Member
Given Name: Has given herself no name; why choose a nomenclature when there is nobody to call you? I’ll let the other characters pick a name for her as would be appropriate to the impression she makes.
Gender: Female
Class: Vagrant Warrior
Appearance, Equipment and Abilities
Physical Description: A frightened animal. A cornered wolf. The dirt caked face of someone who has outlived their luck. Where her left eye should be is only a hardened, faded bandage with dark brown smears that continue besmirching her unwashed cheek down to the chin. The other eye, amber in color and encircled by a dark coloration, stares nervously from one blackened corner to another, always watchful. Her weather-beaten face bears numerous incisions old and new; wounds from battles both won and lost.
A coarsely-knit hood covers her head and the greasy, unkempt black mane on it most of the time. Her haggard body, average of height and athletic in build, is covered in dark, primitive animal furs and hard boiled leathers. Where her attire has failed, openings have been patched up with wrappings of simple cloth; rough, beige linen bands. A compact knapsack with most of her supplies is strapped to her back, hidden underneath the cape of black wolf fur that she knows is supposed to be very dear to her – but cannot remember why. Additional pouches and bags can be found along her belt, containing base necessities like food, bandages, rope, a whetstone and more. A necklace made from animal sinew and teeth hangs around her neck and can be seen lying over her vest, a reminder of a world that was lost.
Armaments:
Other Equipment:
Skills:
Inner Workings
Memories:
Awakening: Sand. Sand filled her mouth and nostrils, a material as alien to her as the world she awoke to. It happened with a startle as her body sprung to life, gripped by spasms of violent coughs to try and expel that damnable sand. She rolled over on her elbows and puked dust and digested remains onto the shifting ground underneath her, while the unnaturally hot evening sun descended red hot over the distant dunes, where large fragments of bone jutted out from beneath the soil. After long, exhausting moments her body finally stopped being shaken by her now-cleansed lungs, and she collapsed back onto the ground, panting, eyes skyward.
There was a looming sense of regret and nostalgia in the air that she felt long before even the first questions began to form themselves. The first of these was ‘Where?’ – without even realizing that she had been transported to another world, she could not explain her whereabout, for indeed her eyes had never seen a desert before. Where in the world was she? Where was home? Confused and frightened, she sat up and peered about the lifeless dunes surrounding her. It was hopeless, her sense of orientation utterly defeated – the most she could garner by the sun’s position were the cardinal directions, but little did she know that even that would prove to be of little help. Lying next to her, half-buried in the sand, she found her old weapons: her trusty glaive, a simple short sword, and a large, round shield with a crest that looked vaguely familiar. It was then, her fingers stroking across the shield’s surface, that her state of amnesia began to dawn upon her. The moment she had laid eyes upon these objects, she had assumed they were hers, but could not remember ever having fought with them, could not even tell to which clan the crest belonged. And what clan did she call home? How did she even get here? Where – who was her family? What even was her name?!
Questions upon questions, and no answers in sight; only endless dust, washing over the dunes. As desperation set in, the color began to fade from her already pale visage that became torn in a grimace of dread. What catastrophe had brought her to this moment? Had the world ended in the great, purgatory flame as foreseen by the elders? If so, how could her own flesh have been spared by the apocalyptic fire? Or was this the underworld, the ethereal beyond so often called upon by brave warriors who stared in the eyes of death? Then she must have died. Somewhere, somehow. Perhaps on a distant battlefield. Perhaps in the purging inferno. It made no difference now. She accepted the assumption that she was dead with no regrets, but the theft of her memories, that stung deep. Her mind failed to even conjure the name of the deity presiding over death, so that she might curse them for their wickedness. Unspent hatred against oblivion.
She reluctantly rose to her feet, legs shaky on the uncertain, sandy ground. In her eyes, the very soil beneath her boots was made of betrayal. She gathered up her weapons and her shield, and set her eyes northwards. A wizened elder once said that every northward road leads home – she remembered, and for the first time a defiant smile crept upon her thin lips. Her journey had just begun, and in the distance, hooded figures camouflaged in the sand watched a lone warrior brave the perilous dunes against the backdrop of a setting sun.
Gender: Female
Class: Vagrant Warrior
Appearance, Equipment and Abilities
Physical Description: A frightened animal. A cornered wolf. The dirt caked face of someone who has outlived their luck. Where her left eye should be is only a hardened, faded bandage with dark brown smears that continue besmirching her unwashed cheek down to the chin. The other eye, amber in color and encircled by a dark coloration, stares nervously from one blackened corner to another, always watchful. Her weather-beaten face bears numerous incisions old and new; wounds from battles both won and lost.
A coarsely-knit hood covers her head and the greasy, unkempt black mane on it most of the time. Her haggard body, average of height and athletic in build, is covered in dark, primitive animal furs and hard boiled leathers. Where her attire has failed, openings have been patched up with wrappings of simple cloth; rough, beige linen bands. A compact knapsack with most of her supplies is strapped to her back, hidden underneath the cape of black wolf fur that she knows is supposed to be very dear to her – but cannot remember why. Additional pouches and bags can be found along her belt, containing base necessities like food, bandages, rope, a whetstone and more. A necklace made from animal sinew and teeth hangs around her neck and can be seen lying over her vest, a reminder of a world that was lost.
Armaments:
• Iron Sword
A weathered, simple sword made from solid iron. Has a double-edged blade roughly 60 centimeters in length (about 23.5 inches) with a plain cross guard and a hilt made from horn, wrapped in leather to provide superior grip. Used as a backup weapon in close combat scenarios, preferably in conjunction with a shield due to its poor reach.
A weathered, simple sword made from solid iron. Has a double-edged blade roughly 60 centimeters in length (about 23.5 inches) with a plain cross guard and a hilt made from horn, wrapped in leather to provide superior grip. Used as a backup weapon in close combat scenarios, preferably in conjunction with a shield due to its poor reach.
• Broken Round Shield
A common round shield, often seen employed by warriors hailing from the wooded mountains. It is made from linden wood, has been reinforced with leather around the rim, and measures 95 centimeters in diameter (37.5 inches). An unfortunate encounter has chipped off around a quarter of the shield, making is less useful. On the front side, faded paintings of a deer crest can be barely seen.
A common round shield, often seen employed by warriors hailing from the wooded mountains. It is made from linden wood, has been reinforced with leather around the rim, and measures 95 centimeters in diameter (37.5 inches). An unfortunate encounter has chipped off around a quarter of the shield, making is less useful. On the front side, faded paintings of a deer crest can be barely seen.
• Glaive
Uncomplicated and effective, this weapon features a 45 centimeter (17.7 inches) long, double-edged blade, affixed on a 2 meter (6.5 feet) long, wooden pole. Typically used similarly to a spear, but can also cut and chop in certain situations, granting the glaive a great amount of flexibility.
Uncomplicated and effective, this weapon features a 45 centimeter (17.7 inches) long, double-edged blade, affixed on a 2 meter (6.5 feet) long, wooden pole. Typically used similarly to a spear, but can also cut and chop in certain situations, granting the glaive a great amount of flexibility.
Other Equipment:
• Flint and Steel
A chunk of flint stone and a small, irregular block of steel to start fires.
A chunk of flint stone and a small, irregular block of steel to start fires.
• Knife
A small, iron knife not intended for combat.
A small, iron knife not intended for combat.
• Whetstone
A worn whetstone to keep all of her weapons sharp.
A worn whetstone to keep all of her weapons sharp.
• Oil
Roughly half a liter of oil contained in an iron flask. Used to prevent rust on the blades and create torches.
Roughly half a liter of oil contained in an iron flask. Used to prevent rust on the blades and create torches.
• Rope
About 9 meters (30 feet) of hemp rope.
About 9 meters (30 feet) of hemp rope.
• Blankets
Two rolls of wool cloth that can be used as sleeping mats and blankets.
Two rolls of wool cloth that can be used as sleeping mats and blankets.
• Bandages
A few old rolls of coarse linen cloth that can be used to cover wounds.
A few old rolls of coarse linen cloth that can be used to cover wounds.
• Food
Assorted fruits and fungi picked from forgotten places where dark waters run, as well as a handful of strips of dried meat with a sickening texture to them. Enough to last one person with a sparse diet for a week.
Also included is a skin with a liter of clean water.
Assorted fruits and fungi picked from forgotten places where dark waters run, as well as a handful of strips of dried meat with a sickening texture to them. Enough to last one person with a sparse diet for a week.
Also included is a skin with a liter of clean water.
Skills:
• A Stranger No More
This weathered vagrant has spent a significant amount of time in this dark realm; long enough to have died multiple times, to have lost an eye to it, and to have lost the initial fear of the unknown. It is still there, but it has become a friend on lonely journeys, not an enemy to be dreaded.
This weathered vagrant has spent a significant amount of time in this dark realm; long enough to have died multiple times, to have lost an eye to it, and to have lost the initial fear of the unknown. It is still there, but it has become a friend on lonely journeys, not an enemy to be dreaded.
• Heartless Warrior
While the memories have faded, the lessons learned amongst the woodland tribes have remained in her blood – more than that, they have been tempered by the harsh world of the land betwixt. When backed into a corner, she fights like there is no tomorrow, because she knows that death is not the end; only another painful memory. But sometimes, gratuitous violence is enough to save her from adding another memory to the list.
While the memories have faded, the lessons learned amongst the woodland tribes have remained in her blood – more than that, they have been tempered by the harsh world of the land betwixt. When backed into a corner, she fights like there is no tomorrow, because she knows that death is not the end; only another painful memory. But sometimes, gratuitous violence is enough to save her from adding another memory to the list.
Inner Workings
Memories:
• Memory of the Hunt
Rustling leaves, the baying of hounds. Coordinating shouts across the thick woodland. A feeling of unity and hunger.
Rustling leaves, the baying of hounds. Coordinating shouts across the thick woodland. A feeling of unity and hunger.
• Memory of the Rite
Exhilaration. Anger. Hatred. A ring of fire, naked, bleeding bodies. No shame, only a feeling of triumph.
Exhilaration. Anger. Hatred. A ring of fire, naked, bleeding bodies. No shame, only a feeling of triumph.
• Memory of the Old Adage
The road north always leads home. You’d do well to remember this on your journey; and never trust the sun, for it does not shine our way. Follow the great star instead.
-The voice of an elderly man to a naïve, young soldier
The road north always leads home. You’d do well to remember this on your journey; and never trust the sun, for it does not shine our way. Follow the great star instead.
-The voice of an elderly man to a naïve, young soldier
• Memory of the Ill-Fated Voyage
The screams of seagulls, the smell of the ocean, the sound of cresting waves. Dozens of men, a handful of women, singing songs of voyage and victory. Anticipation. Worry.
The screams of seagulls, the smell of the ocean, the sound of cresting waves. Dozens of men, a handful of women, singing songs of voyage and victory. Anticipation. Worry.
• Memory of the Misshapen
Limbs restrained, vision milky. Tall, ghastly figures, impossible to be human, congregating around mineself. Terror. Panic. The searing pain of tools, conceived in fevered dreams, sinking into the flesh. And then they brought the mask – a hideous invention of cold iron, placed upon the skinless head. Screws dig into the bone. Agony. Emptiness. Hunger… and then the restraints burst apart.
Limbs restrained, vision milky. Tall, ghastly figures, impossible to be human, congregating around mineself. Terror. Panic. The searing pain of tools, conceived in fevered dreams, sinking into the flesh. And then they brought the mask – a hideous invention of cold iron, placed upon the skinless head. Screws dig into the bone. Agony. Emptiness. Hunger… and then the restraints burst apart.
Awakening: Sand. Sand filled her mouth and nostrils, a material as alien to her as the world she awoke to. It happened with a startle as her body sprung to life, gripped by spasms of violent coughs to try and expel that damnable sand. She rolled over on her elbows and puked dust and digested remains onto the shifting ground underneath her, while the unnaturally hot evening sun descended red hot over the distant dunes, where large fragments of bone jutted out from beneath the soil. After long, exhausting moments her body finally stopped being shaken by her now-cleansed lungs, and she collapsed back onto the ground, panting, eyes skyward.
There was a looming sense of regret and nostalgia in the air that she felt long before even the first questions began to form themselves. The first of these was ‘Where?’ – without even realizing that she had been transported to another world, she could not explain her whereabout, for indeed her eyes had never seen a desert before. Where in the world was she? Where was home? Confused and frightened, she sat up and peered about the lifeless dunes surrounding her. It was hopeless, her sense of orientation utterly defeated – the most she could garner by the sun’s position were the cardinal directions, but little did she know that even that would prove to be of little help. Lying next to her, half-buried in the sand, she found her old weapons: her trusty glaive, a simple short sword, and a large, round shield with a crest that looked vaguely familiar. It was then, her fingers stroking across the shield’s surface, that her state of amnesia began to dawn upon her. The moment she had laid eyes upon these objects, she had assumed they were hers, but could not remember ever having fought with them, could not even tell to which clan the crest belonged. And what clan did she call home? How did she even get here? Where – who was her family? What even was her name?!
Questions upon questions, and no answers in sight; only endless dust, washing over the dunes. As desperation set in, the color began to fade from her already pale visage that became torn in a grimace of dread. What catastrophe had brought her to this moment? Had the world ended in the great, purgatory flame as foreseen by the elders? If so, how could her own flesh have been spared by the apocalyptic fire? Or was this the underworld, the ethereal beyond so often called upon by brave warriors who stared in the eyes of death? Then she must have died. Somewhere, somehow. Perhaps on a distant battlefield. Perhaps in the purging inferno. It made no difference now. She accepted the assumption that she was dead with no regrets, but the theft of her memories, that stung deep. Her mind failed to even conjure the name of the deity presiding over death, so that she might curse them for their wickedness. Unspent hatred against oblivion.
She reluctantly rose to her feet, legs shaky on the uncertain, sandy ground. In her eyes, the very soil beneath her boots was made of betrayal. She gathered up her weapons and her shield, and set her eyes northwards. A wizened elder once said that every northward road leads home – she remembered, and for the first time a defiant smile crept upon her thin lips. Her journey had just begun, and in the distance, hooded figures camouflaged in the sand watched a lone warrior brave the perilous dunes against the backdrop of a setting sun.
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