Mag Lev

~ Cinders ~

@Lionhearted

It is fine to use them and I like the use of them anyway as it allows for easier transition between posts.

@ZAVAZggg

Written language in Weirn is more similar to Middle English writing. Writing in Wiern was once similar to Old English and Ancient Norse however it developed over the Eras in to something similar to Middle English. Some still write in their old language, some even speaking in it however they are rare and far between in the larger settlements of Weirn. Eroammir's writing is more advanced and similar to modern english we know.

~ Cinders ~

@Lucky@Serendipity@Lionhearted@0 Azzy 0@Torack@Aristo@Adalea@Nightingale43@ZAVAZggg@BlackSam3091@Dealdric@Rune_Alchemist

It begins as promised.

~ Cinders ~

There was no fanfare welcoming the approaching ship, no greeting from King and Country welcoming those bearing the standard of the Order. All that rose to greet the ship in these cold, foreign waters was a sun as golden as their banner and waves as loud as crowds. None of this was meant to be a comfort to the ‘members’ of the Order who had been brought north to Weirn and were facing their deployment in a land which would not accommodate them, let alone recognize them as anything but leeches. It was in this cold land- both to outsiders and citizens alike- that they were to serve the Order and earn redemption, to be freed from their pasts.

The ship coasted along the waves towards the port of Haev, its appearance causing few to stop in their travels and watch as it made port. While in the lands of Ioria the Order’s insignia may have brought crowds running, all for a chance to seem some legendary soldier, there was no such crowd. No glorious uproar of children nor merchants looking to haggle with the weary adventurers. Only enmity greeted the crew as they moored the boat and placed down the plank-way.

The citizens knew not what the Order had brought to their land this time be it more soldiers to ‘defend’ them or more teachers to ‘educate’ them. They cared not for the Order and their foreign ways even as the Kings of Weirn had turned their attention towards squabbling in the relative peace of their land. Not even the Horimir hordes had bothered them in many months, not even the goblins which roamed the dense forest around the Orimmir range had been aggressive. There was no need for these outsiders, no need for the condescending gaze as they looked up the citizens. Who were they to judge what Old Gods they worshiped, who were they to seek to teach them magic or swordsmanship.

Indeed, the citizens nonetheless watched as a lieutenant of the Order stepped off the boat and was followed by his ‘members’. How odd it was to watch a procession of so few soldiers for the Order as they filed off the boat, one by one; Elves and Humans, Starfallen and Orisiri, even half-breeds and a dwarf. To all but a few this was nothing unusual, a common occurrence in recent months as the Order made their presence in Weirn more known to both the Kings and the people. They had brought expeditionary forces in the early spring and eventually ambassadors, eventually seeing a member of the Order was common and their recruits became more common in the fields outside Haev and Vernthouth.

There was, however, an air of mystery surrounding those that the citizens of Have saw before them now. These people were not the usual fresh faced recruits from Eroammir or the Imperium nor traveler from Keirous rather they all seemed to have seen their fair share of trials. Some bore marks of battle, hardly able to be seen beneath their armor, while one even had a mask that seemed to be a part of him. What stood out most of all, however, was the growing worry for the shackles which were attached at their feet.

The crowd’s muffled curiosity at the new arrivals soon rose into anger, a sheer uproar as many yelled insults both over race and alignment with the Order. Those that noted the shackles simply demanded the Order explain what they were doing, how they could protect their lands if they were to bring scum into it. Eventually the crowd dispersed and a brief silence took over the port of Haev, its merchants soon returning to haggling with the citizens.

”You see, neither us nor you are welcomed in this land. Weirn cares not for the Order and what we wish to do for them. They tend to themselves even with bandits ruling entire cities, even with trade barons fighting for control in their courts. You are but a momentary distraction to them. You are unknown.” The Lieutenant sounded somber as he removed the shackles from the members he had brought with them. It was but a precaution, a temporary facet for the new arrivals so they would not escape their fate.

There was little to escape to, of course, now that they had arrived in Weirn. With little than a motion of his hand, the Lieutenant lead the arrivals through the winding streets of Haev to the Western Gate. There had been little to see on the way through the city, citizens milling about in their homes and smiths working their forges. Even merchants from Eroammir could be seen every now and then as they passed stalls and depots. Once outside the gates, however, the momentary calm was broken. Thrust upon them was a sight unlike any they had seen before, a small city of tents and wooden palisades struck into the muddy ground near the walls. Where the palisades ended began another, far smaller, tent city bearing symbols of various merchant companies from Vernthouth.

---

View

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”We’ve not had much time to prepare in this land so all we have are these ramshackle accommodations, tents that’ll barely keep us warm in the coming seasons but a home nonetheless,” the Lieutenant sighed and looked over his shoulder, ”This is where you’ll call home.” With a sweeping arm and, likely, a slight hit of comedy in his theatrics, the Lieutenant displayed before the new arrivals the mass of tents dedicated solely to the Order. Among them stood several banners organizing companies and squads, even further divided into jobs and ranks by the markings of each large tent. Most of the soldiers had already awakened and begun their training, many assembling to perform daily matches to improve swordsmanship and even a few gathered studying their magic.

To some it seemed little less than a combat field however the occasional chair and table could be seen among the place the Order had called home. Some had managed to set up a ring for wrestling, betting on who would win with rations or coin they could spare. Others had built a meager lodge out of rotting lumber to act as a library. As much as the new arrivals may have wished to, they were granted no time to take it all in as they were quickly ushered along. Little explanation was offered, as had been usual in their stay with the Order thus far, until they were brought to a large tent fit for only those of the highest ranks. Upon arriving they were ushered in and greeted by a sight of a large map and many other strategic devices on a table.

”Ah, they are here,” called a voice from behind a stack of books, ”You must excuse me for the mess, I’ve been rather busy in recent weeks preparing for Fall and Winter. You see, it gets extremely cold up here and we have rather barren accommodations and little in the way of a supply line. If we don’t hurry with our deliberation with the locals, we’ll end up starving to death. Or freezing.” The voice chuckled briefly and stepped out from behind the books with a stack in hand, placing them on the table quickly before smiling at the new arrivals. He could not have been a man more than thirty-five, obviously Human, yet he seemed more wise than any they had seen yet. ”I’ve gotten ahead of myself again, haven’t I? I am Captain Eros Vaughn, I’m the Commander of this little slice of home we call a garrison. And you all are my new recruits here to be redeemed, yes?” -

A quick step took the Captain from one edge of the table to the other, greeting all his new soldiers in turn with a handshake and smile. ”You see, I know about all of you and have every detail I could ever want on how you ended up coming to me. I know that Georgia won’t be going to Vernthouth until we resolve issues over there and that Einarr would be in serious danger were we to send him to Normundr so soon after we got him. One of you tried to start a revolution, another blamed for her Father’s death, another for a noble’s death.” All air of formality and kindness had left the Captain’s face well into his conversation with the Arrivals, instead replaced by a grim look more of disappointment than disgust. ”As much as I would’ve rather seen you come here willingly, I fear that is not the case we have found ourselves in.”

With a brief bow of his head the Captain moved back to his position at the head of the table and surveyed the map briefly. ”Weirn is a dangerous land my friends, so much so that we very will might die by the end of Fall if we aren’t careful. It is less that there are those out there who want us dead, though they exist don’t get me wrong, it is more that every step forward we have made in the past half year has been met with ever increasing resistance. The citizens refuse to recognize us as a positive influence on their lands, mostly due to the failures in dealing with their Kings. We’ve been forced to live outside the walls of Haev for months now and we’ve been unable to secure a supply line in this land, relying entirely on what little we can get through the path between Eroammir and here.”

”You are going to change that. You are going to perform duties not for the Order but for the people of this land. You are free in this land and answer only to me. All I need is your help. Do you accept my terms?”

~ Cinders ~

Many people have sought to track the days, months, and even years through their own methods with varied success, some using the flowering plants as a guide while others the phases of the moons. The Scholars of Eroammir and the Imperium, however, have long worked since their truce to establish the calendar that most follow today. Were it not for the early work of the Sacred Flame, this calendar perhaps would not have come into existence as it has today.

The Royal Flame is a magical flame created to follow the cycles of the day and night, of the months and years, all to guide the people of this world forward. From this they established that this world, known commonly among them as Ventia, consists of three hundred and seventy-two days split between six months and further split into twenty six hours. The naming of the months has been a long process however what is listed below has been the Scholar’s finalized works.

_{It should be noted that the starting Date for this roleplay is now officially 33rd of Falistia}

Proscentia

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

Imerrin

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

Tormerin

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

Falistia

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

Goristim

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

Voerin

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31	32
33	34	35	36	37	38	39	40
41	42	43	44	45	46	47	48
49	50	51	52	53	54	55	56
57	58	59	60	61	62

~ Cinders ~

Just wanted to get this up as soon as possible. I'll probably go over it again later, but let me know what you think!

Kuri

Kuri

_{"Thanks for the breaaaaad!}

Age: 21
Race: Half-elf
Origin: The Imperium/Eroammir

Appearance:
A bright-eyed girl with a mischievous smile, Kuri is almost the spitting image of her mother. With only a set of barely pointed ears to show for her elven heritage, she could pass as a full-blooded human almost anywhere on the continent. Her amber eyes are highlighted with a light wash of eyeshadow, and long black hair is either freely let down or pulled back into a high ponytail.

She prefers outfits that don't get in the way and allow her as much flexibility as possible; her clothes are plain and usually at least a little dirty after a day of running around in the city. A belt around her waist holds most of her smaller items, while straps on her back carry her spear and short-bow. In a pocket on the inside of her belt, she stores a single ring passed down from her mother.

Kuri is always accompanied by a-- particularly friendly wolf? really big dog? She's honestly not too sure. Nevertheless, Kuma, a large white canine with a weight of around 90 kg and a height of 1.1 meters, serves as the intimidation factor a young girl like her lacks.

Personality:
Cheery, lighthearted, and at times immature, Kuri just loves life! Preferring to go with the flow, Kuri is the type to never think too far ahead. It's much more fun to just live as life comes!

She loves talking to people--especially cute ones. Anyone who starts up a conversation should expect to be greeted by a bright smile and a personalized nickname the next time they meet. Kuri has a unique but surprisingly innocent sense of humour, and will often subject the people around her to little pranks that really only she finds funny.

Has a weakness for money, beautiful people, and good food.

History:
Born in The Imperium from an illicit relationship between an elven mage and his human student, Kuri knew that she would never quite be able to fit into the pompous society around her. Her father, a notable professor at the University, could not afford the social costs that came with having a half-bred child, and left almost as soon as she was born. Her mother, an ambitious student with an interest in the lost, spent her days researching tirelessly in hopes of finding some scrap of information about the forbidden magics of Rituals and electromancy. As such, the girl spent her childhood days in almost complete freedom-- during the day, she loved to explore the busy winding streets of the historical city, while at night, she learned the arts of elementalism and warding from her mother's well-stocked collection of texts.

When she was 14 years old, the family of two moved to Eroammir. Her mother had heard of the existence of a group of scholars there who secretly worked to find the secrets that the elves so desperately wanted to keep hidden. From then on, Astrid spent less and less time at home, until one day, she never returned. Her first love had always been magic.

While her absence didn't seem to take much of an emotional toll on Kuri, the lack of any sort of authority figure would eventually lead her to trouble. On the streets, she realized that her natural talent at sleight of hand could be used to steal. At the age of 17, after years of getting away with thievery and general mischief, she grew too bold and was finally caught. A young able-bodied girl, she was sentenced to a lifetime of fighting in the Pits.

Relationships:
Kuma, companion
Astrid, mother

Skills:
Basic first aid
Basic archery
Proficient spearmanship
Proficient knifemanship
Sleight of hand
Thieving
Lock-picking
Pickpocketing
Flirting

Magic:
Attuned to electromancy [INTERMEDIATE]
Geomancy [INTERMEDIATE]

Equipment:
Bedroll
Light leather armour
Flint
Water Canteen
Spear
Lock-picks
Basic first aid kit

@Adalea

Accepted, feel free to move her over.

Vélaneah T'Aldannin

The Flower of the Snows, the Lady of the T'Aldanai

---

---

Character Sheet

_{"...at such times you need to ask yourself; what precisely are you willing to kill for? To die for?"}

Age: 34 years

Race: Elven Highblood

Origin: Ashae Imperium (north east)

Appearance: A carefully nurtured snowdrop sheathed in polished silver filigree, Vélaneah's fine features and diminutive stature (less than five feet in all) make her a rare sight in rough open-collared shirt, hooded green cloak and riding trous. Gone are the days when she wore a leafy silver tiara or star-patterned earrings about her daily business, instead her dark chestnut hair is bound back by a simple yet elegant double-strung length of auron leather.

Rapier and parrying dagger hang from opposite sides of her waist, with a simple belt pouch on her right hip that holds a number of her personal effects and... certain components. She also keeps a shoulder bag which she is rarely seen to carry, either because it is under her cloak or (more commonly) someone or something else is carrying it for her.

Personality: Vélaneah is the child of a thousand years of highblood elven aristocracy, which means she (or her kin at least) have raised the fine art of social assassination to an art form. When any given day in court could lead to a House's social (or literal) demise, one becomes accustomed to choosing one's words very carefully. The kind and the romantic called her graceful, thoughtful and elegant. Those less well disposed call her scheming, close-mouthed and languid.

Since taking the leadership of House T'Aldanai, she has shown signs of radicalism, consorting with the less well favoured elements of the court who openly advocate normalising relationships with the humans. Still she continues her careful ways and keeps up face, rarely willing to admit defeat even in the face of apparent total disaster for herself and those who owe her fealty.

She reads frequently given the opportunity; Vél's laziness (if laziness it is) is purely physical in nature.

History: Vélaneah T'Aldannin is the eldest child of her generation, daughter to Cháuntilly and Erathe T'Aldannin and older sister to Marcos and Délilah. At her birth the T'Aldanai was one of the most powerful in the Imperium beneath the Twelve Houses themselves but under Cháuntilly's benign suzerainty it began to lose power and prestige at an accelerating pace. Vél's childhood at court was filled with slights from those who once called her friend until at last her parents took their family back to their estates in the north east of the Imperium.

Since her father's murder Vélaneah ascended to the ruler's mantle but not to his policies. Through slow and careful moves and two successive betrothals, the Flower of the Snows has worked to rebuild her family's fortunes, returning to court only for visits and formal court events. Through a mixture of bluff, persuasion and occasional courteous threats she succeeded in rebuilding most of her family's former fortunes, but has at last been caught red-handed conspiring against the Twelve. Stripped of her rank, her House chastised and placed under her brother's aegis, Vélaneah was on her way to the executioner's block when an agent from the Order of the Sacred Flame arrived to save her by sheer chance.

At least, that was the official story.

The road to the Ghenna Mountains was arduous and (in some areas) infested by bandits, so Vél's party waited for a second to travel in more company. That was how she met Georgia Chandler and her taller shadow, establishing a casual friendship with the human woman before they reached Farron Peak.

Relationships:
Georgia Chandler: New Friend
Marcos T'Aldannin: Younger Brother
Délilah T'Aldannin: Younger Sister (7)
Erathe T'Aldannin: Mother and former Lady Consort of the T'Aldanai
Iseult Ascia: Former Lady in Waiting and mistress to Vélaneah before her downfall.

Skills:
Herbalism
Aether Studies
Riding
Literature
Sketching
Negotiation
Etiquette
Fencing

Magic:
Attuned to Cryomancy, Adept.
Attuned to Geomancy, Novice.

Equipment:
Bedroll
Water Canteen
4" Parrying Dagger (sheathed at right hip)
28" Rapier (sheathed at left hip)
Writing Papers, ink and quill
Simple silver pendant (topaz)
Basic Potions
Good Rations (enough for deployment?)

@Serendipity

Same as the above.

Itkovian Drel

Itkovian Drel

_{Things happen. Only way to survive is turning those things to your advantage.}

Age: 24
Race: Human
Origin: Keirous
Appearance: Itkovian is a person of dark skin with a strange set of amber eyes that runs through his family, many of them saying it comes from their elvish ancestry. He stands at around six feet and three inches with broad shoulders, a wide back, and a dense physique that has some small amount of fat which serves to make him look bigger although he tries to hide the small but somewhat visible pot-belly he's earned. His hair comes in the form of dreads that fall just beyond his shoulders and a thick, but cropped and well-kept beard frames his face.

Personality: Many would say that Itkovian is a resourceful individual, and they would be right. His resourcefulness comes in the form of trying to turn everything that happens to him in his favour, whether that be immediately or slowly over time. He has an understanding, instilled in him from a young age by his parents, that life will serve him if he but only learns to grasp it by the reins and pull it along. He's stubborn by nature, and when his mind is set upon something it's almost impossible to sway him otherwise; which comes in handy when he tries to turn all the shit that happens to him in his favour. Naturally, he also has a good outlook on life. Where others may believe that life has dealt them a bad hand, he sees it as an opportunity to not only grow, but to show that he can get ahead with less.

Itkovian is also an ambitious individual. Highly ambitious with dreams of not only becoming powerful, but rich and highly respected. He's kind, but gruff and will do just about anything if the pay is right. He believes that morality is something that people restrict themselves by in order to conform with societal standards, and instead shapes the world in his own personal view of what he believes are worthy standards. That being of loyalty and trust. Those two, once earned from him are never given up, despite how much coin may be presented to him, and he is willing to go to the ends of the earth with those that have earned his loyalty and his trust. However, once they are broken they are broken forever, and if he has anything to say about it, they also end in the death of whoever betrayed his trust.

History: Itkovian was born to a powerful and prominent merchanting family in Keirous with ties extending the Kingdom of Iora and even having ties with The Order. His early childhood was spent in training as was a custom in their family, where he learned how to handle a sword, spear, and a glaive. The sword however being his best weapon, but because fighting wasn't a specialty of theirs, his skill was only passing and enough to defend himself with. Along with that, he learned commerce, business, and was put to studying the various trade routes and relationships that his family had. As he grew older, his father put him at the head of a caravan travelling to Iora.

It was during this trip, at the age of seventeen, that he met the mercenary band that he would eventually join. He talked the leader, paid him a few pretty coins and the caravan was thus guarded. During the trip, Itkovian would talk to the mercenary leader, Brush Tath, a large muscle-bound tiefling and slowly during the trip, Itkovian grew to like the mercenary lifestyle more and more. Once the caravan reached its destination, he sold their goods to several prominent merchant families within the Kingdom and more covertly, sold weapons and armour to the Order.

Once he returned home, he told his family of his desire to leave the family business and join a mercenary band. His mother tried talking out of it, but his father was all for it, saying that the harsh life would teach him to become a man. He left with a few coins and subsequently joined the mercenaries, where he expanded on his skills as a swordsman and even managed to learn some small amount of magic from one of the wizards in the band. Several years later he learned his sister was married off to a particularly powerful human legislator. He attended the wedding and wished his sister many sons and daughters before going off once more with the mercenaries; however he returned with a blazing sword several years later when he learned that his sister was being regularly beaten by her husband. He stormed their palace and hung the man at the front of his house with his bowels hanging dangling beneath his feet.

Itkovian confessed to the crime and was set for execution when he learned that his father made a bargain with The Order to keep him alive. He was let go but exiled to the north.

Relationships:

• Tanakalian - Father
• Haremiss - Mother
• Nitheria - Sister
• Vorkarian - Brother
• Brush Tath - Mercenary Leader
• Sulky - Mercenary Wizard
• Grinner - Mercenary armourer
• Hoen Vast - Seedy Merchant
• Erika Maltres - Black Market contact

Skills:

• Swordsmanship
• Diplomacy/persuasion
• Business management
• Social skills
• Basic strategy
• Hand-to-hand combat

Magic:
Unattuned - Pyromancy

• Can light his sword on fire
• Can make a small mote of fire appear on his hand
• Can manipulate a small flame, including creating and snuffing candle, lantern and small campfires

Equipment:

• Bedroll and blanket
• Torches
• Flint
• Rations
• Waterskin
• Sword and swordbelt
• Armour
• Shield
• Heavy fur-tipped cloak
• coin pouch containing 50 gold pieces
• Family ring

There's my application! Sorry it's a bit late!

@Torack

Feel free to move him over.

Ugh, I take too long to finish profiles. I hope I'm not too far off base with anything.

Sarathai

Sarathai Iskadar

Age:
24

Race:
Half-Elven

Origin:
Ioria- in a section of country ostensibly claimed by the Imperium

Personality:
Sarathai bears all the misplaced confidence of one who has never faced true hardships growing up. Even presently, at a junction in life he never imagined finding himself at he still maintains an air of casual optimism. Bereft of the dark and tragic pasts of virtually everyone he now finds himself surrounded by, his naturally cheery and upbeat demeanor can strike quite a contrast to the dour, laconic folk that make up the bulk of the Order.

Having been provided with a greater degree of education than your average soldier, he is more than happy to engage in discussion on a variety of topics, even if his knowledge tends to be more generalized in any given topic and there are few things (if any) that he would consider himself to have any degree of expertise in.

When it comes to fighting, Sarathai prefers to avoid it if possible. If not possible, his go-to tactic is to try and hang out as far back as possible, taking pot shots with his crossbow while other more skilled combatants do the brunt of the work. Though he has had some measure of training since joining the order, he still lacks much of the skill of his peers. Fortunately, though he is a far cry from being the perfect soldier of the Order, every organization still needs quartermasters to keep their people fed and provided for- the sort of logistical role Sarathai would be quite proficient at.

History:
I suppose the best place to start would be at the start of the Iskadar line. Without going to much into the specifics of family trees, the important bit to know is that at some point in time the Iskadar family name belonged to a line of merchants. For generations their success was made along the road, buying from one town to sell in the next. For a time, this was more than sufficient for everything they needed to provide for themselves. Eventually, as their success and fortunes slowly grew from one generation to the next, it became apparent that this nomadic lifestyle was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain. Eventually, ye olde Iskadar of something like a dozen or so generations ago decided that the time had come to settle down and be the ones manufacturing the goods for the other traveling merchants to sprnd their days carting near and far. Thus it was that the old Iskadar used his accumulated wealth to purchase several large tracts of land off in the Iorian countryside. According to most "official" boundary maps distributed by the more reputable cartographers in major cities this land was part of the territory claimed by the Imperium, yet it was far enough removed from any major population centers that most folk didn't particularly care who their proper ruler was- if some years the tax collectors had pointier ears than other years it hardly changed anything for the small folk. Most people couldn't even tell you the name of who was king off yonder, nor did they particularly care.

Out here, where most folk were travelers heading between the Imperium and Eroammir, people tended to care a less about the politics and prejudices of the fancy big city folk and more about making it through the next winter. As such, at least in the area where the Iskadar family had settled, half-elven families were hardly given more than a second thought. Whether the first of the Iskadar line had been an elf or a human was a matter of some debate, with opinions that could vary wildly depending on who was recounting the tale of their more humble beginnings. The only thing agreed upon was that at some point there had been a bit of mingling between the two races, so that now there was never a generation that didn't have a bit of blood from both. When it came to the Iskadar lands, large portions had been converted into orchards, vineyards and apiaries with the wines and mead produced by the Iskadar family keeping the family comfortably wealthy. In addition to the network of business connections forged during their time as traveling merchants, there was almost always a healthy demand for their goods at inns and taverns up and down the local trade routes, so business was good and the family prospered.

Sarathai was born as the fourth child of his current generation. With a slew of older siblings this meant that, barring any sort of catastrophic event (perhaps a war or plague), there was very little chance he would end up inheriting the family estates. Still, it was Iskadar tradition that all children be provided with at least a rudimentary education and some formal training in managing the family business in case it became necessary for any one of them to have to step up and take over. As such, Sarathai was one of the comparatively few among the local villages who was literate.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you're morbid like that), none of the Iskadar children met any unfortunate ends before reaching adulthood. For Sarathai, that meant that his eldest sibling would end up inheriting and he would be expected to make his own path in life- be it working for the family business or moving on to do his own thing. He chose the later option. Still, his family was not the sort to just turn out one of their own with no support and provided Sarathai with a decent sum of money with the implicit understanding that it be used to support himself until he got suitably situated in life and able to provide adequately for himself.

To Sarathai, this meant heading to the largest nearby Imperium city. He had entertained delusions of becoming quite the formidable wizard and to that extend sought someone to instruct him in magic. Unfortunately for Sarathai, his imagined future of flying about hurling lightning bolts didn't seem likely to come to fruition. He discovered, to his dismay, that some magical schools were harder to find a tutor for than others and that even if you could find one they were expensive. He ultimately had to settle for pyromancy, as it was the only elemental school where he could find a reasonably priced instructor willing to teach him. That didn't last very long. It turned out that Sarathai had no knack for pyromancy and gave it up relatively quickly, as it was rapidly eating into the money he needed for food and lodgings.

Eventually, Sarathai managed to find himself working for an aging shopkeeper who dealt in all manner of goods. Having experience balancing ledgers and keeping inventory from his limited experience with the family business he quickly ingratiated himself with the owner. Eventually, she even shared with him that she had her own talent in magic that she was willing to teach to her apprentice. As it turned out, she had some decent skill with restoration magic. In particular, she was talented at warding- which she used primarily as a means of detecting and deterring would-be thieves. It just so happened that she was more than willing to teach some of what she knew to Sarathai, much to his chagrin whenever he thought of how much he had spent on his previous failed education when he could have been learning for free this entire time.

With most people, this lifestyle would have been perfectly sustainable, bu Sarathai was not most people. Dspite his business acumen, Sarathai did not mirror this strength in his personal life. He had grown up accustomed to a certain sort of lifestyle and without a second thought had recklessly tried to recreate this level of comfort for himself regardless of the cost of doing so. Unfortunately, this was well beyond his means. Between this and the decent chunk of money he had invested in his failed foray at pyromancy he quickly found himself having to borrow money in order to make ends meet. Unfortunately, as he continued to borrow money without reducing personal expenses to match he found himself falling further and further into debt. Eventually, people began refusing to offer any more loans as he found himself unable to adequately repay what he had already borrowed. Around the time when the initially subtle threats started to get more poetic and descriptive he realized he might need to look into alternate solutions.

As fate would have it, the very day he had concluded that the best solution was to skip town he happened to run into someone recruiting for the Order. If he had been thinking straight, he might have wondered what kind of recruiter seemed to be primarily recruiting from prisoners, street toughs and other riffraff, but the promise of a clean slate in literally any city that was not here was too tempting of an offer for the young man to pass up while he still had both of his kneecaps intact.

Relationships:
PCs: (none yet)
NPCs: (none yet)

Skills:
Archery (crossbows)
Scribing
Accounting
First Aid
History
Geography

Magic:
Restoration (Warding)

Equipment:
Bedroll
Flint/Steel
Waterskin
Trail rations
Crossbow/Bolts
Dagger
Sheaves of Parchment/ink

@0 Azzy 0

Interesting, feel free to move him over.

I tried my best to make her fit well within the lore. Let me know if you see any holes in the history and whatnot. :)

Tarasynora Ilidove

Tarasynora Ilidove

_{“We bring nothing with us into the world, and we bring nothing when we leave the world.”}

Age: 32

Race: Half Starfallen, Half Elf

Origin: The Imperium

Appearance: Scarlet hair frames the pale face of the half-elf, flowing down to the feminine curve of her hips. Although she is tall and slender, her body is filled out with wiry muscles that lay beneath the purple undertones of her skin. Many can’t pinpoint the exact mix of her race, but she is very obviously elvish, from the pointed ears to her smooth complexion. Although, when she casts her spells, her starfallen glow resonates from her pale eyes and in faint patterns that appear along her skin.

Tara’s once gentle expression has been replaced with seriousness and she adopts a more assertive nature. Her bone structure matches the beauty of the female elves, while her presence is full of mystery and wonder. Tara is usually seen wearing different kinds of elven dresses that are adorned with beautiful ornaments and jewelry, since she takes pride in her noble heritage.

Personality: Tara is a woman who is constantly trying to balance the scales of her own heart and mind. Peace and harmony are what’s most important in her eyes so she tries to remain at peace with herself to allow her judgements to be unclouded and clear. While she is a protector of the innocent, she is often left vulnerable. Tara struggles with violence, but the order has been working to fix this aspect of her for her own self-preservation. Growing up as a peaceful advocate, the handle of a blade or the cry of war have always been foreign to her.

Despite her absence with battle, Tara is braver than most and will go to great extents to properly portray her courage. Growing up as a noble, Tara was often an icon for peace and safety, so she made sure to become a woman worthy of the titles she was given—brave, caring, harmonious, intelligent, wise.

History: Tara was the daughter of two renowned individuals within the Imperium. Her father, a victorious war strategist, and her mother, a professor of pyromancy. It was expected that they would meet, considering their great contributions to the Imperium and their equally matched talents. It didn’t take long for them to fall in love and for them to conceive a beautiful child that bore the many valuable traits of the elves and the starfallen. After Tara, they began to have many more, living in a calm time while raising children. It seemed as if Tara was the reincarnation of many lives of wisdom so she became independent at a young age.

Tara had a gentle heart since the day she was born, incapable of strategizing battle, and being too timid to control fire—so she decided to walk her own path that was parallel to her tranquil spirit. Her parents paid for private teachers and several tomes of knowledge that revolved around the art of restoration. Teachers came from several parts of the world, bestowing their knowledge unto Tara until her talents would follow the heels of her parents, and she was soon contributing to the Imperium and bringing honor to her family name. Becoming adept with the art of restoration was gratefully passed onto her, but the woman she became was from the purity of her heart and the future she saw for the world. Tara set off on a journey to visit the many corners of the world, all to help master her art of healing on the diversity of races that the world had to offer. This journey helped Tara to ground herself, opening her eyes to what the other cultures were like.

Tara became one of the Imperiums greatest healers upon her return, and she began to work under her father when he ignited his great work again. This is where the divide of her family began. Tara was too involved with the peace of the people, regardless of how fragile it may be, while her father intended to break it for the sake of the elves reconquering Ioria. Tara stood against her father, and she had a sum of followers that admired her stance against her own father. Many of the elves were underlyingly greedy, so they supported her father’s rise to strategize an attack against the humans. Tara, unafraid and optimistic, stood in his path as much as she could, but it wasn’t long before her rise was threatening the movement of her father.

Tara’s assassination was planned but it was poorly executed and failed. Thus, she was placed within the royal courts to ensure her safety, since the people valued and viewed Tara as an icon of wisdom and peace. The longer she influenced the people, the more she drew the hatred that tainted the people, so her enemies created a ploy to rid Tara of the Imperium altogether. Tara was framed for the successful assassination of her father as an act of revenge for her own assassination. The court saw this as a murder of one of the Imperium’s most respected and valuable assets, so they banished her from the city. Outside the city, her enemies waited with hate in their eyes and weapons in their hands—but she became saved by the Order of the Sacred Flame.

She joined and Tara struggled within the order, but she survived and she maintained her life there for a year and counting. Learning more and more about combat and the things she once hated. She struggles to keep her inner balance, but she feels she is on a path to reveal the other side of her purity that she was so blind to before.

Relationships:
N/A

Skills:
Alchemy
First Aid
Anatomy of the races
Throwing knives
Slight archery
Slight swordsmanship
Music
Cooking
Sewing

Magic:
Attuned to Restoration, Advanced

Equipment:
Sleeping equipment
Flint and tinder
Throwing knives
Bow and arrows
Dagger
Textbook of the anatomy of races
Alchemy supplies
Leather armor
Noble circlet from her heritage

@Lionhearted

I like her, feel free to move her over.

Nazan

Nazan

Age: Two and a half decades.
Race: Orisiri
Origin: Kerious.
Appearance:
Nazan is tall of stature and has an athletic build, honed by years of training and combat. He isn't the largest of orisiri, but he is well-built, with lean whipcord muscle and explosive energy. He has the grey-hued skin and gaunt features of orisiri of Iza. Altogether, his bearing is noble, concealing an acute readiness and predatory drive.

Personality:
Nazan had a reputation among his fellows as a taciturn, levelheaded combatant, but possessed of great mirth off the battlefield. Laughter and banter came easily to him. While that is still true today, the fate of his home city-state, Iza, and the trials he endured after its fall have changed his worldview.

Like many orisiri, Nazan is superstitious, looking to signs and portents of the gods for guidance. The fact he ran from the sacrificial altar weighs heavily on his conscience. He wants to believe his induction to the Order is the gods' way of granting him a new lease on life. However, the notion that his actions have angered them nips at his heels. Did running from certain death make him a coward? What would they say if he ever showed his face in Kerious again?

Without a definite answer to these questions, Nazan is content to do as the Order asks. There is still honor left in him, and that honor demands he repay his debt to the Order for saving his life. He's matured since his years as an ambitious young warrior of the Iza, no longer needing to prove his worth to others, save himself.

History:
Nazan was raised in Kerious. His household was in service to the city-state of Iza, a prominent orisiri stronghold. Iza combined the martial culture of the orisiri with a political structure reminiscent of the humans or elves. It was a feudal system where land was the measure of wealth, rewarded for service at arms and tended by peasantry. Nazan’s house was of the warrior class, landholders that fought for Iza in wartime and afforded the serfs who tended their lands with protection. As such, Nazan was trained to fight, but also to govern the lands that he would one day inherit.

Iza’s influence grew steadily as Nazan became an adult. It cast a shadow over many smaller states and peoples, a fact that didn’t sit well with several other powerful states. Tensions grew over the years as conflicts became less about subterfuge and cloak-and-dagger machinations, and more about skirmishes and open warfare. To keep Iza in check, the city-states of Nadir and Pesht created a military alliance and marched on their common enemy.

The fighting lasted for years. Campaigns came and gone with the seasons. Iza still stood, yet could not hold out under siege forever. A last-ditch offensive to sally out and defeat the alliance for good ended in defeat. Nazan was captured by warriors from Nadir during the battle. A person of his rank could be ransomed for a decent sum, or sacrificed as a worthy offering to the gods. The Nadir chose the latter.

Sacrifice was not an ignoble death. There was a measure of honor in joining the gods this way. The orisiri of the plain knew this and fought and died for the gods. The orisiri of Kerious knew this too, adopting sacrifice to replace - or often accompany - war. Nazan, however, felt no honor when his name was called and he was led to the altar at Nadir’s square. He felt no pride or elation that he’d see the gods at last. He felt only the twist of fear in his gut and the overwhelming instinct to run. So he did.

His escape should have been impossible, but by some miracle, Nazan wrenched his way free, leaped through the throngs of onlookers and disappeared down the alleyways and into the sewers of Nadir. He crawled through the dirt and waste as guards scattered through the streets, waving torches and shouting directions. Nazan clung to the shadows and bided his time. With the guards in meandering pursuit, he took his chance when a post of the wall was abandoned and leaped to his freedom.

Once clear of the city, Nazan fled to the wilderness. He decided to go north, out of Kerious, across the Maw and find sanctuary in the Aouril Plains. The orisiri there wouldn’t know of his cowardice, but he could prove his skill in a fight. Just maybe, they’d take him in. He spent days eluding Nadir patrols, cloaking himself with mud, sleeping only briefly and living off the land. Finally, Nazan reached the Maw and prepared for the grueling descent down its rocky face.

To his dismay, Nadir riders had caught onto his trail. Caught between the mercy of his captors and the stone jaws of the chasm below, Nazan prepared for his final moments. However, he did not anticipate the arrival of a second set of red-garbed horsemen, and neither did his pursuers, who fell from their horses full of arrows. The riders in red didn’t ask for his thanks, only for his allegiance.

Relationships:
TBA

Skills:
Nazan is proficient in Kin-jak, an orisiri martial art that combines swordplay and grappling maneuvers. He is a skilled rider and huntsman, in the orisiri style of mounted archery. His education taught him of Kerious’ courtly structure and manners, an overview of history and geography and literacy. During his escape from Nadir, Nazan was forced to learn on his feet and adopt surivalist skills, including camouflage, living off the land, making shelters, leaving no trace, etc.

Magic:
Nazan shows no sign of attunement to any forms of magic. Magic was always the domain of shamans in Iza and Nazan doesn't aim to understand its nature.

Equipment:
Nazan carries the slew of basic gear given to him by the Order: a pack containing a bedroll, flint, tinder, a mess kit, rope and trail rations, among other miscellaneous supplies.

In addition, he dons crimson orisiri armor pilfered from his dead captors, with the emblems of the city-state of Nadir chiselled off. He is armed with a broad shield strapped to his arm and an orisiri bladed club. The weapon resembles a longsword, but its edges are lined with the razor-sharp teeth of the polengo shark.

Nazan also carries small totems on his person: good luck charms and idols of the gods to keep him from harm.

@Aristo

He'll be an interesting match for Aelsu, move him over.

---

Hey @Mag Lev, could I make a Elvin bard?

@Shadow Dragon

Unfortunately I have reach my limit of applicants at the moment and won't be accepting any more. If a spot opens up I'll include you in any post about it.

---

I'll be working on my notes over the most of tonight and will be available in the Discord and on here. We can expect the first IC to be up by the end of Wednesday my time at the latest. In the meantime, feel free to talk with each other over how your character's might have interacted in the past.

~ Cinders ~

Well, with all these sheets the next wave of reviews will be interesting. That being said, with four sheets submitted we may be reaching the 10 people max I've been looking at. If, however, I feel any sheets submitted after that from those currently working on them are up to par then I'll willingly bump the number up to 12.

~ Cinders ~

@Adalea I'll take a deeper look at her with the next wave but I don't see anything that stands out too much for me. I would like a small age bump but that is about as much as I noticed.

~ Cinders ~

@Adalea

Not entirely adverse to the idea. It isn't exactly rare for there to be packmaster's and the like in the Order so I don't see why not.

~ Cinders ~

Quick question while I'm fleshing out my character -- are there any particular places where different races congregate? Is there an East Asian-esque culture anywhere in this world?

@Adalea

Currently Keirous is the most diverse in how many races live within its lands with the majority being non-human or elven. There is, however, no East Asian culture in the world as of yet. Most of the cultures are similar to European-Byzantine in design.

~ Cinders ~

Here he is.

Einarr

Einarr

_{"In the north the only person you can rely on is yourself."}

Age: 32.
Race: Human.
Origin: Weirn - The City of Normundr.

Personality: Einarr is a very stubborn and gruff person who prefers to rely on his own skills and abilities rather than those around him.

While his lone wolf and mostly antisocial behaviour was only made stronger by his time as a Ranger in the service of King Hagrir, during which Einarr spent most of his time alone while out on long distance scouting or hunting missions into the surrounding hills and forests, it can be traced all the way back to when he was a child living in the city slums where he had no one else to rely on but himself to provide food, shelter, clothing, and water.

Despite all of his self reliance and complete lack of a desire for social interaction with most people, Einarr has one trait that had always and will always remain engrained within him, and that is loyalty. Indeed Einarr is loyal to a fault and once carried a fellow Ranger who was fatally wounded back to Normundr, through a blizzard, by himself, simply because the man wanted to be buried with his ancestors and not in an unmarked grave out in the wilds. Upon returning to the city, the King made sure the Ranger was given a proper buriel before personally rewarding Einarr for his deed by giving him a sword from his personal armory.

History: Abandoned by his parents when he was a child, Einarr was forced to live out on the streets, stealing and fighting off the other homeless children to survive. While there were a few people who showed him compassion by giving him food, clothing, water, or a place to stay in exchange for work they needed done, most of the time he was ignored and left to fend for himself.

As he grew older, he became more and more desperate to survive in the frozen, inescapable hell he constantly found himself in by breaking into other peoples homes to look for food or to find a warm place to sleep for the night, not knowing that this habit would eventually see him crossing paths with a man that would change his life forever.

Veteran Ranger Bruin Stormblade.

~Twenty Years Ago~

It was on a particularly cold winter night that a young Einarr was trying, and failing, to get a restful night's sleep under the snow covered awning of a nearby bakery, the freezing snow filled air tearing at his ragged clothing and the cold flesh underneath. Lifting up his head, Einarr saw what he thought was a well to do man clad in chain mail, leather, and furs armed with a bow, axe, and round shield walk past the bakery he was sleeping next to and off towards the more well off part of town. Well, more well off than the slums he was accustomed to living in anyway.

Smiling to himself, Einarr got to his feet and began to follow the man, keeping just far back enough to avoid rousing his suspicions, until he saw the man arrive at a small but modest home, open the door, and go inside. Doing his best not to shiver from the cold Einarr quietly made his way round to the back of the house, unlocked a first floor window, and slipped inside. The interior of the house was dark which caused the boy to fumble around for a bit in search of a candle or other source of light when the feeling of a sharp object brushing up against his throat stopped him from moving any further.

"Don't you know it's not wise to sneak into someones house unannounced boy?" A gruff voice said from somewhere in front of him. Einarr felt his blood run cold at the man's mention of the word "boy." How did this man know he was a boy unless...

"What?" The man said with a chuckle. "Did you really think you'd be able to follow a Ranger and break into his house without him noticing?" With those words Einarr heard the man mutter something which caused a flame to materialize in the palm of his right hand. Stretching out his hand to a nearby wall the man uttered another chant and the flame surged towards it, causing a torch mounted there to ignite and bathe the small room in a flickering orange light.

Now that he could see better, Einarr's eyes went wide in shock and fear as he finally got a good look at the bear of a man holding the sword to his throat. He had long raven black hair that reached his shoulders, a thick beard tied in a braid, and a heavily scared face that made it seem as though he'd been mauled by a bear. Seeing the look on the boy's face, the man let out another, more amused chuckle, as he withdrew the blade and placed it back into its sheathe. He then walked over to a nearby chair and sat down in it before pulling out a wooden pipe from a pouch on his belt, placing some tobacco into it, and lighting it.

"Y-you're not going to kill me?" Einarr asked, his voice breaking slightly.

"Now what would that accomplish?" The man asked as he took a long draw from the pipe before exhaling a large cloud of smoke. "You'd be dead and I'd have a mess to clean up."

"Then...what are you going to do?" Einarr asked, the apprehension he felt written plainly on his face.

"I'm going to give you a choice." He said, leaning forward slightly. "You can try to steal from me and run like you originally planned and try to live your life on the streets..." He said, indicating the open window with his pipe. "Or you can become my apprentice and train to become a Ranger in service of the King and do something productive with your life."

Einarr stared at him for a while, his mouth hung open in shock. First he'd thought he was going to die and now he was being offered a chance to have a life far better than the one he had now. Effectively a fresh start. Thinking it over for a long while, Einarr finally made up his mind.

"Alright." He said, standing up a bit straighter. "I'll train under you sir...um..."

"Stormblade. Bruin Stormblade." He said, taking another draw from his pipe.

Einarr nodded in acknowledgement and dropped to one knee. "Sir Stormblade."

"Eh, get up boy. Bowing is only done before those spineless nobles or our King, of which I'm neither. Now, I've told you my name, how about yours? You got a name boy?"

"Einarr." He said, getting to his feet.

"Well Einarr..." Bruin said as he got up from his chair and walked over to Einarr. "I suggest you get some sleep. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

~Present Day~
Einarr pulled the fur hood he was wearing further down his head to keep out the bone chilling mountain wind that whipped across face as the carriage he was currently seated in rattled and creaked as it slowly made its way up the narrow path leading through the Ghenna Mountains, the team of horses at its front kicking up clouds of snow with every step they took.

Looking off into the distance he could see the imposing form of the Orders mountain stronghold rising up from the surrounding mist and clouds like the carcass of some long dead beast left over from ages that have long since been forgotten by man and elf alike.

Prying his gaze from the towering structure, Einarr turned his attention back to the letter clutched in his hand. The reason he was even here in the first place. He stared at the damned thing for a long while before tossing it over the side of the carriage. He didn't even have to read it in order to know what it was. To know what it said.

It was a letter of banishment from King Hagrir himself for so called treason against the crown, which was a load of bullshit. Einarr knew he'd done nothing wrong and so had the King, but he was forced to bend to the will of the nobles at the time which is what had led him to where he was now. Freezing his ass off in a rickety old carriage on the side of a mountain.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Einarr turned his gaze back towards the oncoming keep, a look of stubborn determination on his face. He may have been exiled from his homeland by his enemies and stripped of his official title as a Kings Ranger, but he'd be damned if he let them break his spirit.

Relationships:

• King Hagrir - Acquaintance.
• Bruin Stormblade - Seen as an adoptive father.

Strong Skills:

• Archery.
• Hand-to-hand/Melee Combat.
• Survival (includes a bit of first aid, herbalism, etc).
• Tracking.
• Streetwise.
• Crafting (weapons and armor as well as the repair of said items).

Weak Skills:

• Pickpocketing.
• Lockpicking.
• Persuasion.
• Diplomacy.

Magic:

• Pyromancy - Apprentice (Attuned and trained as a member of Hagrirs Rangers).

Equipment:

• Leather pouch containing 125 pieces of gold.
• A small dagger.
• Good quality steel longsword from the Kings personal armory.
• Dependable steel hand axe.
• Hunting bow.
• Reinforced leather armor with furs woven into it for warmth.
• A large over the shoulder animal skin pack containing flint, tinder, a bedroll, some rope, food, and a water skin.

@ZAVAZggg

Looks good, feel free to move him over.

I wanted to get this done before the end of the day so I might have rushed over some mistakes that I can fix tommorow, but past that if
theres any problems with him please let me know!

Seiritif

Seiritif Neklan

_{Care to make a bet?}

Age: 27
Race: Tiefling
Origin: No specific orgin due to traveling but whas briefly raised in the outskirts of Asha
Appearance: Seiritif proves to be relatively handsome, that is if one can look past his abnormalities. Standing tall and fit at a large 6’2, with a navy-blue skin tone which sharply contrast his red fiery eyes, all of which makes the Tiefling impossible to miss in a crowd. His slightly wavy black and brown hair barely bobs above his shoulders, often being tied behind his head in a small bun keeping it from blocking his vision. His face is seemingly cleansed of blemishes except for a old faded scare sliced diagonally across his high-rise cheek bones acting as a cursed memory of his old guardian. His tail swooshes behind him being rather thick for even that of a Tiefling, it has grown pock marked with scares from years of traveling on the road, having become the only part of him he doesn’t make an active attempt to make presentable, but rather having it swept idly behind him keeping it away from any kind of attention.

The Tiefling has always has been one to care passionately about his outward appearance, having put forward a large sum to get custom made jewelry that he wears to embellish his horns, making no attempt to hide his Tiefling heritage. Having grown a natural affinity for the colors purple and red through the colors being a part of his old show, the blue Tiefling rapidly grew an attachment to them wearing the colors as frequently as possible. Although due to his current predicament he’s been forced too relinquish many of his old clothes and trinkets he once grew so fond of in his past as they quickly became irelivant for the journey ahead of him now.

Personality: Tieflings tend to be considered some kind of mysterious boogey men that are passed as old wives tales to keep their children in bed, and Seiritif embraced all of it. Having join the circus and forgoing any past he had before that he has grown accustomed to being the center of attention, radiating extravagance and arrogance the Tiefling holds himself high no matter who may be mocking him for his race. Seiritif has been noted multiple times to hold those he calls friends closely, as for a Tiefling such as himself he's found that allies come few and far between. Despite all of this he has always had an air of kindness and wits to the man.

Ever since he joined the circus Seiritif began relying heavily on his silver tongue that he once used to manipulate his old guardian with. Being capable of making elaborate made up stories on the spot alongside with his dexterous hands the Tiefling has managed to get himself in and out of trouble multiple times, but all it takes is messing with the wrong person for it all to come tumbling down.

History

History: Seiritif's upbringing was anything but a gentle one. With having no memory of who his true parents were, or any knowledge of what happened to them. Rather he was raised by an old senile necromancer who believed that by raising a devil child he could be granted a wish from a demon without knowing how wrong he could be. Being raised by the old man was a hard time for the child as he was subjected to both his diluted mood swings and being stuck within a house cut off from the outside world. Although once he turned 17 Seiritif left the only place he's ever known to search out for something better for himself. Grabbing as many supplies he could, he made a run for it. With only two mementos from the old man upon his departure, one being his ability of manipulating the very air everyone breathes, and a newly placed gash upon his left cheek.

To be on his own after living a relatively sheltered life from the outside world; 17-year-old Seiritif was not in any way prepared for the trials that lie ahead. Facing fear and disdain from his mere existence Seiritif quickly turned to becoming a criminal, using and manipulating his Aeromancy to get away with things no man in his situation should have been able to get away with for how little he knew. Unfortunately for him this streak of crime could only could get him so far in the cities of Ashae as he was found and almost killed. Seirtif left the cities travelling onto the long dirt roads in search of any place he could call a home.

luck finally began to take a turn, as the Philip Astely Traveling Circus found him lying on his would-be death bed in the middle of the road. It was there from the generosity of the ring master Seiritif lived on. And it was here that he found a group of outcasts, misfits, and those of interesting skills that a blue skinned tiefling could call his home. Adding another misfit to the ranks Seiritif quickly bound himself to the role of the "Devil of the Circus" and along with it the circuses fame skyrocketed. As it was not every day people are able to witness a tiefling, and with his acts he played on the fear and the veil of mystery that surrounded his race to keep people constantly on the edge of their seats, creating an illusion of risk and danger when there was never any to begin with. The circus, suffice to say hit a home run by adopting the blue skinned man.

As traveling with the circus rapidly became his new home, for the first time in his life he found a place he belonged. Seiritif spent most of his spare time in-between shows sitting at a table on the edge of the circus ground, as traversing out alone tended to be a risky endeavor as the sight of a Tiefling to many people has mixed results. At his table he took on any passerby who felt they had the luck and courage to gamble against the Tiefling, and it was there he sat using Aeromancy to game dice rolls or stacking decks of cards into his favor; he was one to rarely lose. But all it took was gambling with the wrong person at the wrong time for things to turn violent. Miscalculation both his own strength and a miss cast of a spell lead to an unconscious man bleeding at his feet. Not even being capable of saying his goodbyes before he was taken away.

He wasnt even capable of saying goodbye to those who saved him before he was locked up in a cell, his normal demeanor quickly fell apart within the sell having been set for execution. Laying in a poorly made cot in a cell, the iron gates of hell creaked open,
"Finally time to take me away? Or are you just here to gawk at a teifling."
"neither, it took some convincing but your sentence has been apealed." the man standing tall above him replied, his expression excedingly hard to read.
The Tiefling let out a sartonic chuckle out in response. "So fate still got something planed for me then, eh?"

Relationships:
N/A

Skills:

• Throwing weapons (From the circus)
• Slight of hand
• Acting
• Sword play
• Mild survival skills (From the order)

Magic: Aeromancy: novice
Equipment:

• Rations to last him a week
• 6 throwing knives atached onto his belt
• wet stone and oils for weapon upkeep
• flint
• tinder
• sleeping kot
• An old but well kept Falchion
• Water skin

@Nightingale43

He seems like he'll be an interesting character and the first Aeormancer to boot. Feel free to move him over.