Leader: The Captain (real name unknown), Human (mostly), age 57 Force Strength: 200 Combatants Standard: A running direwolf Current Employer: Katovier eld Kovari
The Company of the Wolf may very well be the last of the Dwarven Free Companies. The Free Companies were founded long ago before the elves or humans even came to the continent. These bands of warriors developed intoxicating thirsts for battle and as a result became mercenaries usually hired out by the Merchant Houses to escort the Dwarven caravans across the realms to the other Dwarven Cities for trade. They repulsed invaders, fought off monsters and bandits. For many a dwarf joining a free company was a last option if all other plans failed and they still wanted to preserve even a single shred of honor in their blood. This was because they were oddities in dwarven society living not by honor but by sway of gold and silver, and their strange ways of constant wandering and seeking the next hunt. But even as oddities they proved their skill time and time again and even if the profession was not as glorious as say one of the king's royal guards, it was still better than cleaning up the shit after the mules.
Soon though the dwarves way of existence changed as the Elves and sometime later the humans came to the Continent. The Free Companies began to find much more work being hired by both sides in their constant wars and generally more people went more people that wanted other people dead. They were some of the first groups in the continent to accept members of all races, genders and outlooks into their ranks following in the tradition of persisting off of volunteer service that they had started in the Dwarven cities. All that mattered was that you could hold up a sword, didn't even need to know how to swing it they would teach you that and a deathwish. But as time progressed and more professional armies were established, the Free Companies started to slowly fall apart. They were either assimilated into the ranks of new armies, killed to the last man in combat and their standards forever forgotten on old battlefields long since grown over into fields and forest or turned to thievery, marauding and banditry to survive as jobs became more and more hard to come by. The ways of the Free Companies were forgotten and their stories mostly left to legends and tales of the histories.
The Company of the Wolf stands as the exception to the rule. Somehow through the perilous grind of history they had persisted if a little worse for wear. Thier ideals and culture intact and they stand as a living relic of a time long since gone by. A time where mercenaries and sellswords held common blood with one another and followed codes and regulations as opposed to being your standard rabble that you see these days. But the years had not been kind a force that in its height measured 6,000 strong had now been reduced to a meer 200. 200 which were then split into four battle groups and those split once again into 10 five man squads. They were a small but brutish force moving with a vicious professionalism of killers trained over the years. If you needed a job done and you needed it done right the first time the Wolves were the people to call. People still join mostly through volunteer service, peasants who would rather die by the blade than starve in their village or city dwellers looking for adventure and finding it in the grim faced individuals reeking of blood and sweat.
I N S T R U C T I O N S:
Using the provided template, please create a character sheet
All other posts to the OOC tab.
Please first post your CSs to the OOC, only Character sheets that have been accepted by me shall go here.
Years Spent in Service: How many years have they been with the company Equipment: (What are they carrying on their person?)
Skills: (List from most potent to least)
The Mind
Psych Profile: (What makes them tick? What irks them, who are they? Basically the personality but a little bit more than that ) History: (Either a couple of paragraphs or a whole analytical essay. Remember quality over quantity. Kiddos.)
Denouement
Character Motivation: (Everybody has a goal from getting the girl, to getting vengeance, to saving the day. What motivates your character?) Significant Relations: (Anybody they would could significant to their existence alive or dead) Opinions on Others: (How do they feel about the rest of the team? This can be left blank and added on after everyone adds a sheet.) Other:
[H3]Basic Information[/H3] [b]Name:[/b] [b]Race:[/b] [b]Age:[/b] [B]Magic potency:[/b] (Y/N) [b]Physical Description:[/b] [h3]Military Background[/h3] [b]Years Spent in Service:[/b] How many years have they been with the company [b]Equipment:[/b] (What are they carrying on their person?) [list] [*] [*] [*] [*] [*] [/list] [b]Skills:[/b] (List from most potent to least) [list] [*] [*] [*] [*] [/list] [h3]The Mind[/h3] [b]Psych Profile:[/b] (What makes them tick? What irks them, who are they? Basically the personality but a little bit more than that ) [b]History:[/b] (Either a couple of paragraphs or a whole analytical essay. Remember quality over quantity. Kiddos.) [h3]Denouement[/h3] [b]Character Motivation:[/b] (Everybody has a goal from getting the girl, to getting vengeance, to saving the day. What motivates your character?) [b]Significant Relations:[/b] (Anybody they would could significant to their existence alive or dead) [B]Opinions on Others:[/b] (How do they feel about the rest of the team? This can be left blank and added on after everyone adds a sheet.) [b]Other:[/b]
G M C H A R A C T E R S H E E T S
Basic Information
Name:Lyssa Asteraceae, The Imperial Sorceress Race: Human Age: Physically she is in her early thirties, actual age is a little bit past seventy. Magic potency: Yes
Physical Description: Lyssa fills the standard stereotypical depiction of a sorceress: tall, sharp eyed and very beautiful. A wolf hiding in sheep's clothing if you may. Her hair a deep red and naturally slick and straight as if constantly wet, frames a strong face and falls about midway down her back. The aforementioned face is a striking one indeed as if carved from stone by a sculpture's hand well defined cheekbones, a slightly small nose and lips in a shape calling back to the petals of a rose. Though the most prominent feature of her face were her eyes, a deep blue in color unnaturally tinted by the magic the courses through her body, they are a spectacle to watch as the iris flickers and shimmers with power almost constantly and by the intensity of the flickers one can easily judge her mood. She moves with a fluidity to her, never hunching down or appearing weak also at least trying to present herself as the focal point of the room. Her body itself is lithe not through rigorous exercise or training but because the use of magic which burns through the body very easy leavening most magic users on the more wispy side of things.
As a woman of noble birth and whose used to being advisors to kings and emperors she dresses surprisingly modest. leather tunics and trousers as opposed to flowing dresses that most processes tend to wear, these clothes at least offer some protection the leathers themselves usually dyed in either dark greens or lighter blues and grays. Underneath the clothes one might notice something contrasting her normally perfect image, scars some recent and others faded away into her pale skin, a reminder that the life of magic user was still a dangerous one indeed.
Military Background
Years Spent in Service: 0 with the Company, but she has seen her fair share of spats over the years.
Equipment:
An old staff made of dragonbone. An item that shows prestige and power as a work of its quality costs the price of some castles
A simple elven dagger inscribed with writing in the Old Tongue
A herbalists pouch
A sack of coin
Skills:
Experienced Sorceress well versed in the magical arts
Trained alchemist and healer.
She is not afraid to throw the weight of her title around to open doors when needed
Noble born and used to all the dealings and mannerism that come with such things.
The Mind
Psych Profile: Lyssa is a ferocious storm, the kind that has sailors dragging their boats ashore and hiding in their homes. In a world still predominantly stuck in the old ideas of man's superiority over women she is something of a renegade. A fact that when she worked in the Imperial court would anger many a pretentious noble who saw her as an upstart trying to force her way into an establishment that had been running fine for hundreds year. But this anger did not annoy her in fact it proabably spurred her on more, she likes getting a rise out of people using their emotions to play them like Vorstagian minstrel does his lute. Yet if you scorn her or try and bite back, her anger is something of a legend amongst the other Sorceresses and she's killed people over lesser insults about her hair just to prove a point.
She's cold like a blizzard, thinks the world should revolve around her even though she knows it doesn't, and willing to do whatever she needs to get ahead of the other guy. This includes crossing as many moral boundaries as possible to do so. You don't become the Imperial Sorceress by laying in bed and letting others pull their moves before you. She's mistrusting of most because she knows the simple fact that everybody will betray you eventually. She doesn't have many friends and those that she does have considered her a grand alley to have in battle next to you but it's a true shame about her personality. But yet if you somehow make a true friend in the Sorceress she will go out of her way to help you in any way, and cross any boundary to help a friend. Yet it is always hard to wonder who she is playing like a fiddle and who she actually thinks is worth her time. You must be sure of where you stand when you confront her or be consumed in her flames.
History: Lyssa's story begins a little over seventy years ago in the small kingdom of Raphilance. Raphilance was one of the smaller kingdoms in the South that would quickly be swallowed into the Vorstagian Empire soon after the expansionist policies of Katovier eld Kovari began in earnest. Her father was a knight in the king's army and her mother was the daughter of a duke. A bit of ponce but a charming man none the less, her mother fell for him when he beat back an unwanted suitor who was harassing her in the market square. They married close to a year later and Lyssa was born soon after that. Like many powerful Sorceress, Lyssa began showing magical potential at a young age when wooden dishes and cups would suddenly start floating around her and small sparks of electricity would dance across the room when she got angry. Her parents knew that it was only a matter of time before some sort of magic user would come to take their first born child away and decided to take the initiative so that at least it was a good person.
As nobles in their own right, Lyssa's parents were able to pull some strings and were able to get her to become the apprentice of an old man in Vorstag that had once been the Imperial Advisor, a long time ago. And off she went one day without much warning for her parents, they wanted to do it quickly so that they couldn't second guess themselves and one night when she was sleeping they put her aboard a carriage that soon disappeared into the growing night. For a very long time Lyssa would never understand the abandonment, feeling a great sort of resentment towards her parents for not even saying goodbye to her and even as she aged and knew that they had made the right decision she couldn't find it in her heart to forgive them and never spoke to them again. Though occasionally dreams and memories of simpler times playing in the fields with her father or walking the city streets with her mother did creep into her mind.
The old man as she normally refers to him was none other than Archmage Fathos, one time royal advisor to five different Vorstagian Emperors, accomplished tactician and now in his elder retired years author of several authoritative texts on history and the studies of magic. To hear Lyssa talk of Fathos would describe an eccentric sort of man, long and gangly in his proportions with heavily wrinkled skin and long gray hair and beard that fell close to his feet, old even for a magic users. The two of them didn't get along at first with Lyssa kicking his cane out of his hand and running away from him on their first meeting. Their relationship improved only a little bit from there but the old man did teach her, he taught her many a things. History, literature, the sciences, political and economic theory and even how to wage war. As Fathos believed Magic was the study of everything and to be a successful user of magic you needed to know how to not only bend the Will but to understand the world around you. Despite resistance and the occasional bouts of not talking to one another for months on end, Lyssa did learn from the old man. And she knows that she would not be half the Sorceress she was today without his teachings.
After her tutelage under Fathos was complete she once again headed out into the world as young folk do with a sense of wanderlust in her heart. She didn't know what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go all she knew was that she wanted to see the world. And that's what she did she began wandering from city to city using her magical abilities to cure ailments and deal with monster problems along the way to make some coin to provide for herself. Though she seemed to cause trouble wherever she went, be it men fighting over her or revolts that she might of helped instigate on a whim. She was like a force of nature not caring what was swept up underneath her feet. Yet it was during these travels where an event occurred which would forever change her life.
She stumbled across a young Katovier eld Kovari and the marauders that had taken him hostage after attacking his carriage on the way to one of the many Imperial estates. The poor marauders thought they had just captured a noble boy and not the Emperor's son for if they had they might of thought differently about the matter. They were in an isolated tavern far to the north of Vorstag, a few days ride from any major town or city. But young Lyssa did recognize the boy from her time in Vorstag with Fathos. And her eyes must of twinkled with the glory she envisioned she would receive upon rescuing the Imperial heir. And so she enticed the marauders into drinking with her and with such a lovely young lass and ideas of pleasure in their heads it was all too easy for Lyssa.
But pleasure never came for the marauders, their drinks had been spiked with herbal mixes that soon made them all fall asleep whereupon Lyssa slit each and every one of their throats. Taken the young and rather astonished Katovier by the hand she spirited him away back to the Imperial capital. She was paid handsomely for her actions and gained some prestige but little did she know that wasn't the true victory she earned that night at the inn. No she earned the favor of Katovier himself, becoming one of his closest friends and occasional lover from time to time. And when the young man ascended to Emperor, she was soon appointed to the position of magical advisor and gained the title of the Imperial Sorceress.
This caused much controversy in the courts and not just because the position magic advisor was traditionally given to a male. Lyssa was nothing like the Imperial courts had ever seen. She was rude, angry, temperamental and would speak out of turn when she knew that she was right. She stirred fires and made tensions flared but when it always came down to it the Emperor would always evidently fall to her side once more. In a way it was a good thing for the Imperial Court forcing them to smarten up in their games of intrigue and backstabbing, she forced them to become more aggressive and more wanting land and power. Land and power that came through their fair Emperor's conquests. And so this is the position she stayed in for close to thirty years traveling from time to time but spending much of her time in the Imperial Capital.
Now though as of recently she had been sent on a mission. Katovier had just hired the Company of the Wolf to go investigate the mysterious rumors and happenings in the North. And he would need somebody to make sure that they followed their orders and kept in line. He needed his own pair of eyes that he could trust. And who would of been better than his own Imperial Sorceress, another master of magic to go investigate a magical disturbance? And so the Company of the Wolf rode out rather unhappily with one of the most dangerous women in the world atop her raven black steed.
Denouement
Character Motivation: Lyssa is always looking ahead, she wants to get more and have more. She's in it for the greed and for the power and will use anyone and anything to get them both. Significant Relations: Parents: Deceased Archmage Fathos: Alive, last seen writing another book on the history of the realms. Katovier eld Kovari: Friend, occasional lover, and the Emperor of Vorstag. Opinions on Others: N/A Other: Hello!
Years Spent in Service: He has been with the Company since he was about ten... so a very long time.
Equipment: (What are they carrying on their person?)
A well worn sword made of Vorstagian Steel and large shield of dwarven make.
An elven hand-crossbow
A set of dark steel armor personally forged for him with the company's standard emblazoned on its chest.
Skills: (List from most potent to least)
Brilliant Tactician
Seasoned Warrior
An aura that commands respect
Dwarven blood gives him lowlight vision
The Mind
Psych Profile: The Captain is a man of his word, one of few such characters left in the realms. An old soldier who had seen enough war and bloodshed in his life for ten men over. Eternally pissed off at the world around him, he's something of a downer most of the time, but he would prefer if you called him a realist. As commander of the Company he does carry a great amount of respect, mostly because he's fair in his punishments and generous in his rewards for good work. He believes that if the entire world went on merit instead of birthright than everything would be much simpler. He prides himself in work done and work done well and holds simple pleasure in life like smoke and drink. The Captain is an honest man and will tell you straight up if he doesn't like you or if you messed up, he doesn't play mind games because they waste his daman time. He does'nt seem to mind killing people but still holds morals in his heart. He values the traditions of the Company and the code of honor that they follow meaning no raping, and minimal pillaging and looting and punishes those that he deems to be honorless. All in all, a simple man but a very good one.
History: The history of the Captain is an ongoing mystery to much of the Company. But from what they can gather he grew up somewhere in the North and was the son of a whore, who died young. He became an orphan on the streets where he took up life as a pugilist and a thief as a young child. This was until one day the Captain decided to pickpocket somebody he really shouldn't of. The former Captain of the Company. This man caught the Captain in the act and rather than handing him into the guards to be whipped and executed he instead forcibly conscripted the boy. Telling him that he could leave the Company once he paid of all the contents in his coin purse that he had tried to steal. A hefty sum of 2,000 gold pieces several years of work. But it was better than being turned into the guards, so the Captain agreed. And the captain became the Kid. The Kid worked as a runner for the Company, running messages, supplies and weapons to the soldiers. But during this time he also was taught to fight, but not fist fighting real fighting with swords and shields. An art which he quickly grew accustomed to. He paid off the debts later but he still kept with the group now as much of a wolf than any of them.
Soon the Kid became the Sergeant and eventually the Lieutenant and after the old Captain who the Kid had pick pocketed all those years later died of old age to complete the cycle he was voted in as the new Captain. That is all anyone knows about the Captain, he's been the Captain for years now and does a good job in keeping them all alive. But trying to fill the blanks is a very hard thing to do. As it is unclear what is truth and what is just the old man playing with them all? Did he really sleep with a queen? Did he really kill a dragon? The world may never know, but one truth remains he is the Captain.
*Real name unknown, the Captain is just the Captain. And has always been the Captain. **That is the age he claims he is, though some have their doubts**
I spent two decades learning how to avoid death. Now I teach others how to meet it.
Name: Kuro Race: Human Age:33 Magic potency: None
Kuro is tall, with a lean body and only light musculature, possessing cords rather than bunches of muscle. His layered clothing and small personal armory of equipment lends him a deceitfully broad appearance, but when divested of his garments his overall frame is somewhat smaller than is typical. His manner of clothing includes a dark overcoat worn over an unassuming gray cloth shirt and trousers, along with a bandoleer of small pouches slung down from his right shoulder - all worn over ringmail padded with leather, only just visible above the neckline for his shirt.
Kuro's skin is the color of wheat sullied by ash, somewhat pallid and unclean in appearance. His face is slightly gaunt and drawn, with generally rounded edges along with a thin mouth and nose. His somewhat protruded eyes are a dull and empty shade of orange, and their lids have a softer definition than normal, which serves as the only physical evidence of Kuro's distant heritage. He is clean-shaven, with his dark hair cut close to the point of either balding or faint stubble.
Padded leather ringmail.
One dark overcoat.
One bandoleer of pouches.
Two collapsible Dwarven crossbows.
One shortsword with an asymmetrical guard that extends parallel to the blade in a hooked shape.
Three knives, various.
Two iron knuckles.
Two garrotes, one normal, one barbed.
Two flints
Two whetstones
Crossbow bolts, various.
Two bolt quivers.
One skein.
Ineffable Grace: More than two decades of battlefield and survival experience has gifted Kuro with a general, almost preternaturally heightened awareness of his surroundings. His vision and hearing are much sharper than average, and he has an uncanny sense that allows him to detect unseen foes and threats. Evading Kuro is difficult, catching him by surprise is a trial.
Scale Tipper: Kuro has built his career upon entirely unfair, one-sided fights stacked grossly in his own favor. Kuro uses and does whatever works, questionable ethics and honor be damned - his idea of a 'fair fight' is one where he grinds the enemy into dust effortlessly, and he goes out of his way to stack the deck in his favor with any and every sort of underhanded tactic and ploy. Anything is acceptable, in order to secure victory.
Tactical Guile: Kuro is experienced in leading soldiers and warriors into combat, making the best possible use of their skills, equipment, positioning, and maneuverability. This skill is limited to relatively small groups - Kuro is most effective when leading ambushes, guerrilla strikes, or planning for skirmishes. His competence as a commander in other realms of battle is untested.
Silent Steps: Kuro is well aware of the value of stealth upon the battlefield. He can walk and run silently, and knows how to make good use of his surroundings for concealment purposes.
Dwarven Machinations: Kuro is familiar with the construction and design of a large number of Dwarven weapons. He can clean, disassemble, reassemble, maintain, and even build nearly any kind of Dwarven mechanical weapon (or any device intended for battlefield use). This expertise does not extend to other forms of Dwarven artifice.
Kuro was born in the year 1139 shortly before the death of King Lysteria to a blacksmith who lived along the Southern borders of the Northern Empire, situated at the base of the local mountain chain. When the succession crisis arose, the small township Kuro grew up in was largely isolated from the bloodshed due to its low strategic value and unremarkable position. For the first few years of his life, Kuro led a largely carefree and peaceful existence under the lax tutelage of his father in preparation for an eventual apprenticeship in the nearby Dwarven steading, as the township and the blacksmith in particular had historically - and unusually - good relations with the population of natives.
Kuro's days of peace were not to last however. Although the township itself was of faint importance, the Dwarven Steading was attacked and raided by forces from a neighboring state, covetous of their mechanisms and devices. They seized and sacked the township afterwards as a matter of course, taking every boy old enough to be of use but young enough not to stir up trouble and forcibly conscripting them. Kuro, along with many of his peers, were brutally beaten and threatened in the process of their reeducation for a year before they were assembled into a levy attached to a skirmishing force. Forced to act as a screen for a vanguard's unsuccessful charge during an assault on a small village, Kuro was trapped beneath a slain horse and was summarily pressed into service by the victorious defenders when they discovered him. Thus did Kuro's next years and early adolescence play out, with him being traded back and forth between militias, surviving each battle due to serendipity and his quickly learning how to stay out of the worst part of every fight. Always seen as just old enough to be useful, and just young enough to be reconscripted, Kuro soon determined that eventually he would wind up in the hands of a force that would decide he was too much of a risk to keep. He stole weapons and armor from his would-be allies and fled, approaching and joining the next militia he found as a free-rider mercenary.
During Kuro's adolescence he managed to survive and make a small reputation for himself as a sell-sword, attached to militias and even large professional armies as part of their mercenary cohorts. However, he made little effort to discriminate between sides and was eventually ostracized, declared a turncoat and threatened with summary execution should he continue. Searching for a means of living, for a time he traveled with a caravan of Dwarven Merchants. During his tenure with them, he learned a great deal in regards to the mechanisms and operation of Dwarven mechanical weapons, particularly their crossbows, from which most of his familiarity with Dwarven armaments is derived. Eventually the caravan was raided by highwaymen who killed all of the merchants and most of their guards save for Kuro, who had sensed that the battle was fated to end poorly and fled after taking a moment to pilfer a pair of crossbows from the caravan.
By this time the Dwarven populaces of the North had become highly suspicious of Humans due to the frequency of attacks by independent states upon their fortress and caravans, and Kuro had difficulty finding work with any of them. Starving and desperate, he was forced to resort to banditry. For some time he operated alone along sideroads, having no compunction with killing his victims if he had to and barely managing to subsist off of the meager fare they carried. Looking for safer and more reliable means of living, he joined up with a larger group of organized highwaymen who specialized in targeting convoys and carriages along more frequented roads. At this time Kuro was exposed to a number of personalities who served as role-models and mentors of sorts, although they inevitably parted ways in time. Eventually the band was broken during a failed attack on a particularly large convoy, and the few survivors rallied around Kuro who by that time had become one of the band's senior members despite his young age.
It was at this time when Kuro became known as Blackguard Kuro, leading his small band of cutthroats in meticulously planned and carefully organized raids on watchtowers, courier outposts, inns, and stables. They made great and effective use of traps such as pitfalls and weighted nets, along with fire. For a time, the fractuous state of the Northern lands allowed Kuro and his band to operate with near impunity, as no local force was both organized and swift enough to chase down and corner his group before they had fled to some other state with their spoils. However, the year was 164, and King Jaython of Arden had just begun to reunite the shattered Northern lands. Kuro started to have to deal with increased vigilance, and more thorough manhunts - with retreat to neighboring states not part of the expanding influence of the Ironmount Throne becoming increasingly difficult. Eventually, Kuro even had to begin to deal with a group of particularly relentless questors who had been tasked to specifically hunt him and his band of cutthroats down and eliminate them. For years, Kuro managed to slip through their fingers - until one night in 1167 when they managed to catch up. In a surprise attack, they slaughtered Kuro's band, with him barely escaping alive and fleeing South, to the lands of Lord Starly.
Kuro joined with the Company of Wolves then, due largely to an interest to escape the pursuit of the questors as well as a new and convenient means of surviving. As a professional mercenary organization with few scruples, his ostracism from the forces of the Northern Realms proved to be no obstacle to his enlistment. The squad he joined moved far too quickly for the questors, and his years of service precluded any further criminal activities on his part (at least, no criminal activities not sanctioned by Lord Starly). Eventually, the questors dropped their pursuit, assuming that the notorious Blackguard Kuro would no longer be plaguing the southern outposts of the Northern Lands - Kuro, for his part, has no apparent ambitions either within or without the company and is seemingly content to serve.
Kuro is, in a word, pragmatic. Forced for more than two decades to resort to any means necessary just to subsist, his morality is most generously described as flexible and his methods most politely described as broad. Kuro is a man who will do anything -absolutely anything- just to survive and, by extension, to secure victory.
A stoic man by nature, he is economical and succinct in all things. Blunt and to the point, he will only ever say precisely what he means to say. He can and will deceive others, but he will not spare their feelings or sensibilities in the process. Highly goal and work oriented, Kuro has very little patience for idle words and behavior.
Despite his brevity and seeming lack of social grace, Kuro has a deeply integral sense of camaraderie with those he knows, at least up to a point. If he thinks that a life can be saved by sacrificing his own, he will do so - but also, notably, ONLY if he also thinks the life he saves can then lead his side to victory. Kuro will abandon his allies without any remorse if he thinks their battle is a lost cause or that their death is imminent in either case. It would be most accurate to say he is deeply sympathetic to soldiers of fortune and mercenaries, whose troubles and hardships he is intimately familiar with.
Kuro, as described previously, is economical - and efficient. He has learned many lessons from his decades of experiences. Never tolerate standoffs. Never draw a weapon without intent. Hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Trust but verify. Avoid battles you have no stake in. Never do anything for free. He ascribes to these lessons almost religiously, and expects everyone else to do so as well, becoming extremely irritated and even angry if they should behave in a contrary - and to him, idiotic - fashion. He has maimed people in the past simply for drawing their swords in order to show off, by way of example.
This further manifests in his professional decorum and behavior. Kuro is highly methodical, meticulous, and thorough, taking great pains to plan ahead for what he can. He follows through on his promises (when possible), always investigates possible leads, prepares in advance for all eventualities, and never assumes anything he does not known to be true.
Kuro is distrustful of both religion and magic, the former reminding him too much of his experiences as a child soldier and the latter striking him as too unreliable on the battlefield. He has a deep respect for the craftswork of Dwarves.
Character Motivation: Survival. Since he was a boy, he was forced to fight or else be killed. As a young man, he had to fight in order to eat. As a man, he resorted to banditry and highway robbery to survive. As a notorious Blackguard, he overstepped his needs and paid the price for it. Kuro will do anything he needs to simply to exist...no matter what that may be. He is cautious and wary of reaching for that which he cannot grasp.
Tribal Mountebank: One of the more violent cutthroats that Kuro had a brief association with during his days as a highwayman. Later joined The Company of Wolves around the same time as Kuro, and is one of the infamous few to have been expelled from their ranks due to his unacceptable behavior.
Andromache: A Northern Warlord of an independent state in the North whom he served under in the capacity of a mercenary for a time. Although their association was brief, Kuro learned a great deal from Andromache just by watching her, and still partly idolizes her to this day.
Chalarensis: A powerful spellcaster, and the leader of the Highway gang that Kuro joined as a man. Served as a mentor figure to Kuro for several years before the battle that led to the group disbanding. Currently presumed dead.
Race: Human/Lycan Age: 37 Magical Potency: None Physical Description: Gideon stands at a stout 6'4 with stocky shoulders and a good head on his shoulders. His hair is a light dusty brown with hints of gray hair scattered throughout. Though he will do his best to keep them hidden. He has light blue eyes to match his hairstyle. His voice has a distinctive gruff tone to it. He has muscle as well due to his rough life growing up and the occupation he had before joining the company. Though it obviously does him some good. He has a few definitive scars across his face. Most notably: One large scar on his left cheek. He wears it with pride. When in combat, his attire consists of a leather based armor with small metal shoulder pads and gauntlets. The boots and pants are of a light material and he has a patch of fur lining the collar and left shoulder.
His civilian attire consists of a brown pair of pants with a white shirt to go with it. He will usually not wear any boots or footwear when he is lounging due to the nature of relaxation, but if he is wearing foot attire it would be his same pair of boots.
Military Background
Years spent in service: Gideon has been with the Company for about two years now. Equipment:
Two long silver straight swords
An assortment of tonics and oils
A steel locket engraved with the torn inscription written by his loved one
Skills:
Superb Monster Hunter
Skilled Tracker
Versatile
Lycan Curse
The Mind
Psych Profile: There are many things that Gideon has endured and struggled with. Due to this, Gideon has been given a rather bleak view on the world. He believe that everything happens for a reason and that the sins of his past life, even for things he may not have committed but inertly affected him, are causing his bleak out look on life. Gideon lost his most beloved wife when he was about 25. The two married rather young as they both desired no other. It was a true love story some would say. But, when his wife left this world, Gideon was permanently scarred. The two were only wed for two years or so. But he loved her like no other. Gideon does not play games. He will be as brutally honest as he needs to be. But, he can lie if he wanted to. As a monster hunter, Gideon desires to wipe the stains of evil life off of the realm. He joined the company when he needed a warm bed and meals to fuel him to keep going. He holds the codes and morals of the company to his heart. Gideon is not a downer and will not dwell on one thing for long. When he is given a job he will do whatever it takes to get the job done quickly and effectively. Due to his curse, he will keep it under wraps as best as he can. He has hidden it thus far. He tries to stay calm and collected as that is the best way to combat the curse.
History
Gideon was raised on a small river town nestled in some corner of the Realm. His father was an honest fisherman and his mother mainly stayed at home and did things around the house, but she would do an odd job for some extra income here and there. During this time, Gideon was about 9 or so. The town he lived in was divided into two sections: One section for humans, and one section for non humans. As a child Gideon never understood why the town was divided, but he never questioned the values of the head of the town. The leader of the Town, was constantly under fire and heat due to the heavy monster attacks and raids that occurred about once a week. Gideon can recall having to hide in the small shelter in their home about twice a week due to the raids by monsters.
After a few months, a party of noble warriors was formed and they went out to try and combat the monsters and end the raids once and for all as the town could not take much more. Gideon was about 10 now. His father was one of the men who enlisted to help with the raid. His mother pleaded him not to go, but Gideon's father was too proud of a man. So, the soldiers left into the marshy land to end this. Weeks later, only a few of them returned. Gideon's father returned with one arm missing and his left eye gouged out. How he was walking was a miracle. The townsfolk rushed down to greet the survivors but a trap was laid and the monsters attacked in full force. House were burned and shrieks of women and children could be heard. Gideon was grabbed by his mother and she dragged him along, but a large beast jumped out of the water and clasped his mother and killed her right on the spot. Gideon tried to escape but his mother's arm was locked onto his and her body was trapped under the water beast. At this moment, Gideon thought it to all be over, but something made the beast retreat.
Gideon's father slashed at the beast with his one arm and eye and freed him from his dead mother's grasp. Before Gideon and his father could escape, his father was engulfed in a pillar of flame. His screams could be heard throughout the town as he was charred to a crisp. Gideon watched this happen with tears in his eyes and a confused mind. A woman's cackle could be heard as she calmly walked amidst the monsters and dead citizens. She was human, but she had strong magical properties. She was a witch. The leader of the river town was brought to her as the village burned. She grabbed his head and threw it back and as if on command, the monsters attacked his body and ravaged it. They ate everything.
It was then, Gideon sprang up and ran as fast as he could. He ran so far and so fast that before he stopped the breath(figuratively) it was nightfall. His emotions were at an all time high. Tears were strolling down his face as the cries of the wildlife and wolves could be heard all around him. The scared boy panicked and continued to run. He was ambushed by a small pack of wolves that thought him to be an easy snack. One jumped and bit his arm with such strong force. Gideon let out a shriek and fell to the ground. An arrow came out of nowhere and punctured one of the wolves and the rest scattered. Gideon faded but he remembered being picked up by a dwarf and taken away. When Gideon awoke, he had bandages on his arm and dwarves all around him. The one who saved him gave him a smile and told him he was happy he was alright. The young boy thanked him and would spend the new few years of his life with the dwarf. The dwarf really wanted the small Gideon for menial labor and tasks around his shop for no pay, but Gideon didn't mind it.
When Gideon reached 19, he started to court a girl. He left the dwarf who had saved him those years ago and he and the girl moved to a small village not far from the town he had lived in with the Dwarf. Though he and the girl he was infatuated with were not yet married, they lived together. Even though they were young, they wanted no other person in their life. Months into living with her, Gideon asked to have her hand in marriage and she accepted. Gideon got a job in the village as a guard of sorts to help have some income. It was during this time that he learned his basic fighting and tracking skills. His emotions had never reached a high like when he was 10, but he was doing his best to suppress those memories. When Gideon was 21, he was enlisted as the village's local monster hunter's apprentice. He was young but he had great potential. His wife did not like this... But Gideon loved the job. He slayed monsters from here and there with the elder at his side. It wasn't until late in his age of 21, that his wife fell ill. He scoured for a cure for her sickness but his wife swore up and down that she had been cursed when she was out in the forest picking berries. Before she could tell him anymore, she passed and Gideon was left alone.
On that night, Gideon took his sword in hand and latched on to his steed and rode to the woods his wife spoke about. When he arrived under the cover of night his emotions got the best of him. A black wolf leaped at him and did not attack, but instead pushed him to the ground. His eyes were blurry as he was still worked up. His head started to throb and he lost his sword. He thrashed about and became angry with the world. He wanted the world to burn and he wanted to burn with it. The black wolf he had seen looked to him once more and then transformed into a woman. A woman, that Gideon remembered. It was the same witch from his previous village. She snickered to him and waved her hand above his head whilst saying some incantation. Gideon shook his head and staggered back to find his sword. But he soon fell to his knees and then on all fours. The curse had been placed on his. Soon, the transformation into a ragged clothed, bipedal wolf monster was finished. He let out a howl and was fueled by one thing: bloodlust. His desire to watch the world burn sparked the fire of his emotions and triggered the change. The curse was in him. It was a part of him.
In his state, he rushed to the village and killed only a few people under the cover of night. When he awoke the next morning, he was naked and confused. He rushed home and was reminded of his wife's passing. Not remembering last night, he gave her a proper burial by himself and thought it best to leave town. During the next few years, Gideon came and went from town to town. Unaware of the curse placed on him at first, he got odd jobs as a monster hunter of sorts. He spent his days slaying monsters and beings alike. Every once in a while, his emotions would take over him and he would transform, but he would always awake with no memory of it. In one town he stayed in, an oracle gave him guidance and told him of his curse. She said the only way to combat the curse would be to not let his emotions get the best of him. The next few years were tough as he did his best to forget about everything he hated. But it proved difficult. Now about 26, Gideon had an idea. He asked around for the name of the village he had been born in and only got scrambled pieces of information since it had been destroyed. Eventually, he found his way there through backwards information givers and his own luck and initiative.
Once there, he found trace monster remains and noticed they still inhabited the marshy area near the ruins of the village. Gideon trekked on and killed every monster in his path. He was fueled by the desire to kill them all so this seemed like justice to him. Eventually, he was confronted by the witch who had planted the curse on him and that had killed his parents. She used her magic to the best of her abilities and wore him down. But when she thought him dead, he came back and cleaved her head clean off. He sought no reward for killing the witch, but in the years to come he made a habit of killing the ruthless once who used their magical properties for evil.
It wasn't until he was about 35 that Gideon heard of the Company. He sought them out and joined when he could. He has been with the company ever since and hopes one day, to see his beloved again. His curse still affects him. But he keeps it a secret. He seeks only to lend those a hand if they need it and to bring honor to the company.
Denouement
Character Motivation: To seek vengeance for himself and his wife and family. He desires to make the world a safe place. One dead monster at a time. Significant Relations: His deceased wife Cilia Opinions on Others:
Name: Connor Vaelis, more often referred to as Cub or simply Vaelis Race: Human Age: 25 Magic potency: Y. Mentalist: Telepathy and telekinesis. His capabilities and skills in depth are found in his history.
Connor stands in contrast to his newbie status quite tall (6'2 ft) with a lean intimidating posture, this is quite ironic considering his naive and childish personality and his illogically great skills in stealth. He often makes a joke that his good camouphlage skills are due to the fact that people could mistake him as a tree. Connor prefers to wear reinforced leather armor and leggings which's brownish collor help his attempts to blend in natural surroundings, his boots are of tough leather softened at the bottom to help him achieve as much silence as possible when moving. His physical fighting style with his shortsword resonates with his armor as unlike chainmail and plate armor wearers, Connor is much more cautious of enemy attacks. This warryness causes him to have less attacking chances than other combatants. He wears a black, not well kept, at places torn, cloak on his back which also has a hood to cover his face. Vaelis has a leather belt on his waist which holds a sheather for his dagger and his short sword, along with with his pouch.
His physical description along with his sharp facial features might intimidate commoners and help in resolving tavern conflicts before they turn into brawls, only when he keeps silent. And Connor staying silent is rare enough that people can commit a whole feast and celebration to cherish such an occassion.
Military Background:
Years Spent in Service: 10 months Equipment:
A well-made shortsword
Reinforced leather armor that reflects his focus on agility rather than brute strength
A pouch containing herbs, liquid and powder poisons, and coin.
A dagger sheathed in his belt
Skills: (List from most potent to least)
Excellent stealth skills combined with his type ot magic make him an excellent recon that can convey messages without needing to rendezvous with his group.
Very perceptive of enemy movements
Good swordsman
Erratic skills in magic but with vast potential
The Mind
Psych Profile: Connor Vaelis: Q1: What annoys you? "If there's something that quite annoys the living hell of me, well, that would be waiting.I am quite impatient, yeah. Oh yeah, and I can't understand why everyone in the Company keeps calling me Cub or Fresh Blood and orders me around to do errands. By the Spirits, I've been with them for almost a year." Q2: What could you say about your experience in life ? Hmm, I have seen quite much of the real world, I mean I am twenty five years old, I know everything there is, can't surprise me, no. There's nothing out there that could lift me off my shoes, I tell you I've seen a lot. (Yeah,right.) Q3: Other 'colleagues' of the Company say that you're completely out of your mind, what do you have to say about that ? What ? Who said that ? Has to be that quartermaster, keeps giving me a lecture everytime I pass by him, can't even take my time in the backhouse if he's waiting for me to get out of it. I am pretty sure that guy was a teacher in a college of Magic, they're all like that there and that's- Q3 2nd attempt: Could you answer to the question please? Oh yeah, of course, sure. Um, by completely out of my mind I think he means I am brave. And I am really brave, I don't know why they keep calling my actions stupid, I call them brave. You get what I mean ? I like adventure, that's why I am here. Q4 Describe yourself with five words. Hot, Sexy, Genious, Temptation at its best- Q4 2nd attempt: Seriously now. Fine, fine. Geez. Umm, funny, brave, totally brave, sometimesidontthinkmuch, very stubborn, independent. Q5 Do you find yourself in the right place, being here in the Company? Oh yeah, definitely. It's really what I wanted, damn the college, they were all stuck-up nobles there anyway. Here you feel free. Yeah, you get your obligations and duties but people are honest, or they do really damn good job at acting honest. You get all type of people here, you get silent and keen listeners, merry folks, people with no hope in their eyes, vengeance driven people, honorable knights probably fleeing stuck up nobles just like me and so on. Oh, and the Cap'n, he's the right man for this job, can't think of others being at that position and as I told you I've see a lot (not really a lot at all), this man knows what he's doing and he has my respect. All in all, I am happy to be here despite how people judge us.
History: Connor Vaelis was born to two parents in a village called Five Streams, for the five streams around it (originality), a very small village on the borders of the South with the North. The village was situated on a really forsaken location much isolated from the rest of the world and it awaited monthly arrivals of peddlers to restock equipment and goods they could not get from nature itself. As such, Connor developed great respect and love for the nature and the wild finding the wild as his home. Although taught to be a farmer, he often played with other children in the forests and hills surrounding the small village. Ever since he was a child he would get in as much as trouble as he could get in such a village, and he was prone to mischief and dangerous adventure. One such adventure was Connor's solo journey to the closest village which was two nights of walking through a rough terrain of endless hills. During that journey, at night time, he was ambushed by a predator, a predator so black he could not make its shape in the dark. Struggling against deadly jaws with flying kicks and reckless punches, feeling helpless against the predator did he repulse against the beast and send it flying away crashing its spine in an old tree.
He found he had magic.
Scared to death from his encounter he grew a patch of his hair white. As he returned home, Connor explained his story to his parents which were greatly shocked by this. His father's eyes gleamed with pride as he declared he was leaving Five Streams to find a mage to teach his son but deep inside his father feared the taking of his son by a college or a cabal, yet he knew that without control Connor would destroy himself.
As the father left Five Streams, no news of him was heard until Connor became fifteen. During that time, believing his father dead, Connor did his father's duty with great concentration and effort and had a lot of success with every harvest. He was glad his life was peaceful, but longed for an adventure, longed to find the fate of his father, but he could not leave his mother here. During those days Connor became aware that he could hear people's thoughts, not as full sentences but as background sound, only once did he grasp that he had skill concerned with the school of magic - telepathy, this of course was explained to him when he was taken to the college of magic. In his mutual conversations with the other villagers, Connor found out to become quite persuasive and people were wilful to do what he asked for. He found that whatever his magic was, he had no idea of it and how to control it, Connor knew he had to leave soon. As that thought began to take form, his father returned.
With a mage.
The tall, skinny overdressed with cloth garments mage stood well above the fifteen year old Connor, he held a wooden staff in his right hand and looked as much as a mage could look in a fairy tale. The mage confirmed that indeed the boy has the magic, and by the looks of it with not just an average amount of potential. The mage questioned Connor for 'symptoms' and deduced that Connor had an affinity towards the school of magic that employed magic to influence thoughts upon others or convey messages to other's minds, the latter would be a base to his role as a good recon and scout. And with that, the mage declared he would take Connor away to the Imperial capital in a Mage College to be trained in art of magic.
Connor was found to be a quick learner in his classes and excelled in the beginning, yet every day he grew tired of his peers who to him seemed as stuck up and plain boring children of nobles of which some scarcely had the flame of magic within. As he grew more tired and began getting into trouble, his teachers noted that his character reflects the application of his magic - erratic. And that was true, sometimes he was able to influence whole decisions upon people (like you know that random going to the fridge and opening it with no idea or whatsoever) and sometimes he could barely try the same and get questioning looks from his targets.
Years passed and Connor restlesness was at the edge, that was the time when he was picked along with other students to partake in a skirmish between the South and North. Connor was so excited he nearly fainted. Leaving the capital riding with a capable force of men and a few other students, Connor prepared his mind for the battle. At the skirmish he proved his capabilities by influencing men's emotions, he struck a handful of Northern soldiers with a mood of hopelessnes and defeat while boosted Southern's men with motivation. Numerous times he attempted on finding the general of the northern forces, skipping through minds, thoughts and emotions until he located the leader. Connor attempted numerous tries to influence the man's choices of strategy, trying to force him a movement of soldiers that would result in sending them in an ambush, yet Connor felt his strength drained from his vast search for the general and the previous influences on moods on both sides and thus he was just ended the day with a headache. During that skirmish, as the other students had magic that was quite shown such as the creation of fire, the strikes of lightning, soldiers began mocking Connor as useless as they could not make out his magic. Annoyed, he concentrated all his energy on bending the Northern general's mind to commit an illogical act, with his mind beating like hooves of horses on the general's mind barriers, Connor finally broke in and succeded on his act. Of course, the soldiers did not believe such and maintained their mockery even after the battle. That day he realized that his days in the college were numbered.
Three years passed since he had left the College and sought to make his own fortune and go throughout the world which was in war alone, Connor's solo adventures during that time lead him to another community of believers of the Old Ways where he apprenticed under an old yet experienced master of the sword and a hermit who brought great knowledge upon Connor about the links between the Old Ways and magic itself. For two years he stayed there until he left, feeling surprisingly adept enough to wield a sword to guard himself and with a bit better control of his magic, yet still erratic and far from achieveing an outstanding skill of it.
Thus, now at twenty five years of age, he sought to find a place to be in, a place full of adventure and to develop his abilities to people who would appreciate them. And fate met him with the Company of the Wolf, in which he is part of for almost a year now.
Denouement
Character Motivation: Have a life full of such adventure, independent from both warring sides, so he could write a book about his adventures and leave a legacy of a legendary writer. Significant Relations: His parents back in Five Streams, he last saw them right after he took his leave from the College, and now it has been years since that. Opinions on Others: - Triala Veclis: Connor finds Triala as his primary target of pranks and mockery as he finds her fiery reactions funny even though they are life-threatening. He hardly comprehends her honest distaste of him, although Connor has felt her negative emotion towards him while utilizing his metalist skills of the Will. Occassionally, he likes calling her "Tri-tri" with a girly tone in some way attempting to mock her, other times he'd mock her on her love for the alcohol for example by remarking that he's surprised to see her without a bottle of alcohol in her hands or tell her she can have his arm as support on her way back to her tent so she doesn't trip. All with a smirk and a grin. Yet, he's never meant the mockery in a harmful and bullying type of way, although it seems she has taken it as such. Connor's actions towards her are more in the name of fun and comrade tease, even though she does not see it that way. After the incident which resulted in Triala obliterating with flames a good amount of assets of the Company, Connor has lowered his frequency of mockery and jokes on her, but he doesn't miss a good chance to strike. For some reason, he believes that this way she'll eventually 'loosen up' and realize the goodwill of his jokes, but for now that seems a very hard, close to impossible goal despite Osric's , a mage of the Company who Connor finds a good companion for banter, attempts to persuade Triala that Connor's jokes are in no way attempting to harm her.
A gaunt and grizzled man, standing a head taller than the majority of his comrades. His body is sinewy and rugged, pockmarked with cuts, scars, and scrapes from years of combat. His beady eyes are a dull brown, and his face is almost perpetually pulled into a rough scowl. His dirty blonde hair is kept neat and short and is usually hidden under his beret, and manifests on his face in the form of a thick and full beard. His posture is rigid and straight, and his voice is rough and gravelly.
Odran more often than not is seen in his armor, and constantly wears his trademark beret. Occasionally, in more casual settings he'll remove the armor on his arms, and opt for a pair of worn leather gloves. The only time he doesn't wear his armor, is when he wears blue livery bearing the standard of the company- typically for formal occasions in which wearing armor and weapons is frowned upon.
Name: Odran Tarlach Race: Human Age: 52 Magic potency: Yes
Military Background
Years Spent in Service: 34 Equipment:
Odran wears plate armor on his arms and legs, as well as a thick brigandine over chainmail on his torso, covered with a deep blue tabard bearing the running direwolf of the Company on its chest.
A bastard sword and accompanying dagger forged by Dalgen of Farhold, a well-renowned dwarven bladesmith
A heater shield with the company standard emblazoned across.
A red beret he wears while not in combat- signifying his seniority in the Company
A pouch with herbal ointments for the soothing of wounds.
A tome strapped to his side that contains the formulae of basic magical spells, instructions on intricate medical care, knowledge on various common medicinal plants, as well as descriptions of the actions and history of the Company of Wolves
Skills: (List from most potent to least)
Seasoned Warrior - Odran is a talented swordsman, despite his advancing age. While he is no longer in his prime, he often instructs and trains new recruits in swordplay and general soldiering
Strategist - While the Captain comes up with brilliant battlefield schemes and tactics, Odran is responsible for ensuring the logistics of the Captain's plans are sound.
Rugged Sergeant - Though the captain may exude an aura that commands respect out of inspiration and awe, Odran sports a rugged and rough no-nonsense demeanor that demands respect- and spirits help you if you try to show dissent towards the Captain in front of him.
Basic Spellcaster - Odran has a basic grip over magic, with only a handful of spells memorized and written down in his book.
The Mind
Psych Profile: A serious man with a strong work ethic, Odran is a gruff and intimidating man with a distinct no-nonsense demeanor and is typically impervious to the jokes and wisecracks made by his comrades. Only rarely willing to crack a grin for his close compatriots, Odran is for the most part incredibly blunt and to the point, though generally not confrontational- he typically doesn't need to be. Strong willed, and somewhat hard-headed, Odran never starts something without finishing it- even if it takes him hours, days, or even weeks. Despite his callous attitude, Odran shows genuine care and concern regarding the wellbeing of the company and the men and women within its ranks. Though jaded, and somewhat cynical, Odran is a staunch believer in the traditions and values of the Company and demonstrates absolute loyalty to The Captain. Despite possessing a well developed moral compass, Odran will often ignore morality and act in what he believes are in the best interest of himself and his compatriots.
Odran values loyalty, respect, and honor, and shows a distaste towards underhandedness and trickery, though admits to their usefulness in regards to strategy. He despises incompetence and is quick to discipline unruly and insubordinate soldiers.
History: Like many 'career' soldiers of the Company, Odran came from nothing and joined the Company in hopes of living a better life. Born the child of a hunter and an herbalist in the southern heartlands, Odran never had much in the form of amenities. Game was small, hard to find, or reserved for nobility, and food due to its abundance meant that meats and furs never sold for particularly high prices. Odran spent most of his childhood on his feet, helping his parents either hunt or gather herbs. Odran was a restless child, the calm complacency of gathering herbs, and brewing medicine bored him, and the 'thrill' of stalking around and shooting squirrels with a bow bored him. Dissatisfied with his dull life, Odran sought a life of excitement and adventure, something that was more than gathering plants and skinning squirrels.
At the age of 15, Odran ran away from home and found an exciting new life in the form of a local gang. Consisting of bandits and thieves, Odran quickly adopted their ways- much to the dismay of his parents. Stealing from homes, beating people up for thrills, mugging, for nearly three years Odran punched, backstabbed, and stole his way to the top of the gang, unafraid to break limbs, ruin livelihoods, or even slit throats to get there. While with the gang, Odran learned how to fight, how to extort, how to steal, and how to exploit others. By the age of 18, he was the gang boss' go-to guy, his best fighter, his most ruthless thug, and most cunning cutthroat.
Eventually, the boss found himself in need of a new lieutenant, a new underboss, as the old one had attempted a coup- and was quickly put down by none other than Odran. Giving Odran another job to prove himself, the boss told Odran that a small family had been staunchly refusing to pay their 'protection' fees, even going so far as to fend off a few of the gang's thugs. Because of their show of resistance, more families from the town were beginning to fight back- they needed to be made an example of. Odran set off that night, with an unlit torch, and several barrels of pitch. The house had only been recently built for a new family, and as a result was constructed of rather young wood and stone- making it hard to light afire traditionally. Odran had to sneak into the house to pour pitch within the building as well as outside to properly set the building ablaze.
After thoroughly lacing the house with pitch, Odran exited the home and set it ablaze, standing back to watch the inhabitants attempt to put out the fire or escape- a futile effort, as Odran was good at what he did. Within moments, the entire house was in flames- no matter how quickly help got there, it was the end for the family and their home, and Odran grinned with morbid satisfaction as a pair of hands threw open the windows. When the voice screamed for help, Odran's grin quickly became a face of horror. He recognized the voice. Sprinting towards the burning house, Odran realized that he had just put his own parents to the torch, but there was nothing he could do- he had done too good a job of setting the place on fire.
Returning to the gang's hideout, ignoring the cheering of the other gang members, Odran approached his boss, who gave him a smug smile and congratulated him on a job well done. The boss was in the middle of applauding Odran's loyalty to the gang when Odran stepped forward and jabbed a knife into the boss' throat. Fighting his way out of the hideout, Odran fled the town, the gang, the smoldering wreck of his parents' home, and the remains of his old life. Chased down by some of the gang members on horseback, Odran was surrounded and almost put to the sword when a detachment from a mercenary company happened to come by, and seeing the situation, proceed to cut the bandits down.
Taking this as an act of fate, Odran joined up with the mercenary group- known as the Company of the Wolf. He dedicated himself to a more honorable, more honest life. Remolded and forged into an example soldier, Odran fought with valor and distinguished himself as a prominent and capable man within the Company's ranks. From the wars in the south, to the Ironmount campaign in the north, Odran conducted himself with honor and courage, in an attempt to absolve himself of the atrocities he had committed in his younger years. One of the few surviving members that remember The Captain during his younger years, stories within the Company often say that Odran and the Captain regularly fought side by side during their time in the rank and file. Decades of service and warfare later, Odran is one of the most senior members of the Company of the Wolf, and serves as The Captain's right hand, his Lieutenant.
Denouement
Character Motivation: Odran considers his service to the Company his eternal penance for killing his family. Significant Relations: Parents: - Deceased. The Captain: - Arguably Odran's oldest comrade. Opinions on Others: (How do they feel about the rest of the team? This can be left blank and added on after everyone adds a sheet.)
"I'm going to count to three. If your weapons aren't on the fucking ground by the time I finish, I will set every last one of you on fire." -Quote attributed to Triala Veclis at the Battle over Silver Lake, 1170 IC
Name: Triala Veclis [Tree-awl-uh Vek-liss], also referred to as "Tri" or "Ala"
Race: Elf
Age: 75 years old, which means she's considered to be an elf on the cusp of adulthood
Magic potency: Yes, Triala's pyromantic abilities are outlined in the 'Skills' section
Triala knows she'll never have the luxury of blending in with the crowd. Her lackluster control over her magical abilities, long ears, and blood red hair make it impossible for the she-elf to hide effectively. In fact, ancient elven legends claim those born with red hair are beloved by Angharad the Crimson King, the wrathful deity of flame, blacksmiths, and courage. They are supposedly harbingers of war, and many elves believe these blessed souls possess unusual talents. Unfortunately for Triala, this last part of the legends is true. A few weeks after her sixtieth name day, the elven girl destroyed the estate of her master, High Lord Ulster Howe, with a barely controlled eruption of pyromancy. Thanks to her emotional state at the time and limited experience with the Will, Triala also managed to set the right side of her face on fire. The teal flames ravaged the elf's visage for several seconds before she quelled them.
Now, almost fifteen years later, the right side of Triala's face is a mass of hideous scar tissue with a single, cat-like eye hiding amidst the pink flesh. While many people cannot see past this horrific injury, those with stronger stomachs might be able to catch a glimpse of how lovely the she-elf once was. While Triala was never the prettiest girl in the Realms, her heart-shaped face, amber eyes, and prominent cheekbones still radiate the otherworldly beauty found in all elves. Thankfully, Triala's red hair has finally grown long enough that she can use it to conceal her disfigurement. The elf also has a button-like nose surrounded by freckles, which are quite visible thanks to her pale skin.
Due to spending most of her life as a maidservant, Triala's 5'7" frame is soft and lacks the toughness of the average Company of the Wolf footsoldier. She has narrow, bowed shoulders that encourage slouching and moderately toned arms, a testament to many hours spent washing the floors of the Howe Estate. Triala's slender hands are delicate, almost fragile-looking, and she's missing the smallest finger on her right hand. An ample bust, prominent beer belly, and wide hips give the elven woman a buxom, if unhealthy-looking, figure. Triala isn't the most physically capable or agile member of the Company, but she doesn't mind her luscious curves. They've actually helped her on more than a few occasions. Long legs and dainty feet complete the picture of a woman who wouldn't look out of place in an alehouse or brothel.
Thankfully, she found the Company of the Wolf first.
As far as her attire is concerned, Triala's race and abilities make it prudent to dress as conservatively as possible. In truth, she would rather be ignored than draw unnecessary attention to herself. The elf normally wears long-sleeved tunics made of linen or, if she wants to impress somebody, silk dyed in shades of green or brown. Occasionally, she'll wear a frayed leather jerkin over her tunic, though this mostly serves as an additional layer of protection during battle. The elf's lower half is normally shrouded in calfskin leggings and boots dyed black. Triala is also rarely seen without her oilcloth wineskin, knapsack, and quarterstaff.
Every now and again, usually when the Captain or one of her senior officers deems it necessary, Triala will don a ridiculous blue robe of crushed velvet with the constellations stitched on it in silver thread. This garment, which was "liberated" from a terrified mummer's troupe after the First Battle for Redstone Village, also has a staggering amount of golden scrollwork along the edges. Triala refers to this as her "magicky outfit." It makes her look like a sorceress from a children's story.
Military Background
Years Spent in Service: Triala has been with the Company of the Wolf for the last 15 years.
Equipment: -A well-polished silver dagger with a hilt carved in the shape of a sleeping dragon, given to her by Osric Weaver
-An oilcloth wineskin that is rarely empty
-A threadbare leather knapsack containing everything from parchment scraps to a satchel full of gold coins
-A weathered quarterstaff shaped like a shepherd's crook and made of flame-resistant thornwood, given to her by Osric Weaver
-A hooded cloak of black satin lined with aurochs fur and the heraldry of the Company stitched into the back
Skills: -Pyromancy: Triala possesses a type of pyromancy dependent on her current emotional state. For instance, if she witnesses another elf being beaten by his human master then this might elicit feelings of sorrow or rage. This is when she can access and utilize the Will. As soon as these emotions fade, however, her grip on the Will dwindles before ceasing completely. While this makes her talents notoriously unreliable, Triala’s gift allows her to accomplish incredible feats of mystical prowess despite her limited knowledge of the art. A cloak of teal-colored flame that burns everyone around her, darts of fiery agony, and conjuring pillars of blue fire are all within Triala’s purview. Apart from needing to feel a strong emotion, the only limitation to her gift is the she-elf must be able to see the flame she wants to manipulate. Triala can also create fire from nothing, but this is much harder and quickly exhausts her. After burning down the Howe Estate, the elven woman was running on pure adrenaline and fear. Otherwise, she would’ve fainted and probably died. The presence of several torches in the estate's kitchen also helped keep Triala from crossing into the realm of Sindarin, the elven goddess of death, winter, and loneliness. Finally, any flame under the red-haired mage's control turns a brilliant shade of blue and tends to be much harder to douse without magical assistance.
-One of the finest horseback riders in the Company of the Wolf
-Capable of drinking more than most Company members and knows a great deal about the Realm's various alcoholic beverages
-Understands basic combat strategies and was taught how to fight with her quarterstaff and knife by Osric Weaver
The Mind
Quiet. Obnoxious. Distant. Compassionate. Triala Veclis is an elf of contradictions, and she sees little point in trying to change. She is who she is. For example, the red-haired mage can be warm, amusing, and attentive around people she knows and cares about. Especially if those people happen to be elves or dwarves, though some humans have managed to wriggle their way into Triala's heart. Osric "The Mad Mage" Weaver knows he can always confide in his apprentice, because she wouldn't dream of betraying the trust of the few Company members she considers friends. This small circle of individuals has become a family of sorts to the young elf, and she'd do almost anything for them. On the other hand, newcomers and strangers often find Triala to be uncaring, cold, and outright rude. And she certainly can be at times.
Several unfortunate events during Triala's childhood in the Howe family's mansion fostered a burning hatred and resentment towards mankind within her that persists to this day. Thankfully, as she's matured and grown older, the she-elf has started to realize the merits of letting someone's actions speak for them. After all, Triala knows she undoubtedly killed innocent people when she unleashed her pyromantic gifts and destroyed the Howe Estate. She still feels incredibly guilty about this incident and has worked diligently to master her mystical talents ever since. Triala knows there's more to her than just this single, appalling tragedy.
Nevertheless, the mage rarely goes out of her way to treat a human with anything approaching common decency. Unless she has no choice or the individual in question might prove useful.
At any rate, the past lays heavily on Triala's shoulders, and she often lapses into grim, miserable silences. She can usually bring herself out of these moods by drinking or spending coin on finery, but these remedies don't always work. The elf's amber eyes are constantly drawn to the south as if she's hoping to see her mother. Obviously, displaying this kind of behavior in a company of mercenaries would make Triala an easy target for mockery and derision. So, the elf compensates by drowning herself in alcohol, making jokes, and cursing like a sailor on shore-leave. Whenever she's given an assignment, however, all unproductive and inefficient behavior ceases immediately. Her task consumes her, and she throws herself into her work with an alarming intensity. Triala also has a tendency to become furious and upset whenever someone deviates from the orders they've been given. The she-elf is determined but decidedly inflexible. Strict adherence to her superiors' commands provides comfort in the crucible of war, but the mere thought of improvisation is enough to send Triala into a screaming fit.
In the end, much of Triala's behavior is a facade to hide countless deep-rooted insecurities. She is incredibly sensitive about her burned face, and mentioning it usually results in someone getting hurt. Triala is also an adolescent on the brink of adulthood, and she has no idea what her future holds. The Company of the Wolf gives her life meaning for the time being, and it may even grant her the resources she needs to rescue her mother from High Lord Howe. Beyond that, however, the young elven woman acts competent and crass in hopes of disguising how uncertain she is about her purpose.
Triala Veclis was born in the warm spring of 1097 IC to Selune Veclis-Arathan, an elven serving woman working for the Howes of Estermont. The Kingdom of Estermont is a small southern nation, and it was enjoying an unprecedented period of prosperity at the time. And the Howe family was largely responsible for this golden age. By swearing oaths of fealty to the fledgling Vorstagian Empire in his youth, High Lord Wilcott Howe guaranteed his family and territory would be protected in the event of a major conflict. Why try to fight the Empire when the idea of a unified Continent under Vorstagian rule was so much more appealing?
Unfortunately for Triala and her mother, they were elves. This prosperous time didn't affect them much. While the high lord and his wife were unusually kind to their servants, the majority of the elves' time was spent cooking, cleaning the estate, and tending to the needs of their masters. Since both of them were household servants, Selune was permitted to teach her daughter how to read and write, though Triala never fully grasped these vital skills. Even now she often needs Osric to help her with more complicated words and documents.
Day after day passed in a pleasant, if somewhat tedious, haze for the young elf as she learned her place in the Howe Estate. How much clover honey does the high lord take in his tea? Can you fetch High Lady Catriona's red silk gown from her boudoir? When was the last time you and the other servants cleaned out the stables? These were the questions Triala's life revolved around, though she did manage to find time to enjoy herself. The Howe family's stable master, a handsome elf named Ingmir Shadras, insisted on teaching Triala how to ride a horse, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover she was a natural. No matter how often her mother scolded her for coming into the house reeking of horses, the fiery-haired child always found her way back outside for another lesson with Ingmir.
Everything in Triala's life was predictable, an endless list of chores and tasks, until the winter of 1137 IC. There were troubling whispers concerning King Lysteria's health coming from the north, and imperial emissaries were being sent throughout the southlands to affirm the loyalty of the Vorstagian Empire's vassals. The forty-year old Triala, along with several other elven attendants, were ordered to prepare and serve a sumptuous dinner to the high lord and his important guests. Unfortunately, something went wrong almost immediately. One of the younger elves emerged from the kitchen too early with the first course, which consisted of stuffed eggs and beryl prawns, and the rest of the servants were forced to do the same. Presentation was everything in the house of the High Lord of Estermont. After the youth in question was chastised back in the kitchen, an older elf named Myranda Tavellan suggested it might be wise to serve the suckling pig immediately. If they waited too long then the high lord would punish them for making his guests wait. Of course, if they didn't let the initial course settle for awhile then nobody would touch the suckling pig. The argument grew increasingly heated until, in a fit of anger, Triala somehow caused Myranda's wispy gray hair to catch fire. The flames were the color of a cloudless summer sky.
Luckily for Triala, Myranda was a mage of some skill, and she discretely used her own gifts to quell the hungry flames. Humorously, the time the elves spent bickering and trying not to scream when Myranda's hair started burning meant the imperial emissaries were practically drooling when the suckling pig came out. The dinner was a huge success, but this night would be a turning point for Triala. Myranda, after promising the shaken girl all was well, brought the young elf to her mother and took Selune into the next room. The two elves discussed what had transpired in the kitchen for several hours until they reached a decision. Starting the next evening, Myranda would begin teaching Triala about the Will. Both Selune and Myranda knew if the elven child's abilities were discovered she'd be sent to the human-dominated Mysterium Lodge in southern Estermont. The lodge had a well-deserved reputation as a haven for greedy, racist, and incompetent mages with little understanding of their abilities.
To avoid this fate, Myranda began taking Triala with her during her nightly excursions into the nearby Wrenlock Forest. Once they were safely hidden beneath the shadowy boughs, the older elf would instruct her new pupil in the ways of the Will, the otherworldly force that allowed mages to cast spells and perform miracles. Unfortunately, Myranda's talent revolved around the manipulation of plants while Triala felt more of a kinship with fire. There was only so much the withered elven woman could teach her young friend, though most of her lessons were about control as opposed to actual use of the Will. The two grew close over the years, and Myranda became something of a grandmother to Triala. Selune was immensely relieved. She'd already lost her husband, and the thought of losing her daughter was too much to bear. Still, if Myranda could hide her own mystical powers for so long then surely she could teach Triala to do the same. Everything would be fine.
In 1152 IC, everything changed as the Wars in the South ended and the Empire claimed the southern kingdoms once and for all.
Estermont didn't contribute many soldiers to the conflict, but High Lord Wilcott ensured the Vorstagian forces never wanted for essential supplies. In addition, he sent a small cadre of household guards led by his twenty-year old son, Ulster Howe, to support his imperial allies during the war. Ulster had always been a quiet, unassuming boy, but his first taste of combat twisted him in ways his father couldn't have foreseen. When he returned home, the youth had transformed into a man of violence, anger, and disrespect for anyone he considered beneath him. Regrettably, this included his father, who'd taken ill earlier that same year and was now bed-ridden. None of the healers or priests High Lady Catriona summoned could cure whatever ailed her husband. Many of them feared it was the dreaded damp lung, an illness that slowly but surely asphyxiated its victims.
After a valiant struggle, High Lord Wilcott Howe died of the damp lung in the fall of 1152 IC, and Ulster was declared the new High Lord of Estermont. His mother would act as his advisor and confidante until her death. This signaled a major shift in the way the Howe Estate was ruled. Suddenly, elves were beaten for the slightest mistakes and treated like animals by their once benevolent masters. Men they worked beside everyday were suddenly free to rape and despoil them. Filled with sorrow over her husband's death and repulsed by what her son had become, High Lady Catriona Howe-Maddox passed away during the dismal winter of 1153. Without his mother to curb his savage impulses, Ulster Howe earned the nickname "The Grim," and his reputation as a cruel, drunken monster spread throughout the kingdom.
Only his devotion to the Vorstagian Empire kept him from being usurped or replaced as High Lord of Estermont by the other nobles in the kingdom.
The situation worsened in 1154 when the high lord decided to take an evening walk through the Howe Estate's renowned rose gardens. During his stroll, Ulster spotted Myranda and Triala running off into the Wrenlock Forest to continue practicing with the Will. He sent several guards to bring the elves before him, thinking they were trying to run away, but his soldiers brought back dire news. The older elf had been showing her youthful companion some magical cantrip or spell. Horrified and enraged, the high lord sent Myranda to the Mysterium Lodge the next day and beat Triala senseless for keeping this secret from him. He demanded to know if she also possessed the gift of magic. Through tears and a broken nose, the red-haired elven girl swore she didn't, and the inebriated nobleman decided to let her remain at the estate. After all, he was having sex with her mother on an almost nightly basis. The last thing he wanted was for his favorite elven doxy to start blubbering because he'd banished her daughter.
With Myranda gone and her mother known throughout the kingdom as the "high lord's whore," Triala began to feel trapped in the Howe Estate. She marveled at how many opportunities she'd had with Myranda to simply escape into the Wrenlock Forest. Of course, she hadn't because the older elf wouldn't have been able to keep up, and the idea of leaving her mother behind was repugnant. The resentment and fear she felt towards High Lord Howe came to a head in 1157 when Ingmir, Triala's friend and tutor in the art of horseback riding, approached his master and told him the truth. Triala did, in fact, have the Will.
Furious and drunk on several bottles of Vorstagian wine, the aristocrat ordered his guards to bring Triala to the kitchen while he fetched Selune. When everyone was gathered in the larder, the High Lord of Estermont began beating Selune with a truncheon while shouting at Triala for being a "pointy-eared monster" and a "lying, thieving elven mageling!" Horrified and barely in control of herself, Triala let loose. Everything Myranda had taught her about taming the Will vanished in an instant.
The resulting explosion of pyromantic magic engulfed the kitchen and nearly killed the young elf. Only the presence of several torches in the room allowed Triala to survive this expenditure of energy. She did, however, set the right side of her face ablaze. Screaming in pain and barely cognizant, the elven girl fled through one of the side doors and raced towards the forest where she'd once practiced magic with Myranda. She only looked back once and saw the high lord, with her mother in tow, sending a dozen guards after her while the rest struggled to put out the flames. Triala quelled the blaze scalding her face and ran until her legs gave out.
Weeping in pain and terror, the elven mage decided her only chance to avoid recapture was to leave the kingdom. Perhaps she could head north? There was a village called Last Hope a few days south of the border between Estermont and the neighboring kingdom of Cygnar. It seemed like as good a destination as any.
Triala barely survived the long journey northwards, but she finally reached Last Hope after nearly two weeks of walking and living off the land as best she could. Outside of the ramshackle settlement, the she-elf saw a standard that would forever after fill her with hope: a simple black flag with a running dire wolf on it. The Company of the Wolf was looking for recruits in the area since there were rumors of a new war starting in the north. In light of her desperate circumstances, Triala knew she had nothing to lose by joining, but she kept seeing the horrified and disgusted expressions of the villagers around her. Her scarred face was too revolting. Who would be willing to tolerate an elf with no combat experience and a visage only a mother could love?
The trembling she-elf turned to walk away...only to collide with an older member of the Company, Osric "The Mad Mage" Weaver. The man immediately sensed this dirty creature's connection to the Will, and he told her she wasn't going anywhere. Triala was too weak to fight back. He dragged her over to the recruiter and helped her sign her name. The gaunt spellcaster promptly declared that she would be his greatest student ever. She would be the one "The Mad Mage" would share all his secrets with. The recruiting officer simply rolled his eyes and told Osric to take his pet to the Company's encampment to await orders from the Captain. The mage complied and, with a hearty chuckle, led his new student into a life that would reshape her both literally and metaphorically. The next fifteen years were some of the best of Triala's life. Her new teacher taught her to use her gift in ways Triala hadn't thought possible, and he even bought her a quarterstaff and dagger. Occasionally, he'd try to teach her how to fight with them, though the spellcaster wasn't particularly good at it.
"You can never know too many ways to kill a man," Osric always said. Triala took him at his word. And it was a good thing she did, because war once again threatened the Continent.
The Wars in the North began in the year 1162, and the Company of the Wolf fought for whatever side was willing to pay them the most coin. Gold flowed like a lustrous, clinking river into and out of their purses as they prospered from the chaos engulfing the land. For the first time in her life, Triala knew what it was like to have money of her own to spend. And spend she did. When she wasn't buying clothes or alcohol, the elven woman bought the most expensive meals she could afford and even purchased an old Vorstagian Charger from a horse merchant after the Battle of the Celebron Fields. The scrawny, starving wretch Osric found on the streets of Last Hope blossomed and grew into a plump, money-hungry elf with a taste for the finer things in life. She eventually became Osric's new apprentice, and "The Mad Mage" couldn't have been more delighted.
This doesn't mean Triala forgot about her mother and her old master, the High Lord of Estermont. Even during the Company's time serving Lord Van of Starly, she kept one ear to the ground in hopes of hearing what was happening in Estermont. She finally learned that the Howe Estate had been completely lost to the flames, and the high lord paid a ridiculous sum of gold to have dwarven masons rebuild it. The elf was happy to hear it. Now, she could move forward with her plans. Shortly after being recruited, Triala reached the conclusion that she could save up enough coin to hire the Company of the Wolf to help her exact revenge on Ulster Howe. Maybe she could rescue her mother as well. If she was still alive.
Now that she was earning a decent wage and knew the Howe Estate had been reconstructed, this notion began to nag at the elf more and more. In 1168 IC, the seventy one year old mage decided to commit herself fully to this course of action. Triala has squirreled away nearly two hundred golden pieces thus far, though she knows she still has a long way to go. Sacking a nobleman's mansion isn't a cheap or easy task. In 1172 IC, however, Lord Van's kingdom fell to the Vorstagian Empire. It was during that final, awful battle that Triala lost her pinky finger. The Company of the Wolf was forced to surrender to the Empire.
Now, the Company has been ordered to report to the Imperial City for an audience with the emperor. In spite of her missing finger, Triala's mastery over her pyromancy has improved substantially, and she's survived five major battles alongside her fellow mercenaries. Yet the she-elf is deeply concerned about returning to the southlands. For now, she's content with keeping quiet and staying close to Osric. If worse comes to worse, Triala intends to abandon the Company at the first sign of danger. There are plenty of other mercenary companies who'd be willing to help her achieve her goals. Besides, it's hard to rescue anyone if you're dead.
Denouement
Character Motivation: Triala is concerned with her own well-being above all else. However, the she-elf also intends to save enough coin to hire the Company of the Wolf to sack the Howe Estate so she can rescue her mother and punish the high lord.
Significant Relations: -Selune "Delightful" Veclis-Arathan: Triala's mother and primary caregiver until the destruction of the Howe Estate fifteen years ago, knew her child had magical abilities but tried to conceal them, this ultimately resulted in her being beaten by High Lord Ulster Howe in front of her daughter, given the nickname "Delightful" by the high lord in reference to the many hours of pleasure she gave him in bed, refuses to talk about Triala's father, currently living in the reconstructed Howe Estate
-Myranda Tavellan: An ancient elven servant born and raised in the Howe Estate, an intuitive mage who successfully concealed her abilities for decades, she often went into the nearby Wrenlock Forest at night to practice using the Will, Selune persuaded Myranda to help Triala master her own gifts so the girl could avoid being sent away, Myranda and Triala grew close over the years, High Lord Ulster Howe discovered Myranda had been deceiving him in 1154 IC and ordered several household guards to escort her to the Mysterium Lodge, nobody has seen or heard from her since though the guards returned to the estate a few days later, currently missing and presumed deceased
-Ingmir Shadras: The attractive elven stable master for the Howes of Estermont, spent countless hours teaching Triala how to ride and care for different types of horses, he betrayed her in 1157 IC by admitting to High Lord Ulster Howe that she possessed the Will, his right ear was cut off as punishment for not confessing sooner, currently serving the high lord in the newly rebuilt Howe Estate
-High Lord Wilcott Howe: The ruler of the kingdom of Estermont and High Lady Catriona Howe-Maddox's beloved husband, his heir and sole child is Ulster Howe, High Lord Wilcott was a kind and generous nobleman who treated his servants exceptionally well, a staunch supporter of the Vorstagian Empire and the idea of a unified Continent, died from damp lung in 1152 IC and his son inherited the Howe Estate, his wife passed away almost a year after his death, deceased
-High Lord Ulster "The Grim" Howe: The only child of High Lord Howe and High Lady Howe-Maddox, assumed the title of High Lord of Estermont in 1152 IC and continued his family's support of the Empire, known as "The Grim" since he rarely smiles, a cruel and unstable drunkard who believes non-humans are little better than animals, discovered Myranda Tavellan was a mage and sent her to the local spellcasters' lodge in 1154 IC, flew into a rage when he learned Triala Veclis could also use the Will and beat the girl's mother in front of her, this caused Triala to lash out with her abilities and she razed the Howe Estate to the ground before fleeing, the high lord sent a few guards to pursue her but his focus was on rebuilding his family's home, currently living in the rebuilt Howe Estate and seeking a wife
-Osric "The Mad Mage" Weaver: An ill-mannered and eccentric spellcaster serving the Company of the Wolf, a talented mage with a thorough understanding of the Will and how to wield it properly, has spent most of his thirty years with the Company teaching gifted recruits how to use their mystical talents, can manipulate the four primary elements of earth, wind, water, and fire, took Triala under his wing as his apprentice in 1162 IC and still considers her to be a "work in progress," rarely talks about his past unless he's drunk or smoking witchleaves, currently employed by the Company of the Wolf
Opinions on Others:No-Quarter Kuro-
Gideon Wryder-
Connor Vaelis-Triala despises Connor Vaelis, and she hasn't even known him for a full year. The man's immaturity, coupled with his potent mind-reading abilities, makes him more than just a pest. Triala considers him a dangerous moron. An incident involving too much alcohol and too little common sense occured between the twosome shortly after Connor joined the Company of the Wolf. The elf has never forgiven the mentalist for what happened, and she has no intention of doing so. It's not everyday she almost sets an entire encampment on fire out of sheer rage. And if there's one thing Triala hates more than humans it's humans that make her look bad. The she-elf will often make a point to demean and humiliate Connor whenever she can. She's also trying to devise a method to block his spells. Even the new recruit's friendship with her teacher, Osric Weaver, isn't enough to keep Triala from trying to solve this problem. Lately, rumors have been circulating through the Company that she has finally found a way to keep the mentalist out of her head for good.
Odran Tarlach-
Colette Viville-
Thdris Tholyr-
Kaerun Eschala-
Other: Triala's closest friend is an elderly and temperamental Vorstagian Charger called Blackheart. When he's not blatantly disobeying his rider's commands, Blackheart spends his time pooping in inappropriate places and making a general nuisance of himself. Several Company members have running bets to see who will have the honor of killing the bastard when he's no longer fit to ride. At the moment, the Captain seems to be the most likely candidate. Blackheart devoured his favorite hat not too long ago, and the Captain is known for his long memory. In spite of his flaws, the cantankerous warhorse is a loyal and intelligent beast whose unceasing courage has saved Triala numerous times.
Physical Description: Colette stands at 5'10'' and has a slender frame, but training has kept her muscles toned, but not to the extent of the other soldiers who've been with the company longer. Colete has lone, blonde hair usually tied back in a ponytail or held back to keep from getting into her eyes and effect her shooting skills. She has pale skin and blue eyes. Her cheeks remain a slight pink tint. She has scars along her back from years of punishment from her human master and a scar run along her left shoulder from her first week of training. When not in her armor, she typically wears light colors in red, blue, or white.
Military Background
Years Spent in Service: One Month Equipment:
Her trusty longbow, made from a dark wood with a silk string.
Her accompaniment of arrows.
A silver Anelace
Light, leather armor
A silver locket given to her by her mother
Skills:
Expert Archer: Colette has a knack for all things archery. Though she prefers the use of her longbow. She is precise, calculated, and coordinated.
Elementalist: Having mastered no specific element, Colette can summon the four basic elements: fire, water, earth, and air. She uses these in combination with her arrows especially.
Stealthy: Colette prefers to remain unseen from her foes. She likes to blend into her surroundings and only been seen if she chooses.
No Two Left Feet: Although she won't admit it (and will kill you before she does), Colette loves to dance and is very good at it. It was one of the few pleasures she had growing up.
The Mind
Psych Profile: Colette is quiet to those she doesn't know or like, and a little bit less to those she considers to be her friends. Having grown up under the harsh hand of a human master, she has a strong dislike of humans (not unlike most of her elven brethren). Despite her silence, Colette does have a heart and prefers to see justice done to those who go against it.
Colette has her morals and it drives her in everything she does. Even though she dislikes humans, she is willing to do the job given to her and work alongside them provided she isn't asked to do anything she's against.
Colette also believes she could grow into someone better if she stays in the regiment. Worried that she would turn into what Cartwright wanted, a cold-blooded, ruthless killer, she joined to hopefully get trained and show not only her companions and leaders, but also herself, just what she is capable of.
History:
Colette was born in a small home to two very loving parents. Valeria didn't know if she would ever be able to conceive a child, but years of trying with her husband finally ended when the little bundle came into the world.
Shortly after, Valeria's husband, Colette's father, passed away. Unsure how to make ends meet and what she would do to care for her new child, Valeria had no choice but to work as a maid/healer to the Alberts family: a wealthy, connected human family known for going through servants with little reluctance.
Valeria cared for Colette as she tended to the Alberts family, which included the old crone Beatrice and her constant need to humiliate Valeria any chance she got. Beatrice made the mistake of saying Colette was an unfortunate accident and Valeria lashed out, striking the woman. Cartwirght, Beatrice's son, took matters into his own hands and punished Valeria with an hour long beating, leaving the elf woman in a crumpled mass. Even with her own healing magics, it took weeks before Valeria could return to work. However, due to her transgressions, a new stipulation arose in her contract with them. Colette had to be put to work too.
Colette started work at the age of 5, doing basic household chores. With her mother's temper, Colette tried, unsuccessfully, to go against her masters, but Valeria warned her about the troubles that would cause. Keeping silent, Colette worked to the bone for many years.
At the age of 13, Colette grew into a young, beautiful elf girl and Cartwright, at age 16, wanted Colette for himself. Valeria begged him not to, promising a vast amount of favors, making excuses, and even working without any pay in order to be sure her daughter wouldn't be sullied that way. Cartwright, eventually, grew tired of it and decided to take Colette anyway. Valeria fought back, lashing out again against her masters. Cartwirght, finally sick of the woman's audacity to fight against her bosses, took his dagger and plunged it into her heart. Colette watched her mother's life edge out of her.
Colette had no choice but to stay with the Alberts family, having nowhere else to go and no one to turn to. Cartwright wanted little to do with her anymore, but kept her as a message to his other servants what would happen if you crossed him or his family. Years went by until Colette had the courage to fight back. At 18, she palmed a knife and went into Cartwright's bedroom to end him. Cartwright didn't go down without a fight and the two fought. Cartwright ended up losing the fight and before Colette could plunge the knife into his heart, he uttered the words "Go on. End me. You elves are all alike. You and your pathetic mother. Cold-hearted. Blood-thirsty. Demons, all of you. You are no better than common criminals. Filth! Go on, do what you've dreamed of doing for years."
The realization set in. Colette knew she wanted to get back at the man who killed her mother, but not in this way. Instead, Colette fled into the night.
She stayed many nights on the street with no roof, until she met Daniel, who gave her a bed. Daniel, an elf like her, ran the streets as a thief, but only targeted people who deserved it and he never killed. Cartwright's message echoed in her head as she decided to run with Daniel. It was then she learned how to remain unseen and how to use a bow.
Years went by as she worked with Daniel. Daniel, knowing what had happened to Colette, sought a way for her to become better than him. Better than she was. It was then he heard about recruiting for the army and urged her to sign on.
Colette took some persuading, but eventually she came around and signed up. Having only been in the military a month, she aims to show what she can do.
She still seeks Cartwright's blood. That goal will never change, but she wants to prove she can become a better person. Punish him for his crimes against her and everyone else, and see that he is treated like the monster he is.
Denouement
Character Motivation: Colette is motivated to bring redemption to her mother who was killed by her master, who is still out there and alive. She would love nothing more than to pierce his skull with an arrow, but she has to find him first. Being part of this regiment is a good way to accomplish that, and do something worthwhile. Her mother would have wanted her here than out on the streets.
Significant Relations:Valeria Viville - Colette's mother. She lost her when Colette was 13 and had to suffer under the hands of her killer for years after that. Her mother was devoted to her and despite the harsh conditions they dealt with, showed kindness to everyone, be they human, elf, or dwarf. Despite this, Valeria could and did get angry when those she loved were treated harshly. Veleria also had magical potency and was skilled in healing magic, making her a prized asset for Cartwright.
Cartwright Alberts - Colette's master and the reason she joined the army and the token of her vengeance. He's a cruel human being who went through slaves like they were loincloths. Despite his harsh treatment, he kept Valeria and Colette around because of Valeria's healing abilities and his fondness for Colette. When Colette was 13, he wanted her for himself, but her mother protested. Keeping him at bay only lasted so long until she wouldn't have it. In the heat of the moment, Cartwright killed Valeria and paid off anyone who investigated (which was pretty much no one as it was a dead elf). Having nowhere else to go, Colette had to stay on and suffer under his hand until she was 20. He has gone with the wind, but Colette feels he is still around somewhere. He has powerful connections.
Daniel Tyr - A friend of Colette and who she ran and stayed with as she lived on the street. A thief with a good heart and the other part of the reason (besides her mother) that Colette joined the army. Daniel still runs on the streets, but only targets those who deserve it and never kills. He has feelings for Colette he'll never admit to.
Dwarf. | Thirty-nine. | No magical potency. | Ranger. | Twenty years in The Company of the Wolf.
PSYCHICAL DESCRIPTION —
She dominates a stature neither admirable or worthy of intimidation, but only understates to the typical breadth of a Dwarva head. Fed wine, battle-song and smoke, Thdris is only impressed upon with her girth and lean strength woven dexterously through her thick arms and legs, and the shadow of facial hair crawling up an angular jaw. Barely cresting to the hips of her pack mates at a height of four feet with maybe a sprinkling of an inch or two, she compensates with wide smiles, and a whimsical sort of charm hidden in those cheek-carving simpers. Her body is composed mostly of muscle and bound in the limited frame of her origins, she’s often described stocky and stout, and not just in appearances. More often than not, Thdris can pass as a man, courtesy of her constant shadow that never quite crawls up the high-set of her cheeks bones, but remains instead along the edges of her face to feed into her thick and cording hairline.
Unable to tame the thick mass of tresses that tangles down a short spine, the locks are woven with twine, cords of various colours — mostly black-earthen tones — and occasionally bronze trinkets that don’t shine or twinkle, but appear to blend into the threads reminiscent of Imperial soil. They add weight to the voluminousness mass, providing a mild method of taming and being Thdris’ only illusion to any attachment to her family’s former practice. Typically, one would witness a dwarf bound and fixated in iron and steel, but betraying her constitution, this dame dons for leathers in sequence with cured hide and furs; fortified by criss-crossing chain surrounded by padded cloth. She doesn’t boast a personal set of armor, but instead just simply wears whatever she can mesh together and find or purchase from a stall whenever the urge takes her - she bears a natural aptitude in piecing such together without even trying. The only embellishment Thdris employs is a cloak of pallid fur with brown and ebony ticking genes from the animal it was skinned from, with a dire wolf insignia emblazoned with dye along the hem of both cape and hood.
Heralding a proud nose and deep-set eyes the colour of wine, and mouth always cradled with her pipe, Thdris once upon time was bequeathed with a fond title of being a pint—sized loveliness of earthen charm. However, interlacing scars over wheat-weathered skin, age, and harsh treatment from the elements around her have chipped and roughly bedded down her person. She moves deliberately and simply, almost stomping wherever she goes. Thdris trudges after the company on stocky limbs and thick arms clapping against their backsides as she goes [she can’t reach any higher now, can she] and clamps leather—bound palms over her hips in her wiles of thought and deliberation, performing comical expressions when perplexed or awed by the packs’ many experiences.
EQUIPMENT —
. An aged dagger dubbed Atuna, of Dwarven make and usually paired with her sister Tunsha: a longer sabre not quite on pair with a long sword, but shares origins with its’ kin weapon. . Knives thinly designed for purposes better suited to underhanded, secret methods, totaled to five. . Various flasks, all tightly sealed, with liquids that she’d rather not share - and that you definitely don’t want to take a sniff at. . An elongated pipe, forged from bitter oakwood to give her herb of choice a particular flavour, dark and well used in smoke song. . A pouch, greedily kept and filled, with herbs and plants of special intention and purpose, incredibly pungent and thick in aroma if opened. . Her parchments all loosely bound in a bestiary tome of simple aesthetics, scribbled in her looping scrawl with various details about the fauna she has encountered over the years. . Carries an assortments of leather thongs, all varying in length, some tipped and weighed down in steel weights and others in complex and well oiled knots. . Miscellaneous objects of twine and caltrops nestled together in her knapsack, preferred for traps and fun at gatherings of the pomp and royal.
SKILLS —
Beast Tongue.
As a Ranger, Thdris bears a particular connection and method with the beasts of the realm. She can cajole and woo most of the wilder fauna to either flee or simply allow the company to be. She’s known to tame some into her temporary service, mostly winged predators for their gift of flight and transporting missives. Her ability to track them would suggest more to the connection she tends to share with them, almost seamlessly able to traverse the wood without hindrance.
Dual Wielding.
Brandishing her Dwarven-sisters of dagger and sword, Thdris has the method of dueling down to a finery. She’s not graceful or waif like a typical Ranger of the usual stereotype, but her blunt and brutal ability of short-arm tactics are well used against taller and usually large opponents.
Dwarven Constitution.
It’s almost naturally cultivated, a hardy wealth of immunity and stout defense. Entirely a passive, some jeweled up rumour, but has proven in Thdris’ stance against the wear of battle many times over. And with her staunch fortitude she has the natural capability that permits her vision to be quite useful in low-light situations; akin to the way a feline can peer through the gloom of night.
Veteran Trapper.
Though not as cunning as most rouges who employ the same practice, Thdris has a knack for developing traps designed for both beast and man, sometimes consisting of little more than rope and cleverly placed plants.
PSYCH PROFILE —
Thdris would describe herself as a fantastical realist, sort of an enigma and a contradiction towards the appellation, but no less true or potent in the actuality of her person. Though fantasy is to deviate from the norm, Thdris views it as the method and practice of change and development, and pragmatic solutions may stray from ideals, but the universal need to adapt is ever of importance - and if not for these ideals, how would they progress? She fancies the dreamers, the bards, and the tales, but would never attempt to repeat their grandiose tales, legends are wonderful in song, but sometimes that is all they are meant to be. Now, in the blood and sinew of the creatures of the Realm, that is where some of the better mysteries and fantastical evidence lies, they adapt with time, they develop alongside the souls of the world and Thdris is utterly enamoured with their existence. Thus her preference of designation as a Ranger, despite all peculiar glances and inquires to her stature - shouldn’t she be a barbaric ravager of the axe instead?
But, the earthy woman simply sees it as a direction of fate; in that individuals must ply away from the norm; that in that decision they find meaning and life and death. Tragedy, to Thdris, is viewed as a necessity though cruel and crippling, and happiness and fulfillment of living is bound by honour of life and prophecy. However, even with these conceptual beliefs, it’s difficult to discern exactly what the Dwarva woman is thinking or what lays beneath these intricacies. Her lips constantly remaining tipped into a small smile, almost, quietly, saddened and depressed with the wealth of her stare bruised and straight-forward. She quickly descends into banter, quips, soft-spoken advice and boisterous laughter in whichever situation is deemed appropriate to lessen the former. Her time with the company has undoubtedly bred a strong belief and foundation in the leagues of loyalty and its’ meaning, and never has one witnessed her wrath when you have garnered her trust.
Swathed in layers of complexity and smiles, Thdris is perhaps best deduced by her expressions and mutterings carried beneath her breath if one is to know her best. The depth of her wine coloured stare is where one can gauge the whirring process of her mind, the purse of her lip and the gnash of teeth in a grimace in the proper estimation to what she’s thinking or feeling - unless she happens to notice one staring. Her words often contradict such visual keys, trying to sway attention from the truth and attempting to placate the curious individual with the lies instead. Unfortunately, Thdris is a terrible fiber, and while she can weave an excellent articulation about some legend of a thrice-horned elk, she cannot blatantly say or convince she has ever actually seen one. Her charm lays within the curve of her lip and the staunch of her stature and position and the honour of her blades.
She judges and accepts those in her company based upon actions and beliefs, by the method they carry themselves and the tandem in which they work with the rest of the company. But, no matter how much she may be fond of her companions, Thdris will always prefer the wild company of her beloved animals just awaiting to be discovered with her silver-laden tongue.
HISTORY —
Tholyr Stronghold: a strong, and well bounded fortress crested high and nestled between sister peaks capped in frigid ice and sharp precipices of ebonette stone. Bourne in the cold and rock, Thdris was the eldest among three, and the massive span of the Tholyr family heralded a contingent of skill and coin with their various trades and contracts. Tradition was steepled high within family and birth rite, and it was that your bourne mother, or father, judged your ultimate fate and decree no matter your own personal skill or selection. It was simply the long-standing method of such things, and perhaps a prideful decision and demented practice to stay true to their origins when the Realm was no longer to be called their own. Thdris often overheard many tales of refugees in the garnishes of both Elf and Man, wars and kings that bled into tyrants and the stain of magic and Will that seemed to taint all that it caressed. She was perhaps romanticized by these stories, but such was all that they were, stories. They never went into the low lands, they only uttered what passing traders supplied, news carried by a second-hand and fed whichever furnishings of grandeur available so that they could persuade more coin and trade. Her dreams never suffered though, Kings seated on thrones of gold were there to sire her fantasies every night and in their eyes was the might of draconic fire. But, truth often swindles the cotton of dreams, and Thdris felt the first sting of such when her family began to temper that wild mind and train it to their practice.
Initially, she silently endured, learning the art of fire and steel, to shape and temper the alloy to your desire and design. Jewelry was their fine make and brought with it coin aplenty, her family were proud peddlers of bronze, silvers, and golds in trinkets, and sometimes rare components that naturally gleamed scarlet or emerald. Thdris learned them all and almost envied her cousins that were learning the creative freedom of bending steel and iron, they personally met their commissioners, learned the ways of battle to better design their wears for the fighting and the wars. Often, Thdris tucked herself away into the dark to visit her cousins in the stronghold, learning from them, hearing the stories of their customers and, sometimes, becoming lost in her drink until the dawn bathed the sister peaks in rays of gold.
But, such was not to remain for long, the Tholyr eye spanned wide and her meetings were not kept secret for long. Though it wasn't dissuaded that she spend time in her cousins' keep, but only that it took away from her studies, and her parents of proud jewel-crafters would not allow their hubris to suffer her whimsical endeavors. It was like taming a creature, wild and splendorous, but the love she had for her family - despite their cruelty to dreams - kept Thdris in line for the longest time. Long enough that she was even betrothed to a dwarven man who transferred to the stronghold from another, and gave birth to a wonderful, beautiful child that had her wine coloured eyes and her proud nose and jaw - smudged with the finest hairs of red. It was complacency, but not unhappiness, she was a fire tamed and welled down. She was young, barely encroaching seventeen years of the sun, but such was common in Tholyr and tradition, as she would give birth to many sons in her age.
Her life would have remained such if not for the raids. Determination and stubborn brutality found its' way between the sister peaks, and a night of fire and ruin was all that Thdris would carry into her nightmares. She learned that Kings seated themselves on thrones of blood and bone instead of gold, and the light in their eyes was not the might of dragons, but the furnaces of hate and greed. Tholyr Stronghold was pillaged and taken within four moons, and Thdris lost her husband to a volley of arrows in the third rotation. Her child was already taken with the rest of the children and elderly deep into the mountain caves, she wept for days without him, but, he was away from the destruction. It was meant to keep them safe and from harm, but the final moon sealed their fate, and her own, when they were ambushed in the caverns and set to flame and sword. Thdris lost everything she had known and watched helplessly with the remains of her family as the Stronghold burned and rang with the triumphant calls of the dead. Hopeless, despair, and hate crippled her heart and soul and she found herself without reason or will and aimlessly wondered as a refugee until the remaining Tholyr line found lodging in several leagues in a little town called Verndral. The days from then on passed in depression and rage until Thdris nearly went mad with her heartache, she need a purpose, a reason, she needed something to cement her woe and to hear stories once more.
And thus, when eighteen suns come about, she purchased a sword, leathers, and set into the wood to either find death or reason. It was here she met a woman, tall and elegant, poised in deadly ebony furs and wearing a smile of secrets and charm. She called herself Kylmi and the depth of her eyes were various hues of green, true spring grass and deep leafs of emerald, her face was pointed and pale; sometimes Thdris questioned if she were mortal, but Kylmi would only laugh. She offered the dwarf her friendship and here she discovered something akin to love and purpose. Kylmi called herself a Ranger by trade, she tamed beasts, traded furs with various towns, she whispered of riding aloft a stag of pure white that granted wishes of those with a pure heart. She told of great and powerful bears that churned the earth and planted trees, of deep creatures who lived in the seas and lakes that guarded troves of gold and treasures. Thdris learned everything from Kylmi, her swordsmanship and her own trade, she learned to smile, to laugh, and studied beasts along side her. When she charmed her first creature with speech and touch, Kylmi proclaimed her life renewed and her heart, though scarred, brightened once more. The year with Kylmi seemed to pass in a mere blink, and in the late nights she would awake to see the woman gazing woefully at the stars and moon, sometimes whispering of things that had not come to pass. It was on such a night, whilst camped around a fire and Thdris had successfully tamed a beast to her side for eternity, that Kylmi spoke of herself.
She talked about Great Spirits, magic, the soul of everything intertwined and the deep respect of the Wood that many had forgotten. She was Elven and human and something much more that she would not whisper. Kylmi traded with Thdris the remains of her teachings and kissed her brow and told her to rest, allowing her to nestle against the massive boar she had gained that morning. If only Thdris had been able to hear the farewell in her voice then, and all that she left in her sudden departure were the dwarven sword and dagger Atuna and Tunsha and a letter that spoke of a poem about the honour of wolves.
She believed in the fate that Kylmi had set her on, as the path led to The Company of Wolves were she joined with The Captain and his followers, the band of mercenaries being her finality in escaping the nightmares of fire and death. She shed her former life, and like Kymli taught, applied her skills as a Ranger into their fold and began her own bestiary and collections, traveling and attending to battle and honour. She cemented and founded her reason for a new life, and in her dreams, she could finally revisit the memory of her son and the man that he would have become.
CHARACTER MOTIVATION —
Thdris is all well for the gathering of coin and honour, and she’d happily share that she has no intention to leave the Company no matter which task they’re employed too. But the reality of her heart is swollen with the desire to charm legendary and fantastical creatures and to learn their secrets of time and wisdom. If she ever mutters of vengeance, she'd hastily deny such a thing. Though, in secret, she'd love to find Kylmi once more, but Thdris long suspects the peculiar Ranger has departed the Realm.
SIGNIFICANT RELATIONS —
Though the line of the Tholyr has long been culled, Thdris still maintains contact with her cousins that survived the raids. She trades letters and missives with them and sometimes personally employs those of the smith trade to craft arms for the Company.
Durduum has long been Thdris' mount of choice, forgoing a traditional equine to carry her through their travels. Durduum's temperament in the company of his mistress and in battle is staggering, the large boar that stands almost on par with a common gelding, becomes an affectionate, nudging swine that has a severe love of apples and Thdris' affections. In battle, with her astride him, his squeals peel through the air in a terrifying siren, his charging brutality and strength capable of sundering armour, skin and bone. There's not much that can withstand a Dire Boar's charge.
Standing, on all fours, with his massive head nestled in the crook of his mistress' shoulder, Tormalk is a considerable pup of size and experience, having only been with Thdris for two years in the Company. The gargantuan dog is mischievous at best, tending to snatch meals away from pack members and stealing away some of Thdris' things to bury them deep into the soil much to her fond displeasure. Tormalk even goes as far as to annoy and tease Durduum, bouncing in an out of the Boar's tusk range and uses the deep, vibrating cavern of his bark to startle any unsuspecting members. In battle, however, there is no better companion to guard your back in the thick of the fight.
It is as it is said to be: The past is prologue. All else is wind, and that which is borne on it. Fleeting and impossible to capture once it's fled our grasp. Did we not feel righteous, once? We who were scorned? We who felt the world was owed us, and that those who stood in our way did so only to meet our swords with their flesh? What seems so bright and clear in the heat of morning is but a puzzling ember in the twilight hours, a distant dying light at the edge of a day bleeding swiftly into night.
Physical Description In defiance of the common ideal of elven grace and beauty, Kaerun is a beast of sinew and corded muscle with all the grace of a rock tumbling down a mountain. His long brown hair is ragged and self-cut, threaded through with streaks of mottled grey that belie the strength of his bearing. At some point he might have been handsome but the years have stripped away the fineness of his features, burying whatever glimmer of allure he once possessed beneath a veil of scars and broken bones.
The only real element he has that still marks him as a member of his race – beyond the pointed ears – are the piercing eyes of his bloodline. A pair of emeralds set beyond a flat, broken nose and scarred cheeks … a strange paradox that tries unsuccessfully to redeem him in the eyes of women anywhere. He is tall but scarcely taller than the average human. Should he wish it he might even pass for one of them (though only in darkness, or with a hood drawn up).
Tattoos cover most of his upper body (from mid-neck down to his waist), a myriad of colors and intensity. Curved lines and strange sigils that bear no clear meaning, patterns of vines and leaves and serpents. Some are ancient and others have yet to begin fading; they flow out from the first that he bears upon his back. It is as if he means to hide it, or to bury it in the centuries of ink and hours that followed. As he usually eschews clothes that would cover his arms these tattoos may be his most notable feature.
The gods only know that the rest is forgettable.
He usually wears whatever clothes are at hand, and his armor is basically just a thickly padded shirt and occasionally a studded leather vest thrown atop it, all of these designed to keep his muscular arms free and his body mobile. Old boots and weathered leggings accompany his usual attire, along with a thick belt and a number of trinkets and fetishes he's accumulated over the years. Five small strips of leather decked with red and topaz beads always adorn him in some fashion, often attached to his belt or to a leather cord around his neck. He bears his blade upon his back.
Military Background
Years Spent in Service: Kaerun has served the Company for about ten years now.
Equipment: (What are they carrying on their person?)
A long, thin sword of sturdy steel. Akin to a bastard sword in versatility, though of clear elven origin.
A canteen older than the Vorstag Empire, a gift from an old employer.
Various fetishes from all corners of the continent; feathers, metal leaves, beads, etc.
Five leather strips adorned with blood-red and topaz-colored stones, usually affixed to his belt.
Small book of elven wisdom literature, the ink nearly faded away.
Skills: (List from most potent to least)
Sword Dancer: Little else defines Kaerun the way his skill with the sword does; when he does not bear his blade he moves as a man without purpose, plodding and clumsy. But with his blade in hand he becomes a man possessed. The style of swordsmanship he carries was taught to him in his early days and has been refined and altered by his centuries of life. It is doubtful that his original master would even recognize it … but none could deny that he is more deadly now than he was in his youth.
Cheater: Kaerun is quite skilled at the sleight of hand required to cheat at cards and dice. The only saving grace in this is his openness about the skill, and how easy it is to bribe him into playing fair. A bottle of rum usually suffices.
Amateur Herbalist: Most plants and their properties are familiar to Kaerun. He knows a number of great concoctions for remedying a hangover … or worse. Practice makes perfect.
Hedge Mage: Though he has never been properly instructed, Kaerun has developed some skill in the use of magic to keep himself alive over the years. Alas, he will never be recognized as a master of the craft.
The Mind
Psych Profile Easygoing, friendly, often uninterested but rarely cruel about it, and extremely reticent when it comes to his personal history. More likely to bow out of a fight than to join in, though no stranger to adversity or conflict. He is not shy on the battlefield and fights as bravely as most … but it feels as if that bravery is a mask, and what it covers is something far less zealous if no less powerful. Much has happened in his life and it has dulled him to many of the experiences he now weathers. Most of his days are eaten up by the rituals he's accumulated – including his dedication to the blade and his meditations on the scant arcane arts he possesses.
History Kaerun was born in 466 IC. He took his first life moments later and found himself left in the care of an uncle who had no time for him, save to preach and to shape him into something he never wanted to be. Hate took root early and didn't let go of Kaerun until he'd lost everyone he'd ever cared about and burned everything else down around him. The world and Kaerun warred for nearly two centuries, but the world eventually won.
In some ways he considered that the first day of his second life. A clear line between the past and the present – though he would never lie to himself to say that the present held anything for him but memories of the past. Free of what bound him he wandered for a long time, avoiding as much of civilization as he could. Without the burden of duty (self-imposed or otherwise) he grew to disdain attachment. Even the name he wears now is not the one he was born to; he abandoned all he could of what once was. As time rolled on past him he shrugged off the tides of history and played no part in them.
Until he was compelled at last to return to the cities and their people nearly a century later. It took the death of a stranger on the road to impart upon him some last echoing call to rejoin the world, one more mission to take a dying man's final words back to those who cared for him and loved him. Kaerun did as he was asked, and found himself unable to leave. He remained with the family until the last of them died away, working in and around the city to stay close to them until their bloodline ceased to be. A patron from the shadows … and a curse upon their house, for bad luck haunted them until their final day.
Cast adrift again, Kaerun attempted to turn his hand to a number of trades. But with each failed venture he grew less interested in remaining above the surface of society. When at last he lost hope of becoming that which he was not, he fell into the work of mercenaries, haunting battlefield after battlefield for the coin he needed to drink away the world. When he could bear it no longer he would retreat for decades into the wilds before returning, but even those were stripped away as the industry of man claimed what they'd long desired despite the objections of those who would resist them.
It was a fight Kaerun had no intention of rejoining, so he did nothing to stop it. And so the trap closed around him and he found himself locked into a life of war for lack of alternatives. Gradually the tales of his centuries of drifting blurred and lost cohesion, replaced by new memories little different from the old. Who he was and who he'd been were constant; all else was smoke and ashes. Where other elves of long life clung to their history and the ways of their dying culture, Kaerun had no part of it nor care for the preservation of his memories, and so even his own kind turned away from him.
Ten years ago he found himself on the field of battle against the Company of the Wolf during the Wars in the North, a group of warriors long feared by those with any sense about them. He found himself engaged in a brutal fight against overwhelming odds, and despite his skill he was overcome. But rather than take his life, an officer of the Company extended a hand and an offer of employment.
Without anything holding him to his slaughtered companions and defeated employer, he accepted the deal and hasn't found any cause to leave yet.
Denouement
Character Motivation Much the same as the title of this section, Kaerun seeks little in life beyond passing the last stretch of his life's denouement without causing too much trouble for others. He's lived long and seen much, made mistakes and counts few victories to his name, and the weight of it bears down as the twilight of his life approaches.
He fights because he has failed at all else; no art has ever left his pen nor come to life beneath the stroke of his brush. He cannot sing, cannot play an instrument, cannot tell tales, and offers no comfort to others. He lives on because the only thing that seems darker than a few more centuries of life is the abyss that waits beyond it.
Significant Relations Kaerun has a lifetime of associates and acquaintances but none he would call upon in times of need. Some days it feels as if the only companions who've stuck by him over the centuries of his life are those who mean him harm or harbor festering wounds he's inflicted upon them. In wilder days he could not count his children on two hands and could never remember all the names of their mothers … but if any yet live he's long since lost track of them.
Opinions on Others: (this space intentionally left blank)
