Name: Callum Lowell
Age: 48
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Allegiance: The Mages
Class/Sub-class: Mage/Knight Enchanter

Appearance:


Abilities:

Spirit Blade: "Not all mages are defenceless up close, some even use that to their advantage, I'm no different." The user summons a blade from the fade to attack enemies at close range and reflect projectiles back at foes and the for, of a shockwave.

Fade Clock: "I use the fade as a clock and shield, but also as a weapon." The user surrounds themselves with magic of the veil to become intangible and walk though people and beast. Reacts violently if the user uncloaked themselves inside a foe, very bloody and gory.

Barrier Master: "Magic is more then fire, lightning and ice, it can be used to ward away injuries, if a Mage can't master barriers they are good as dead." The user creates barriers to surround himself and his party which keeps them safe until it runs out or has been dispelled

Master Herbalist: "The skills I have gathered since the rebellion has been useful for me and others that is of need of skills." The user can identity herbs and with the right materials they can make useful potions in and out of combat.

Expert Survivalist: "Many mages die out and the wilds right away from their lack of practical knowledge or skills, I was lucky I was able to learn them quickly." His life after the conclave was tough and a learning experience, he had learn to live in the wild by himself or with sickly, old or young mages who have never knew a life outside the circles.

Master Combatant: "Even before the rebellions I was ready for war, but I expected my teachers thought they knew what side I would be on but they were wrong." His years as a Knight-enchanter has taught him how to fight up close and personal and to the focus to cast a spell even with an arrow in his gut or a dagger in the back.

Ice Magic: "Ice can be used more then for freezing enemies to death, it can be used to slow down, create cover, confuse but it's also good for freezing idiots as most people think it is." Before Callum was a knight Enchanter he was an ice Mage, and he was and is still good at it, he can create a wall of ice, create a glyph that freezes foes in place when they walk over it, can create small but powerful blizzards.

Personality: Callum is a dedicated and protective man who is wise from his long years of lifr. He abhors violence often wishes to avoid needless bloodshed and talk though it, but he knows that violence cannot always be avoided so when need be, he will defend others to his end. He will work hard on what he believes is right no matter the pain he will need to go though to reach it. Callum acts much older then he is, often acting as a parental figure to others giving advice and supporting others. He is also stupidly stubborn, he will never give up on others even they don't deserve it or reaching for a goal that beyond his reach and rarely asking for help and he often turns it away when someone does ask.

History: Callum was born to minor Ferelden nobles the youngest of seven children. The Lowell's has always despised the fact that magic runs though their veins strongly, due to them being a pious family sending many children to the chantry or to train them as Templars. But even as a child Callum was an embarrassment to them, as he showed signs of magic at a young age, and he even talked to spirits at such a young age. He was despised by his siblings and parents, but he was taken away by Templars before they could punished the child for his magic. But they said many things that would influence Callum as a person, since he doesn't wish to be petty and abusive as his family. He kept his family name to remind them that he exist and he revealed their secret to Thedas.

Callum hated the Ferelden Circle, he hated the sense of fear and loathing that hovers over every room and floor, the glares of Templars and Priests, and the despair that every Mage showed on their faces and even the way they walk, the fearful whispers about the newest tranquil, the sobbing at night before sudden silence, the hollow voices of the tranquils. He hated it all. But he kept studying and perfecting his spells so he could go above what the Templars expect of him, with the help of spirits he was able to beat the Harrowing quite easily.

After his Harrowing he was sent to Oswick for they lack any spirit mages during the time, this was a year before the Fifth Blight, he counts himself lucky to have been transferred the year before. It was his time here that he studied the way of the Knight Enchanter. Even though he disliked the Circle of Magi and by extension the Chantry as a whole, he was loyal to the common people and his follow mages for they were the only allies he has known in his life so he used his body and magic as a sword and shield to protect others from both the dangers of magic and those who wish to target those that are feared or hated.

Callum raised in the ranks in the circle but it all became moot once the rebellion started, Callum joined the rebel mages not wanting to turn his blade and staff to the people he protected with his life. Like all others during and eventually after the Breach it was a difficult time of adjusting to a forever changed world with a new Divine and newly received freedom but he feels that it was for the best, though he wish more people should be living in this new world. But he will defend this new Thedas from the likes of Darkspawn that wants noting but to blight it. He was one of first ones to volunteer himself for the Grey Wardens.

Name: Mera Velara
Age: 21
Sex: Female
Race: Dalish Elf
Allegiance: The Dalish
Class/Sub-class: Sword and Shield Warrior/Guardian

Appearance:
 

Abilities:
Master Survivalist: "May the Dread Wolf keep his distances." It's a common skill for the Dalish to know how to survive away from the comforts of Human Cities. This especially true for the Dalish of The Anderfels.

Expert Combatant: "May the Creators Guide my blade to victory, and keep my shield strong." The Dalish are famous for their archers, but not all of them are archers but those who are not should still be feared for the Dalish give weapons only to the strongest of ther clan.

Expert Trap Maker: "A hunter should always have the tools to Hunt." Being a hunter for the Dalish has given them the useful skills to create traps in short notice, if the have the right materials to make them.

Shield Wall: "My will to defend become stronger with each hit I take." The user blocks upcoming attack with their shields, becoming tougher to kill with each hit as they anticipate the next move.

Payback Strike: "The shield hides a sword, which becomes sharper with each wound you cause me." The user is an expert at countering and hurting the enemies back.

Charging Halla: "I will cut a line though your defenses so my allies can cut you down." The user rushes enemies, shield first knocking over enemies and moving them aside which should grab their attention away from vulnerable allies.

Expert Herbalist: The Creators has given us what we need." Years in the Anderfels has given the user the knowledge to know the difference between poisonous plants and beneficial herbs.

Personality: Mera is an Optimistic Realist, as she sees the world as it is, but she sees it far more positively compared to most others of her kind. She believes that her people can only go up after the ages of lows and abuses they have endured for so long. She wishes to collect any stories or infomantion of old but she also wishes to keep the stories of modern Elves alive for the future Dalish to know and never lose history and stories ever again.
She is naturally protective and supportive of her follow Elves, and is normally cold and has a sharp tongued towards humans but she can put aside her differences to work with them if the need arises.

History: Mera was born to a pair of Dalish Hunters in the Anderfels, where her clan lives and hunts as they were unable to travel though Tevinter without causing an incident that could possible wipe out the clan. The life in the Anderfels is as hard for the Dalish as any Anders, due to the very little resources or materials to work with, but the clan has always made it though the tough times and survive the harsh lifestyle of the Anderfels.

Mera was trained as a hunter from a young age by her parents, the sword and shield being her best weapons, she was well liked by the clan for her strong body and soft heart. Growing up she was inspired by the Inquisitor and the Hero of Feralden to be a hero to her people and all of Thedas, for if they can be heroes so can she. She also believes in the Elven gods and preys to them often either to keep herself or her clan fed for the week when food is low or to be forgiven when a Halla dies by the lack of water.

But in her early adulthood she has heard stories of Darkspawn attacking the Qunari who in a desperate push to live attacked Tevinter, which at first she doubted until the Anderfels army were ready to fight the Darkspawn in Tevinter, Mera didn't have any doubt about her next action.

She went to her keeper and asked to joined the Grey Wardens sides to keep her clan and people safe from the Darkspawn much in the same way as Lavellan and Mahariel before her. After days of arguing with the old mage he agreed to her request only if she agrees to carry the shield of her father and the sword of her mother until they broke or become useless. She agreed and within a few days she left her clan to help protect others from the Darkspawn.

Name: Xevri Feythern
Age: 33
Sex: Female
Race: Elf
Allegiance: The highest bidder
Class/Sub-class: Rogue/Assassin

Appearance:


Abilities:

• Whirlwind: The character flies into a whirling dance of death, striking out at surrounding enemies with both weapons.
• Lethality: The rogue has a keen eye for weak spots, and thus gains a bonus to critical chance for all attacks.
• Aim: The archer carefully places each shot for maximum effect while in this mode. This decreases rate of fire, but grants bonuses to attack, damage, armor penetration, and critical chance.
• Dual-Weapon Expert: The character has significant experience with two-weapon fighting, gaining a bonus to critical chance, as well as a possibility with each hit to inflict bleeding lacerations that continue to damage a target for a time.
• Device Mastery: Practice makes perfect, and only the most intricate locks or elaborate traps give the rogue pause at this level of mastery.
• Lacerate: Whenever a backstab deals enough damage, the assassin's foe is riddled with bleeding wounds that inflict additional damage for a short time.
• Combat Stealth: The rogue is stealthy enough to try sneaking during combat.

Personality:

When it comes to a professional personality, Xevri wouldn't be your gal. She tends to be very fast and sweet when it comes to jobs, whether it's to collect her pay faster or to be further from her buyer, you'd never be able to tell. After flying solo since she was a kid, the elf has developed an unrivaled sense of independence and finds her whimsy where she can get it. Being able to pick how her true feelings on a situation tends to be rather tough from an outsider's point of view, since she always seems to feign amusement in almost any type of situation... Then again, people very quickly learn that if you piss her off you could wake up with a missing limb, or, not wake up at all.

Though if you somehow survive the ordeal that it is getting close to this elf, one would start to notice that there is a genuine playfulness under all that haughty condescension. An occasional interested twinkle that flits through her green eyes, the twitch of her brightly colored lips that she's unaware of... Xevri has tells without fully realizing them herself. Although, no one is usually ever close to her for very long to have the chance to catch onto them.

History:

The land of Xevri's birth is the same one that's name coils dangerously on the tongues of those not native to it... The Tevinter Imperium. Sometimes, one can catch her chuckling to herself while skillfully twirling around a knife, making a claim that not even those pompous autocrats acted as ridiculous as the harlequins littering Orlais. For the most part, she hardly seems phased by her upbringing-- even if it was living as a slave to some Tevinter noble. The elf was born through a forced affair between the man of the house and his elven maid, the only thing keeping her from being killed right off the bat being the mage's pouty younger daughter who claimed that when the little knife-ear grew up, she was to be her personal servant. Apparently he hadn't yet bought a slave that was to dote on her every wish... So the task was put upon Xevri's shoulders at the young age of five. With the assistance of her mother who had the tendency to treat her more like a subordinate than a daughter, the elf grew up in the abusive household and was stuck following around a girl who's blond curly locks she dreamed of cutting off almost every night.

The years passed on and Xevri's poorly constrained anger continuing to define her very being as it grew into something like an internal wildfire... And, one day, she snapped. The little noble girl, at that time almost a young woman, had ordered the elf to sleep in the shed with the horses as well as their droppings, so that her own shared room could be used for a more suitable slave. They were replacing her with someone who would be more capable at menial labor but still weren't going to set her free... She would be trapped in this mansion forever and when she died, she would probably be ground into food for cattle. Something about being confined in this place finally triggered the flame that had threatened to overtake her every day, and that night, she had crept past the teenager's room and found instead her parents, blissfully asleep. It wasn't at all strange that a servant would be moving about at night, trying to tidy things for their master's next morning... Though, they usually didn't have a butcher knife stashed away in their pants. And it was then with an almost manic glee, that she stabbed them both until they stopped moving; such renowned and powerful mages, and even they weren't able to protect themselves from a simple kitchen utensil! Now the girl would be alone and over time would lose all the precious riches that she had grown so fond of.

As much as Xevri wanted to revel in her victory a little bit longer, the sounds of footsteps rushing down the hallway spoke for themselves. She had planned everything as the day had passed-- she knew this place like the back of her hand. Making a crafty exit out of the window, it was only a few leaps and bounds (along with the occasional tumble) to get off of the roof. The elf made her getaway and through sheer dumb luck and stealth, was able to pass relatively undetected into Antiva... Though there, her luck was quick to run out. A little ways past the border between the two countries, the young elf had found herself near starving even though she had only recently claimed her freedom. And, as fate would have it, the weak thing was caught by slave traders who had been coming back with a large haul from the Tevinter Imperium. Through her groggy state of being, Xevri was able to guess from the age-range that they had that this was probably more for the sex trade than for ordinary slaves... Then, everything faded.

Following a an uncomfortable week-long stay in a run down building, the elf found herself being asked strange questions by a dark man with unkempt hair. Not feeling the need to lie, Xevri told her tale of how she had gotten herself free for a short amount of time without even batting an eye. If she was to die now, at least she felt so numb that she could go down without so much as shedding a tear. The man surprised her however, when he decided to purchase her right then and there for an unknown amount of sovereigns. It was through that exchange that the elf found herself being forced to join the infamous Antivan Crows who, up until that moment, she hadn't even heard of. Years upon years of arduous training later, she had made a name and a life for herself as a part of that organization and had adapted well to that way of living; death, murder, and scandal had soon become as simple as breathing. With her life in Tevinter all but forgotten, admittedly the elf could be seen smirking when she heard the news about the Darkspawn in her "home country"... Of course, it wasn't as comical when the Archdemon turned its sights on Antiva.

The Crows had already been readying themselves for battle, but had heard tell of an extraordinarily large force being amassed to the south. It was then that they selected a few key members to join this apparent troupe that the southerns said would go and seek out the very thing causing this sudden Blight. Naturally, Xevri only held disdain at being chosen for the job but working with the Antivan Crows meant obedience or death... So, in the end, she'd had to hold her tongue and set out on a journey to meet up with this suicidal task force and subsequently work alongside the Grey Wardens.

Name: Garen Steelsinger
Age: 32
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Allegiance: N/A
Class/Sub-class: Warrior

Appearance:

Abilities:
Combat Mastery: Due to countless hours of training and even more hours and years of combat experience Garen has a very keen grasp of martial combat. He has mastered the art of dual wielding his magic longswords, Gwynt and Tân. Also something of a strategist Garen has disciplined his mind to think many moves in advance, as such he's not only an able and dangerous combatant but a capable and quick-thinking commander.

Survivalist: Garen has spent enough time in the wilderness to easily survive on his own for months, even years at a time.

The Song of Steel, Dance of Death: Garen himself would say his extreme proficiency with his blades came with hours upon hours of practice.
Other more superstitious crowds believe him to be a demon warrior incarnate, whose only purpose in the world is to reap death upon whomever he pleases. Whatever the actual case, Garen is so attuned to his weapons and his body that when he fights his blades sing a funeral dirge for his enemies. The only sounds to be heard is the whooshing of blades slicing the air, the clanging of metal beating metal, and the screams of his defeated foes.


Personality: To most Garen is a rough, cynical person having seen and dealt with enough death to make the man cold and indifferent to the cruelties of the world. As a wanderer and professional soldier Garen is disciplined, shrewd, logical, sarcastic, and at times a bit ruthless. Still, his iron like persona has soft spots, particularly towards children whom if he's in an area long enough will teach kids how to read, write, and otherwise survive. He gives those he counts as friends high regards and always pay his debts, loyalty with loyalty, blood with blood.

Name: Daeron Sabrae

Age: 23

Sex: Male

Race: Elf

Allegiance: Grey Wardens

Class/Sub-class: Rogue: Ranger

Appearance:


Abilities:

Master Ranger: "You know why I lead out here Ser Knight? Simply, you've got a horse. I've got wolves." -The Ranger can call upon animals of the forest to aid them in battle.

Coup De Grace: "As a Grey Warden you must learn not only to be lethal but a show off, the easier the make it you look the more invincible people believe you are." -A sudden and swift attack by a rogue that if it catches any enemy off guard ends their life, spectacularly.

Evasion: "The best way to win is not to get hit." -Quick thinking and instinct make hitting the target rather difficult.

Device mastery: "Wardens make a lot of trips in the Deep roads, Dwarves make complex locks and traps to keep people out so you learn to beat them or die." -Able to disable any trap or lock given enough time.

Dual Weapon mastery: "The trick here is to know how to act and react. Using two weapons is much more difficult then hiding behind a shield." -A user who can perform a dance of death with his twin blades.

Master Archer: "To kill a Darkspawn with a single arrow is tough, their hides are thick and they move wildly and don't get me started on vitals." -The archer can pick off targets at longer ranges and can track targets others cannot.

Master Coercion: "Wardens are good at fighting but I have bonus of being good at talking. Now lets be civil and talk this out." -A silver tongued devil who convince most people to help or aid them.

Personality: A youthful optimist with a belief in what the Grey Wardens are doing is right. With a passion for animals and the outdoors in general. Generally he tries to live by Dalish principles however living in the Shem's world has curved some of that. His loyalty and dedication have risen him through the ranks as well as how seriously he takes battles. A solemn believer that the Wardens stand as against the greatest evil of all, the Darkspawn.

History: Born into the Sabrae clan four years after the Blight he grew up hunting and learning the skills of his clan however he wished to follow the Hero of Ferelden. With the Elves having a home in the Hinterlands many clans unite their sharing knowledge yet each keeps to a group forming communities. Over time Elves would begin to build more permanent homes, of course this would anger the Arl's who worried if the Elves would soon have a seat among them. Of course the keepers would vote on things for their clan elect a leader to send as a diplomat to landsmeets and such.

Daeron was selected at age eighteen to join the Grey Wardens, undertaking his joining alone he survived and went on to become Constable of the Grey in only two years. With this outstanding achievement he would be called by the first warden to undertake a secret project in the Anderfels. Now after three years a new blight has risen and his special project could be just the thing to save them all.

Currently stationed along the border of Tevinter and Anderfels Daeron is recruiting Grey Wardens. He was selected to be the leader of the strike for his ability to keep secrets and for his unique skills. He has been given everything he needs to conduct several joining and bring new member into the order. Even know with the Grey Wardens ranks swelling more than ever they must increase their number as this Blight has gone on to long unchecked. He waits for the strike in a fort near Kal'Sharok a large garrison their having held off a number of raids as the Darkspawn ravage and destroy Tevinter.

Name: Ser Gyles Hawthorne (nicknamed One-Eyed Gyles)
Age: 49
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Allegiance: Gyles' allegiance is mostly with himself and his companions. Gyles often trusts those who he fights with and earn his respect.
Class/Sub-class: Warrior / Champion
Banner: A stylized black spades with roses on a snow-white field.

Appearance:
Ser Gyles is a muscular man and about six feet two tall. His hair and beard are raven black, although his hair is cropped. He has strikingly blue eye, as he has lost his left eye in the battle of Ostagar. Gyles has a lot of scars, and across his face there's a long, pale scar. Gyles is highly accomplished swordsman, mostly using a shield and a bastard sword. During the Fifth Blight he was also taught how to use a longbow to certain degree. Due to martial life and some elvish lineage, Gyles still looks younger than his years.

Abilities:
Assault: Because the darkspawn and other foes need a shield to a face occasionally. Several times. In a row.
Shield Mastery: Hiding behind a shield, eh? Craven! *Clunk!*
Melee Archer: Bodkin arrows and longbows never fail in close quarters, trust me!
Threaten: Threats and grunts are the new form of motivation!
Motivate: When war cries just don't cut it.
Pommel Strike: The blade isn't the only part of the sword that can hurt you.
Two-Handed Sweep: Why hit just one enemy when there's an option to hit many?

Personality:
One-Eyed Gyles is a veteran of dozens of campaigns and battles. He knows the dirty tricks of the battlefield, but he has a code of honor he follows due to his knightly origins. Strong in body and mind, he is decisive and determinant. He is a man who's words and orders men follow. To the public he seems like a great commander and a natural-born fighter. Personally, he has seen much bloodshed and chaos during his years as a mercenary and his experiences has left a mark on him. Gyles doesn't like to talk about his past dealings or inner feelings.

History:
A native Fereldan and born to lower nobility, Gyles became a knight and served in King Cailan's army for a few years. Gaining experience as an officer in a cavalry company, he fought in the doomed battle of Ostagar, but could escape with a fragment of his company. Around ninety men out of hundred of his company died at Ostagar. Gyles lost his left eye in the battle and was feverish for a few days. A refuge healer helped him to recover and assume command of the company.
Escaping the darkspawn horde, the company headed northwards, gathering survivors and refugees along the way, passing Lothering just before the town was raided by the darkspawn. Soon, Gyles had a rag tag company of cavalrymen, infantry, engineers and longbowmen. Gyles started a small-scale guerrilla campaign against darkspawn, targeting mostly small scouting units.
During the war, Gyles' company was very successful. After the war, Gyles found his family dead and lands devastated. On the other hand, he had found leading men and warfare highly exciting. Barreling around Ferelden for a two years offering his services to many lords, he was refused by almost every lord. Taking what money and riches he had left, Gyles set out to the northern Thedas, pursuing a career of a mercenary and founded the Black Hearts Company.
Many years later, he retired his command of the Black Hearts Company to a younger captain called Lucas Castellano and came back to Ferelden. After two decades of mercenary work, he bought a small holdfast and a farm. He thought he had left his past life behind him, but only one bad harvest later Gyles lost his estates and was sent drifting. Soon he heard that his old enemy, the darkspawn had resurfaced in the north. He faces an opportunity for one last campaign, as the southerners have started to mass an army to drive back the darkspawn crawling from the north. Maybe he can use his old sellsword contacts and experiences as a instructor to bolster the ranks of the allied army?

Her attire:



Character name:
Tal-Vashoth Zeynep Sihir

Age:
26

Species:
Qunari

Allegiance:
N/A

Class:
Saarebas (Qunari Mage), more specific her prowess is being a Force Mage.

Skills and talents:
Fist of the Maker- The mage slams enemies into the ground with incredible power, against which armor is no protection.
Stonefist- The mage hurls a stone projectile that strikes with massive force.
Chain Lightning- The mage singes a target with lightning, and electrical arcs lance out to hit other nearby foes.
Hex of Torment- The mage curses the enemy, increasing damage from all sources for a short time.

Items:
Her polearm which doubles as her catalyst of dishing out the magic she knows.



Bio:
Zeynep was born Par Vollen and like all other qunari children, was sent to be raised by the Tamassrans of the capitol city, Qunandar. For a time she led the normal life that is expected of all qunari children, and of course would of more then likely have become one of the Tamassrans as well until the day came that she showed that she was cursed with the use of magic. When it was found out that she was plagued by this curse, she was removed from the care of the Tamassrans and placed in the care of an arvaarad, she became a saarebas. Those that she had come to know as brothers and sisters, the only form of family she would ever had, rejected her and she soon lost all contact to the world around her. Under the care of her arvaarad, she became nothing more then a social outcast due to the fear of magic that the Qun had. Zeynep learned to not speak at all after watching a fellow saarebas have his own tongue cut out of his mouth due to the accusation of that saarebas practicing magic while his arvaarad was not looking. She never spoke only gave nods and head shakes to questions or to show she was listening. She was lucky enough to be sparred from having her horns removed, making an agreement with her arvaarad that allowed her to keep her horns.
Zeynep eventually fooled them all that she was nothing more then a submissive servant, all the while she planned her escape. She might of not spoke but she secretly taught herself magic, it was never an easy task but she taught herself enough to have a means of escape. Eventually the time came where she could run, leave the Qun and become Tal-Voshoth. She never wanted to return to Par Vollen, there was nothing for here there to stay and she cursed the place for her exile from society and treatment which was no better then being an attack dog.
When the night came of her escape, she manage to slip by her arvaarad, asleep like a babe, never expecting that Zeynep would try such a feat. She would never know how long it took for them to discover her escape but it did not matter. She ran south, only stopping when necessary. She could not remain in one place for long, there was no knowing if she was being hunted down as she ran, if she was caught it would only mean death.
Once she managed to get as far as Orlais, that was when she took time to stop. She hid herself among the shadows of the city, finally cutting away the strand of strings that kept her mouth sown shut, not enough to entirely keep her from opening it but enough that it had been able to prevent most talking above a whisper, to finally hear her own voice again shocked her. She had not heard it in years since she had become saarebas, now though she was free of that accursed title and free to learn to speak the native tongue of Thedas. She had to learn on her own for quite some time, listening and piecing what everything meant. She learned a lot from her time in Orlais. Eventually though she left Orlais and continued south, coming to the Free Marches and finding herself in the city of chains, Kirkwall. Here she sold herself off as a mercenary for hire, what else could she do? She had no useful skills besides the little knowledge of magic she had, being able to at least be a mercenary for hire allowed her to learn more about other cultures, the language that most spoke, and at least a little more magic. Her time in Orlais as well as Kirkwall left her feeling slightly jealous of the people she saw. How they had so much freedom to choose their paths they desired, something she never had. Even the Circle of Magi she looked with awe as well, seeing how the mages were treated.
Despite her awe though, she still holds some ideals of the Qun and finds that most people are, for lack of a better term, weak and gets agitated by those that take the little things they have for granted. She also frowns upon those mages that would make deals with demons, seeing them as weak and unfit for the life they have.

His attire:



Character name:
Gavlan Drogoth

Age:
42

Species:
Dwarf

Allegiance:
N/A

Class:
Beserker Warrior

Skills and talents:
His combat skills lie in two handed weapons, specifically he deals with great axes and great hammer weapons. Who says the small guy can pack a powerful punch to his foes? Gavlan skills as a warrior come from his years of training as being an enforcer of the laws in Orzammar as well as having to occasionally be sent into the Deep Roads with his fellow comrades when told too.
Beserk- The berserker flies into a rage, landing powerful blows for as long as this mode is active.
Mighty Blow- The warrior leaps into the air, crashing down on foes with tremendous force.
Giants Reach- The warrior's two-handed attacks rip through the air with such power that each generates a shockwave past the point of impact, effectively extending the weapon's reach.

Items:
His armor on his back and his mighty axe that is named Luca



Bio:
Gavlan grew up at first as a trader of Orzammar. His trade was that in weapons and armor with an occasional dabble of the other markets when he could afford to do so. Unfortunately Gavlan ran into tough times and was forced into making deals with a group of thugs that were called the Carta. His involvement lead to a slight relationship with the gang's leader Jarvia. The relationship didn't last long however with Jarvia pressing him to do more illegal actions then he wanted to. For his disobedience, his shop was destroyed and the law enforcement of Orzammar got an anonymous tip of his dealings with Carta. For his punishment it was either going to jail, becoming casteless, or going into the Deep Roads on expeditions. His choice was the Deep Roads. This was when he began learning his fighting prowess. From other warriors, either other criminals forced into the expeditions for punishment or Orzammars guards who volunteered for these dangerous jobs. Orzammar was the last Thaig and it was determined to not fall, in order to do that, they had to thin Darkspawn from time to time. These expedition were also used to traverse to lost Thaigs and find anything that might be of use to Orzammar, be it ancient texts or miscellaneous items that could fetch a price being sold to the outside world above Orzammar.
Even after his punishment was deemed over, he continued going on the expeditions into the Deep Roads, partially because it meant finding rare items he could sneak back to Orzammar and sell for some coin and partially because he enjoyed the fighting, he learned he had a knack of using an axe and fighting Darkspawn gave him some pleasure and entertainment. Plus he made friends in his merry band of outcasts who also continued these expeditions. They shared in good laughs and mead. Unfortunately all good things come to an end. While on one expedition into the Deep Roads, they were ambushed by Darkspawn. Gavlan was the only one to make it out alive. He feared that perhaps returning to Orzammar would not be a wise decision. All the men in the expedition were considered criminals, even if Gavlan had repaid his dues to society for his supposed crimes. Rather the return he looked for a means of leaving the Deep Road. It took him days to find one of the exits of the Deep Roads, but he did and found himself far from the moutain range of Orzammar that he called home. He felt like he was going to fall off the realm of Thedas with how open the world was. He had no idea where he was only where he couldn't go. So he made his way north, passing though Orlais, Nevarra, and the Free Marches before stopping in Kirkwall. Here is when he meant his partner in crime. Zeynep the Qunari mage. At first neither saw eye to eye on anything. Always bickering back and forth on how things should be done. Eventually though they found the means to get along and even enjoy each others company. Both were social outcasts. She a qunari mage and him an dwarf with no home. They used their talents to be hired out as mercenaries or smugglers in Kirkwall and soon Gavlan was well know for being a guy that could smuggle just about anything into Kirkwall's walls.

Name: Ansgar Staudinger

Age: 58

Sex: Male

Race: Human

Allegiance: Ferelden Crown

Class/Sub-class: Warrior | Reaver

Appearance:




Abilities:
Devour - "It is a thirst that cannot be slaked. Each enemy dead, another few moments onto my life in the heat of battle. A curse, or a blessing. Decide for yourself." - Ansgar feasts upon the souls of slain foes, their lingering energy revitalizing him, closing wounds and staving off death for another battle. It only takes him a few moments concentration before the dead spirits energy is stolen away from the dead, creating an unsettling wind centering on Ansgar before his wounds close.

Frightening Appearance - "Darkspawn, men, elves, dwarves, it matters not. The mind is fragile, the flesh weak, and flees what it cannot comprehend. I am the sum of what all fear, a nightmare upon the field of battle, devouring the souls of mortal beings. A glimpse can send the greatest warrior fleeing for his life. And a new pair of trousers." - Focusing his unsettling, faceless gaze upon a foe in the battle, such a single person will feel the full weight of the damned Reaver's ire and all that is wrong with such an imposing figure at that moment. Most beings break under such a gaze, lost in unspeakable terror.

Blood Frenzy - "I have memories, vague, in crimson tints. Of a warrior lost in battle, demons possessing his form, the closer to death's sweet release, the greater his mad fury. Then I awake, in cold sweats, and a somber, chilling thought rings clear in the doubt and despair. Those aren't always my memories, yet they fit the thinker perfectly..." - The pain of each wound landed against him only increases his fury and prowess in combat, when he releases the demons within him. While in this form, the demons prevent the natural healing of his body as the vessel is imperfect, yet the closer to expiring the vessel gets, the more extreme the damage he can deal.

Two Handed Mastery - "The longer I live, the better I have gotten with my accursed blade. It's power has long since left it, I am the new vessel, but it is far better than your average steel blade. Those who would cross blades with me will regret it, even without the demons, I am no target to attack lightly..." - Ansgar has focused all his combat training onto the use of his greatsword, a nameless blade that once bore great corruption, and even before that point when he served as a regular soldier.

Powerful - "Bearing the burden I carry, both physical and mental, has made me stronger. Armor is lighter, and I can stay longer under the destructive power of the demons within. A necessity of life, or death would have found me far sooner..." - Having spent his entire life training and fighting, his vitality and endurance have both increased drastically. Armor and weapons weigh upon him far less, and he is naturally more able to fight for longer, more effectively, as a result.

Death Blow - "Each fallen foe restores my vitality, each fallen foe restores my hope that a blessed end to combat is one step closer. I cannot fail, cannot falter, not until I have finally been slain. Then I can rest in whatever Hell the Maker sees fit to place me in for my transgressions." - Each enemy that Ansgar fells restores part of his stamina, increasing how long he can fight all out. Coupled with drawing in the life force of fallen enemies, it makes him a terror on the battlefield.

Reaving Storm - "Subtle isn't a strong point of mine, in a fight, to begin with. When faced with masses of enemies, mortal or darkspawn, I cannot afford the luxury of single blows, and the demons will not afford the luxury to me. Numbers will not save them." - Each mighty swing of Ansgar's dark blade can claim numerous heads with one mighty cleave, which can be taxing on the stamina of the warrior without some method of keeping his stamina up. Ansgar, however, does and in the right situation, he is a juggernaut on the field.

Personality: Ansgar has a split personality, to put it bluntly, which can be shocking to people who only see him on the battlefield, or off of it, how drastic a change these two men are. When not in a combat situation, the warrior is quiet and contemplative, speaking in a highly intelligent manner that is often accented with polite manners of speech and a steadfast refusal to ever become offended or angered. He tends towards a loner mentality, finding a secluded part of a camp to meditate and center himself, and as far as most people are typically aware, he is merely doing this for the sake of some martial tradition, as it is typically how he explains it away. He isn't lying, but he certainly is not telling the truth either. He isolates himself for the safety of others, and seems unusually loyal to anyone who insists in getting to know the warrior, as they are a rare few and far between.

In combat, one can be forgiven for not recognizing Ansgar at all. Once a battle breaks out, the demons inside the tortured man surge forward, and it is all that Ansgar can do to not lash out at allies, barely controlling the demonic fury to kill everything as he guides his body towards the enemy. He shows a blatent disregard for any and all self preservation, seeming solely focused on one very clear goal. Slaughter anything that stands against him and anyone lucky, or unlucky, enough to not be in his definition of enemy at the time. Ansgar fights with a wild abandon seen only in those with nothing left to lose, and facing certain death, with every battle. Even his fighting style in combat reflects his possessed status. Eyes burning with red fury, abyss black blade drenched in blood, each swing aiming for maximum damage with no care for his own survival, and its with amazement spirit healers and field surgeons look upon him coming back, unwilling to believe he had survived in the state he marches back in.

History: Ansgar Staudinger was born to a family of military lifers, veterans who chose to stay in until they were too old to fight, and would proceed to train oncoming generations of soldiers instead. His mother was an archer that died in child birth, and before he ever met his father, a bold knight that defended his brothers and sisters with shield and blade, the man met his end upon the blades of brigands in ambush. Raised by his father's fellow knights, he was raised solely to fight against any and all who would turn out to be hostile to the realm of Ferelden. He proved a natural with a great two handed sword, and he was taught well in such a manner that, at 9.18 Dragon when his birthday came to, the knights that had befriended his father gave him the fallen man's armor and had reforged his equipment to fit the young man's tastes. It was a grand day for him, and for twelve years he would serve within the Ferelden army as a brave, loyal soldier who enjoyed learning and bettering himself through any means offered to him, something looked upon favorably as he rose in rank.

That all changed after the Fifth Blight broke out, and Ansgar was among the forces who would march to Ostagar and fight the Darkspawn there. It was expected to be an easy breaking of the Darkspawn horde, no suspicion that there was indeed an Archdemon in their ranks, and this was a full blown Blight after all. History took its course, and while Ansgar fought bravely with his brothers to hold off the Darkspawn, a mighty blow from an Ogre cast him from the ramparts, and all would assume the veteran warrior had been slain, either from the ogre or the fall. And to be fair, Ansgar was near death when he came to, with countless broken bones, his blade shattered, and his armor damaged. But he was yet alive, and breathing, the darkspawn and fighting forces gone. Ostagar had fallen, he could tell, which meant that things had not gone as planned. He was, at the time, unaware that King Theirin was slain and betrayed, and only a handful of other survivors, Grey Wardens included, had escaped. But his wounds were bad, and he had a broken greatsword and damaged armor to protect him in these no doubt infested woods. It was a miracle, or a curse, that he managed to survive long enough to stumble upon a long forgotten fort.

It was a small place, old and clearly forboding. Most would have known better and turned away, but a dying warrior cared little for such things. So Ansgar entered the place, descending to the deepest part of the fort, torches lighting of their own volition as he dragged himself along, unable to collapse and give up now. Before long he found a shrine, with a black, abyssial blade on an alter, with a flask of crimson fluid on top of it. Countless dead surrounded the alter, all recently slain despite how old the place was, and the scroll of stone above the makeshift alter spoke of great power, even above death, for those that would imbibe the blood of Dragons. Ansgar would normally not put credence in such myths and heresay, but the mind of a dying man will reach for any reason to exist, especially since he knew the Darkspawn were yet to be halted. So he drank the flask's contents in full, feeling a fire in his belly and something else inside his mind, fighting him for control. The blood was indeed of a Dragon, but had been cursed with the spirit of a Demon. The blood power of a Reaver was all that saved him from succumbing as the others had and falling upon his own ruined blade.

Taking up the blade on the alter, Ansgar shut out the whispers and ragings of the voices that now were in his head, feeling his wounds close as the spirits of the dead around him drew close, binding his wounds and making his bones whole again. He would make his way out of the fort, surrounded by a band of Darkspawn that had found the human's bloody trail. He doesn't readily remember what happened after that, but in a bloody fury he had cut down the band of Darkspawn, nearly tearing himself apart in the process, and he would come to properly in a tavern bed days later, his armor mended and the black blade, gleaming with a silver edge, and with a look in the mirror he was shocked to be missing an eye, a mess of scar tissue remaining in its place. His armor remained as it had been, and as he pulled the helm and sheathed the blade, the voices came back in a torrent, threatening to lose all control at that moment in time. But he was able to resist, slipping out of the tavern and heading for wherever the Darkspawn congregated the thickest. During the year of the Fifth Blight, stories of this warrior would arise, a voiceless figure of death and rage, cleaving grand paths through the Darkspawn forces wherever they reared their ugly heads.

With the Warden slaying the Archdemon, the Darkspawn fled, but Ansgar was still left with his Reaver blood, and the voices in his head that grew loud without their thirst being slaked. He would seek out Apostate mages, as he couldn't trust the mage circles, in the hopes of freeing himself from the demonic voices in his head. He would spend his time unaware of the goings on in Kirkwall, but when rebellion broke out he would find himself protecting the very same Apostate mages, and circle mages as they rose up, that had at least tried to help him and gave him means of controlling the corrupting influence. Templars would speak of the figure with fear and revulsion, the bloody demon of a warrior often times arriving without a word, engaging in wholesale slaughter of any Templars that attempted to strike against the rebel mages. Even the mages he protected would be cautious and frightened of the forboding figure, a man of black armor swathed with azure cloth with a midnight black blade with silver lining, eyes of glowing red evil under his armored hood as he made slaughter a sport upon the Templar.

When the Conclave would explode, instead of fighting Templars, Ansgar would turn his blade upon the demons and invading forces from the rifts. Still claiming loyalty to the Ferelden crown, but serving in no official capacity, he would go wherever the demons invaded, regardless of Inquisition interference or not. He could not close the demonic gateways, but he could kill enough of them to hold long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Eventually even those demons would be gone, leaving the unholy swordsman without a cause again. Ansgar would roam wherever his feet took him, keeping an eye on the world while remaining as isolated as he could be to prevent his addled mind from snapping somewhere he would cause harm to others. The sheer amount of blood and suffering, both his and others, that had been spilled had satiated the voices for some time, only rising up in times of combat at this point to take charge if they could. When the Darkspawn rose again, driving the Qunari into invading Tevinter territory and a call to arms being sent out, one of the first to answer was Ansgar Staudinger, called many things by many people, and would throw himself into combat against any Darkspawn that attempted to go after those who stood against them. When the call rose for a task force led by Grey Wardens, he would report without delay. Either they would have him, or he would make a bloody path to the Archdemon and fight it by himself. He was increasingly tired of living in a constant struggle for his life and sanity, and fully intended to finally die stopping this rising Sixth Blight.

Name: Francesca Tilani
Age: 27
Sex: F
Race: Human
Allegiance: Tevinter Imperium
Class/Sub-class: Mage/Spirit Healer

Appearance: She wears dark blue and elaborately gilded robes cut and crafted to accentuate her curves. She almost always has her blonde hair immaculate and with several small braids that go just past her shoulders. Her sharp blue eyes often linger on people, studying them intently

Abilities:
Stonefist – Francesca summons a fist of rock to hurl at her enemy, often knocking them off their feet
Arcane Bolt – Most mages can cast this basic spell, which is the most basic manifestation of the face basically thrown at the enemy
Heal – Francesca weaves magic to knit flesh and muscle back together
Group heal
Revival – Francesca can restore a character from the brink of death
Blood Magic – Francesca (like many Tevinter mages) knows the basics of blood magic, and can use it to moderate affect as well as identify its use

Personality:
- Francesca often looks down on weaker mages, but not on non-mages.
- Often takes a situation light heartedly, but is always thinking and plotting behind her façade
- Knows many social graces of most cultures, most notably Dwarves, Orlais and Ferelden nobility. (this does not include Dalish)
- Accepts Slavery as a thing and owns a couple of slaves back in Tevinter, but doesn’t support the Slave trade and would prefer a world without slavery (she keeps Slaves as a status symbol)
- Doesn’t support Blood Magic, and will only use it in the direst of circumstances. She learnt it when she was younger and more brash, before she had the opportunity to really see what effect it had on people

History:
Francesca studied at the Carastes Circle (the best arcane university perhaps in the world) in Tevinter with her sister, Maevaris Tilani. Maevaris, although lacking the same magical power as Francesca, was much more politically suave and quickly moved on to be elected as a Magister, while Francesca stayed a Senior Enchanter.
When the war with the Qunari broke out most mages where recruited into the army, while the youngest were moved to other circles. Many Senior enchanters helped escort them across Thedas to safety, including Francesca, often against much opposition of the general populace. Upon reaching Orlais Francesca was summoned back to Tevinter to join a special strike-force to eliminate an Arishok.
By the time she got back it seemed the war was going well, the Qunari unable to match the magical skill of the Magisters, as well as the many mercenaries the Magisters had hired. The Qunari Arishok she had been bought back to fight had evaded Tevinter eyes and spies and so she earned a name for herself healing the casualties of war.
She was lucky to be stationed at the back lines, first the massive storm ripped apart and sunk the island of Seheron. Most people in the Tevinter army cheered, as surely it must have been some ritual by the most powerful of their order. All those more connected to the fade knew that such power wasn’t centred in Tevinter, and that it was coming this way. It wasn’t long after that the Darkspawn attacked, crushing the Tevinter army and sending the remainder fleeing. Francesca led a large group of now refugees to Orlais, where she has been waiting to hear word from her sister.

Because of her reputation she has gained the attention of the Grey Wardens, who have summoned her to join a small group of warriors, rogues and mages on a special mission

Name: Torian "Tor" Aldritch
Age: 25
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Allegiance: Ferelden/ Chantry
Class/Sub-class: Warrior/ Templar: Sword and Shield

Appearance:

Abilities:
1. Master Combat Training
2. Righteous Strike
3. Cleanse Area
4. Mental Fortress
5. Holy Smite
6. Shield Bash
7. Shield Defense

Personality: Torian is a pious man, always serving the Chantry and blessing the Creator. He is more open minded though than most Templars, as he is able to see the good of mages and magic, and not just the evil. Though always vigilant for corruption he is seen as a kindly man more opt to defend others than attack. His shield is a bulwark from evil and boon to his allies as he swears to let no harm come to those he stands besides. His will is a solid wall bending to no adversity in his life and pillar for others to stand behind. Torian though suffers from one thing that all Templars do, and that is a severe addiction to Lyrium.

History: Torian grew up around Red Cliff Village where his parents raised him to be devout in the Chantry's teachings, and his older brother taught him about swordplay. His brother latter in his childhood to join a band of mercenaries where Torian never heard about him again. Meanwhile he continued his studies at the Chantry and even played swords with his friends. While he was still young Torian's father sent him off to join the Templars, to further hone his fighting prowess and his devotion to the Creator, but most importantly, the Chantry.

Torian was still a novice when the Blight struck Ferelden and was stationed at the Chantry in Highever. Luckily avoiding the most of the chaos in the south, and the at the Circle. Though he pleaded to join the front line in the siege of Denerim he was never allowed to leave to stand beside the Hero of Ferelden. Instead he stayed at the Chantry to finish his training and defend Highever from bandits and maintain order.

It wasn't until a few years after the Blight that Torian was fully knighted as a Templar. Finally able to leave Highever he was placed in Denerim to help with reconstruction and aiding the land still recovering from the Blight. This would once again keep him at a distance from world events when the mages rebelled and the Templars left the Chantry. Torian was possibly one of the few Templars to stay with the Chantry during the rebellion as he viewed the Templars cessation as an act of blasphemy and desertion. Therefore he remained loyal to the Chantry throughout the panic of the Breach and the rebellion in whole.

Now with this new threat to the world Torian refuses to sit in the shadows of history and let others fight without him. He has heard the call to arms by the Grey Wardens and he means to respond with sword and shield, and absolute faith to purge the wickedness from the world. To lift high the Chant of Light and let its brilliance burn away the corruption that plagues the land.