PhoenixWhite — Roleplayer Guild

Blackwell crest and motto

Kingdom Location
Formaroth -> Alenius

Relations with other Kingdoms
No true diplomatic relation has been established with the neighboring noble families preceding the death of king John Remennot.
-To be elaborated upon at a later date

Family reputation
Dragonslayers
-The Blackwell family has a fierce reputation, for they are well known as the slayers of dragons.

Strong as Iron
-The Blackwell family was born into a noble house from the ashes of warfare, and their people are a hard and strong people.

Duty before Honor
-The Blackwell family is one who sees 'getting the job done' as superior to the concept of 'Honor', and their use of guerilla tactics and clandestine operations in the past is noteworthy.

Queer Fighters
-The Blackwell family is notorious for training to combat foes without the use of shields, and typically wield additional weaponry in the off hand or adopt the use of larger weaponry in the stead of traditional sword-and-shield pairings

Kingdom's main export goods
Raw goods: Lumber, coal, ores
Skilled goods: Weapons, armor, agriculture//seasonal crops

Kingdom's imports
Alenius' imports alter to accent any shortages and emergency needs
-Primary imports consist of skilled laborers and educators, rather than any material needs
-Secondary concerns are dependent upon the Alenius' kingdom's own production of goods, and is typically shifted to correct any shortages seen; alternatively, exports may be cut to offset this rather than imports made
-Importing goods is seen as a last resort

Description of Kingdom
Alenius is a land that, in recent years, has prospered greatly. Prior to the Blackwell family placement upon the kingdom, it was a simpler land that was heavily dependent upon its neighbors for goods such as tools and food, and had seen considerable damages due to dragon attacks frequenting its southern provinces [quite near the mountain ranges] that left the south almost entirely uninhabited, save by those few wanton dragonslayers seeking their glory.

With the Blackwell placement preceding the Manshrew-Remonnet civil war, considerable industrial upheaval occurred in the kingdom. The Blackwell family instituted more rigorous agricultural practices, which dragged the kingdom out of its dependency, and allowed it to further progress into its own enterprises and expand the kingdom's demesne.

Under Blackwell rule, the dragons plaguing the south of the kingdom have been slain and the land made habitable, allowing the kingdom of Alenius to expand into its own profitable mining and prospecting enterprises, further eradicating the heavy debt that originally lay across the land.

Now, the kingdom is powerful economically due to its centralized production and lack of consistent imports. The military of the kingdom is comparatively small in regards to its neighbors, yet highly trained and elite under the Blackwell standards, and has a high reserve force that is constantly in training circulation to keep the civilian populace prepared in the event of a war.

Family Background
Summarized - See individuals for further explanation
The Blackwell family is one bred from the fires of war, and hardened in combat like the harshest of irons. Originating as a peasant family who served as a mercenary company, the Blackwell family saw extensive combat and operations in the Manshrew-Remonnet civil war, where they served as a guerrilla unit, a misinformation broker, as well as a strong backbone in central battles when the need arose.

Their extensive operations in crippling the Manshrew forces at every available opportunity, as well the spread of misinformation through the enemy [Manshrew] forces, was a critical role they played in the war. They targeted high priority persons, sabotaged supplies, engaged in open warfare to a considerable extent, and by the end of the war the Remonnet's had them hoisted up to the position of nobility due to their display of effectiveness and loyalty to the crown.

However, peasants cannot simply be made noble without angering the other vassals of the kingdom. The Blackwells were granted land and territory in what is known as the kingdom of Alenius, which at the time following the war was little more than an inhabited wasteland of barren fields and scorched earth. The land was facing incredible debt.

The kingdom of Alenius had sided with the Manshrew forces in the beginning of the civil war, and as a result had been utterly crushed by a massed Remennot attack as a pre-emptive measure, and the ensuing battles backed the Alenius nobility into Hell; dragons at their backs and an overwhelming enemy at their fronts. Needless to say, the kingdom of Alenius was rendered a non-issue in the war.

Upon being granted their title and lands, the Blackwell family continued to serve the Remennot's until near the end of the war, when they withdrew from the combat in order to govern their lands and recouperate from the extensive combat they had seen.

In the following years, in the face of having their titles revoked and land squabbled over by neighboring lords, the Blackwells turned the same lethal efficiency they carried for the art of war towards the art of statecraft; the core Blackwells, the ones who had served in the civil war, were masters of the arts of war and death, but many of their extended family and subservient citizens were farmers and simple artisans. Rather than trying to institute the standard reconstruction process, the Blackwells deferred to those who understood the earth and the tasks that needed to be done.

Those who could best get the job done received the highest positions in the Blackwell society, and through the constant struggle for improvement the land became fertile once more, and the people's fortitude returned as- rather than with swords and shields- they fought with hoe and sickle to win back the plentiful peace they once had.

The only issue was that of the uninhabitable wastes in the south, where the prospect of ores and mining stood as a saving grace for the land of Alenius. Many dragonslayers had gone into this southern land in an attempt to fight and gain glory by slaying one of the great beasts, but none had succeeded. The Blackwells, however, were backed into a corner in the face of crippling debt and a rebuilding society. The Blackwells were not ones to back down from a challenge.

So the Blackwells went south, to the mountains, to hunt dragons. They left the army they had grown through the years of combat and war behind to defend the territory with The Shadow as governor, and left with but a small elite group of soldiers rather than employing vast numbers of dragonslayers- opting instead to gather up the wanton heroes already present in the country rather than warn their surrounding threats of the family's planned absence.

However, the rumors were hardly enough to prepare the Blackwells for what awaited them in the south. What they intended as a speedy mission quickly developed into a task that took the span of a few years, with the forces back in the northern half of Alenius holding the land and warding off possible threats. The Blackwell family had anticipated but a few dragons that had grown into many by years of myth and rumor, but the truth of the matter was both harrowing and boldening; There were hundreds of dragons in the south of Alenius, and the Blackwells had found another war on their hands.

And war for the Blackwells is like harvest for the farmer; it revives the spirit, and makes one look to the future.

The dragons in the south were steadily eradicated into manageable numbers; nearly two hundred dragons having been slain by the Blackwell family, and a vast quantity of those were accredited to a single member of the family alone. Scales, claws, teeth, and bones were harvested from the creatures and sent back to Mercy [the renamed capital of the Blackwell kingdom].

Now, only a handful of dragons still survive in southern Alenius; hardly enough to pose a threat to the Blackwell family, or the people of Alenius. The south became an industrialized powerhouse for the country, and the north evolved into an agricultural cornucopia...

Various mottos of the Blackwell lands, and their origins

"Death's no Stranger." ~ The Old Man; in response to threats from the Manshrews during the civil war - Adopted as the family motto

"I'll choose death." ~ The War Maiden; when prompted to turn coat in the civil war - Adopted as a military slogan

"Send me more!" ~ The War Maiden; Her disappointment at the lack of a challenging foe during the civil war conflicts she took part in - adopted as a military slogan

"Salted earth doesn't grow." ~ The Lord; his grim displeasure at the land they had been titled - adopted as a military slogan.

"Never falter, never fall." ~ The Dragonslayer; during the Dragon War - a common saying

"What are we?" + "Forged in dragon's fire!" - Pre-battle mantra of the Blackwell military

"Dragons were hardly as big an issue as this". - A comical colloquialism of the Blackwell lands
---

Reason of claim to the throne and family motives [See; individual characters]
-The Old Man of the Blackwell family wishes to defend his family's position in society by pre-emptively integrating other lands and territories into his own.
-The Lord of the Blackwell Family seeks to solidify his own claim of succession by commanding a force through a war, just like his father has done, and thus earn his father's approval and blessing.
-The War Maiden seeks to live up to her sister's reputation as a dragonslayer by proving herself on the field of battle and combatting the strongest fighters in the land.
-The Shadow seeks to profit from stirring the Blackwell family back into war, and marking her name down in history through notoriety.
-The Dragonslayer seeks to protect her family to the fullest of her ability, regardless of the challenges they face.

I've forgotten more about war than you'll ever learn - The Old Man

Name
Giles Blackwell
Old Man Blackwell

Age
63

Gender
Male

Position
Head of the family - King of Alenius

Personality
An exceptionally harsh man, Giles Blackwell was a man born for war. His speech is slow and deliberate, carrying both authority and weight, and despite his age the man's physicality carries strength that few men possess. He walks in the refined manner of those who fear not death, as if they're entitled to every step they take- and none shall deny him that right. His slow and deliberate speech hints of an analytical mind, and despite his low birth the man has no shame or humility about him.

He was forged in dragon's fire, and of man's steel. There is no fear within the man, but no courage; purely the honest duty of a soldier.

The Old Man's treatment of others is blunt, yet fair. He'll not treat anyone different, save his own family whom he treats far harsher than anyone else. A man of great expectations, for he has accomplished much.

Appearance
The man's hair is greyed, and scars mark his face. He is aged, yes, but his body is hardly withered. He is known as 'The Old Man', yet his body still has the strength and dexterity of men half his age. His hands are rough, hard, and calloused- quite unlike other lords of his status, who would ordinarily have softer and more delicate features. His height is average, and his stature itself is not anything special- but his presence is unmistakeable and the very air around him thrashes with the authority he bears. He, for all intensive purposes, has the appearance of a man whose word is law.

Skills and traits
Giles Blackwell is renown as, perhaps, the greatest soldier to ever partake in the art of war
Tactician - Excellent
Combat [General // Warfare] - Master
Command [General // Warfare] - Excellent
Martial Weaponry [All varieties] - Master

Statesmanship - Average
Education - Average
Diplomacy - sub par
trade - Sub par

background
Giles Blackwell has never been anything other than a soldier. From a young age he was introduced to the soldier's life through his own father, who commanded a small mercenary force to marginally profitable results. At this point in time, the Blackwell family was a respected name in the common folk's community.

His mother was a simple tavern wench, and thus Giles was naturally attracted to his father's lifestyle far more than his mother's, and left at a young age to join in his father's adventures. However, for some time the young boy had no place in his search for his father, and thus spent considerable time just wandering the various kingdoms of Formaroth in a search for his own purpose.

For these travels of his life, he was not Giles Blackwell. He was known during this time simply as Pounce the Stray. This is not a time of his life that many remember, or bothered to learn, but it is perhaps the most critical time in Giles Blackwell's life. His time as Pounce the Stray defined him moreso than any other period in his life, including his time in war.

The only way to understand why, is to see it.

Pounce rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw and staggered back. He rocked on his feet lightly. The young teen was bleeding from one eye, and the other was swollen shut; his vision was a red haze of blurry figures. His body was heavy and fatigued, but still the boy stood and swayed. He refused to fall, even now, even as his body began to lose function.

"That all you got?" He croaked out, coughing as the words left his mouth.

"Shit, look at 'im- maybe we should leave him alone."

"Yeah? And what, let this beggar walk away? He stole from the market then ran, you know we can't let this go unpunished."

"You want to take this kid in an-" 

Pounce couldn't let the third man continue speaking, and shouted out in anger at their casual conversation in the face of his pain.

"I'm no thief!" the young boy shouted, shifting his feet back and solidifying his stance. "And if I was, I'd own up to it!" His head reeled as he shouted, his own words echoing in his head. In his rage, the boy's thoughts scattered as his head filled with steam and red haze. He was vaguely aware that he was running towards the voices before something solid slammed into his face and he was sent sprawling on the ground, a wave of blackness overcoming his consciousness.

---

When Pounce awoke, he could hardly see. The red haze was gone, and he bore bandaging over his body. Most of the pain was gone, but as he blinked his eyes slowly the numbness in his body was replaced by a dull ache. Pounce had been in fights before, but he had not taken a beating quite like this one; the town guard had accused him of thievery and beat him.

Pounce was no thief, but he appeared to be a beggar and was easy to blame. Pounce had no doubt that the guards who did this got a promotion, or a raise, or some sort of exaggerated tale to tell. He grimaced and rubbed his head with his left hand as he sat up, and a woman's voice scolded him sternly;

"Stay seated, boy, you've hardly recovered. I'll need another day with you if I'm to make all the aches die down, but if you'd rather suffer feel free to rise." She sounded nice enough, Pounce decided, but definitely older and less patient than he'd like.

"I'm fine." He said gruffly, forcing himself up into a sitting position. His head had begun to clear and his vision steadily improved. It was queer, knowing magic was at work on your body. "Where am I?"

"Right now you're lucky to be alive, and lucky to have gotten off with such a light punishment for thievery." came the woman's voice again. "You're also lucky that I'm a nice woman who helps all who need it and not some greedy hag who peddles her wares from a streetside shop."

Pounce couldn't help but chuckle at the woman's demeanor, before shaking his head and grinning. He pulled his hands into fists and stretched, before splaying his fingers and looking down at his hands as he often had when deep in thought about life and where to go next.

However, as he looked down, his grin froze in a hideous plaster upon his face. This hideous mockery of a smile was formed from a singular realization; Pounce's right hand was missing its ring finger.

Pounce had been marked a thief for a crime he had never committed.

While this singular instance of the story of Pounce the Stray is short, it was a defining factor in the man's life. While on the extreme side of the spectrum, it is but an average experience of the man's youth. As he grew, his natural penchant for fighting became honed into a soldier's edge; at the age of fourteen he finally found his father's mercenary troupe and discovered that his father had died, and in turn Giles fought his way up to the leadership position with tooth and nail, until he dominated both the mercenary company as well as the battlefield with his hones combat expertise as well as his fledgling tactician's mind.

Years later, his own children joined him in his travels when he sired them. By this time, Giles was a battle hardened veteran, grizzled and forged by years of combat in the elven empire as well as on the Formaroth lands. His children were following in his foot steps, and when they first came to him he sent them on a yearlong journey around Formaroth without their names in order to make them discover how harsh reality was on their own. One of his daughters was even magically capable, and he sent her to the Summer Isles until she could control her gift.

When the civil war broke out, it was only another battle in a life-long war that Giles Blackwell had been fighting.

Father is a man of iron; I shall be a king - The Lord

Name
Eli Blackwell
Lord Blackwell

Age
32

Gender
Male

Position
Heir - Prince of Alenius

Personality
A charismatic fellow, yet reserved by nature. He bears the force of will that his father carries, yet has a sort of hesitance about him that makes him come off as more thoughtful and less brash. He is a courteous fellow, but is quick to count himself nobody's underling and to declare himself equal to all. He is an honest man, and being a Blackwell he is hardened to the throes of battle and war, and thus has a heavy weight when it comes to matters of human life.

Appearance
He is a man. Dark hair full of youth and vigor, and a face made rough from hard work and hard battles. He is not the soldier his father is, and that disparity is obvious even at a glance. His gaze is that of a man who judges all he sees, and seeks to better himself as well as those around him through his actions. He is tall, and strongly built; an athletic man with a strength inside him mirroring his father's, but not the harsh military authority.

He is a man who one would find it impossible to lie to.

Skills and traits
Lie Detection - Master
Diplomacy - Very good
Statecraft - Expert
Charisma [general] - Expert

Combat [General // Warfare] - Good
Tactician - Excellent
Martial skill/combat - good
Command - Good
Naval command - Very good

Construction - good
Labor Organization - Very good
Trade and Economy - Expert
Animal handling and training - Very good
Eli is an avid falconer, and cares deeply for his beloved falcon dubbed 'Mary' as a nickname for 'Marionette', in reference to a childhood friend known as 'Doll-Girl'

Background
The only surviving son of Giles Blackwell, king of Alenius. The story of Eli Blackwell is best told like most others; begin at the start, struggle through the midst, and finally reach the end. As a youth, Eli was turned out of both name and house- much as his father had done- and sent on his own journey around Formaroth.

Eli's name during his travels was simply 'Mouse'.

Mouse was a slender boy, with the beginnings of strength and athleticism in his bones. He was quick on his feet, fast with his hands, hard on his friends, and easy with his enemies. Most importantly of all, he was in love- the love only the young can bear for another of their own, a promise for the future rather than anything tangible in the now.

He loved Doll-Girl. In the city of Nyhem, of all places, is where the two met, and it is Nyhem where Mouse spent a majority of his travels. Unlike his father, Mouse did not get in an abundance fights nor did he get charged with crimes he did not commit. Rather, Mouse was a king among beggars; He could disarm someone with a smile, make a friend in a conversation, gain trust with a wink, and talk his way out of just about any issue that came up.

Doll-Girl was his only worry and concern in the world. She was a young, sickly, sort whom he had made the acquaintance of one fated evening when he was seeking Asylum from a storm. He had broken into an old warehouse by the river of Nyhem, and when he was inside he was startled to discover a girl. She was dressed in exquisitely fine clothes, unmistakably noble or royal in some fashion, and yet was out here in the storm much the same as a beggar boy.

The two studied each other for a moment, then a dialogue ensued;

"My name is-" the girl had begun, only to be cut off by Mouse's rough rebuttal.

"Don't tell me. Out here, we're all the same. I have no name, so you have no need of one either. Call me Mouse, and I'll call you Doll-Girl because you look like a marionette. Besides, knowing your name would ruin the illusion." Mouse's words were even and friendly, but distant as one would expect. The girl, lowering her head, seemed hesitant to respond, but as Mouse made himself at home and tried to find somewhere dry to sit about, she seemed to relax.

"A-Alright I suppose. Mouse...Doll-girl...Almost sounds like a tale from a storybook, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't know, never had a storybook. From the look of you, it would definitely seem like you'd be the type to have storybooks and servants and three meals a day. Welcome to a different kingdom, Doll-Girl; the kingdom under everyone else's boot. I'm a king, you're a queen, and everyone else you meet's just the same. We have no wars, no battles, no heroes; simply one grand adventure." Mouse was a natural raconteur, and he was getting the itch in the base of his skull that came with all great stories he told. "It may seem undesirable to someone who's every-day attire is much like yourself, but there is a liberation in being beneath everyone's concern. There's power in being ignored and discarded. There's new perspective when you're at the lowest of the low, with nowhere else to go."

It was at this point that Mouse faced Doll-Girl fully and sized her up in a masculine head-to-toe glance.

"You're pretty, but you'll just be sold off as a wife for political means or made into a priestess, or something along those lines." Doll-Girl scoffed at this and waved a hand dismissively, shaking her head.

"You're too old fashioned- and you say you never had any storybooks? I could be a soldier, a queen, a priestess- anything I want to be when I grow up!" And it was Mouse's turn to scoff and wave a hand dismissively, his smirk a sly hint at his jested mockery.

"Oh yes, you can do anything you want so long as it satisfies your noble purpose. Politics don't allow for freedom, at least not for someone like you."

"What do you mean someone like me?"

"Someone who wears dresses, runs away from home or gets lost from her parents, and is forced to hide in warehouses with the king of beggars nipping at her heels." Doll-Girl's silence was somewhat weighty, and she outright turned away from Mouse and walked to her own corner. Mouse was content with allowing her to do so, but followed her with his gaze evenly. Her sneezing a few moments later was only an excuse to do what was in his nature anyhow; Mouse rose up and followed the girl, before roughly depositing his jacket in her lap- startling the girl somewhat.

"Doll-Girl, don't you remember what I said? We're all equal out here under everyone else's boots. I share what I have, you share what you've got, and in the end we're all alive."

The girl pulled the jacket about her hesitantly, but nodded her thanks.

"I don't h-have anything to share with you."

"Answer me one question then."

"...A-Alright."

"Did you get lost, or did you run away."

"I ran away."

At the girl's admittance of that, Mouse gave her a wide grin.

"Then, Doll-Girl, all you have to do is come down here and visit me from time to time when you run out like this again."
----

Mouse's tale was one of charisma and learning, and from Doll-Girl he learned the finer points of court intrigue and politics, and from Mouse Doll-Girl learned what the world was really like and how to tell if someone was lying or honest, and even how to throw a proper punch.

They promised to always meet back in the same warehouse every so often and would leave signs for each other that they were there. However, Doll-Girl was often sick and they didn't get to frequently be together. This did not deter Mouse however, as he often found some way to get to see the girl when she was sick and try to cheer her up.

He was thrown from the castle's rooms more than once for his presence, but they simply could not keep the boy away from the sick girl. Eventually, thanks to the girl's protests, they allowed Mouse to visit her briefly.

Doll-Girl's death marked the end of Mouse's life, and a hard and stone-hearted Eli Blackwell left Nyhem the same night.

Eli was trained much as his father had trained; with desperation and anger at the world, and a need to revitalize the spirit. He did not bear the natural penchant for combat that his father- and siblings- bore, but his time in Nyhem had educated him better than any formal education in the art of economics.

Eli was soon growing into the very definition of a lord despite being simply a member of a mercenary troupe, but his way with people and his way with money was a great boon to all who worked with him. Becoming the prince of Alenius only marked what was seen as an inevitable event for Eli Blackwell, for none who met him could deny his noble air and penchant for statecraft.

He would have become a king one day, regardless of if his father had earned the kingdom for him.

Coin is far superior to blood; Uncle just pays the best - The Shadow

Name
Vivian Blackwell
The Shadow

Age
26

Gender
Female

Position
Assassin // Spymaster

Personality
Vivian is a rakish woman, very aware of her curves and body. However, her core personality is one that is safeguarded closely. She is a very troubled woman, disillusioned from the ties of family and the strength of blood- she values only people's actions, not their words, and coin. Promises are not a thing she believes in, only collateral agreements and down payments.

Appearance
Vivian is a beautiful woman, and yet it is nearly impossible to find her attractive without her wanting you to do it; her gaze is piercing, her movements hint at a lethal efficiency, and her form fitting clothing is undeniable for function rather than form.

Of course, this look of lethality can swiftly switch to one of flirtation and innocence- and can just as easily shift to one of inconspicuousness and leave people's gazes travelling over her and finding it hard to focus upon her.

She is simultaneously beautiful and iconic, and ordinary and intangible.

Skills and traits
Stealth - Expert
Perception - Good
Lie detection - Expert
Manipulation - Good
Infiltration - Expert
Assassination // Lethal striking - Expert
Disguise - Very good
Vocal Disguise - Very good

Crossbow mastery - very good
Short blade skill - very good

Background
Data missing, information to be filled out at a later date

Vivian Blackwell is the niece of Old Man Blackwell, and acted as both an assassin and spy during the civil war when she was 15 years old. Much of the information regarding her youth is kept secretive and undisclosed. Many view this woman as a tool rather than a human being, and it is apparent that she sees herself in a similar manner.

Facing war at the age of 15, her suicidal nature lead her to the reckless and dangerous endeavors of a spy rather than the soldier life she had trained for. Rather than grabbing up sword, spear, and halberd, she took up a crossbow and a black cloak. Her services during the war served as the primary functionality of the Blackwell family as a mercenary unit, as it was Vivian who- acting as serving women and prostitutes- spread misinformation and gathered up intelligence on the enemy movements during the war.

She even assassinated key targets, such as particularly competent soldiers and officers, and sabotaged entire sections of the enemy's supplies whenever possible. Despite the woman's lack of known background, her track record and accomplishments are well known- even if she, herself, is not.

The Blackwell family has, naturally, accepted the accusations and notoriety for utilizing spies and assassins, but Vivian Blackwell herself has never once been named or acknowledged in order to maintain her functionality.

I am a soldier, a fighter, a champion- send me bigger foes, send me stronger opponents; challenge me! - The War Maiden

Name
Beatrice Blackwell
The War Maiden

Age
29

Gender
Female

Position
Princess of Alenius - Champion of the Blackwell Family

Personality
Beatrice is an overwhelmingly stoic woman, except when in the heat of battle. She has a distinct apathy for all matters except those involving proving herself and matters of combat. This does not make her a hot headed warmonger however, and she will rarely instigate combat herself.

Appearance
A large, imposing, woman of average height. Her body, possessing immense strength beyond her size, is thus muscled and athletic in an almost masculine manner. Her feminine features are thus limited- at least, when she's wearing armor they are.

Her face is hard and angular, with her waist length hair often intricately tied up to keep it short. Her body, while muscular, is still female- only she dilutes this feminine body with clothing specified for women who wear armor and tend to perform heavy, laborious, activities.

Skills and traits
Beatrice is a woman of immense physical strength, and possesses a physical power superior than even males of her age and size. Her fortitude and endurance are equally immense

Combat // Fighting capacity - Master

Other - Sub par -> Good range

Background

One of four living children of Giles Blackwell, Beatrice is, by far, the most martially capable of his offspring. When the woman was turned away and discarded her name, as Giles forced all his children to do, the girl simply enlisted into his mercenary company as a stray rather than Blackwell, and spent the next years as a nameless fighter within the troupe. Her name during this time was 'Mule'.

The dirt tasted bitter, clogged her throat, made her feel worse than she'd ever felt before. She pushed herself up, her body battered and broken. She lifted her face and scowled at the man standing before her; an imposing, aged, man who held a dirk loosely in his off hand, and gestured in a mocking manner with his primary.

"C'mon girlie, can't you just land one hit?" the man sneered and backed up. Mule's hand gripped at the heavy wooden handle of the training greatsword that had been crafted specifically for this training; it was truly an exquisite weapon when she had first gotten ahold of it, but by now it had worn down into a veritable mass of wood with iron at its core.

It had developed into a weapon rather than a training tool, something she'd carried with her into battle. But now? It served her not one bit. Giles was simply far too experienced for the powerful weapon's blows to land, no matter how finely the young girl tried to maneuver the blade. She grit her teeth, spitting out a mouthful of filth ridden saliva, and brought the greatsword up to bear on her shoulder; the weapon was gripped in one hand, with the flat of the blade resting on her shoulder, and her other hand poised up before her as if cautioning off a blow. It was a peculiar stance, but it was also heavily defensive. The girl was shifting her assault.

"Damned old man, I'll hit you yet." she hissed, crouching down a bit lower as she studied the man's loose posture. He was standing in an almost relaxed manner. Mule, however, was incredibly battered and had several open wounds- light, but painful- across her arms.

Mule's assault was sudden, but the elder soldier seemed to have no issue preparing for it:

Mule stepped forward and shrugged her shoulder forward, launching the greatsword blade forth in a manner that relied on its weight moreso than her own strength to send the blade crashing down. Giles sidestepped the arc of the weapon and brought the dirk up, a small smirk on his face. Mule brought her arm across swiftly, catching the blade on her forearm and halting its arc halfway, stepping back to have the point of the weapon aimed at the man's chest as she backed away.

He had avoided every strike so far, and if she left herself too open he retaliated. She needed to do something reckless to get through his defense. All she needed to do was land one single hit and she'd be able to feel as if these years of training had meaning. The girl grit her teeth and let the blade fall low, sliding her free hand up its length until she was gripping its hilt with both hands. She kept the blade low, bringing it behind her and low to her knee; a stance meant for powerful strikes, but left for very little variety in her blows.

She rushed the older soldier, and brought the blade swinging violently upward with an immense power that seemed foreign in her small body. Giles simply stepped back out of the swing's reach and brought his dirk u-

Mule released the sword mid-swing and sent the heavy blade soaring forward at Giles, who had to swiftly shift his dirk to deflect the airborne weapon; a simple act of catching the wooden blade on the dirk's flat and shifting its trajectory to the side. Mule, however, was not stagnant as the soldier deflected her secondary attack. The girl launched herself forward viciously, sprawling onto the ground and launching herself upward underneath his guard--

Only to find the old soldier's free hand grabbing at her throat and pushing her body away from his, and lifting her into the air.

"Girl, what was the first thing I ever taught you? Always have a weapon on hand."

Mule struggled for breath in the man's grip, but glared at him solidly and tried to deliver a kick directly towards the man's chest. Giles just threw the girl aside and sheathed his dirk, a disgusted look on his face.

"Get up, grab your sword, and keep at it. Until you hit me, you don't have a name."

These words are what echoed in Mule's head for three years.

Beatrice earned her name back, and became a fighter to rival her father. After years of continuous combat and training, the Old Man is still superior to Beatrice, but Beatrice is capable of holding her own against the man. During the civil war she acted as a vanguard for the combat the mercenary troupe saw, and following the conclusion of the civil war she was named Champion of house Blackwell while her father served as king.

I have flown above the heavens; I have howled at the moon; I have wrestled with dragons; I am but a Blackwell - The Dragonslayer

Name
Drevala Blackwell

Age
27

Gender
Female

Position
Princess of Alenius -> Court Mage/High Magister

Personality
Perhaps the most amicable of the Blackwells, and also the most dangerous. While she is no martial master, the woman has a pleasant air and a friendly smile- disarming qualities on top of a surname that bears nothing but lethal intent. The woman is a far cry from the martial and military prowess presented by her siblings, and is, still, a bit distanced from the statecraft presented by her brother. She is a genuinely amicable woman, with some reservations to those outside her family.

She is one who puts faith and trust in her family, and is quick to trust others. She was raised and educated primarily by the mages of the Summer isle rather than her father's brutal manner of raising his children, thus she has drastic alterations from the usual Blackwell harshness.

Appearance
A woman with short black hair and an athletic form, whose strength does not lie in her own body. Her skin is soft, unlike her siblings', and her voice is softer still. She does not have the hard gaze that analyzes threats, but rather the inquisitiveness of a natural learner and profound thinker. She has a natural grace that permeates all actions, and despite her plain-ness she has a sort of nobility and serenity about her.

Of course, at another moment she may appear to be any variety of creatures.

Skills and traits
Magic knowledge [basic] - expert
specific schools - Dual Study
Shapeshifting - Excellent 
Restoration - Average

Education - Excellent
Sociability - Excellent
Martial skill - Above Average

Other - Average

[Edit - August 8th, 2016: Changed non-standardized wordings into 'excellent' and 'above average' rather than the non-conformed 'good' and 'very good']

Background

Drevala is a peculiarity amongst the Blackwell for she bears magical power. This being said, she was not forced into the Old Man's usual test, and was instead sent to study at the Summer Isles- where it was found that she grasped magical concepts with exceptionally quick aptitude. Having chosen the school of shapeshifting, Drevala was quick to attune to the magic and discover its finer nuances. Restoration was but a secondary schooling for her, and she has but standard understanding of its principles.

Shape shifting- now that was something Drevala was truly interested in. Studying animals, learning just what made them move and what muscles accomplished which task- it was a deeply liberating experience for the young Blackwell. Learning how to fit into another creature's skin created a deep empathy for others within the woman, as well as a deep understanding of her own body and natural instincts.

Tapping into the primal urges that lie within the concept of life itself were what Drevala found to be key in fine tuning her art. Humans, through their construction of civilizations and religions, have distanced themselves from these internal urges- have warded themselves away from their primal instincts of fear and survival in order to reward suicidal and reckless concepts of honor, courage, and bravery.

Drevala's acute understanding and belief in natural instinct and animalistic urges are a driving force in the woman's actions and life, and have played into her distinctly singular understanding of the art of shape shifting to extreme efficiency.

To put it in the Lay; Drevala is an animal in human's skin, and finds shedding her natural form to come easily to her.

Drevala's most notable achievements were during the Blackwell Dragon War, where she gained her title of 'The Dragonslayer' due to her unprecedented display of tenacity and efficiency at the eradication of the great beasts known as dragons.

She was alone. She was often alone these nights, with naught but her own inconsistent skin as a shield against the chill wind of the mountains. Drevala forsake clothing on nights such as this, and stood bare to the world as she breathed in the chilled air of the high mountain tops.

A single breath drew in, then the woman threw herself from the Cliffside and into the air; her body warped and twisted, and she fell for little more than a few seconds before her body now possessed the shape of a great bird of pretty- a monstrously sized falcon. She was on the hunt tonight, and her prey was of a size and power far greater than the falcon's usual prey.

Tonight she hunts dragons

The great falcon swam through the thin air, fighting to gain purchase in the high altitude and climb ever so much higher. Soon she was above the tops of the mountains, and could see for eternity in all directions.

Far below her, a great bonfire raged; her family, in its nightly celebrations of survival and of a challenge sought on the morrow. While her family rested, recuperated, and made merry... Drevala went on the hunt. She had learned the weaknesses of the great fire breathing worms through a year of careful study- she had studied scales, bones, teeth, talons, muscle, sinew, tendon, spine, tail...She had studied the creatures in their entirety, and had found their few weaknesses.

She had discovered a way to overcome the great dragons with but the power of common beasts.

She soared away from the camp and flew for roughly an hour before she came across a dragon. They were beasts, and beasts needed sustenance- thus they could be easily found when hunting. Drevala, being of her instinctual nature, could easily find the places most frequently hunted by Dragons by observing the habitat in a similar fashion as she was now.

The dragon was low to the ground, beating its great wings slowly as it powered its almost lazy flight along the forest tops. It was truly a stark and contrasting violence when Drevala's talons blinded the creature a few moments later as she pecked and clawed at its vulnerable eyes and destroyed the creature's primary observational tool.

Drevala had but a few moments to do this, but this was a practiced action, and as she beat her wings furiously to arc away from the dragon and laterally towards the ground, the great beast roared with fury and pain as it cascaded downward in its blind flight- its body tearing through the tree line and eventually slamming into the mountainside with a tremendous crash.

By this time, Drevala was standing, naked and human once more, on the ground far below and observed the higher ground the dragon had ultimately slammed into. The ground shook, and the mountainside rumbled with an impossible force as stone and rock tumbled downward and cascaded over the still form of the great beast.

However, but a short few seconds into this unnaturally caused phenomena, the dragon's fiery breath erupted into the night air as the great creature thrashed and rose from ground, throwing the rubble from its body and roaring.

It was wounded and afraid; the words barely registered in the back of Drevala's mind. Rather, she saw this as 'my prey is weakened', and crushed all sympathy she had for the creature. She needed to be a predator, not an equal, in order to beat it. The falcon could cripple the dragon, but she needed the raw power of one of nature's strongest creatures in order to combat it further.

And so, with great lumbering steps forward, Drevala once more turned into the great falcon and flew high into the air, skirting the edge of the dragon's furious flames, and alighted atop the cliff above the beast once the rockslide had concluded.

She waited for a few moments, reverting back to human skin, until the beast had calmed and fire no longer flew in all directions. Then she shut her eyes tight and slowly slipped down the mountainside, her form changing in the span of a minute to the minute form of a mouse.

The mouse was far too small to be detected by the dragon, and far too little to be smelled in the aftermath of the scorched stone.

The dragon had no way of detecting Drevala until it was far too late; the mouse, at the dragon's feet, suddenly grew into the iconic guardian of the forest- the form of a great bear.

The bear lunged through the air with a roar and brought its full weight down upon the neck of the dragon, forcing its head towards the ground where its fire was nullified by its lack of angular direction. The dragon's body was still a threat, yes, as the bear's claws and teeth could not pierce its scales- but Drevala needed but this one strike to bring her critically wounded foe to its death.

As the great bear drove the dragon's head towards the ground and brought the ultimately surprised beast to the ground in a tremendous crash, the bear's body reared up and brought its entire weight crashing down upon the base of the dragon's skull.

Caught between unyielding stone and the startling power of a great bear, the dragon's scales held steadfast; however, the dragon's innards- being protected by nearly impenetrable bone and scale- was simultaneously scrambled and destroyed by what usually kept it safe. To put it simply, the impact had smashed the dragon's brain against its own skull and killed the beast.

Drevala had, once again, overcome a dragon using naught but simple woodland creatures as skin. This night, it was the roar of a bear that echoed throughout the mountains.

I've no interest in war or thrones, I just want to be happy - The Youngest Blackwell

Name
Naomi Blackwell
The Daughter

Age
16

Gender
Female

Position
Princess of Alenius

Personality
The first of a new generation of Blackwells, the youngest daughter of Giles Blackwell.

This girl has not suffered the same trials as the other Blackwells, and has been spared the tribulations of war and the scarring sights of murder and battle. To this extent, she is both innocent- yet not naïve. She is a Blackwell, and was trained and educated as thus, but is both innocent of murder and innocent of battle.

She is a princess, more similar to the style of behavior of Drevala in that she is amicable and friendly, yet also bears the analytical behaviors of her brother Eli.

Appearance
A young, delicate, and uncalloused girl. She bears not scars of combat, nor the hard hands of a dedicated fighter. She has the analytical eye of one who often debates of strategy one night, but also of philosophy the next. She has the voice of one who has authority, yet also the voice of one who you can call a friend, and also the voice of one you would call a child.

She is truly a youth, but has a harsh cynicism about her. She is innocent, and reluctant to do the deeds her family considers common place, and has a deep fascination with human behavior and the nature of civilization as a whole, and this is apparent in the way she carries herself; a curiosity that glimmers in her eye, a careful manner of moving the body, a self conscious glance towards herself when others are around and she believes herself to be invisible, and most importantly of all a careful silence that begs others to speak and for her to listen.

Skills and traits
Average in all aspects

Background

Naomi is but the youngest, and least accomplished, of all Blackwells. She was left amongst the castle of Mercy during the Dragon War, and was too young to have seen combat during the Civil War. She is truly a rarity amongst the Blackwell, and is a cherished object amongst the family.

She is, by all standards, but an average girl- hardly noble, and hardly capable of combat by Blackwell standards, but she is a Blackwell Princess...and thus...quite valuable an asset, nevertheless.

The Old Man
The Old Man is a man few would call flawed, and few would challenge- this is true. However, he possesses a few critical flaws that are central to his personality and mannerisms, and these flaws are unyielding with the rest of his personality.

The Old Man is prideful and judgmental. He holds himself of a higher stature than even other nobles despite his common blood, all because he fought and clawed his way to where he is, and he is likely to be brash and harsh in these regards when he senses a weakness or cowardice in others.

The Old man, additionally, suffers from a very mild case of paranoia. Some would argue his paranoia is healthy rather than detrimental, but it is still present nonetheless. He is a crafty and wily bastard, and he sees the map of Formaroth as a chess board rather than geo-political map. He assumes people are spying on him, because his house is known for its clandestine networks and underhanded tactics.

The Lord
The Lord is the shining symbol of pride. Where his father has a healthy dose of pride, coupled with an iron core of judgment, Eli Blackwell has a strong natural pride. He considers himself as noble as one of common birth can get, and even sees himself as a more capable statesman and economist than members of the Imperial Concord's royal council.

The Lord is an ambitious person. Incredibly ambitious. His ambition is not secret- he has declared that he will become king of Formaroth one day, and with the beginnings of a new civil war it may very well be safe to bet he's plotting to work his way into the middle of the Manshrew/De Reimer war.

The Lord is terrified of failure. Failure is equivalent to death in his mind. When you enter into diplomacy between kings, and organize the economy of a nation, and handle the state and legal affairs of said kingdom, even the smallest mistake can ripple and destroy years of work.

The Shadow - Vivian Blackwell
Little is known about the Shadow. This title of 'The Shadow' is not even known publicly.

As for the woman known as Vivian Blackwell, little is known about her as well. She is only niece to Giles Blackwell, and this distance from his personal lineage marks her as less important than his sons and daughters.

However the woman does have flaws; greed, hedonism, selfishness, paranoia, apathy, sociopathy, and disdain for blood ties being the easiest to list.

The Dragon Slayer

The Dragon Slayer is protective of her family to a lethal degree. She'll not throw herself in the middle of a debate or argument, or even into a single combat scenario, but she will throw herself in harm's way to shield her family, and will even sacrifice on objectives and tasks in order to heal and take care of her loved ones.

The Dragon Slayer finds trust to come easy. She believes in the good and natural intents of others, and easily finds herself trusting others.

Magically Dependant; The Dragon Slayer is dependent upon her shapeshifting and healing magics. Without them she is probably the least martially capable amongst the Blackwell family, which still makes her admittedly a good fighter, but she is one that relies on her natural penchant for shapeshifting to see her through issues from combat to day-to-day travel. She'd feel trapped without it.

The War Maiden
The War Maiden is one of honor and anger. She employs a stoic demeanor to shield her emotions and to buffer her slow thoughts from the manipulation of others. These simple things define her flaws, and no real further elaboration is necessary. She is a simple woman.

The Daughter - Naomi Blackwell
Naomi is a naïve and silly sort. She was not a part of the mercenary troupe, nor was she engaged in the Blackwell Dragon War. She has never tasted true combat outside of her training and sparring sessions, and is an untested edge in this regard.

She has had a...Well, 'shielded' is not the best terminology, but it is apt. She is not ignorant or incapable of understanding the brutalities of war, combat, and murder- she is simply distant from them, as if she finds them distasteful, and doesn't want a damn thing to do with them.

She's a generally nice girl and tries to be as nice to others as she can, and doesn't want to see people hurt. These aren't flaws per se, but they are a weakness the girl possesses. She has no aggression.
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