[CHAR] [MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

[Errant Son]

Character name

[center][img]encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tb..
Your characters picture should go above. Delete this afterwards. Please use realistic (photo) pictures, or a semi-realistic drawn picture of high quality. If using a modern photo, I expect you to simply use it for the face and then add on your own dress style below.
[i]“Character motto here”[/i]

[i]Character appearance description here, including facial features, body appearance and dress style.[/i][/center]

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[indent]【[U]Full Name[/U]】

[indent][I]Character name[/I][/indent]

【[U]Aliases[/U]】

[indent][I]Character alias, fake names or the likes[/I][/indent]

【[U]Age[/U]】

[indent][I]Character age[/I][/indent]

【[U]Sex[/U]】

[indent][I]Male/female/?[/I][/indent]

【[U]Sexuality[/U]】

[indent][I]Character sexuality[/I][/indent]

【[U]Religion[/U]】

[indent][i]What religion the character follows. Keep self-inventing to a minimum.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Family[/U]】

[indent][i]Describe, [b]shortly[/b], what the characters' family is. How many are left, what kind, and anything you want to add.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Birthplace[/U]】

[indent][i]Can be any village, kingdom or the likes. If using a village, feel free to 'invent' one since I didn't detail them on the locations tab.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Societal standing[/U]】

[indent][i]Slave, lowborn, highborn, nobleman, anything else you can think of that makes sense[/i][/indent]

【[U]Former employment[/U]】

[indent][i]Character's former job or daily tasks before joining the Black Shields[/i][/indent]

【[U]Rank and role[/U]】

[indent][i]What is the characters rank and role in the Black Shields?[/i][/indent]

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【[U]Personality[/U]】

[indent][i]I know this is always kind of annoying to write and likely to change IC, but it gives me and others an idea of what to expect.[/i][/indent]

【[U]History[/U]】

[indent][i]Like above, I understand it's sometimes a bit annoying to write. Never the less it's vital, and can help to explain certain parts of your character. If he/she/it's a foreigner, it should explain why they are in Broacien now.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Dreams, short term goals, and fears.[/U]】

[indent][i]Just for depth.[/i][/indent]

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【[U]Skills[/U]】

[indent][i]What [i]noteworthy[/i] skills does your character have? Anyone can make a fire, everyone can eat. What does your character know that not many others might know?[/i][/indent]

【[U]Martial prowess[/U]】

[indent][i]Does your character have martial or combat skills? If yes, what and where in? If no, how capable of defending themselves are they regardless?[/i][/indent]

【[U]Combat style[/U]】

[indent][i]If your character has martial skills, please explain what his style of combat is. Ruthless, brave, or underhanded and sneaky? If character has no martial skill, feel free to omit this.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Weaponry[/U]】

[indent][i]Keep it logical and realistic. I really, really don't wanna see people dual-wield two handed weapons like Conan the Barbarian would.[/i][/indent]

【[U]Armor[/U]】

[indent][i]Like above. Use your head, we are all capable of doing so.[/i][/indent][/indent]

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[Errant Son]

Terryn Hoffmann

“Virtus Juvat Fideles - Virtue helps the Faithful”

Terryn is an old looking man, covered in scars and wrinkles, with several remarkable and obvious features. One of these is his missing eye with a giant scar running over it, another are the three dots on his forehead. Another thing you will be quick to note about this peculiar man is both the large nosering he wears, and the Monarchist Cross he wears on his chest. It hangs from a study chain, something else entirely than other more refined jewelry, making it clear that this item is only there for purpose and symbolicism, and not to show off wealth, if Terryn was even capable of projecting something as subjective as 'wealth'.

The man dresses rather simple, as a soldiers wage is by no means a good wage. He wears a burgundy linen tunic that has golden trims on the sleeves and the neck, as well as the bottom part of the shirt. Over that he wears a long leather surcoat. The surcoat is tied together by metal pins, not unlike nails, that are pulled through openings in the other end of the surcoat, after which they have a cap placed over them to keep the surcoat in place. Furthermore the man wears a white linen cloth across his head, like a bandana, which is tied in a knot at the back of his head before draping into two somewhat long strands of cloth. The man also wears black and white striped pants, that flow into his boots, a rather simple combination really. His outfit is completed by several belts running cross his waist, to attach his sword to, as well as a half-sheath attached to his back that holds his greatsword.

As for his body, the man is visibly muscled although age seems to have taken it's toll heavily upon the man. Never the less he is still strong and fit, able to properly fight to the best of his ability. It seems the loss of an eye barely made a change in that. The Monarchist Cross on his chest is also a testimony to his zeal - the man is very fond of the Monarch, and as such he is at the same time loyal to the king. The real question is whoever at what given time claims to be king.

---

【Full Name】

Terryn Hoffmann of Col Melle

【Aliases】

“Old Man,” “Old Fart,” “Commander Priest of the Black Shields.”

【Age】

56

【Sex】

Male.

【Sexuality】

Straight, but with a healthy relationship with the Monarch.

【Religion】

Monarchist.

【Family】

Terryn has little family, only a brother in Cherwin, who has promised to Terryn to further the lineage of the Hoffmann family.

【Birthplace】

Hoffburgt, the town.

【Societal standing】

A lowborn man, but earned respect of the nobles through service in the Servants.

【Former employment】

Veteran soldier of the Old Hounds.

【Rank and role】

Acting commander of the Black Shields.

---

【Personality】

Terryn is a stern, brutal and unforgiving man. It's best not to cross him, or else feel his wrath. His zeal provides him with a healthy dose of discipline, while his years of service give him the idea that he knows everything better in terms of combat related issues. In reality, it turns out mostly he does. If looking for a comrade, Terryn is not the man to look to, as he realizes his position as acting commander all too well and although his regular, red blood obstructs him from being the actual commander, he seems to act like he is the actual commander.

Not especially vulgar or anything, but never the less not afraid to speak his mind, Terryn can be blunt and rude at times, and respectful and kind to others. It seems to mostly depend on both standing and the way someone talks to Terryn. Being a Servant in early years, he is also filled with respect for noblemen and other noble-blooded peoples. He knows better than to disrespect them, something that's come with errors in this aspect before, as well as age. Whips, for those who disrespect nobles. Daggers, for those who disrespect equals. Normally one would opt for the whip, they are after all painful, but temporary. But Terryn is of the opinion, and knowledge, that while a whip may be temporary, the scars are permanent. A dagger is swift and painless, and ends your suffering, while a whip forces you to walk a marked man. Nobles are dangerous, but neccesary in his eyes.

Despite his general calmth, which seems to go paired with a snarky and authorative, old voice, Terryn is also capable of anger. And do not be fooled by his old body, he is capable of throwing a punch a 20 year old would wish he could throw. Never the less he is (usually) able to contain himself quite well and is clever enough (or carefree enough) to not be bothered by people attempting to pester him. But if you somehow manage to anger him, be ready for a hurdle of insults, punitive measures and an angry man walking around for the next week. And if there's one thing true about military command, it's that if you make the commander angry, you do not only risk his wrath, you risk that of the entire company. Everyone will hate you for his anger.

【History】

Terryn is a Hoffburgt man through and through - it basically runs in his veins. He was born there in a stinking shack, to a no-good father who was at the whorehouse every day, and a mother that liked to beat her children into doing as she wanted. Needless to say, Terryn was a little runt early on in his life, always running around the town making trouble for everyone. And he used to be quite cute, not that you'd say that now looking at the old man, but he got away with it often too. His father was at one point in time conscripted into service for the Broacien army, and after a few years he returned with a baby boy with him. Supposedly he had slept with numerous women, and produced a child. Terryn's mother didn't care, what's another mouth to feed? Not that much when you can't even feed the three mouths you already have.

However his father's conscription refocussed Terryn's eyes from being an annoying kid making trouble, to becoming a soldier. At this point in time he was unfamiliar with the Servants, so he simply played with sticks, beating other kids around and pretending to be a soldier. This was enough to sate his lust for soldiery for now.

At the age of six, his father and mother took him to the Monarchist church where he first met with the word of the Monarch. He fell in love instantly, and was visiting the church every week pretty soon after. He became a firm believer throughout the years, wishing to become a Robed Sword at one point in time (his lust for soldiery hadn't dissapeared) but ultimately was invited by the king, who at that point in time was still largely in touch with the town, to join the castle guard. After a few years of service the king approached him with an offer. The Servants had asked for able hands to join their ranks, as some Servants had died in battle with Sawarimic raiders lately, and they needed to replenish the ranks. Terryn, who was only 18 at this point, was offered a position by the king, since he was a good fighter and a firm believer.

Obviously, Terryn said yes and together with 7 others rode for Coedwin, to take the oath of Diligence, the oath of Virtue and the oath of Honor in the same night. With his 7 companions from Hoffburgt, and 14 others from other area's he was allowed into the ranks of the Servants. He served dutifully in Coedwin for several years, and was then sent out on missions that went across the border. Soldiering this way was never boring and he enjoyed this time very much, spending time abroad in Cherwin and the Sultanate, to spread the word of the Monarch, and to protect the priests that were there. After 20 years of serving, he was deemed too old for the Servants and was demoted to a more bureaucratic position in the Servants, holding a title of office master in the barracks of Coedwin. This didn't satisfy him, so he asked them to release them from his oaths and return him to the castle of the king to resume his duty as his guard.

Naturally, they complied, since Terryn had been a good Servant for the time he had spent there, and was not exactly a type for office work anyway. He travelled back with another companion that had been released from his oath while the 6 remaining Hoffburgt Servants remained at Coedwin, working either in the office or training new recruits. Upon arrival he was placed back in the castle guard, serving for 3 more years until the king had to place him in the Old Hounds. This company of veterans was in need of a good officer on the fields to lead the momentum of battle into the streams that were required, and Terryn seemed to be the man natural for this.

Ever since he had served under the Old Hounds, doing his duty to the king, marching around Broacien fulfilling the lords bidding. However now that the Old Hounds were defeated in the battle of Priscen Cross, which he was there to witness and fight in, he's returned to the Hoffburgt and accepted the kings' new task of setting up the Black Shields.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Terryn's dreams are to, one day, be knighted and elevated into noble blood. Ofcourse, this is a poor man's dream, but with Terryn's extensive record of service it's plausible for him. Another dream is to start a family, still, but given his old age this is highly unlikely.

Short term goals for Terryn are to get the Black Shields into shape, creating a new company of able individuals, and to drill them into proper soldiers.

His fears include dying in battle (any sane man has this fear, in his eyes.) After all a fearless man is careless, and careless men lose their lives. Furthermore he fears the death of the king, not only because the king is a good man to him, but also because it would destabilize the entire kingdom.

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【Skills】

Besides his obvious skills in combat, he has some training with religious subjects from his time in the Servants, as well as knowledge on how to combat the Sawarimic raiders. From his time with the Old Hounds he's learned some leadership skills, but leading is hard for an old fart like Terryn, who is not even that nice to begin with.

【Martial prowess】

Quite skilled, but old age and a missing eye hampers his ability. Able to hold his own, no less, but any opponent that knows what he is doing will play to the weaknesses that Terryn has.

【Combat style】

Terryn is well trained, and as such is taught a block-and-counter style of fighting. First, he will wait for one to strike, before blocking the strike and countering it with his own strike. However he has chosen a more laid back style now where his sword is the company, and his shield is their bodies. With this, I mean that he doesn't like to go into the fray anymore. His fear of death, and his disadvantages, are too great for him to effectively ensure his survival.

【Weaponry】

An arming sword in a sheath, attached to his belt, as well as a greatsword on his back. No hidden weapons aside this.

【Armor】

Terryn used to have a simple outfit of armor - a cuirass, metal shoulder pads and metal greaves. However, now it makes no sense for him to wear those as he will be leading from the back, not the front, and directing the battle from behind the lines. As such he sticks to his daily wear for armor, which is at the very least somewhat protective due to the leather.

[Zhaliora]

Eira Astadottir

My tribe shall rise to prominence

Eira dresses in warm furs. Being from the cold north she is used to cold weather and knows how to dress accordingly. She has green eyes, black hair which come down to her shoulders. She stands at 5'6", weights around 140lbs. Eira has a few small scars across her face which she got from a wolf while out hunting.

She has quite the average build, but somewhat stocky because of her training with the bow. She has not adapted Broacien customs and dresscodes, prefering her trusty leather and hide over fancy clothes. She does not wear the clothes that her "noble" status asks for, instead wears common clothes that fit comfortably.

She looks rugged on the outside, weathered and worn from raising a child while providing for her family despite her husband's objections.

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【Full Name】

Eira Astadottir

【Aliases】

Northern Gal is her nickname with the local traders

【Age】

23

【Sex】

Female

【Sexuality】

Eira prefers the ladies but doesn't know it to be so. Always following what was expected of her and married an upstanding tribal member.

【Religion】

Eira is what the southerners would call a pagan. A believer in the Northern Pantheon of Gods.

【Family】

Eira has a son and two daughters along with a husband. Only her mother remains from the rest of the family and she took her mother's name as her surname as per tradition.
Her children are aged seven (son) and her twin daughters are five years old.

【Birthplace】

Tribal federation of Norsca in the village of Skadistad

【Societal standing】

Lowborn, married a "noble"

【Employment】

Hunter, skinner and trader of furs

【Rank and role】

Eira is a quite recent recruit and thus hold no rank in the shields. She has been tasked with foraging for now along with advance scout.

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【Personality】

Eira is a down to earth person which is content with her everyday life. Even if it isn't glamorous or what her dream life would be, it's good enough. She is cautious towards new people because of her tribe's constant "arguments" with a nearby tribe. While she herself isn't interested in fighting, she has had to kill before, something she still remembers in horror. If possible she prefers to keep her mark alive, questioning rather than slaying. Cheerful if you break down her ice wall of cold and sarcastic comments.

【History】

Eira was born in a small village in the more northern parts of the continent. Her village is part of a larger confederacy of villages and tribes called Norsca. Norsca is pretty savage and feral, beasts roam the lands, making hunting quite dangerous, thus the tribe fights other tribes over hunting grounds.

She married at the normal age of 14, had a child at the age of 15, and then a pair of twins two years later. She cherishes her children and wishes them all the well in the world, even if they don't get why she has to be so far away.
Her husband is loving and caring, taking care of the children in her stead when she had to leave the village. She thinks about him sometimes, but more about her kids.

While in the service of her tribe she acted as a fronter scout, reporting on movements and camp sites more than actual fighting. She detests war and fighting in general after she killed her first man at a young age in self-defence.
She keeps thinking that her son would grow up to be a fighter, die and leave her behind, and that fills her with dread.

When the call for able bodied troops came, she joined up against the promise that her tribe would be taken care of and protected against their rivals (against the objections of her husband) and she set out towards the capital of Broacien which the recruiter had directed her towards.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Eira's dreams would be to find her true love, even if she does not know this fact herself. She wishes to make her tribe stand out amongst the northerners to make it a better home for her son and daughters.
She fears for her village and her children, hoping that the Broacian kingdom lives up to their promise of protection for the trade of manpower.

---

【Skills】

She is quite an adapt tanner and skinner along with tracking from her hunter profession.

【Martial prowess】

Eira is quite capable when it comes to archery and stealth. Being relied on as a scout for her tribe before. While she loathes to kill, she will in dire situations.
While she is accurate in archery, she is quite the let down in close combat. She more relies on running away than standing her ground and fighting if the enemy comes too close.

【Weaponry】

Eira carries a longbow which she herself made and a spear along with a skinning dagger.

【Armor】

She wears hide and leather armour along with warm and thick clothes despite being further south.

[Twisted Fate]

Jahan Gaalia

I do not believe in any god, I believe in only steel and skill.

Jahan has an athletically slim figure, built more around speed and endurance than brute strength. He is obviously toned, but doesn’t boast the muscle mass that other men seem so competitive about. He stands about 5’11” tall. His back is marked with a large amount of scars that he acquired during his early life – where he was whipped by his father whenever he misbehaved.

He typically wears his armour rather than any other clothing, as it is designed for maximum mobility in combat and as such is quite comfortable. His armour is made entirely out of leather and consists of boots, leggings, bracers and a sleeveless vest. Whilst it may seem impractical to most classically trained warriors, his particular combat style requires him to be quick, agile, and unencumbered – with access to his full range of motion.

More as an affectation and a reminder of his early life, he wears strips of cloth around his wrists, which were dyed bright red and blue when he first got them. After years of wear however, they are now tattered and faded – although the colours are still discernible.

【Full Name】

Jahan Gaalia

【Aliases】

Snakebite, Jester, Godless

【Age】

22

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Bisexual

【Religion】

Atheist – Jahan gave up on any delusions of God early on in his life, but keeps it hidden to avoid prosecution from the Monarchists.

【Family】

Jahan’s father is still alive, probably. He has no contact with him however, and aims to keep it that way.

【Birthplace】

Jahan was born into a family of acrobats in a travelling circus, and as such was born on the road.

【Societal standing】

Lowborn traveller

【Former employment】

Jahan followed in his parent’s footsteps for a time, working as an acrobat and entertainer from an early age until he was 17. At that age, he left his old life behind and became a sword for hire, often finding employment as a caravan guard.

【Rank and role】

Fresh recruit, holding no official rank or title within the Black Shields.

【Personality】

Jahan doesn’t go out of his way to make friends. He prefers, for the most part, to remain quiet and on his own. That isn’t to say he has no social graces however, and he doesn’t actively avoid conversation. When befriended, he can be witty and humorous, and is intensely loyal to people he considers himself to be close with.
He can be easily provoked, but is usually able to control himself – sticking with sarcastic retorts rather than resorting to anything physical. He does have a confidence bordering on quiet arrogance however, and is prone to believe that he can take near enough anyone in a fight if necessary.
He doesn’t follow any religion, claiming that it is his own skill that keeps him alive, not the will of some omnipotent being in the sky.

【History】

Jahan had a tough childhood, by most standards. His mother died during childbirth, and although his father never said it, Jahan knew he had always been quietly blamed for her death. His parents were acrobats in a circus that travelled around the various towns and villages in Broacien entertaining the people in return for coin and admiration, which meant that he had an active, and unstable early life. People loved the circus – until anything went wrong, when suddenly they would turn on the entertainers and blame them for damn near anything. They were an easy scapegoat, after all, they were the most likely candidates for any disruption to the normal routine.

He showed a natural aptitude for the acrobatic talents of his parents, and his father began showing him tricks as soon as he could walk. You earned your living in the circus, no matter how old you were, and the famed child acrobat drew in moderate crowds.

Misbehaviour was not tolerated, despite the apparently lax and carefree attitude, and the punishment for even the slightest transgression was the whip. Unfortunately for Jahan however, he had a natural inquisitiveness that meant he was often on the receiving end of that whip. He noticed that whilst his father was never outwardly hostile towards him, he was a lot harsher in terms of discipline than any of the other parents were to their children.

He was 17 when he decided to leave. His life on the road had taught him plenty about combat – bandits were drawn to the colourful caravans like moths to a flame, and every able-bodied member of the troupe was competent with a blade – and a combination of wanderlust beyond the performance routes and a dislike of the lifestyle led him to start a new life as a sword for hire. His extravagant and acrobatic fighting style managed to set him apart from most of the other mercenary’s, and he found plenty of work as a caravan guard. He knew that most people employed him as a novelty at first, but his obvious skill with a blade quickly earned his companions respect after a short time.

He still found the life dissatisfying however, as he felt he was missing a sense of purpose and direction. That’s why, when he found the letter about the Black Shields seeking new recruits, he packed up his meagre belongings and set out to sign up right away.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

He dreams of one day becoming a ranking officer within the Black Shields, and fulfilling his need for a purpose in life. His short term goals reflect this desire.

He fears failure and can’t stand the idea of disappointing the people he is fighting for.

【Skills】

His childhood means that he has a lot of experience with acrobatics and sleight-of-hand tricks, and he possesses a natural aptitude to showmanship. Apart from that, it is only his fighting skill that sets him apart from any average person.

【Martial prowess】

His combination of skill and showmanship means that he is a talented fighter. His style is based on tiring out his enemies until they make a mistake, and then taking full advantage of that mistake to often fatal effect.
The downside to this style is that he struggles against heavily armoured opponents. Whilst they tire easily, their lack of unexposed weak spots means that it is a lot harder for him to take advantage of any mistakes.

【Weaponry】

Jahan fights with a bastard sword – finding that it offers more versatility than either a longsword or a shortsword.

【Armor】

Leather armour designed for mobility. It’s lightweight, but also doesn’t offer anywhere near as much protection as any metal armour. He relies more on his agility to prevent him getting hit, rather than relying on his armour to block attacks.

[Azaria Blue]

Ellinor Vångsson

“A peaceful mind cures the body, a peaceful heart cures the mind.”

Ellinor has nothing striking about her. Her face is neither too beautiful nor too offensive to look upon. Her stature is average, her muscles are untrained. She wears simple clothing that belonged to her mother once upon a time as well as some of her own making. She has brown hair and deep hazel eyes. She is not a smiley, or falsely overjoyed girl.

---

【Ellinor】

Ellinor Ida Marta Vångsson

【Aliases】

'The Nurturer' 'The transcident of life'

【Age】

Seventeen

【Sex】

Female

【Sexuality】

Best described as asexual

【Religion】

Pagan, like those of the Barren Flats.

【Family】

The third born of sixteen children, counting three who passed after the age of five, and the second oldest girl. The first born was named Hans and at the age of thirteen abandoned and cursed the family eight years ago, claiming to find truth in the Monarchist church. This led Ellinor and Iris (being just under a year older) to take his duties as well as their own. She was present for all of her siblings’ births after her, and those who passed were allowed to do so in her arms. Her father was a busy man, never being home for more than two months a year. He is part of a brigade to keep the invaders from the north at bay behind walls she’s only heard of, although those at the market claim he is full of falsity.

【Birthplace】

Ellinor and her family live far from any known landmarks, but they do travel Northwest for three days to Rochwin flats every third month to sell and trade their wools.

【Societal standing】

Lowborn - peasant

【Former employment】

Midwife, bedside assistant, healer, herb worker

【Rank and role】

She offers her help as a healer and a mystic but is well-suited for a cook and baker.

---

【Personality】

A solemn, serious lady. She has a quietness about her not from shame nor from properness, but from quiet thought. She has a soft heart in caring for others while not showing overflowing emotion in her. Instead, she channels this energy into her works.

【History】

When her sister was married off at thirteen-and-a-half, she took over the leading role in the house. Her role is mostly a teacher, a healer, and a maternal help for her family and neighbors. They claim her hands are can pull a newborn into this life with greater speed, and the little ones always come into the world with a great plumpness when she attends. The newborns always cling to the teat quickly and refuse to fuss when she is around. Some claim it’s the herbs she collects as she makes her rounds, others say it’s her close and nearly friendsome prayers to the gods while others say it’s simply because she has attended to many ever since her own coming into the world.
As her job becomes more of a directing one, she has more time to venture out and learn of the mystics in herbs and things people may not speak of. Every month, when even the moon in the sky cannot bare to watch, she travels to a common bathing hot spring. She waits bare for midnight for the weight of the water to grow heavy and shields her eyes as Mother Midnight wades into the water. It is an unspoken rule that if one looks upon this woman, her insides will rot out and she cannot bear children. She listens along with young, heavily pregnant girls, ones who cannot conceive, ones who have conceived too many. She listens to Mother’s prayers, to her declarations, to her wisdom. Most only dare to come once in their time of most need, but Ellinor has a thirst for knowledge that is only quenched once a month.

Within the last years, she has been pressured into marrying, having many suitors and denying them all. Her mother finally claimed that if she were not to be married that she must put her skills to another good use. It was just at the beginning of the year before the frost began to break away, that she met an admirable man named Igor at the market selling fish. He was much older than her at thirty-seven but had a tolerable attitude. He spoke about his living, having a lonely house near the waters in the faraway town called Saltinberg with a farm that needed tending to. She agreed in the spring to marry him, out of convenience for her family more so than anything. He was tolerable and his living on a boat promised that most of the year he would be away from her.

She learned quickly that Igor said many things, usually amounting to excuses. The winds were too hard, the rain was too cold, the fish were too scarce to bring home food today. As well as all of the previous week. He often spent his says at the small drinking hall, laughing into a heavy mug. It was up to Ellinor to keep up the house once again.
She was surprised at how quickly plants took to the ground here, by how heavy the berries grew on their vines. She began experimenting with pairing plants up with each other, with comparing the north and the south side of the plot. Although she enjoyed her experiments in the newfound land, her agitation with her new husband grew. Perhaps it was because he was requiring her to lay with him after just a month or perhaps it was because he refused to do his part. She decided to try and mend his detest for her by finally giving in to his sexual urges. She spent the rest of the night in front of a flame, speaking with the Goddess Freja. She did not plee with her, but rather asked for her help and guidance. She asked for the Goddess of war and fertility to take her gifts from her. She did not want to be fertile. She spoke and prayed until the sky turned a light purple but she would not cease.
Suddenly she awoke to a lightness in the room and looked to the window. It was then she knew that Freja agreed to her stance. In the window sat a large cat with fur that was lit behind her. This was one of Freja's own chariot cats, unmistakably large and covered in fur. The cat looked down to her expressionlessly, then jumped back out the window. She immediately felt grace and calmness, knowing that one of the Goddess' own was watching over her.

The month is November. The cat has not left but she has not made a statement of her presence. In this, her husband as not noticed even though she watches him carefully as he goes through his house, his town. The day is the tenth, yesterday Igor was particularly forgiving of her and only laid his hands on her once. Today he seems to regret that since the porridge was overcooked this morning. She has lost all interest in her studies, the only interaction she has is with Freja, who has refused to abandon her.
There is blood on the bed. She panics and immediately strips her and the straw mattress' clothing to rid herself of the thought. She takes a better look to find that it is not from her, but rather a dead mouse. She looks up through the window where her guardian sits.
She prays to Freja, offering blood from her palms, blotting them with cloth and then burning it. Over and over she cuts strips of the clothing and offers her blood until her hands are sticky with dried blood and the wounds stop.
'Freja,' she said in an even voice, 'You are always close to me, I will fight for you and what you decide and I dedicate my life to this. I have asked you to abandon your blessings to me but I now understand your strengths. Freja, Goddess of war and fertility, give me your blessing.'

She no longer wondered why the Goddess ruled over the giving and taking of life. She was the one who balanced these things and was wise about it. She knew.
As it turns out, the hands that are the most blessed at bringing life are also the best at taking it.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

She dreams of becoming a herb master, being able to raise, and make use of many herbs. A goal of hers is to get ahold of a herb she has only heard of -Blue-tipped saffron- that is promised to cause the user to live through unimaginable injuries and bring them closer to True Knowledge under the time they are affected by it. She is afraid of becoming with child.

---

【Skills】

Uses for herbs, how to wrap wounds, numbing agents.

【Martial prowess】

Can fight off a wolf with a stick- at least enough to scare it away. Untrained and sloppy work but still effective.

【Combat style】

Acts out of necessity, calm and precise moves.

【Weaponry】

A stick. Maybe a small knife in a pouch (suitable for cutting vines to free sheep, collecting herbs etc).

【Armor】

At most, a leather-bound midriff cover and extra skirts.

---

[ZB1996]

Genseric Cerdicson

“Two things are necessary to remember: your duty and your mortality.”

Genseric has two notable general features about him, his dark features and his handsomeness. He has dark brown eyes, which are matched by his dark hair. In contrast, his skin is, if not pale, noticeably light. His face is clean-shaven, he has a fine complexion, and his physical beauty has been described as striking.

He wears a well-crafted wooden Monarchist Cross over his neck at all times except when he is bathing or sleeping. Although he is of high noble stock, he does not intend to flaunt his wealth, and does not dress regally or lavishly, although he does use his wealth to allow himself to have the best possible equipment available.

---

【Full Name】

Genseric Cerdicson

【Aliases】

“The Black Aristocrat, The Lord of Silence”

【Age】

22

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Straight

【Religion】

Monarchist with Ketter inclinations

【Family】

Genseric’s father is Aeldric, the Count of Rossex, and a war hero. His has four siblings, three younger and one older. His older sister, Ariana, aged 25, was married off to high nobility. His brother Marcus, aged 20, joined the Servants. His brother Johannes, aged 17, is set to join the priesthood. His younger sister Ana, aged 15, is a naïve and free spirit, and is planned by her family to marry into the high nobility, like her older sister.

【Birthplace】

Weylen Keep, Weylen Village, County of Rossex, Grosswick, Kingdom of Broacien

【Societal standing】

High Nobility

【Former employment】

Administrator, Commander, County Advisor

【Rank and role】

Lieutenant

---

【Personality】

Genseric is quiet enough so that many of those around him have taken notice of it. He usually wears a neutral expression on his face, and exceptions to this are exceptional. Nobles would quip that while his father was the Count of Rossex, Genseric was the Lord of Silence. He tended not to be good with small talk, and even when his boyish shyness was eventually tutored out of him he still remained no good at it. Hence he remained very quiet, since this is the bulk of what nobles tended to talk about, and even in the things he did speak of he tended to a man of few words. This type of distant behavior is one thing which has always set the Cedricsons apart from other nobles, the other being their strangely powerful, some might say slavish, loyalty.

Later in life he tended to become more of a stoic individual. His quietness morphed from simply quietness into a philosophy. He showed no signs of emotions, whether they be anger, sadness, happiness, or fear. Although he has accepted this development in his psyche, it would be an exaggeration to say he cultivated this. The ways of the world help turn him towards this attitude.

Nonetheless, it is not as if he doesn’t have a soul. He never asks much from others, and while this is partly from his stoicism it is not wholly from that. He does genuinely care for others, and wants everything to go well. Considering he has seen how the world operates, this would make him an idealist. Also, he has a desire to do good, and possess a strong sense of morality, although it is the morality of his time. His sense of morality, however, is allowed to take a back seat when it goes against the wishes of the king. Duty is a virtue that has been passed through Genseric’s lineage, and it is just as strong in Genseric as it is in his father, and those that came before them. Although he is stoic and come off as cold, he has a strong desire to do good, and to fulfill his familial tradition of undying duty to the King.

Although he is considered a man who would not ever associate with frivolities, this does not extend to art. Genseric has a love from the arts, whether they be music, paintings, poetry, or philosophy, and has even dabbled in them himself. He has commissioned a number of paintings, and has small collections of both pottery and books. Genseric is highly literate and well-read for his age, due to receiving a high education and his appreciation of the humanities.

【History】

Genseric Cerdicson was born in 105, in Weylen Keep, the capital of the County Rossex. He was the second child and first son, and thus heir, of Aeldric, the Count of Rossex and head of the Cerdicson Dynasty, and one day he would inherit the County of Rossex if all went well. His father became a warrior hero, and it was expected that the same thing would happen to Genseric eventually. The Cerdicson Dynasty had always fought alongside the king loyally in his many wars, even when they were defeated and their strongholds plundered, and would always return with victory was once again in their grasp. He had a fraternal twin, and her name was Adela. Genseric was very close to her, more so than any other sibling he had.

As a child, Genseric didn’t have much of note happen to him. Childhood for him was a time of leisure and idleness. However, his father was often away fighting in wars. His older sister Ariana would often dote on him, and Genseric also had a close relationship with his mother. In personality, Genseric was very shy and soft-spoken.

At the age eleven, when his father was away fighting in the Cherwin War, his uncle Genwulf attempted to usurp the county by storming Weylen Keep and massacring the Count’s family. He managed to successfully storm the keep, but most of the Count’s family was able to get away. The exceptions, however, would prove scarring.

Genseric’s father Count Aeldric was able to regain the Keep through a siege which lasted two-hundred and fifty-six days. When he returned, he discovered that his wife and his daughter Adela had been killed, and their corpses dumped. Their corpses have never been found. The experience of losing both his mother and his fraternal twin, both of whom he was very close with, was very scarring for Genseric. Even today Genseric considers Adela as his better half that was lost.

Not soon afterwards, when the shock had yet to escape from Genseric, his father Aeldric assigned a tutor. It was Haakon Rikanus, who was one the preeminent, although not quite most preeminent, theologians of the movement who had rebuked and surpressed what they saw as Ketter-inclined, or heretical, movements in philosophy and theology. Rikanus had run into some political trouble, and Genseric’s father, Count Aeldric gave him shelter. In return, Rikanus had had to teach his son the humanities, and Rikanus reluctantly agreed.
Genseric showed surprising skill in the matter, and of all the subjects he seemed most enamored with philosophy. This was surprising and refreshing to Rikanus, although Rikanus made sure to teach him in all the humanities. Despite his teacher’s rigidly orthodox approach to theology and philosophy, Genseric was an independent thinker and, while maintaining utmost loyalty to the Church, became Ketter-inclined. At age sixteen Genseric wrote an essay, which when Rikanus read he beat Genseric hard with a stick and rebuke him with a treatise. Nonetheless, Genseric was unpersuaded, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Also during his youth, he was taught in the ways of the sword by the head of his father’s forces, Captain Asmund. Genseric showed much skill, and was thoroughly trained. By the time he came of age, he was well-versed in the martial art of swordfighting.

At age sixteen, he was considered to have come of age, and for a time served as his father’s regent. His father at the time was fighting the desert lords, so was away. While the Count was away, a large peasant uprising occurred. Genseric proved his competence by taking what had remained of his father’s garrison and crushed a peasant army that was aggressive but poorly organized. Although outnumbered four-to-one, Genseric won decisively, and impaled the rebels on spikes to deter further rebellion. Then Genseric reformed local taxation, which was horribly mismanaged, further deterring rebellion.

His father returned and praised Genseric, awarding him the position of County Advisor. He was in this position for two years, but then resigned. He would continue to aid his father, but did not wish to keep the work that came with the position of County Advisor. He continued his studies and practiced his swordplay. This era was not idle for him, as events conspired to keep him busy.

Not long ago, he married a girl named Adelaide. Like himself, she was very quiet, and she was very distant from Genseric. It was an arranged marriage, to cement ties between the two of their families, and it was clear to Genseric that it wasn’t a marriage that she had wanted, and that she wanted freedom. Genseric’s has already fallen in love with her, and hoped that perhaps time would change her mind. He would never force himself on her, an action which he thought of as abominable.

The time, however, had come for Genseric to do something else. He signed up for the Black Shields, and was given an officer’s rank, as was normal for the nobility, especially the high nobility.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Genseric has a humble dream, yet one people are surprised he would hold, as people commonly view him as cold. He wishes nothing more than to have a stable life, and have a loving family, however there are a number of very large obstacles in the way of his dream. At the same time he wishes to prove himself through accomplishments of his own, in order to separate himself from his father and his ancestors, although his two goals may contradict too much.

As far as short-term goals go, Genseric has the desire to move up in the ranks of the Black Shields, although he does not intend to replace Terryn Hoffman.
He has a fear of loss. No fear for Genseric is greater than the thought of once again losing someone close to him.

---

【Skills】

Genseric is highly literate, and versed as well in the humanties as well as someone who is barely over twenty can be, meaning he is versed in at least the basics of philosophy, art, and literature. He knows the liturgical language along with the native language of Broacien. He is a mediocre musician, a subpar poet (but a far better prose writer), a poor musician, a dreadful singer, and a talented philosopher.

【Martial prowess】

Although Genseric has a thin physique, he is a skilled fighter. He is nimble and well-trained in sword-fighting. Although he lacks the experience of older veterans, he is not without any experience of his own.

【Combat style】

Genseric’s fighting style is offensive-leaning, focusing on strikes and slashes while not abandoning the necessity of defense. His fighting style does not rely on any tricks, and would be considered honorable style of fighting.

【Weaponry】

Genseric wields a light, for a sword, one-handed steel knightly sword of the highest quality that money can hope to buy.

【Armor】

He wears relatively light steel armor designed to give mobility to the wearer. Its mobility is greater than plate armor but less than leather armor.

[Brother Tumbo]

Keys

“Purses and pints, they’re better when they flow over.”

Keys is an older man with a weatherworn face concealed by a dark beard and a thinning shock of black hair. His eyes are pale blue and emanate disarming warmth. His frame is solid, barrel chested with a bit of healthy weight that stuck to his middle and never came off. A little taller than the average man, Keys would cut an imposing figure if most didn’t know about his soft hands and gentle nature.
He dresses modestly in comfortable, loose clothes of earthy colors. Always pragmatic, they serve a more utilitarian function than a fashionable one. His boots are always cared for, as a soldier’s feet are his best friends.

【Full Name】

Eiham Cyser

【Aliases】

Keys, but he is formally known as Sir Eiham Cyser of Witches’ Crest for those who are not into brevity.

【Age】

32

【Sex】

Male

【Religion】

Monarchism, more by inheritance than faith.

【Family】

Keys has no living relatives he cares for. His father, a wandering beekeeper, won accolades and a knighthood in the siege of Jawai al-Qasar, where he was first through the breach.

【Birthplace】

Witches Crest, Murkran. Keys used to live at Cyser Meadery, a meagre estate compared to many others in the kingdom, the land was awarded to Key’s father, Sir Cyser, after the siege of Jawai al-Qasar. The meadery is located miles from Witches’ Crest. It holds vast tracts of land used for the apiaries and apple orchards that supply most of Broacien with its honey and mead, and apples.

【Societal standing】

Son of a lowborn landed knight, Keys has little standing in high society. He is tolerated in Witches’ Crest for his father’s achievements and the large amount of land he holds. The meadery is a major source of income for Murkran, and Keys is seen more as a rich merchant than a knight or lord.

【Former employment】

As a knight, Keys has military training and tactical knowhow. He also worked as the steward of Witches’ Crest. If he were to be honest, though, he really prefered running his meadery.

【Rank and role】

Knight, man-at-arms.

【Personality】

A modest man with an even temperament, Keys is hard to anger. He’s affable, generous, and mostly loyal. He maintains that the only legitimacy that the king holds is through his marriage to the queen, whom Keys regards with the utmost respect.

【History】

Keys was born to wandering beekeeper and seamstress. His early youth was an experience in poverty that Keys hazily remembers in dreams. When he was five his father, the beekeeper, had become a knight in the siege of Jawai al-Qasar. He was given large amounts of land outside of Witches Crest to tend to, so doing what he knew best, he started an apiary.
Four years of peace were interrupted by Restwaerd’s invasion of Witches’ Crest. Keys father answered his lord’s call and came to the land’s defense. Keys never saw his father again. No one knows where or when he fell, if he ever did at all.
Keys grew up like any other knight’s son, all hard work and discipline, church and school. When he came of age Keys squired for a fat veteran from the castle and earned his own knighthood at the second siege of Witches’ Crest. Keys had sworn the oath to King Tristan himself, he had never been so excited in his young life. The next day he saw his king die. His taste for glory soured over the years, the duel haunting his thoughts and spreading doubt. If a pious man, a royal man, a victorious man, could die like any other, then what was the point of glory?
Queen Ella was crowned the year Keys and his mother built the meadery. While Keys’ father had only sold honey, his mother had been making mead for their personal consumption for years. Together they perfected a recipe for the mead, mixing the honey wine with apple cider. But their experiments earned them ire of the zealous populace of Mukran. By the time bastard of King Tristan came, the meadery was in full swing, and Keys had been to known boast that it was his honey wine the Queen-to-be drank at the on the day of her wedding.
When the desert lords attacked again, Lord Griven of Witches’ Crest brought Keys into his retinue to oversee coins. Not the most glamorous job, but Keys was happier counting coins than counting bodies. He left the meadery to his mother and rode with Lord Griven. The campaign began, and it ended. There were no glorious tales for the steward of Witches’ Crest, just the cheerful plinking of the new king’s face and tally marks..
Keys’ mother died a few years later. She’d gotten sick and did not live long after. Politics at court in Witches’ Crest were getting dangerous as well. Rumors of Keys moving money out of the castle led to an investigation. At the hearing Lord Griven deemed the amount of coin found at the Cyster Estate was in excess of what he should have possessed, therefore concluding the coin was stolen. The meadery and surrounding lands were seized and Keys was put into the Black Shields, at the king’s service for seven years.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Keys wants his old life back, and he’s willing to keep his head down for seven years to see if it will. He knows that reinstatement to his estate is unlikely, but dreams are what they are.

【Skills】

Keys is an accomplished business man and a brewer of mead, cider, and beer. He knows how to grease a palm and how to haggle. Lying has always come naturally to him, but the morals the church instilled in him stuck, and he doesn’t abuse his skill.

【Martial prowess】

A trained knight, Keys has moderate skill with a sword, shield, spear, and bow. While many of his peers attend their training yards like they do the chapels, Keys had transformed his training yard into a garden and had swung nothing but a spade there since.

【Combat style】

Admittedly not the best fighter, Keys is cautious, patient, and deliberate. He waits for the opening in an attack, and exploits sloppy swordplay with somewhat less sloppy swordplay. Keys wields a bastard sword and often ignores his shield, opting for two-handed combat.

【Weaponry】

His father’s bastard sword. A weapon meant for functionality over show, it is of a dull luster and kept in fine condition.

【Armor】

Keys was trained in the use of heavy armors and shields. His armor is mostly comprised of ringmail with a beaten breastplate and a visored helm.

[Errant Son]

Haesteinn Sigurdarson

“When men meet foes in fight, better is stout heart than sharp sword.”

Haesteinn has the typical looks of a northernling - far to the north, not just the barren flats. His skin is pale, his eyes are a light blue colour. His hair is slightly unkempt, though nowhere near as ragged as those still in the North. His body is covered in tribal markings - some more elaborate than others. They reach up to his neck from his body, and are visible to anyone that looks at him - he makes no effort to hide them. However his face is clear of tribal markings.

There is another mark on his face - his forehead has three dots on them, similar to how Terryn has them, as well as the king when he is not wearing his crown as well as any other Servant who has served his time dutifully. It's a sign that at some point in his life Haesteinn was also a Servant in service of the Monarch. This seems to be a strange thing given that the tribal markings betray he is from the far north, and as such grew up with the Northern pantheon.

As for body features, Haesteinn, in spirit of the North, is rather tall. He stands at 6'2 and is quite the imposing stature. His body is well adapted to a martial life, leading people to believe that he has been a soldier for quite a long time. They'd not be far from the truth. His hands are also covered in scars - not tribal markings but simply effects from combat. Better his hand than his face.

---

【Full Name】

Haesteinn Sigurdarson

【Aliases】

Vintersdröm

【Age】

25

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Heterosexual.

【Religion】

Formerly the Northern pantheon, currently a monarchist.

【Family】

Sigurd Kilvarson, lead his family to the Barren Flats and mostly traded furs. Lived a quiet life, and died peacefully in his sleep.
Anse Bryttedóttir, his mother, died in child labor when they were still living in the North.

【Birthplace】

The Far North, at the Kettelsground, a hunting ground that was then occupied by his tribe.

【Societal standing】

Lowborn

【Former employment】

Formerly helped his father with the fur trading, then joined up with the Barren Flats militia. Proving his worth and gaining some local prestige he joined up with the Servants. This took him to the South to fight the Sultanate invaders. After his service, he went back to the Barren Flats to spend the rest of his time as a military advisor of sorts at the court, though he was not very important. The recent call for the Black Shields has given him a new purpose.

【Rank and role】

Sergeant.

---

【Personality】

Haesteinn is a kind of person who you should share a beer (or five) with before you can enjoy his company. Not that he's particularly unfriendly (as much as could be expected of a bitter sergeant), he's simply not an outgoing person. He takes his duties as sergeant very seriously and believes that the black shields have something that can make him into a better man.

As such, there is ofcourse no tolerance for deserters or anything of the sorts and anyone who is showing signs of willingness to desert will get to meet Haesteinn personally.

If Haesteinn was to point out things that he values most it's honour, loyalty and bravery. These also seem to be things he possesses himself - strange concepts to a tribal man by any means given the degree of warfare in the tribal lands. But anyone familiar with his history probably can see why this is the case. However Haesteinn at the same time still possesses the brutality and the idea that the strong should lead from the north. No, he doesn't go around chewing people's necks off mid-battle, but he's quite ruthless and is not afraid to put himself into danger.

【History】

Haesteinn was born in the far north, part of a tribe that was not well off within the tribal lands. They possessed little hunting grounds and barely got by. After his mother died in labor, his father died that there was no way to supply for the child. Honor bound by the death of the mother, he also couldn't leave the child in the snow to die.

So he headed for the south, where food was plentiful he knew. He left the tribe behind, full of sorrow, as he was leaving not only kinsmen but also family behind. At his arrival in the Barren Halls, he requested audience with the lord there, Jachsen of Hayhill. He requested a plot of land to build a homestead on, as Haesteinns father knew he had to adjust to the lifestyle of the Southerners. The lord granted his request, eager to let northernlings settle in his lands to acquire more peasants, and thus more taxes..

The plot was to the north of barren hall, in the remotely unprotected area of the Barren Flats - the area between Barren Hall and the Rivenrange. Here his father built a homestead, and his farm. For 7 years his father toiled in the mud, attempting to farm as best he could. It was hard for someone who had only hunted his entire life to suddenly become a farmer. But he made due. When Haesteinn became seven, his father found him old enough and took him into the north. Here, his father traded tools and other valuables for furs - while the tools he traded were expensive, the furs were sold for hefty profit in the Barren Hall.

It was then that the lord became really interested. Sigurd, Haesteinns father, was offered to let his son squire for Jachsen. A good offer, his father thought. So he accepted, and when Haesteinn was 12, he was brought to the Barren Hall and squired for the lord, learning martial skills, primarily the sword and shield. It was a whole new world for Haesteinn and he thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of it. To lord Jachsen it seemed more like a sport - to 'civilize' a northern boy. It seemed to work.

This process was sped up even more with the arrival of the princess Aren Grochain, or otherwise known as the Winter Wife. Whenever she felt like it she would educate Haesteinn on Monarchism, causing him to forget what his father had taught him about the gods. Though he didn't officially convert - the influence of the Monarchist church was relatively small in the Barren Flats - he now maintains a strange combination of pagan and monarchist rituals.

His faith was strengthened when he was sent by lord Jachsen to the Servants as an offering of sorts. Lady Aren had prompted the boy too, though likely because she wanted to see the boy do well rather than simple politics. This was when Haesteinn was 18. He spent 6 years in service of the Servants, seeing combat against the Sultanate and teaching him more about the south. The weather here was terrible according to Haesteinn, no doubt because of how accustomed he was to the North and it's cold. After his 6 years he received his three dots, a sign or a decoration of sorts that showed everyone he was a noble Servant of the Monarch.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

His dreams are limited - he wants to be uplifted into nobility and if possible, establish a hold to the North of the Barren Flats, to extend the reach of Lord Jachsen and to encourage other tribes to follow in his footsteps.

His short term goals are to whip the Black Shields into shape.

His fears are mostly related to death - he doesn't show it but he fears death a lot. After all, dying while being unworthy is a hard thing to face, and you can never be sure if you are worthy. Another fear is the death of anyone within the royal family - to Haesteinn, they are the pillars of this kingdom and should it ever fall, then surely it'll be for a death of the royal family.

---

【Skills】

His skills as a sergeant are rather small. He has spent his entire life in inferiority, always being merely a servant, merely a squire (who wasn't even noble, so got ordered around by other squires) and as such he is not really a capable leader.

However if anything is to be said about Haesteinn, it's that he is no doubt a great survivor - he's been through a lot of combat and the scars on his hands and body show that. As such, even if he is not a great leader, he can surely atleast ensure the survival of his own (wo)men.

【Martial prowess】

He's a good swordsman, capable and feared by many. He's got a small amount of prestige for himself - lord Jachsen and princess Aren definitely know of him, and some of the knights of the Barren Flats and other provinces would know of him too. Frequent visitors of the Barren Hall might even recognize him.

Furthermore his training has taught him how to shoot a bow, ride a horse, couch a lance, and even some falconry. However none of these are his preferred methods of fighting.

【Combat style】

He utilizes a sword and shield and so, he is used mostly to a back and forth fight. Make no mistake, these fights are not two men banging at each others shields, but are rather quick fights with two men trying to parry each other and block blows.

If the situation allows it however (a smaller battlefield, with no archers) he will prefer to not use the shield and use the sword with two hands where possible.

【Weaponry】

His own bastard sword - simple, and fitting of a lowborn man. It's appearance is boring, grey and brown. However, it's a sword - it cuts, stabs and hews better than any ornamental sword.

Besides this, he usually has a simple axe on his belt, for both general usage as well as combat usage. It's merely a backup however.

【Armor】

He wears a black gambeson, made of wool and linen. Over that goes his chainmail, reaching up to about his middle. He wears a thick leather breastplate with an extra piece of leather over his upper body to protect him against the more lethal blows. Furthermore he wears two light leather gloves,

[TheFake]

Fall

"The thin line between death and survival is a surgeons thread."

Fall is a young woman with a toned body that is obviously not a stranger to hard work or the rigors of combat. She is slightly on the short side with a lightweight build. Her face is unmarked but under her armour her left arm is marked with several scars from painful lessons learned in combat. Her hair is dyed dark from its natural light colour. Despite her Monarchist faith she wears no iconography and avoids any other ornamentation.

---

【Full Name】

Autumn Glest Fall Talon

【Aliases】

Tal

【Age】

24

【Sex】

Female

【Sexuality】

Straight

【Religion】

Monarchist

【Family】

If you were to ask her, none, although she does have an older brother still living in their family home. Although lame in one leg he manages to keep the family trading business going smoothly. He believes her dead.

【Birthplace】

The Tanmura Valley, in the eastern portion of the Grosswick region.

【Societal standing】

lowborn

【Former employment】

Veteran of a short time with the White Oaks. She was a battlefield surgeon.

【Rank and role】

New Recruit

---

【Personality】

Fall is naturally cold but tries very hard to be personable and friendly. She smiles a lot and likes to be helpful. When addressed directly she can seem nervous or flustered but is confident when the situation is in her control. Internally she has a lust for violence that shows itself in conflict.

【History】

Autumn Glest was born to a small merchant family of modest means. Her life in the valley was unremarkable in every way. After the death of their parents to raiders in the east in the same attack where her brother was injured he took over the business in an administrative role while Autumn volunteered for service in the White Oaks company. She doesn't know what prompted such a drastic action but deep down suspects that it was a combination of a thirst for adventure that was unquenched by her boring life and a need for revenge, no matter how slim that chance that she might find the men that killed her parents.

Her time in the company lasted only a handful of years, during which she learned to be a proficient battlefield surgeon and took pride in saving the lives of those that she fought beside. Things went well enough for a young woman in the military until the massacre against Cherwin. There she saw the insides of more men over a few days than most soldiers saw in their entire careers. Lives she could not save slipped through her fingers like grains of sand and even those that she caught could very rarely be said to be in one piece.

The horrors she saw changed her and awakened an affinity for violence. Her comrades saw it in the way that she paid little heed to the pain that the wounded were in and the almost gleeful way she looked at the next in line. In the back of her mind she wondered about being on the other end, turning men into these puzzles of broken flesh that she now struggled to put back together.

In the chaos she disappeared and was presumed dead. Autumn came up with a new name and history, dying her hair dark and giving herself a new personality. With any luck nobody would thank that this smiling recruit could be a survivor of that battle. She signed up under the guise of Fall Talon, a caravan guard from Murkran looking for more steady employment.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

Fall avoids anyone from the former White Oaks company, fearing that she would be recognized.

---

【Skills】

Fall has been trained as a surgeon and is adept at saving lives in the heat of battle. Along with this she knows just what sort of wounds are the most difficult to tend to and recover from.

【Martial prowess】

Her skill with a blade is above that of a new recruit. The opportunity to practice with long time veterans served her well in honing her ability.

【Combat style】

She is aggressive and will press the attack to keep an advantage. She does not wait for a chance to make a lethal blow but will take any opening to wear down an enemy by slowly cutting them apart.

【Weaponry】

She favours her battered longsword. The grip and sheath have been reworked to eliminate any traces of her past. The blade has worn to a grey patina that is only reflective along its honed edge. She has no particular attachment to it but is familiar with the balance and was reluctant to purchase something new.

【Armor】

Her armour is the light steel and padded leather that which was once issued to her. The metal has been scoured of any marking and it has obviously been repaired many times. It is well worn and is the same grey as her sword. She tells anyone who asks that it was purchased as damaged surplus.

[Thortimer]

Ferguson Eris Rutledge

“The Monarch guides us in all things.”

Eris wears robes as is traditional for Monarch priests. His vestments aren’t ornate and, by most standards, are fairly plain. It is made from a fine linen cloth that is dyed a dark green. A thin orange fabric covers the seams and edges and gives off a satin shine. Under his robes, he wears a thin, undyed linen shirt and pants. On his feet a pair of well-worn leather boots that reach up his calf, secured by leather bindings. He wears no jewelry and carries the symbol of the Monarch atop his sturdy wooden staff.

His robes do well at hiding how fit he is. His body is lean and toned from years of training. Purpose built for quickness and the right amount of strength to compliment it. In all his service in war, he’s managed to stay away from any serious disfigurement. The only spot of not would be a scar running from his right clavicle to just past his sternum at its middle. While he’s a fairly tall man at 6’’, he’s not broad in any sense. His shoulders aren’t wide. He has a slightly longer reach than others of his size, giving his slightly spindly looking arm, even with their visible muscle. His legs are similarly long and look like a runners.

If not for the short beard he was currently sporting, his face would belie his age and he might appear a much younger man. His deep brown hair is cut short and is generally left to do as it pleases, which is usually being a mess in one way or another. Beneath that mess of hair are three dots, proudly worn. A symbol to his service with the Servants. His eyes are just a shade darker than emerald and full of enthusiasm. His jawline, though currently obscured by his beard, is more rounded than angular.

【Full Name】

Ferguson Eris Rutledge

【Aliases】

Monk, Eris

【Age】

26

【Sex】

Male

【Sexuality】

Straight

【Religion】

Devout Monarchist

【Family】

Elis is the eldest of three sons of his father, also Fergusson, and his mother, Valetta.

【Birthplace】

The monastery overlooking the quiet village of Derrish, in the west of Grosswick

【Societal standing】

Highborn from his family’s standing within the Monachist priesthood.

【Former employment】

He’s served his whole like a monk-priest of the Monarchists as well as 7 years a Servant for The Monarch.

【Rank and role】

He serves as the official priest of the Black Shield, though his history with the Servants means his is not only willing, but able to receive any soldering job given to him.

【Personality】

Elis carries himself with the confidence due his position. He always maintains a calm and friendly demeanor with those he serves amongst. He is a fiercely loyal ally, especially to those he knows he can trust. When faced with problems, he’s often over analytical and usually the one in the group to suggest that a plan should be thought through more before acting hasty. He often invokes the words of The Monarch to rally those around him when the situation appears grim. Though he radiates a carefree nature that can, at times, seem indifferent. But make no mistake, his temper has limits. As he has no fear jibing with allies, he equally has no fear brandishing insults at his enemies. He can be as quick with words as he is with his staff.

【History】

Born into a priestly family, Elis was predestined to serve The Monarch in every capacity he could. His father had made a name for himself as a Servant in great wars past, and he dreamed to follow in his footsteps. For the most part, his youth was uneventful, peaceful and, at time, boring. He spent his childhood learning the prayers and sacred rites of the church. When not in prayer or meditation, he pushed his body through martial training to become strong in the eyes of the Monarch. As he grew older, he took on more tasks of the priests. Things like delivering lasts rites and other holy ceremonies. But also things like finding and punishing the pagans who refused to accept the one true Monarch. He took to it eagerly, and always knew The Monarch would guide him in the right directions. And guide him the Monarch did. Having honed both his mind and body from his time at the monastery, when the call came for able bodied and devout Monarchists to join the ranks of the Servants, he knew it was a sign.

At the tender age of 18, knowing it was the Monarchs will he was fulfilling, his parents gave their blessing and sent Elis of to join the Servants. It was his pilgrimage for the Monarch, to be his tool for handing out judgement to believers in false gods. He quickly found his place within their ranks as a priest-warrior on the front lines in their battle against the Sultanate. He spent as much time in the thick of combat as he did reading men their last rites, often at the same time. It was here he learned his capacity for war and overcoming great loss. He picked up the reigns of a group of soldiers when the commanding officer had been felled by a volley of arrows. He rallied the morale broken soldiers with the inspiring words of the Monarch and spurred a massive counterattack that routed the overwhelming enemy numbers long enough for the relief reinforcements to close the flank. After his tours, which saw him serving the Monarch dutifully for seven years, he was honored with the three dots of the Servants, a permanent badge of his service.

After his campaigning with the Servants, he returned for a brief time to his home and resumed his priestly duties back at his home. He enjoyed the time spent with his family again, but the peace left him stir crazy. There was still so much for the Monarch that needed to be done that only the brave and young were capable of. Soon enough, he was beckoned away again by the call of duty for the Monarch on Earth to serve in the Black Shield. They needed able bodies to join their ranks, and so he came ready to fill the role, both soldier and servant of the Monarch.

【Dreams, short term goals, and fears.】

He hopes to keep the Black Shields in the Monarchs favor, so that they may properly serve the Monarch on Earth. He hopes that along the way, he might convert those around him who may be heathens to the true path that is the Monarch. He fears seeing comrades falling in battle again, though this he knows will be inevitable. Once this warring is over, he’d like to settle down like his father and leave the warring to some sons or daughters.

【Skills】

Having had to hunt men before, his tracking skills are adept. He knows how to find and follow even the faintest of tracks left by a creature. He also knows his way around a lute.

【Martial prowess】

Elis is proficient with most military arms, being a veteran of the Servants. He can handle swords and spears with well enough ability. But he excels with staves and bows. He is also a competent and dangerous opponent unarmed, having learned a variety of grappling techniques.

【Combat style】

Unless Elis is behind a bow and firing missiles at targets from afar, he is a defensive fighter, choosing to let his opponent strike first and attempt to disarm and finish them, or eating away their stamina by striking them points they leave unguarded. He has great patience and is willing to drag a fight out as long as is necessary to find the right time to strike.

【Weaponry】

A quarter staff topped with a heavy iron Monarchist Cross along with a heavy longbow bearing the Servant’s sigil and quiver of arrows.

【Armor】

He generally wears the robes of a priest, unless he is called to the front lines. In those cases, he has a chainmail shirt-skirt he wears over a light fitted leather armor.

[Azaria Blue]

How do I delete this?

You're just going to make me live with this embarrassment aren't you.