand, praying faithfully to them when the occasion arises. Faith is a powerful thing, and even if his may be wrong, it gives him strength to fight for his Gods. He believes he’s followed their call to journey north, alongside many who heard the same.
❖ [ Hunting ]
The skill that has earned him his renown; with the particular use of his Gift, Vali excels at hunting. He can track even the most elusive of prey, and can keep himself hidden to avoid scaring away his quarry. He takes great joy in hunting, and is confident in using these same abilities for scouting ahead when necessary.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ [ Ax-Wielding ]
Though he excels with a bow and can hold his ground with both sword and spear, Vali has found that he has no talent at fighting with axes—despite these often being the weapons most associated with Eskandr raiders. He carried a small hand-ax, in case times ever become desperate, but has humorously little faith that he’ll survive any encounter that requires it.
❖ [ Cooking ]
Cooking was not something Vali was expected to take care of as a child. Though he had to manage when he left the comforts of home, the man is nearly hopeless. Things seem to go uncannily wrong when he tries to cook, from accidents with the ingredients to severely overcooked meats. One might think it was intentional, if the failures did not vex him so greatly.
❖ [ Faith ]
Though his faith brings great strength to Vali, is can also be a burden. He may push himself in the name of his Gods, leading to dangerous situations that he feels obliged to be part of. Similarly, such staunch support will find him highly disdained in the eyes of those who keep the Pentad, garnering no sympathy from the Northerners and their misguided beliefs.
❖ [ Insecurity ]
Vali has always felt that he has something to prove—despite his great successes among hunts, he fears he’s not enough to stand beside his blood-brothers. This concern, and the burning need to prove himself, can often push the ranger into foolhardy action—getting him into trouble much in the way his faith does. It’s also led to him taking the name The Silent Hunt, and giving meaningful names to many of his possessions—trying to insert his importance into history in hopes that it may stick.
Stalwart, the closest word to describe Ulfhild’s build without seeming ineffable. Standing at just shy of 175 cm she wears her weight of 68 kg well. Her philosophy is to keep things sharp, that of course includes her mind, her body, the gift, but most importantly the edges on the blades she keeps tucked closer than any enemy. Her vestment/garb is made up of furs, leathers, and wools common to Eskand. Varying shades of green as to blend into environments further from the tundra of Eskand. A hefty belt that envelops her torso, but also houses her blade. Bow and quiver have become part of her person as well as the paint she wears smeared across her eyes and in stripes down her arms. Despite all the muscle lacquered with definition she does not lose any of her femininity. To her this physicality is the least she can do for herself to lower the chance of being seen or caught by enemy nations. Her original motivations lied with fighting on the front lines, moving one as a shield wall with her father and her brothers, yet their gods saw it more fit for her to give birth to other men who will take up that cause. Due to this she didn’t resign from the fight, instead she did what she could do as an archer, airless and cloaked in the canopy. Ulfhild is determined to say the least, she steels herself in order to complete the tasks assigned to her like a polished instrument. While she does have a colorful personality and extroverted especially in the presence of mead, it is mostly reserved to times when she’s not amidst furthering Eskand’s agenda.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
There isn’t much to Ulfhild’s story. She comes from humble beginnings in the home country of her people. She was given the name Ulfhild as her families heraldic symbol was derived from the wolf. The second part of battle was bestowed unto her knowing that raiding the enemies front lines were to be in her future instead of the blisters and callouses formed on the hands of farmers. Growing up, Ulfhild had a love and affinity for all things flora related. She collected and harvested fungi and flowers, quickly learning which ones were poisonous to eat vs those of medicinal intent. Being the youngest to two brothers quickly immersed her into the culture of her people, brutality. She spared with wooden sword and shield until her skin beat read and blood trickled down her skin. It wasn’t until she went along hunting parties with her father did she learn the touch of a bow. What she lacked in swordplay she more than made up for in archery. Shields were replaced with quivers and her brothers swapped for targets made of hay. Bullseyes lined the field, pushing the targets further and further back changed nothing of the result, it was as if she was touched by her gods.
Eventually when she was of age she began to accompany the periodic raids on Quentic lands, only after the initial breach of the shores lead to Eskand victory. She became familiar with the lands, the arts of subterfuge, and the local flora and fauna. Teachings of The Gift began to be imparted on her, and while she could have focused on two arts just the same, she chose to excel at one. Arcane gifts made the most sense to her as they were the polarity of the cold lands she was bore from and the manipulation of light benefited her nimble nature. While she did focus on arcane she still had the rudimentary knowledge of the other four as most of her kind did.
Despite still being green behind the ears, she was sent to scout ahead for their next raiding party. Traveling deep in Quentic lands stoked the flames in her heart as it drummed through her body. Cunning as a wolf and not as helpless as one alone, she slipped pass patrols and watch points. With the help of her gods her arrows rang true and sunk deep into those unfortunate enough to be solitary guard. The first few bodies were enough to stir up that warlike nature and vitality she had not known. Slowly the fear washed away and was replaced with determination. Many would fell themselves to her ranger prowess, lending themselves to only hope of close combat. Though her fangs would not go quietly without a bite of iron. Now, Ulfhild, hopes to tread deeper into the new world and spread her legend before she must bear children into the world.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Hoggtann - A shortsword made of stolen steel, tucked in her belt. ❖ Poki - A pouch filled of herbs and mushrooms ranging from toxic to medicinal and vials containing specific spores. ❖ Wolf totem carved of wood ❖ Hodejeger - The name of her recurved now made of the finest maple wood found in the reaches of Eskand. Paired with a leather quiver tanned from bear hides. ❖ Standard gear with a cloak fashioned from wolf fur.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Fourth Wheel | Arcane | Fireblood
What better marriage betwixt The Gift and being a ranger than Arcane. The light that illuminates the world through its magic also shrouds Ulfhild in a cover of darkness. The Gift being almost a birthright for her people she was ecstatic to recieve hers as the people in her village and country did. What she wasn’t ready for was the knack she had for the gift that her peers didn’t. They had more contrived versions of the gift, an aid to the agricultural work they made their livelihood from. Ulfhild was however, different, her skill with Arcane became a precedent for her clan and village. The elders knew of the many wheels in the system that was The Gift, thus allowing her further insight. She was an outlier in her family, able to stand on the shoulders of Wheel four mastery. Seeing as she was a natural with Arcane magic, the other schools were presented to her. There were a few choices that stuck out to her, but none more than that of the arcane arts. It could have been due to the heat she was mostly unfamiliar with having lived in the cold or the perfect fit for her type of combat. Regardless she felt the flexibility in nature of arcane fit with the taut but flexible nature of the string on her bow. She does however channel her magic not through constructs nor blasts of energy, but instead channels the magic into the arrows that she fires. Ulfhild serves as the vessel and her arrows the vehicle in which to deliver her magic. This consequently also removes the necessity of having variations of arrows in her quiver as she can just conform varying magics to her bow.
In application she can endow her arrow tips with flames, heat the steel enough it can sear through layers of most structures, bathe the arrow tips in light for a primitive flash bang/flare-like projectile. Most of her wheelhouse is situational.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Flugr - Her aim is true. By this, of course, Ulfhild is able to accurately calculate and sink her arrows with ease. She accounts for things such as distance, drag, and the amount of force exerted by the planets gravitational pull. You would be hard pressed to find someone of equal caliber, not impossible, simply very rare. ❖ Eyra - In an approach to further her ability as a ranger, Ulfhild has strengthened her ability to detect sound from both distance and bearing that most others could not. Training her ears has been essential to her craft. ❖ Skjǫldr - Ulfhild treats her body as a shield. She’s fortified it with enough muscle she believes it can protect her in place of a shield that would otherwise slow her down. It not only protects in a physical sense, but allows her to move acrobatically with both strength and agility. It also does add some power to her punches, slashes, and arrows. ❖ Til - A sort of primitive botanist, Ulfhild is able to identify most flora and fungi and forage the necessary combinations to form elixirs, poisons, and miscellaneous applications from both.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Confident to the point of comfort. In terms of her archery she relies very heavily on it not knowing what the feeling is to be stuck with that extension of herself taken from her. ❖ While a fourth wheel, her magic is more noteworthy when channeled through her weapons rather than from her own being. ❖ When cornered into closer quarters combat she reverts to a savage animal that has lost its pack. Her attacks with her short sword are wild and akin to that of the famous berserkers that exist in her country. Save the coordination and power that berserkers exhibit. ❖ Pious to her gods and what is expected of her in terms of womanhood and Vistor.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Enjoys her mead with a generous amount of goats milk. Will sometimes substitute paint for blood. ❖ 3CB371
32 | M A L E | Y A S O I | T H U N D E R - B L O O D | I N F I L T R A T O R__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
At first glance, Otios looks like somebody who might live much more on the street than he might do in a proper house. His blonde, medium-length hair is a mess barely maintained well enough to keep out of his field of vision and his beard is not very friendly towards those trying to kiss him to say the least. He presents a rather grumpy facial expression by default when not actively trying to do otherwise and his amber eyes are a good addition to this for they are as much striking as their gaze is piercing. Maybe that's also because a black pupil is all the more distinguishable from all the pale skin around it.
Otios' ears are comparably mildly pointed and, combined with his hair covering them, do not provide much indication about his non-human nature. What does so a lot more however is the fact that he is no less tall than 7'3, well proportioned and outfitted with enough muscle to keep himself moving efficiently. So... a very lot, but since it also spreads out over such long limbs and such large areas it's neither blatantly visible nor does it give him that much of an excess of statically useable strength in the end. One probably just doesn't want him to step, or stumble, upon oneself however.
Otios'yyia'thala can probably best be described as the ultimate outcome of combining a Yasoi's typical, intrinsic greed for discovery and their hands-on mentality with a lot of a 'don't care' attitude he's been born with. There is no childhood in poverty, no tragic, sudden loss of a parent or any other kind of outside catastrophy, just the overruling desire to do things his way that, maybe, has fallen on very fertile soil represented by some mishaps in his upbringing. Also it is just a lot easier to roam around on somebody else's private land and country if the very definition of 'private land and country' has never existed for oneself in the first place.
Behind all that stealing, ransacking and other unlawful doings to accumulate wealth is something very different than just spending all on booze, food and other short-lived benefits however. People have learned to use fire outside the realm of magic far longer ago than any book can tell. They have managed to erect giant cities from solid materials of any kind and the dream to fly like a bird in the air instead of just levitating by means of mana is a commonly accepted thing. When it comes to thunderstorms however all people know is fear and upon seeing two small metallic rocks repelling or attracting each other without any visible connection between them superstition is never far way. Otios sees electricity and magnetism as just another domain of nature both Humans and Yasoi, for some reason that has eluded him so far, have yet utterly failed to make proper, constructive use of for everyone. Nature itself has no mana, has it ? And yet it can make all of this happen, so it must be possible to do without magic, too. Unfortunately it has dawned upon Otios that even the simplest attempt to achieve a significant breakthrough in that matter might require more elaborate facilities than he could ever afford by conventional means, let alone standing against all those saying 'no' and 'that won't work!'.
Otios'yyia'thala, albeit certainly having caused a lot of outrage, crying or regret throughout his 'career', is far more focused on his personal gain than he is on affecting others with misery. He not just sees the profit of theft, but enjoys the very act of doing it. Yet on the other hand he has not killed any of those he has taken from so far and preferred escape and second try in place of spreading serious injury. The latter has happened here and there though when cornered or just pressed too hard. In fact, upon noticing that an item obtained actually has been far more useless and boring than anticipated, Otios has actually returned some of them for the sake of having fun getting in and out twice -- and the feeling of not having caused harm without also having caused someone's, his, benefit.
When not 'busy', he can most often be seen in one of two places: the local tavern endulging himself and trying to wash away unwanted memories by means of alcohol, or seeking lonelyness or at least the presence of only his closest friends in order to enter a more meditative state, thinking about future plans and the broad, far away goals of himself. One can safely judge his freelancing lifestyle to be comparably difficult to get along with, but those who have managed to not only gain his friendship, but also take the brunt of his rather exquisite job, have always been able to count on his loyality and intelligence.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Starting in AOZ12, Otios' life has not looked like being up to a vigorous start at first. His parents had already reached an unusually high age for giving birth to a child, even by Yasoi standards, so they had also already been well past the point of having to prove themselves. Malicious gossip has it that, in hindsight, this has been the root cause for Otios' derailing: Without seeing the need for a lot of adventure for themselves, Otios' parents also didn't see the need for such a thing in their only son until they could no longer hold back his growing desires and ambitions. From that point onwards overcompensation set in and the young, utterly inexperienced and not very socialized Otios' was set up for mistaking his sudden freedom with the allowance to do just everything he wanted. A miracle it's merely been becoming a thief and not the worst, cold-blooded killer the world has ever seen!
Whether this gossip is true or just rubbish ? His parents of course oppose any such accusations, and he himself does not really care or is just way too far away to pick them up in the first place. He has moved out of the Yasoi heartland several years ago for humans have just been a target looking easier and less dangerous because, again, they're much further away from where any bad word about him might actually matter and more remote regions are statistically bound to yield more interesting results than one's neighbourhood. Another thing worth mentioning might be that there are also those people who actually approve his doings once they get to know about them. Which poor man feeling left behind and exploited by all those snobs, corrupt merchants, egoistic nobles and unworldly mayors wouldn't approve such a nonchalant reversal in the flow of wealth, especially if part of said wealth might suddenly end up in his own hands in exchange for nothing more than a small favor ? Just feeling easier with humans, though Otios has never really tried that extensively within the boundaries of his own kind to have a real comparison.
Speaking of 'get to know', he so far has been pretty successful in keeping everything on a 'need to know' basis -- and any officials certainly don't need to know. He has a clean slate though he also can't rule out the possibility that some of those he has left behind might just be too clever to tell him they already know and instead could just be waiting for the right moment to strike back. It's the hazard of his profession and if breaking out of jail should have to be added to his list, then so be it.
Why should he ever report to the king for the sake of the nation though ? The answer is simple: There's nothing so well suited to forge unlikely bonds like a common enemy -- and aside from that just how incredibly less dignifying would it be to steal from those whom even the primitives regard as primitives: those barbarians of the South! Otios accepts that he might have to put aside his current creeds for the sake of the greater good and ultimately his own, long-term future. Last but not least any considerable contribution to an overall success of Parrence would weigh heavily against any future accusations that could come up against himself, be it for things already done or still to come.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Two silver staffs of medium length with steel caps on their ends. They are pretty much just bolted on tightly and easy to remove and replace with others of the same or different shape. A seemingly harmless duo of identical tools that serves the purpose of conducting current in and out of potentially super-heated things without burning one's own hands. They can be used as clubs or levers, too. ❖ A small crossbow with a rope and grappling hook. ❖ Sturdy leather armor with very little metallic components included ❖ A thick fur cloak, just in case the weather turns cold and ugly ❖ Everyday necessities such as some spare food, water and a bedroll ❖ Candles ❖ Set of lockpicks ❖ A riding horse by the name of Sakar, even though, at his size, Otios'yyia'thala looks a bit weird on such a beast. He doesn't care though as long as it's a faster getaway than he can do on his own feet
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Five wheels rating: 4
Favored school: Thunder
Blood type: Thunderchild
Otios prefers low-energy applications as long as possible and can often be seen (or rather not seen) trying to invent new methods of doing things right in the field: Can this small lock be melted away by sending too much current through it ? Or can it be sorta welded together so this door cannot be opened behind his back anymore ? Can one make these sets or armor put up for the sake of decoration rattle to cause some distraction ? Or is it true that pretty much everyone is worried about his or her steps causing noise, but pretty much noone knows that their very steel breastplate or longsword causes a small distortion in the otherwise perfectly aligned magnetic field of the world itself that can be picked up ? And it can be almost disturbingly easy to incapacitate somebody if he can just get his fingers onto said somebody's skin in the right place.
Under enough pressure or if the situation just makes it too much of a viable option however Otios can do far less subtle, too. Variable magnetism induces current into metallic things without touching them, current produces heat, heat sets fire to buildings and persons. So one can set at least some things on fire without hurling an actual, terribly big and noisy flame at them and even through barriers that don't hinder magnetic flow -- how great is that ? Or just send a damn, demonstrative thunderbolt if somebody calls him out as 'slow and boring as a snail' again!
That is as far as his inclination towards the realm of electromagnetism goes. Otios is aware of the fact that he might have some significant talent with the more dubious magical art commonly called 'Blood' as well, but neither does his general desire not to spread harm without second thought allow him to just draw such an exquisite resource from other living beings, nor has his lifestyle so far allowed him to do any extensive studies yet. So, to sum things up, he does not have any real repertoire in that respect yet, just potential. Also there is one thing he could always happily manipulate without angering his own conscience: his own body.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Maybe his most important strength is his wit ❖ Should wit not help though, he has a very high magical capacity and skill he can put to both constructive and obliterative use ❖ Stealth, not necessarily only in terms of moving himself but also with regard to aspect such as temporarily disabling or even killing persons without causing a mess ❖ His Yasoi background and physiology makes him quite good at acts of acrobatics such as climbing, jumping and using ropes or similar things. Actually much better than the uneducated onlooker might suspect at first.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ A considerable portion of his repertoire more or less depends on the situation. For example said lock might just be too thickly built to heat up enough without spending absurd amounts of energy into the necessary current, or the whole building might contain too much iron to distinguish magnetic distortions caused by an actual persons's gear from those caused by irrelevant junk. ❖ Otios does know that the double-edged side of a sword is actually meant to go into your opponent's wobbly gut and not into your holding hand, but that's pretty much for it. He has never received any real training with swords, maces or whatever other melee weaponry that is so commonly around. ❖ Otios is not exactly flimsily built and a very heavy man by means of sheer height alone already, but one has to consider the fact that all of his muscle also spreads out over all of his height so he is neither particularly strong nor particularly fast. ❖ Might be a bit hard to socialize with.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ The middle name 'yyia' is the brainchild of a few of his Yasoi friends from back in his youth. They deemed the name 'Otios'thala' to be on the borderline of being a tongue twister, so they thought that the addition of something complicated might do the trick and cause people to knot their own tongues together while trying to spell it. They put their idea to the trial with sort of an inofficial 'contest' and the sheer intensity with which Otios extended name was inadvertently maimed, butchered, abused or completely missed vocally by quite a bunch of people convinced them that he had the right to bear this addition for a lifetime. ❖ The pronounciation of his name is a little ambiguous: The parts 'Otios' and 'Thala' have a pretty straightforward phonation that is no different from other words such as 'otiose' (the adjunct) or 'thallium' (the metal). For 'yyia' however there is no such thing as a real rule in the Yasoi language for it is an artificial construct primarily designed to be complicated as descripted in the previous paragraph. Most people instinctively go for something like 'Heya', just without the H and a lot of emphasis on the 'e' however. ❖ FF9900
Standing around 170cm and weighing around 62kg, Genevieve has always been a highly active and athletic woman who has taken to more outdoor and physical activities compared to her younger sister. Despite having a heartier appetite than anyone else in the family, she has managed to maintain a toned figure. She is also the tallest of her father's daughters, standing just a head shy of her oldest brother's height.
The first distinct facial feature you’ll recognise of her are her oval-shaped face adorned by a pair of soft green eyes that gaze back at you giving off a tinge of sadness coupled with determination and grit. Her lips are a healthy shade of pink, although they can sometimes be a little chapped due to her spending too much time outdoors exerting herself without proper rehydration.
Her long locks that reach down her chest are blonde, and they are often a lighter shade of wheat-blonde in sunlight, while appearing a shade of brown in places with low light. Several strands are also usually braided. When free of dirt and grime, her fair complexion is unblemished with warm undertones presenting a comely and feminine appearance many would find attractive.
Being brave and adventurous has always been something Genevieve has never lacked from a young age. Being afraid of hardly anything at all, she would be keen and curious enough to try everything and give it at least a go. She loves getting her hands dirty and getting into the middle of things. Naturally an inquisitive and curious soul, she loves discovering and learning about new things. Sometimes, she can be a little too curious for her own good, ending up in places or doing things she is not supposed to do or be in.
Despite being classically trained as a wizard, she has found that the academic life is not only boring and too stifling for her, it also comes with a lot of social pressure she has no interest in, unlike her other siblings. Having discovered a different world in terms of fighting style, she has managed to combine her prior magical knowledge to her recently learnt martial skills. Not officially a knight in any sense, she is armoured like one and most people's first impression of her would be that she is simply playacting as one, but that impression would soon change once they witness her in combat. Genevieve has proven to be a highly effective combatant that utilise her gifts well to turn the odds into her favour.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Born into a noble family in the south of Parrence, Genevieve lived a decent enough life not dissimilar to that of your typical noble family. Her father was a baron who had pledged his services to the king, and in turn was given land to rule and pass down of his own. Baron Philippe Chalamet was a fourth and a half wheel wizard that was as talented as he was generous. He treated his people well, and they in turn respected him greatly. Young Genevieve had always been an energetic child ever since she learnt to walk, and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone that she found no interest in sewing, stitching or any of the other typical activities done by noble women and could often be found watching her brothers training with swords and other assorted physical and combat drills in the family estate’s courtyard.
Baron Philippe had always been considered an eccentric character by other noble families due to his open minded and progressive mindset, especially regarding his views of allowing his children to follow their interests, much to his wife’s chagrin. Although Angélique had never been fond of the idea, the baroness eventually accepted the fact and decided to follow her husband’s will. As soon as Genevieve was deemed old enough, she began her training as a classical wizard, learning all about the gift, and honing her magic. Being gifted in Thunder and Force magic, it was soon revealed that she was a Fourth Wheel that was especially talented in her gifts. Although she received adulation from her tutors, with some of them going as far as to call her a child prodigy, none of the compliments really satisfied her. The young noble lady felt that there was a part of her missing, and that she simply had no passion and interest in the masses of dry academic theories she faced frequently in the large tomes that her father's mages kept in their dusty looking libraries. It got to the point where the bored girl began to escape from her lessons and avoid classes whenever she could, to go out riding on her pony around the lush lands in her family’s estate.
When her father forbade her from going out riding, she remained cooped up in her room in protest, avoiding meals as she went on hunger strikes. Eventually her father relented and came up with an idea of a compromise. He began personally teaching her his own personal fighting style, techniques that blended the use of magic with physical weapons. When she was decent enough with a sword and shield, he added specially crafted armour to her training attire, starting with padded cloth, to a suit of leather, eventually progressing on to metal armour.
As Genevieve grew up and approached her sixteenth Stresia, she blossomed into a tough and free-spirited lass that was not only highly passionate of her beliefs, but also one that worked tirelessly to master her skills. Her father decided it was time and gave the castle's blacksmith an order to forge a specially crafted longsword that his daughter could call her own. During the festival, the baron and his family were enjoying the festivities with the villagers at a local village when one of her father’s soldiers came galloping into the village announcing that an alarmingly large Eskandr raiding party had just crossed the boundaries into the family’s estate lands and had already began burning and pillaging everything they came across. The news worried the baron as he had only brought along his household guard, and even with the combined might of the village garrison, they would still be no match for the overwhelming numbers of the invading Eskandr raiding party.
He gave the order for his wife to flee with their youngest daughter along with some of the household guard as their escort back to the castle to rally the rest of his army as well as the populace to fight back against the Eskandr raiders, although he knew that it was very unlikely that reinforcements would return in time. When the raiders finally came, they brought with them a loud and noisy wave of battle cries. Waves and waves of raiders came, but for every Eskandr the baron and his men cut down, three more appeared to take their place. It was only a matter of time before their numbers along with their strength and mana would deplete as they faced the overwhelming odds against them. All of them knew in their hearts that victory was almost impossible by now, but none of them lost their spirit as they continued fighting the losing battle.
It was then that her father made her promise him something. That she would flee and survive this day. Looking as immense desperation and sadness filled her father’s eyes, she knew it was pointless to argue with him. Quickly mounting a horse, she sped off into the direction of the castle. Just as soon as she thought she was clear of the fighting, she felt something heavy hit her and the next thing she knew, she was off her horse and was rolling down a hill. When her fall finally stopped, she could only manage a muffled groan before darkness claimed her. When she regained consciousness, night had fallen and a crackling campfire caught her eye. She recognised the man clad in dark robes in front of her. He was the very same Dark Somnian monk that she often saw her father talking to in hushed tones back in the castle on many occasions. As soon as the monk realised that she was awake, he snuffed out the fire by kicking dirt onto it with his boot, uttering,
“Good, you're awake at last. We've got to move. The baroness is waiting for you.”
When she returned to the castle, her mother told her that her arrival with her father’s army had routed the Eskandr raiders, but by then her father and brothers had already lost their lives, their heads decapitated and placed on spikes along with the rest of their men who had fought to the end. There were no survivors of the initial fighting force. It was then that Genevieve sought solace in Dami and asked for guidance and strength to rid Parrence of the Eskandr menace in the name of her father, her brothers along with all the other souls that lost their life that day, finally giving them the justice they deserve for the unjustful way that their life had been robbed from them. Although scores of Eskandr raiders had fallen under the might of her father and brothers, to her, no amount of Eskandr deaths could ever make up for the loss of her dear father and brothers. When the call-to-arms by King Arcel of Parrence arrived, Genevieve did not hesitate to answer.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Armand - A longsword with a polished scabbard that she wears on her waist gifted by her father.
❖ Bastien - A kite shield that she uses alongside her longsword in combat.
❖ A gold necklace made in a miniature version of a hammer, the symbol of Dami-Sept.
❖ Her metal armour, which consists of a breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, greaves and sabatons.
❖ A sugarloaf helmet and a padded arming coif cap worn underneath.
❖ The leather armour she wears under her metal armour comprises two parts. A top piece that covers her from neck down not below her waist. Below the waist, she wears a pair of pants that have been stitched with hard leather on the outside and padding on the inside providing a decent amount of protection while still maintaining a good form of mobility.
❖ The steed she owns is a brown destrier that she calls Bernard.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Fourth Wheel | Thunder & Force | Thunderchild
Classically and academically trained as a wizard growing up, she is skilled in many practical forms of magic one would typically expect from your typical wizard. However, her fighting style has long since changed, mixing and interweaving sword and shield techniques along with magic in combat. Despite the frequent strange looks from others, she pays no heed to these strange looks from these strangers.
Lightning-charged strikes - Genevieve is able to generate power lightning charges through altering the polarity of atoms and molecules and channels them through her sword and shield to cause a heavy blow when they strike a target, causing significantly more damage if the object being hit is a good conductor. This is a rather loud and noisy affair, and therefore stealth is not something this goes well with.
Force Lightning - She is also able to generate lightning strikes from her palms into a focused strike for precision attacks. Combining this with force energy, she is able to use the kinetic energy to extend the range of these lightning strikes which are highly useful when ranged attacks are required before close combat.
Magnetic Manipulation - She is able to magnetise and demagnetise objects by altering the polarity of the atoms in the subject matter. She rarely uses this power though, and mainly uses this to counter against other foes with magnetic powers, especially to demagnetise herself and her allies, nullifying their effects.
Telekinesis - She is able to telekinetically move objects of various sizes using her hands with simple gestures or through her mind alone, although the latter is significantly more mana-intensive and she has been trained to only use that as a last resort in absolutely dire circumstances. She has been known to use this power offensively by flinging objects at attackers or holding up large objects as shields defensively for incoming attacks. The purpose of this power's usage is highly situational depending on the circumstances.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Adaptable fighter - Although Genevieve is not as physically strong compared to most men, she is able to prevail by being able to think on her feet, assessing the battle and quickly adapting and strategizing about the changing situations as battle commences. Her proficiency with force magic also helps her to move faster than she would otherwise, granting her additional mobility and agility.
❖ Strategic Combatant - Although she is more than a capable one-on-one combatant, her true strength lies in large scale combat, where her talents can shine in being the strategist and the brains of army deployment despite her young age. It also allows her to make the best use of her magic and the environment with plenty of resources available for use.
❖ Magical Marvel - Highly skilled and specialised in lightning magic, she is not one to be underestimated or treated lightly or suffer the result of an enlightening lethal consequence. Boosted with a high confidence and familiarity with her particular gifts, she is able to cast such magic and spells quickly without much delay at all.
❖ Horse Riding - Having learnt to ride since she was young, riding is now considered second nature to her, and fighting on horseback is also something that she is no stranger to, having trained with her father during her teenage years. She doesn’t consider being mounted a handicap, and can fight decently well on a horse just as she can on foot.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Archery - Genevieve never really found the need to be good at archery, as when it came to hitting targets at range, she preferred relying on her lightning strikes instead. Unfamiliar with the bow, and should she be forced to use one, her accuracy and technique would be poor.
❖ Justice Fighter - She has always found it in her to stand up for the defenceless ever since she took the guidance of Dami into her heart. Frequent dispenser of vigilante justice and challenger of the unjust, she especially hates it when individuals of noble status blatantly and publicly treat commoners poorly as that gives all of nobility a bad name.
❖ Stubborn - Since young, Genevieve has proved to be a really stubborn lass. She can be stubborn to the point of being obstinate and can be really insistent on doing things her way unless she is persuaded otherwise, and doing so is not easy unless there is a really strong and logical argument for doing so.
❖ Hatred - She has never forgiven Eskandrs for the death of her father and brothers, and since she is unable to tell who is personally responsible for their deaths, she chooses to have a blanket hatred for all Eskandrs instead. Being able to trust or like one will seem virtually impossible and she will never work with one unless there is a very strong reason on why she has to do so.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Vows to only marry someone who loves her and is able to accept her for who she is. ❖ FDC752
“There I was, pinned under that damned beast, slow as it was, and left praying to the very gods that cursed me with a bum leg. They answered though. Mounted on a magnificent stead, I witnessed the gold light of Dami’s Scale in her armor and the Hammer in her sword. I was judged to live awhile longer, praise the Judge for her. Dami Guide Her and bless her for my life.”
Camille De la Saumure__ _ _ _ _
17 | F E M A L E | P A R R E N C E | THUNDER + FORCE + ESSENCE | K N I G H T__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
Depending on who you ask, the description for Camille changes with whatever version of her story they heard and who they heard it from. Some say she is a seven foot tall giant of a woman, others claim her skin is hued with gold, and even some that believe Camille is a man.
The truth beyond the myth of Dami’s Chosen is that Camille is a nearly eighteen year old girl, thrusted into the mantle of apparent sainthood. She measures at an average height of five feet and six inches, average build although she has noted some more defined muscles and a gain of weight within the past year but hardly enough to make a man strain himself to carry her. Her dark hair is kept short, barely reaching her neck with her bangs cut to keep her face, and embellished boyish features, apparent. She maintains unimpressive brown eyes and bears hardly any scarring throughout her form.
And no. She doesn’t have golden skin.
Her conviction is quite different to the stories paint as well. Camille isn’t this strongly motivated force of Dami’s Judgment. She is a teenaged girl who believed she witnessed a vision from the Pentad to perform one act in devotion. An act that swiftly swept her up into playing a much larger role, one she didn’t want to even dream of, let alone conceive and comprehend.
At times she believes she never wanted any of this but has to deal with the curse of knowing that she’d crush so many hopeful people by being anything different. How many people would have died if she had not been there? What would people say when she saw her if she quit? What if she saw someone else who needed help? What happens if they think she is a fraud? What would the gods do to her if she rejected their blessing? These questions haunt her at night if she ever considers quitting and thus she can’t. Ever onward until the end, using her faith in the Pentad to push herself to try and remain the image of this saint for all to believe.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Born as Camille to an older couple, Pierre and Berenice, living in Port Morilles, she was an only child due to the general infertility that her parents had. Port Morilles, Camille’s birthplace, was a well established one on the southeastern coast of Perrence. It prospered on the back of mushroom trade to foreign nations which allowed the town to be relatively well off compared to others of its size in Perrence. Her parents were commoners though her father as a leatherworker, afforded him a slightly higher standing as a craftsman, it still did not benefit Camille in any obvious way. The town, however, did.
With the wealth afforded by healthy trade routes, Port Morilles managed to afford a stone wall to close off the small peninsula. This pushed people to build up and inside the walls are three to four story buildings to jam as much population as possible in the safety of those walls. Port Morilles was bustling but protected from any Eskandr incursions leading to low stress inside the walls.
Camille remembers her childhood here fondly with the community being very supportive and uplifting. Her parents were surprisingly aloof towards her in contrast. Some of the other children her age would tease her about not being a boy as that had something to do with family inheritance but it just struck Camille as odd that they would treat their only child like that.
She was fairly quiet and independent as a child. When her mother would finally release her from daily choirs or when her father would stink up their whole floor with the smells of rotted hide, she’d slip away into Port Morilles. Sometimes she’d even be content just walking along the beach outside the walls on her own, letting the sand run through her toes.
Yet with any paradise, came with coveting eyes and it would be in her sixteenth year that Camille would find out exactly who the Eskandr were. Up to this point, she had heard the stories and terrors that these raiders would bring but they never tried to take on the walls of Port Morrilles. However, one Eskandr raid chieftain had finally been tempted enough.
That day, Camille remembers vividly as that changed who she was going to become.
They came with a two-pronged attack. A few longships harried the coastal wall while an advanced party would land out of view and go for the landside gate. With the defenders focused on the seaside, there were few to offer an intimidating resistance on the landside. At the time, Camille just remembered having to run back home past the seaside gate. The shouts of orders above, howls and growls of the Eskandr unseen. She was terrified as her parents pulled her inside. Her father stood at the door to know what was going on. He might have even wanted to help from the way he was pacing back and forth. That’s how she heard it.
”The other gate! The other gate! They are going to break through!” One of the sentries from the landside gate said, running past her home towards the seaside gate. Camille didn’t realize what that meant before her father and mother were ushering her, pulling her even, to run for Lord Gabriel’s keep. It was only when they were running through the streets did she realize what was going to happen if they got in.
She prayed in her head, desperately for the guards to hold the landside gate. They had to. There was no other way for everyone here to escape. Among the scrambling through the tight streets, Camille would catch sight of a guard. Then another. Followed by another. They weren’t headed towards the landside gate. They were leaving it, headed towards the keep.
Camille’s heart dropped at the sight. Her whole life had been in this town, was really going to be destroyed just like in the stories she heard about? Why in the gods’ good graces allow this? She felt tears well in her eyes as pictured everything she loved burned to ash. How was that fair?
When life looked darkest, did a light shine through.
Through a gap between buildings, sunlight shined through. The rays piercing the smoke of a panicked fire caused by an accidental out of control fire at the blacksmith. The light rays hit and lit up the head of the blacksmith’s hammer, laying there on the road in front of Camille and for a brief moment the light reflected off of the metal head and flashed in Camille’s eyes, blinding her.
In that briefest of moments, she saw both forms of Dami carrying the banner of Lord Gabriel’s blue dove and the blacksmith’s hammer and crested on his chest was a golden lily, blooming. He reached out offering Camille to take both the banner and the hammer and then he looked towards the gate before vanishing and she was back in the street, kneeling before the hammer.
In the panic, her parents had gotten ahead of her and the whole town was on the verge of chaos but the gods had told Camille how to prevent that and as terrified as she was, she would not let her heart burn.
She picked up the hammer and found Lord Gabriel’s banner getting a metal cap attached to its pole for planting into the ground. Another sign of Dami’s will! Picking the banner up with the other hand, she began to run towards the gate. Other than a few curious glances, she wasn’t seeing anyone willing to follow her. She prayed to Dami in her head as she ran, reciting over and and over again.
“Let others find courage and follow! Let others find courage and follow!”
Over and over again she repeated this mantra, focusing on it. It took her one more minute, nearly at the gate, when she realized a mass of people were following her, arming themselves. They were going to fight for their town! Her heart! Her god!
Camille led the host of guards and people towards the gate just as it was slammed open by the horde of Eskandr. The sight it must have been to see for the Eskandr hesitated and that was enough encouragement for the surge of her kin to charge. The gateway was filled with people fighting blocking her from engaging, all for but one.
There was a large enough break in the gate from earlier that one of the Eskandr, a smaller boy maybe a little older than Camille, had slipped in. He emerged from a building in complete shock to the change on the streets. Nobody had noticed him, save for Camille and she felt compelled to charge. He noticed her, shakedly drawing his sword and swinging wildly.
“Spare me and let me swing your hammer! Spare me and let me swing your hammer!”
The Eskandr’s sword swung high, surprise in his face for a moment before she swung her hammer down on his face with such a force, the skull fractured and the fight was over an instant. She collapsed as the adrenaline wore off.
Awakening in the evening, she was greeted by Lord Gabriel himself in his keep. Word of her valor to lead the defense of the landgate had reached even his ears and that it would be wrong to deny the gods their wish to let Camille lead the people in their defense. She was knighted and spent nearly a year in training and running with levy to defend the shores of Perrence from any who would do Her harm!
In Virtue, Justice
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
Andromnegal, the Blessed Blade of the Archangel Forticand A Legendary Sword fueled by the determination of its wielder (1d20-5d5) Platemail, tabard of her colors, greatsword, shield, shortsword, Perrin (her horse), her banner mounted on a pole, holy symbol of Dami, symbol of the lily flower (Fleur-de-lis), bag of sand from Port Morilles
Camille’s relationship with her Gift is complicated. She doesn’t know she has one, for good reason, and would at this point choose not to believe she has the Gift. All her channeling comes from her strong belief that her prayers are being answered by the Pentad. There are some important parameters for her channeling to be successful in this unorthodox expression. First, that she is still channeling like any other Gifted, she just doesn’t see it that way. Second, her intention must be clearly defined in her mind and must be obtainable by means of magic. Third, her capability of channeling in this manner is limited by at least half her true potential.
The benefit is that Camille is able to channel without really knowing how to channel. She will use her Gift to manipulate attributes to make her a more efficient fighter passively at this point. For example, she will pray to the gods to lighten her burden when feeling the weight of her armor and she will channel Thunder Magic to repel her armor to make it feel light. This is a spell she has channeled almost everyday for the past year and requires no more than a quick prayer to make it so. Something new and complex may require her to pray several phrases repeatedly to find the right focus to successfully channel.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Blessed Saint: Whether you believe the gods blessed Camille or not, reality shows that Camille is often on the advantageous side of fortune. She doesn’t know she has the Gift but managing to channel magic unintentionally through her singular focused prayers regardless is evidence to that point. ❖ Legendary: The legend also prescribes a certain reverence from commonfolk, at least those that know her tale. Few women wear platemail, fewer still are younger than themselves. She is easily recognizable for all the good and bad that will come with that. ❖ Communal: She adored the closeness in the community of her hometown. Everyone tried to get along with one another, probably due to the relative abundance of her hometown. She is willing to give her kin the benefit of the doubt and has a patience for others. Up until they class with her ideals, anyway. ❖ Conviction: At the center of Camille’s driving motivation is her belief that the good should prosper. Good people deserve happy lives and she has always held this in her heart. After being ascended by her vision, she is absolutely sure that the good deserve the gifts of the world while the evil should be judged. The gods told her so, after all.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Reliance: If you take away her Gift, she is a 17 year old girl and incapable of swinging a ten pound greatsword while dressed in full armor for collapsing in exhaustion. She needs to channel to make her armor lighter so she can walk, sword lighter so she can swing, and mood enhancement to keep people fighting! ❖ Jocasta’s Box: If opened, you reveal to Camille that she has the Gift after all revealing the extent of all the new potential she can reach. This comes at the cost of shaking her belief, if you can convince her in the first place. A belief that has, successfully up to this point, led to her channeling magic to enhance her abilities. You shake her belief, she doubts her abilities and then she might not be able to reliably channel again. Is it better to open the box or keep it closed? ❖ Naivety: Camille still holds the world in a positive light having only seen some of the nastiness that the world holds. She has killed her first person (after crying about it later that night and for the next several nights) and has ventured around Perrence this past year to see more of the world. She believes she has everything figured out but as she explores more, both the world and the depths people are willing to go, there will be events that shake her significantly. ❖ Uneducated: Being a commoner at birth afforded her no luxury of a proper education. Although this makes it easier for her to find faith in the gods, it limits her abilities to comprehend new concepts, understand strategies, or realize connections as fast as others around. It also affects her ability to relate and interact with nobility.
Standing at a whopping 6'10, she's quite tall even for Yasoi standards and towers above most humans of the age, even the Eskandr. Her red hair is exceptionally long, falling down to just short of her feet yet does not have signs of tangle or rugs, forming a sort of cape around her back. Her skin is exceptionally pale, but dotted with red markings, whether they are Tetsoi, scars from her past or stains from her craft is something of a mystery for each one. Now, while she is tall, her arms and fingers seem a little too long and there is not much meat to be found on her bones. Longer fingernails also project this image and it gives the impression of a gangly demon baring down on whoever she's looking at. A set of dark crimson eyes aggrandize this, and it does make one think that perhaps she is such a thing, especially given her fashion. Whilst it is largely suited to the Eskandr climate, there is a large amount of red dye involved to fit the theme of the Tar'ithan
Eliis is motivated by two main objectives: the pursuit of treasures and ideology. She is a firm believer in the tenets of the Tar'ithan, being a staunch member of their society for many years at this point and even styling herself in their fashions. However, Eliis is afflicted by kleptomania and feels the need to horde treasures and books from foreign lands. It's hard to describe whether this is simply greed, or her innate nature, but in her mind, an experience is not an experience without a material position come of it. One thing remains true though, her intense hatred of humans, more specifically the Parrench and their false religion. There is no bigger insult to her people and her religion than their continued existence, hence why she is such a fanatical believer in the Tar'ithan.
The main thing that defines this woman is fanaticism. She is, in some ways, the quintessential Yasoi, being completely infatuated with tasks, having an insatiable need to collect and exchange treasures from her vast personal horde or being utterly disgusted by the idea of authority by name, not by power. Whilst this is certainly a turbulent time and the shades of grey are not often looked at, it's unclear whether Eliis even has the capacity to see the world in anything other than black or white. She is arguably more zealous than the most pious Quentic monks, except her zeal comes from an unspeakable hatred towards them. This black or white view is not limited to merely aspects of war, but to every facet of her life. If you're going to drink, get the drunkest you can; if you're going to collect trinkets, gather the best horde in the world; and if you're going to commit yourself to a cause, don't stop halfway. Do whatever is necessary to accomplish said goal.
Another aspect that binds Eliis is that whilst the depth of her emotion is always as far as it can possibly go, she does not have a wide range of emotion to experience. She's absolutely horrible at empathy due to the severity of her own emotions and cannot understand why people feel or act in a certain way. And this isn't something that's from lack of trying, but lack of ability. It's something that she longs to be able to do, and perhaps the only thing she truly feels inadequate about. A main reason for this is for her inability to understand her own feelings, let alone other peoples. Being a slave to her impulses is something of a bother to her and she'd do anything to be able to control her own fate a little more, if Damy would let her.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Born amongst a sequoia forest in Eskand, life was never going to be easy. Her parents were Tar'ithan extremists, bearing an extreme hatred for the human race, and wished to preserve their will among generations to come. The couple had attempted to have children before Eliis, and while the births were successful, the rebirths were not. The family had a tradition, to ensure that their descendants would both survive the dangerous environment in which they lived, and be strong enough to enforce their will and be able to cull any potential threats to their survival. So they would bring their children to the brink of death. and revive them using blood magic. This was the only known way to ensure that a child would bear the Gift, and so it was done. She barely survived the endeavour, but survive she did, giving her the crimson eyes that she is so known for.
Just as soon as she'd survived the ordeal, she was put under intense training. For as much as her parents loved their child that had made it through such a stressful ordeal, they had obligations to the community. And so it was that Eliis trained night and day from the moment she awakened her Gift to become an eligible warrior of the Tar'ithan. With the diligence and focus of her people, and the guidance of other experienced combatants, she became a serious threat very quickly. Soon after this, her enrolment was confirmed, and she was allowed to be part of the raiding parties. It was one aspect of Eskandr culture that their people had quite taken to, a more resourceful way of adventuring and securing loot. From the first trip, she was hooked. The world outside her home was such a beautiful place with such beautiful things. She wanted everything, but saw that the strongest and fastest of her group were those who were able to grab themselves the prettiest things. She had her motivation then and there - the stronger she got, the better the loot.
Raid after raid, she began to make something of a name for her. Whilst a lot of the raiders were certainly terrifying, none gave the impression that she did. Brutal, intimidating and with a tall gangly appearance, it earned her the cognomen of Karmena, a malicious creature in Yasoi folklore who stalked the night and drank the blood of those they killed. To her, it was an honour to receive this epithet, the title becoming a legend among survivors of these raids. The title was in some ways however, an insult. Eliis was too diligent in her work of culling the Quentic humans, and not nearly keen enough to take slaves for her community. To quell these criticisms and prove a point to the others about how useless these northmen were, she captured a monk to take home. Little did she know of the future problems this would cause her.
At first, the relationship was rocky due to her blind hatred. She'd not interacted much with those on that side of the world, and it was all hearsay and conjecture about what the truth really was. Eudes, the monk she'd captured, was a benevolent man and did not bare the same hatred as she did, and eventually a mix of curiosity and boredom got the better of her. The two began to talk, and slowly built a rather strange friendship. Through this man, she learned Parrench, human culture, practices of the north and of her greatest bewilderment, the Quentic faith. It pissed her off. Eudes' eagerness to have her convert to save her soul was also a straining point in their friendship, but alas, it endured.
She'd noticed something since taking this 'pet' of hers into her household though. She'd begun to hesitate on raids, if only slightly. Had her heart began to soften by having that man around? Whenever she ended a life, she saw his face flash through her head. The confusion of the situation drove her crazy. How could she have sympathy for these people after finding out what their religion thought of hers. She began looking forward to coming home to speak with him. A confused heart was not one ready for battle, and she lamented on this fact. On a voyage home, she sobbed for the only time in her life in confusion, away from prying eyes. Demons weren't supposed to cry after all.
When she returned, she found the body of Eudes decomposing on the floor. He'd been dead for several days, having succumbed to illness and was far beyond the abilities of blood magics ability to resurrect. And while she initially felt like cursing fate and throwing herself into the ocean, she realized that this was a sign from her faith. A sign that they all must die. For if even the best of them were not blessed to live through hardship by their gods, then who was. She hardened her heart from that moment on, keeping his books and his skull as a reminder to not succumb to weakness anymore. Eudes would be the first and last slave she'd ever keep. And she figured she'd entertain a will of his.
"I'd like to be buried in a field of flowers. What a nice resting place that'd be."
Parrence would be a fitting place to build this field. All of it. And with the assembly of the great heathen army, Eliis figured she might be able to grant his wish after all.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ Her horde, the majority of which is stashed inside of a massive sequoia tree that she claims as her home. ❖ Eskandr furs and leathers. They keep her warm in the cold winters of her home, though they are certainly less practical garb in the green lands of Parrence. ❖ A comb made of the bone of a large fish. Her hair is long and takes a lot of maintenance, and this tool has lasted her some time. ❖ A great many daggers. They are ever the useful tool and primarily useful as a killing weapon should she not be able to rely on the use of her Gift for dealing with heavily armoured foes. ❖ A large flamberge-style longsword. Whilst primarily an unarmed fighter, it serves useful as a way to potentially disarm those with longer reaching weapons and bring them into unarmed close range combat. ❖ All 3 books of the Menanne are in her possession from her one and only Parrench friend. For her, they are a reminder of her cause, and if she ever feels like she's going off the rails, she reads them to re-assure herself of her righteous path. ❖ Eudes' Skull. She keeps it with her until she can put him to rest. She also talks to it when she's alone. Makes for better conversation than a lot of her compatriots in her mind.
Eliis has an extremely limited range with the use of her Gift and her casting. To compensate however, she is extremely potent in a face to face confrontation, and even more so from the jump. Therefore, she has a wide array of defensive abilities and an aura to prevent her being neutralized before she's able to get into range, as well as dabbling into the force school to grant her the extra mobility to cover distances and augment her athleticism and movement.
Once she's in range, she tends to use deconstructive drawing to destroy weapons, armour and armaments to neutralize targets, then take them out in hand to hand combat. Whilst she's no master swordswoman, she can beat most people in hand to hand combat and feels most at comfort there. If this doesn't work, disintegration of flesh tends to do the trick and she's quite proficient at this skill. If all else fails, she's proficient with curses and poisons.
Her main strength though is her blood magic. Whilst she's proficient with two other schools, her nature as a bloodchild and her excellence regarding matter reconstitution is usually what she falls back on in times of need.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Kastäng master: Eliis is an extremely skilled hand to hand combatant. In most cases, she is more of a threat unarmed than she is with a weapon, such is the nature of her skill ❖ Sharp senses: Eliis is a Yasoi, blessed with a greater Gift and an ability to sense the natural world. One would have to be an incredibly stealthy person to blindside her. Whilst her hearing and eyesight are great, her greatest blessing is perhaps her sense of smell. ❖ Agile: Such a big person has no right to move so fast, but she does. Her long limbs give her excellent pace when running, and she's very fleet of foot and dextrous. ❖ Intimidating: Eliis not only has a reputation and a nickname known throughout a lot of southern Parrence, but has the looks to back it up as well. Even her voice carries a very unnerving tone. It can definitely have a mental edge on people, especially those unlearned.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Emotionally stunted: Eliis is not skilled at conversation, manipulation or even manoeuvring her way around a conversation. Even in her group of Yasoi extremists, she's a bit of an outcast socially. It's proven very difficult for her to build relationships with would be allies. ❖ Uncompromising: It can be extremely difficult to get Eliis to budge on anything. She's stubborn and doesn't often look at the bigger picture, being very much controlled by her desires in the moment. ❖ Lack of range: Whilst most people of her calling are close range, she is even more limited than her peers. Her range is effective to her arms reach for the most part, so she relies heavily on her own physical capability to make up for this shortcoming. She would struggle against multiple long range combatants. ❖ Lone wolf: Eliis is a lonely person and functions best when she's on her own, including a fight. She gets distracted thinking about having other variables on her side, and makes an absolutely horrid leader in the situations that she has to tell people what to do. Being a bloodchild exacerbates this. It's not like she's completely incapable of fighting with others though, just largely unused to it
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ D70040 ❖ Her hair is a natural white due to her bloodchild albinism, but has been dyed heavily in the sap of her tree, turning it deep crimson. It's stuck for a long time and doesn't seem to wash out or show any signs of fading. ❖ Despite her rather intense xenophobia, she's quite fond of Parrench poetry and literature, and considers it as valuable as all the shinies that she seeks to collect.
Dietrich stands at just around 5'10, often wearing gaudy but efficient clothing wherever he finds himself, usually in the form of black and golds, the colours of his families house. Although he stands and walks with a proper gait, he can still be found sporting a scepter with him wherever he goes, and said scepter lends a lot to his body language. He keeps his hair kept back in a ponytail for convenience and is usually found to be shaven, though his facial hair grows back too frequently to maintain this, perhaps due to his heritage. He's definitely on the gaunter side as far as weight goes, and as would be expected for somebody from a noble house growing up. His most defining trait would probably be his amber, almost golden eyes as they contrast vastly with his darker hair tones.
Dietrich's main motivation is power, and his current lack of it. Before this war, he had almost resigned his fate to be a problem solver for his family, or a mercenary on hire for the highest bidder. And while the adventuring life isn't the worst fate in the world, especially for someone with his level of gift, he craved a realm of his own. Responsibility. Subjects to lead in battle and times of peace. Whilst it is a greedy ambition, he believes with all his heart that if the Drudgunzeans are as potent as they are with the lands they have, then with the faith of their forefathers and a land as rich as those found in Parrence, that there is no telling what heights they could reach.
Some would call him rash or arrogant but Dietrich would label himself as prudent. And in some ways, he would be correct as he does often consider the future in his plans, meticulously consider details of a situation and ponders every option before pursuing a path. He does however act above his station, speak out of line and belittle those who disagree with him regardless of who or what they are. There is no denying that this is because the man has a colossal ego, and perhaps he should given that he's a prodigious magical talent from an exceptionally wealthy family, but it often puts him in a sticky situation that he has to dig himself out of despite his otherwise careful nature. But perhaps because of this overwhelming confidence, he can be oddly charming and genuine. Beneath the egomania and thoughts of superiority are genuine principles which he holds dear to his heart and believes in with full conviction. The fact that he think so highly of himself is perhaps why he can get away with being as he is, because certain concepts such as being a charlatan, petty backstabbing and betrayal are beneath the man that he would like to think he is.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Dietrich's story begins in the Drudgunzean nation of Kressia, his father running the duchy of Hendland in the south of the nation that his family had held for 3 generations at this point. A well maintained, preserved piece of land that would otherwise be peaceful was ravaged by internal conflicts, mostly in matters of religion. Zealots from both side threatened to tear the duchy apart, and maybe they would have if not for the stern leadership of Ludolf Erhaben. Dietrich, despite his noble lineage would never see a square foot of this land upon his fathers death, whenever that may be.
He was painfully made aware of this fact at a young age, and it shaped his upbringing. While his 2 oldest brothers were taught to lead and guide the people of the fief, Dietrich and his older brother Albert were given a more rigorous general education. There was not much pressure on them to succeed, but perhaps the competition of each other guided them to greater heights, as both sought to outdo the other and earn the favour of their parents, who had little time for their younger children and an sizeable realm to manage. Even still, this did not dissuade the young lads from excelling, although they took vastly different paths in life.
Whilst Albert ventured into the path of becoming a merchant and adventurer, Dietrich sought power as a combatant after awakening his gift, which definitely earned the attention of his family. They sought an apt educator, and looked to the north in Parrence, who had access to the knowledge of old. A great scholar of the gift brought many scrolls and books from the ruins of the Avincean empire for a sizable sum of coin and the opportunity to train the talented young lad. This sent him over the moon. Perhaps he would not have a kingdom, but he would become acquainted with the magics of old and be an asset on the battlefield, to protect his homeland and people, and aid his family.
The scholars true intentions were to proselytize the young Dietrich and turn him into an asset of the faith, a powerful wizard. And given his potential, it's no surprise that he took the immense gamble of giving a potential heathen access to potent records and a full upbringing in the arts. And for a time, it worked. Dietrich was a firm believer in the Quentic faith and he saw his teacher coming to guide him in his gift as a sign of the gods existence. And whilst he was a firm believer in the pantheon at first, he began to have his doubts. Further research and study dissuaded him of the religion, though he never let his teacher know of his true thoughts lest he discontinue his education. He held the old gods, the true gods, close to his heart and he knew deep down that they had been the one to gift him, not the gods of a stranger from a foreign land.
His education was over around the late teens, and his teacher urged him to come to Parrence with him and study on, but Dietrich knew that he had learned what he could from the man. He instead wished to tour the land of his people, to see how other domains faired, how the peasant lived, and perhaps make a name for himself as a talented warrior. Instead, he began to see what the religious divide had done to his people. His duchy had been especially affected, though no Drudgunze nation had been spared the continuous efforts of conversion by foreign missionaries and preachers. It begun to sicken him. He began to see the Quentic faith as not a guiding light for those lost as he once did as a child, but as a controlling, overbearing arm of the Parrench which would one day pick up his peoples kingdoms and shovel it into the mouth of their ever expanding domain.
He wanted to see how a land united under one faith functioned, so he ventured south to the land of his forefathers. It was much colder than his home, sure, but it offered him a different insight to the world. The people were united toward a common goal. The harsh climate and the meager meals that the land offered them did not dissuade them from banding together for a common purpose. He became enamoured with the culture and once again, began to visit the various courts of the Eskandr. He found the state of affairs on this side of the world superior to the current state of his home, and he owed it to the strong, fervent belief in their gods. Something his people could learn a lesson from.
And while his feelings of distate for the religion began to grow, so did his lust for power. Real power, not as a combatant but as a ruler. If anybody could fix the unruly state of these disparate petty kingdoms, it was Dietrich Erhaben. He had been born and blessed by the storm, and it was his duty to repair these kingdoms, dismantle the false faiths and advance the border northward so that his people may prosper.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
❖ A well made scepter which is made of mammoth tusk. It helps him focus and motions with it help him bring out the best of his gift. ❖ Fine leather clothes, crafted for the upper nobility to be used in the field. Gaudier than expected of a Drudgunzean but efficient and sturdy. ❖ A beautifully maintained journal, as well as writing equipment. Dietrich tends to document his experiences and thoughts within this book. ❖ A large coinpurse. Money can buy anything, or at least people say it can. ❖ Jewellery galore. Rings, earrings and a necklace to boot. None of which have meaning, but they could be pawned in a pinch, and definitely distinguish him as a nobleman ❖ A compass and up to date map. ❖ A absolutely stunning shortsword that has maybe saw use once. He can barely use it but it's better than being completely unarmed. And it's a memento of home.
Dietrich is a true caster but he is only a caster. He possesses no innate weapon skills, nor physical ability. He does however possess immense magical capabilities that become more potent at a distance. The young man has a respectable repertoire of spells for a variety of situations, but most of them are geared towards offense. Some are multi-functional however and offer tremendous area denial and crowd control, though he possesses very little in the way of pure utility. Dietrich operates on a "kill or be killed" basis given his tremendous, unshakable belief in himself and his abilities.
Whilst his magic might not be the most original bag of tricks, it is extremely potent due to the range and potential power behind it. There are no siege engines in this world, but Dietrich might be able to classify himself as one given the scale of explosions and structural damage he can cause given enough time to cast. And although he's not exactly precise from a distance, he's able to cover a large enough area that he can usually cause damage where he wants to.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Intelligent: Has studied and retained a large amount of information. Everything from languages, poetry, mathematics and ancient history is at his disposal, alongside a good bit of random trivia ❖ Pragmatic: Isn't afraid to change a plan if it's going wrong, and doesn't believe that his plans are infallible. If every man was him, they might be, but the world isn't such a wonderful place. ❖ Court Etiquette: While his attitude and general behaviour isn't usually befitting his station, he can blend in at ease in high society and is a bit of a charmer. ❖ Driven: Whilst being an egomaniac is usually a bigger flaw than it is strength, Dietrich has massive force of will and drive to improve and better himself precisely because he values himself more than anyone or anything. Perhaps this is what makes him so motivated
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Egotistical - Dietrich over believes in his own capabilities and isn't all that willing to stick his neck on the line for his compatriots, even if he holds compassionate values. He will abandon an ally to save his own skin and believes that he is the most important person in the room regardless of where he is. ❖ Frivolous - Dietrich is not a soldier. Whilst he may have some feats of triumph and combat, he has never lived a rough and tumble lifestyle, nor a particularly harsh upbringing. It's hard for him to come to terms with sleeping in the outdoors, eating gruel and keeping watch but that just might be necessary in a war like this. ❖ Skinny - Whilst he's been trained in fencing, he never took an aptitude to it. Nor has he ever been particularly strong. Despite eating a lot, he's always been the "runt" of the litter in that regard and isn't much of a physical combatant outside of dodging blows and running away.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
❖ Colour is just [gold], no hex code. ❖ Casts spells in Avincean rather than his mother tongue. Is also his preferred language, believes it to be more fitting of high society. ❖ Hendland is sometimes referred to as Sturmfeld due to its chaotic, stormy weather.
(for you visual folk, vibing something like this, one eye only)
46 | Male | Yasoi | Force and Essence | Dervish__ _ _ _ _
C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _
What is seen in silver waters? A scar puckers from forehead to jaw bone, a trench of red-raw flesh that shortens the left side of his mouth and drags it upwards in a perpetual sneer. Where the wound crosses the left eye, Tetsoi circle its absence in praise. These cover lots of his skin, point out smaller scars, tell a story.
If it is important to you, the remaining eye is orange.
Apart from this, Visz is a typical Yasoi. Perhaps his hair is longer, perhaps the odd way he tilts his head is a quirk of having only one eye, but he also does this at listening parties, when eyes should be shut.
Chains and leather thongs and strips and straps cover pseudo-armour that is much more a weapon, designed to come apart. Browns and greens. The uniform of a Dervish. Around his neck he wears a necklace of pointed ear tips. Count them. There are thirty and four.
What moonlight comes through the leaves to show a path unique? To collect. To trade. In story and song, Visz wishes to unveil prophecies concerning the return of Vyshta and trade them for the hand and bond of his saviour. And where there is war, stories are valuable, and songs old and new are sung.
That is all. Until a new focus comes.
Do your boughs creak? Confident and foolhardy, Visz might at times seem a caricature. When it comes to his focus, that is when earnest interest comes forth, and he is most like the him inside his head. Patient, generous, covetous. He likes to listen and recite, but the cheapest way to collect stories is to live them.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Father died on a mushroom binge. Mother was too busy. Lots of time spent running with other children, climbing, stealing from the humans, tipping their cows and sheep, running from them.
Next came his calling: fight until dead or too old to fight. Then would come training children to do the same. Would he make them eat bark and crawl along thorns like his own Ithi’Naa, his mentor? Sometimes he wonders.
Then death at last.
A champion of Mez’Qaddurat*, Visz never lost a combat. Perhaps he should have seen the writing on the wall, the calling of a new focus, but he did not. In restlessness, complacency grew. It cost him an eye, but his opponent their life. (*a bloodsport where you trade blows and collect ears from your opponents, often taking place at Mette'stiroi)
The festering wound healed and Visz’s life saved by Imri’Tah’Imri, a healer. Their chemistry was instant. It could have been the addled state of his mind, but one night Visz promised the where and when of Vyshta’s return for Imri’s bond. It could have been the addled state of his mind, but he did not back down from these words the next night, nor any night since.
It was, after all, an experience.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
A pole with blades and a length of leather and chain at both ends. There are weights and blades upon the chains, and the leather marks break-points, offering a focal point for the Gift if the lengths get tangled and need to be broken.
Slender chains that wrap around his forearms and shins, with a pointed weight upon the end. Whistling knives. Various whips of leather can unravel from the outfit.
The outfit.
A vielle and harp to recite to. They were painted with bioluminescent inks, but they have all but chipped off from years on the road.
The necklace of ears.
Coins. Humans covet these. Actual things can practically be stolen with them.
A journal.
Mixtures for ailments various.
A promise seed to be planted upon the fulfilment of the promise.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
A dervish, he favours Force and Essence, used for explosive offense. A Yasoi, all can be called upon.
In combat their use is forward in the mind, focussed with chanted prayers of Luck to Vyshta. Force to strike blink-quick, to throw knives and make them scream, to become a dervish. Essence to quicken the mind and body, panic others. Arcane might make a strike appear to come a second early, or a second late, or not at all.
In life, it is not so clear. It can craft counter melodies to song and carry his voice, it can nudge emotions, it can heighten and deaden. When stalking he makes no sound at all. How many times has it staved off sleep, or multiplied drink? So many times it is unconscious, as much a part of him as breathing.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ A memory and mind for story and song ❖ Iron will ❖ Not opposed to the idea of humans entirely ❖ Survival
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Unempathetic when empathy does not stand to gain. At that point it is fifty-fifty ❖ Single-Minded ❖ Delusions of Grandeur ❖ Depth Perception
“This disease is the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll leave this shithole painlessly.”
Most things do not faze Rae, and this is both a hindrance and precisely what makes her life fun. Her lack of strong emotional ties has made every day life boring, and so she’s always seeking the next thrill (usually this means explosives of some kind), the next laugh, as insignificant as it could be. Knowing she will die young has made her reckless, she doesn’t watch her mouth and she acts without thinking of consequences. She has no reason to want to amass a treasure, or build anything long-term, all she’s looking to do is live as much as physically possible before she kicks the bucket. All this to say; she’s fucking game. Her motivation for fighting is as shallow as “I didn’t really have anything else to do.” She never picked any significant skills as she grew up, and a girl’s gotta eat, right? She had nothing to lose, and she figured if she was bad at it, it wouldn’t matter, because killing is technically bad. Specifically murdering her sister, though… that would be a treat if she’s ever had one.
B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _
Rae never liked pain; it was one of the first things she learned about herself. Her mother made sure of it, as she grew older and the shouting became things thrown or fists falling on the arms she was using to shield herself. She never understood why she hated her so much, perhaps she blamed her for her father leaving, but she certainly never seemed to harbor the same amount of hatred for her older sister Vianca, only a passive distaste. When the fading started, it was truly a blessing. She was too young to understand what it meant, all she knew is that, sometimes, she could get out of bad situations unscathed, even if she didn’t have Vianca to get her out of it. She never stood out as a child, never had any friends aside from her sister, who, to her surprise, didn’t seem to find her newfound abilities as something positive. Vianca never explained why, Rae only learned she was doomed when she lost her family. When she was thirteen, there was an attack on her town. She found her mother laying on a pool of her own blood as she was attempting to hide. It was probably her ability to sneak inside places quickly that allowed her to survive. She found Vianca later at their house, taking whatever food they still had into a bag, apparently about to leave. But when Rae tried to join her, she said no. Even despite her heartbroken tone of voice as she asked why, her sister didn’t budge. Rae followed her around as she packed, insisting for an answer. Vianca wouldn’t look at her in the eye, ashamed, until eventually the tugging on her shirt made her turn around and yell because you’re going to die anyway. That was all she got, even as she begged, sobbed and screamed at the doorstep. Vianca didn’t turn around when she abandoned her. It was days later that she was found by a kind mentor, having been horribly stabbed in her left eye, and ended on a path that would lead her to become involved in the fighting herself.
I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _
A makeshift doll fashioned after her sister (who she totally doesn’t want to viciously murder). She likes puppeteering it to say things like “I’m such a stupid piece of shit.” You know, for kids. Stolen trinkets — nothing strikes as good as watching somebody scramble to get it back. Usually the novelty wears off, though, and she’s discarded a lot of them in random places. A dagger, a hand crossbow (from a parrench’s corpse), a flask of poison and an antidote. Just in case. Rudimentary tools to build rudimentary booby traps. She loves the ol’ trip wire.
T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _
Albeit the disease that her blood harbors will eventually erase her from existence, while she’s still alive it certainly is an asset, especially given her magic capability isn’t particularly noteworthy (she rests comfortably in the Third Wheel). As a greyborn, she can sneak into most places undetected and unencumbered, even without being particularly agile, and she’s incredibly hard to pin down in a fight. Despite the fact this would make her a great assassin, Rae has always favored having range, as she hates being in the line of fire. Because of this, her specialties are Essence and Arcane, in that order.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _
❖ A menagerie of poisons: As an expert in Essence, she not only makes it through magic, but she also likes collecting and brewing it the old-fashioned way. ❖ Explosives: Because she doesn’t need to draw from any physical source, she can unleash a torrent of destruction unlike most magic users, and she definitely gets a kick out of it. ❖ Traps: Direct confrontation is best avoided, and there’s the element of a prank when someone falls for your trickery. Rae has learned to build traps just out of the joy of it from very young, even before she had any interest in war. ❖ Fading: As a greyborn, she can slip out of a lot of attacks and situations effortlessly.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _
❖ Cowardice: Rae doesn’t hate anything as much as she hates getting hurt. She doesn’t deal well with physical pain, and so she will avoid it with whatever means she can. If she does get hit, it almost immediately affects her ability to cope with the situation, as her mind just gets narrowly focused on getting the fuck out. ❖ Paranoia: Being abandoned at a young age left scars. Rae lives with the perpetual belief that, at any moments notice, the people around her will turn on her without hesitation, and so, being prepared for that doesn’t hurt. ❖ Cynicism: She lacks the normal emotional ties a healthy person does, which means she has little reason to care for things outside of her own skin, be it someone else’s ‘feewings’ or their life. ❖ Brashness: She possesses a reckless attitude towards everything. Words and actions.
C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _
Long white hair, wears an eyepatch on her left eye. Clear, big blue eyes, very pale skin, almost sickly looking. She is thin to the point she looks fragile, average height. ❖ C0ABAB
