Appearance:
Name: Oskar Vadderung
Age: 70
Race: Dwarf
Profession: Priest

Personality: A righteous and pious Dwarf, Oskar's zeal permeates into much of his personality. Often coming across as arrogant and self-righteous in his speech, he is a charitable and compassionate being towards those who are suffering or are destitute, seeing himself as one who has the power to uplift those from their terrible situations either in his speech or his powers.

His world revolves around his devotion to the Gods and enacting their will, and will stubbornly persist along a course if he believes it to be the will of the divine.

Backstory: Oskar Vadderung was raised in the nation of Yggdra, at the Monastery of Nid after he was left upon the Monks' doorstep as an Orphan. How a Dwarf Orphan came to such a remote Monastery so far from the mountain homes of the Dwarves, the Monks could find no explanation other than he was a blessing from the Gods, a test of their faith and personal devotion. Giving him his name, and raising him alongside them like one of their brothers, Oskar grew up surrounded by religion and both its fanatic and moderate worshippers.

Working alongside the Monks in manual labour, stringent readings of the words of the Gods and their Saints, Heroes, and Martyrs, and tending to the Monastery, Oskar discovered by accident that had been touched by the Gods themselves, and blessed with the power to channel their will. During one of his prayers to bring light in the darkness of this world, he conjured up a ball of pure luminous energy to hover before him. Though it rapidly fizzled out, he and his brothers noted the significance of this immensely, and that with training and education, he could become a powerful member of the Church with these powers.

When he came of age, 18, Oskar begged permission from his brothers to seek out his purpose in the Grand Cathedral, which they granted without hesitation, in their eyes, his destiny lay in the higher authorities of the Church, not merely in a secluded monastery in the shadow of the Great Tree. Thus, taking what few possessions he had, he set out on a Pilgrimage to the Grand Cathedral, in search of education and guidance in how to handle his powers. There, he underwent tests by the High Priests to verify his powers, and his training began.

He learned to control and utilize his powers in more complex ways than he ever imagined, and was taught how to fight, choosing to specialize in polearms as they provided a good synergy for his abilities with a properly constructed weapon. His zealousness grew and fuelled his powers, his specialties appearing in regards to battle-related magicks, inspiring troops, and giving them blessings that imbued them at least temporarily with the grace of the Gods themselves.

Following the end of his training, at the age of 26, Oskar received his badge of office as a Chaplain of Yggdra, and set out to do the Gods' will. Specifically, focusing on areas such as alleviating the sufferings of the refugees of the wars between Ironhoff and Ilya, aiding Inquisitors in hunts against rogue mages and other monsters plaguing the devoted forces of the faith, and providing sermons to the poor and downtrodden of the various cities and nations he wandered through.

Many decades later, his faith in the Gods still ironclad and his reputation known throughout the Church as one of the most zealous Dwarves in its service, Oskar's attentions, like many in the Church, were drawn to the continued sufferings of those in the New World, and the encroaching darkness that had spewed forth from that land, and seemed to only be held back by the continued efforts of the coalition of forces gathered to hold what had once been sprouting colonies there. The Church viewed those who volunteered to join the Expeditionary Forces periodically sent there to be a quest of both great penance to those with heavy souls, and of saintly self-sacrifice to those whose souls were already lightened of their sins. Many young members of the Church's hierarchy had been among those to die in the endless wars for the New World, and although private discussion saw the endeavour as a waste of young blood that had yet to temper themselves from the fires of faith in the cold and cleansing water of wisdom that only years of experience in practicing one's faith could bring, they had no qualms with those among their more experienced members taking passage if that was their choice.

Oskar consulted the Gods about his feelings on the matter of joining the next expedition over, and upon the end of his prayers and meditations communing with them, found himself resolved. There could be no greater service a devouted servant of the Gods could do on this Earth than to dedicate one's service to ridding it of the great evil that plagued its newly rediscovered continent and its people. He would make journeying to the New World and striving to cleanse this place the greatest work he would ever undertake in this life. Giving him more purpose than attending to the controversies of nations and the races that chose to live within them. Those were transitory, but fighting the darkness that threatened the very sanctity of their world and blemished the works of the Gods was one that would be remembered for all time.

Skills and Abilities: Skilled in Divine Magic, Oskar can channel specific blessings of the Gods to give him and his fellow fighters moments of Divinely graced skill and ability, and can coalesce his powers into more specific personal light-based powers to illuminate, use as magical projectiles, or temporary shields. His healing powers are also adequate in their ability, though he himself admits to not being the most skilled in this field. Otherwise, Oskar is a fairly experienced melee fighter with his halberd and tower shield (tower shield for him, a standard-sized shield for basically everyone else of greater heights), he has next to no experience with firearms or any other ranged equipment, and no talent for elemental or arcane magicks, or one-handed weapons beyond polearms.

Equipment:

-Halberd, doubles as his staff
-Dwarf-sized Tower Shield, forged of solid steel
-Brass Scale Armour Set, designed to defend against Magicks and for its ornamental awe rather than physical attacks. It is strapped over top of his expeditionary uniform with his brass-lined cowl serving as headgear.
-The Holy Text of Yggdra, held in a chained sleeve to the back of his belt, it contains all of the prayers and incantations of the Gods.
-An Amulet of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, made of silver and encircled by runes. It is Oskar's icon of office.
-A Short Rune Pattern Ethergun, standard issue for Expeditionary forces, he took out it out of the knowledge that they were useful against the eldritch monsters of the New World and the idea that it required the least skill to use.

Appearance: Dark eyes full of fire and intensity are what most people notice when they first meet Al'Mukal. This copper skinned pathfinder and mercenary is lean, with a trim figure and long legs. His black hair is wavy, loose and tousled. Scars crisscross his left arm just above the elbow. He wears the typical Expeditionary uniform, albeit he's made it look rather worn and ragged due to his nature. His sash belt is also crimson colored, reminiscent of his Akivir homeland.

Name: Al'Mukal Sharam

Age: 26

Race: Human, Akivir

Profession: Tracker

Personality: Al'Mukal is single minded and determined. When a task is set in front of him, he will see it to the end unless given great reason not to. The frontier is his home, the earth is his bed, and the sky is his clock. While he is often unused to spending time with people for very long, he can still be quite charming with his earnest, humble, yet somewhat mischievous view of the world. Growing up in a world rife with conflict, he sees violence as a necessary reaction to corruption and greed. However, he sometimes yearns for it, which he is frightened of more than the violence himself. One should note, he's driven just as much by curiosity of the unknown and loyalty to his faith as he is by the promise of riches and excitement.

Backstory:Born as a commoner in the Akivir nation, Al'Mukal was the son of a trader who would ship his cargo between cities, often hiring mercenaries and trackers that would bring tales of fortune and adventure to him, who would in turn tell them to Ak'Mukal. To the young Al, the open desert was a vast and mysterious place, and he even gained a desire to read when he found out knowledge of this land, and distant lands to the east and west could be gained from books.

He learned quickly, his mother learning alongside him and his little sister and doing her best to teach them what she only had rudimentary skills in. When he was not working in his father's shop, listening to traveler's tales, and reading, he was trying to keep himself and his little sister out of trouble. They were often bullied, which lead Al'Mukal to gain a somewhat shady and silent nature.

When he was thirteen years of age, his father was killed by a business partner when trying to blackmail him out of his trade assets. His mother married another man who attempted to set Al'Mukal to work for him, but the young boy's spirit was crushed. Al'Mukal fled into the wilderness, joining a group of ne'er-do-wells and thieves and living off whatever they could for the next few years. It was an act of desperation, and a cheap bid at freedom and to throw off the shackles of his life, in which he felt trapped. Thieving was not something he ever wanted to partake in however, despite his enjoyments of living out of the civilized world. It was a particular occasion that made him leave his thieving crew behind on spirit, when he was forced to threaten someone for their money at Knife point. The Guilt would never leave him.

One day he stumbled upon an Maer caravan far from the road and lost. After uneasy introductions, he helped them out and guided them back to the city. With each step, he felt more and more whole. Almost as if he was living his early dreams. In a way, he felt like he was honoring his late father, for he had always encouraged Al'Mukal's passions for travel.

He decided to become a businessman of sorts, like his father. Only his wares would be his protection and guidance for travelers among the desert. This lasted two years, until he was offered the role as a Mercenary for an outfit set on exploring the deeper reaches of the desert. Only mysterious, half legendary creatures and foolhardy cutthroats would travel into the deepest reaches of the sand dunes.

Fighting off bandits, the team found an Oasis and summarily rediscovered an old, lost trading route that cut the time moving between two prominent cities in half. Needless to say there was much rejoicing, and the merc team's fame spread throughout the local region.

When he returned to the city, he was greeted by an Ilya noblemen who needed a guide that would take him through the less traveled paths out of the desert, for he had much gold and precious cargo. Al'Mukal agreed, and was even invited to go back with them to their homeland, traversing the west. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, becoming a scout for the Noble's entourage and receiving a steady pay, a uniform, a place to stay, and a musket.

He worked for the man for some years as a tracker and extra muscle, while pulling off small mercenary and exploratory jobs on the side during his free time to earn extra cash. He was introduced to western culture, and even speaks more or less akin to them now, living among them the past eight years or so.

He particularly recalled being sent as a hired sword for a Caravan that traveled to Yggdra and the vast, primordial forests that towered over him like the Gods of old.It was when he looked upon it the Great tree that he felt a religious fervor he had not felt since he was a small boy. It was the majesty of nature that was holiness. It was a sight he would never forget, and when he made it back to Ilya, he stood a little bit taller and spoke with more surety than he had before. To be called upon this crusade to the new world is not only a chance for adventure, but in a way, he felt it to be divine edict.

Skills and Abilities:

• Marksman: Steady aim with a rifle.
• Close Combat: Quick with a fist or a blade.
• Tracking skills: Can follow man and beast through forest and desert.
• Survival skills: Knows how to survive in most environments, and can adapt to new situations with little civilized resources.
• Literate: He can read.
• Acrobatics: While no gymnist, he can certainly scale many obstacles, leap across crevices, and run quickly.
• Fire Magic: During his time with the bandits, he learned how to spout a simple flame. He cannot handle more than a small one though. Enough to begin a fire, or when in particular need, engulf someone's face for a short time.

Equipment:

• Rune Pattern Ethergun.
• Long Akivir Knife (1.5 foot blade)
• Water Canteen
• Herbs that help reduce bleeding and infection
• Expeditionary Uniform/Gear
• 30 feet of rope

Name: Vashti Lestil

Age: 160

Race: Elf

Profession: Priest - Inquisitor

Personality: Vashti, if anything, is a woman of conviction. She fails to see the grays in the world, finding life much simpler if she just qualifies everything as either black or white. She is extremely hard on herself. Vashti doesn’t make excuses for her failures, which have been aplenty, and constantly seeks new challenges to prove her devotion. While this devotion to the gods and her faith is unquestionable, her motivation and methods are dubious at best. One doesn’t have to spend much time around the elf to realize that she enjoys being the one who holds the power. She’s a decisive leader, to be fair, but is way too damned stubborn and refuses to listen to people who disagree with her. It doesn’t necessarily stop there at decision making, either. Vashti is one of those people who is convinced that everything she likes is right and everything she dislikes is wrong. It’d be incorrect to say that an air of superiority surrounds the woman; it’s much more like a choking, poisonous miasma.

That’s not to say that she’s a wholly unpleasant person to be around. She’s polite to strangers, usually, and people who stay in her good graces are often surprised by the wide range of topics she is willing to discuss—including ones that aren’t often touched by seemingly stuffy church types like her. As well, she is an astute observer of people, and has made better efforts to go out of her way to help those who seem to be distraught or defeated. Yet she isn’t one to get distracted, and if going out of her way to be a good samaritan prevents her from completing her duty she will often choose to ignore suffering if doing so serves what she sees as being the greater good.

Backstory: Vashti can still remember her youth in vague pictures that have been obscured by the passage of time. She had a mother and a father that loved and supported her, brothers and sisters that played with and watched after her, and lived in a verdant forest in Ilya where they were free from want. She wasted time painting pretty portraits, gathering bouquets of flowers with her mother, or sneaking behind bushes with boys after nightfall. She would go sell flowers with her mother in the neighboring city, see how humans live, and laugh at their backwards, uncultured way and wonder, ‘What kind of idiots would live in a place lousy with crime and disease, where it was so loud that one couldn’t hear their own thoughts, and it always smelled like a dirty latrine?’ It was no wonder her family’s flowers were in such high demand, even though someone could get them for free just by searching the prairies and forests outside of their “protective” walls. Today, Vashti could only look back in disgust at what a worthless little shit she had been as a youth, wasting her time peddling pointless potpourri to poor, pea-brained pissants. Then again, it was only because she was selling flowers in the city that she came to be the person she was today.

She was in her twenties, a child still by elven standards, but Vashti was in search for some fun and decided to slum it in the city and gawk at the desolate. However, she need money since humans were fascinated with useless metals, for some reason, so she gathered some flowers in hopes of making a quick buck with which she would use to blend in with the crowds and pretend to enjoy food made on the streets and juice that had been spoiled. Vashti quickly sold her bouquets and, with pockets full of coin, began her night on the town. Of course, human cities were always prone to danger, or so she had heard, but that’s why she carried a knife like all smart forest elves travelling into human territory did. However, apparently this information did not go both ways, because the look of surprise in the eyes of the cutpurse that had tried to jump her told Vashti that he had expected her to be an easy, unarmed target. He certainly hadn’t expected her to catch him right in the throat, but, then again, she certainly hadn’t tried to kill him.

Vashti would suppose that she should’ve been in shock, or a panic, or sorrowful, but instead she felt a catharsis, as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. It was as if in that moment she both realized that her life had been missing its purpose and had simultaneously found it. Now, Vashti had always been a vaguely religious person, praying to the gods for good fortune and damning them for stubbed toes and thorn pricks, but they had never really been that important. Yet, while she would never claim that they had spoken directly to her, she did believe that day they had acted through her. She was no fighter, her knife could’ve landed anywhere, probably would’ve even dropped from her hand for it had been shaking so much, but instead it had been guided directly into that thief’s neck. It had to be divine intervention, right? The man had intended to do evil, and in doing so she been directed to smite him. Perhaps Vashti would’ve had her doubts about all of this—the notation that some normal girl was used to invoke some divine retribution was something found in the human plays that she so often scoffed at—if she hadn’t developed a potency for divine magic shortly thereafter.

Her eyes opened for seemingly the first time, the girl had to make a choice. She decided to pursue this new awakening. Vashti left her family behind with little ceremony, believing that they would do nothing but question her calling, and began her life anew. Her philosophy was an alarmingly simple, almost naive, one—do good by hunting evil—but her path would be more complex than just that. Sure, she could head from town to town slaying killers and bandits like some kind of unhinged vigilante, but there were a few problems with that. For starters she was untrained, and as proven later by the monsters across the ocean it was obvious to her that the gods don’t always step in. More importantly to her, however, was the simple fact that not all killers and bandits were evil, and not all seemingly decent citizens were good. She could sense the corruption on people, feel it in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t do anything about without the backing of an institution. Thank the gods for the church.

It wasn’t hard to find acceptance into a monastery in Yggdra. She was young, determined, magically capable, and smart enough to keep her mouth shut about certain things that would raise eyebrows and bring her character into question. Vashti trained for years in the monastery to master her command of divine magic and her skill with a blade, eventually moving from being a neophyte to becoming an inquisitor. No longer bound to the monastery, Vashti wormed her way into being tasked with investigating crimes against the church and the gods. Her work gave her the liberty and materials needed to execute on her philosophy, and with the gods guiding her actions through her sixth sense she found that she was quite a natural at all.

It also provided her with a challenge. Despite having the backing of the church and the insight from the gods, she had to still prove that someone was a heretic. Often enough she had seen some wet behind the ears inquisitor act on a hunch without coming forth with real evidence and end up burning an innocent. Mistakes like that often proved to be the end of an inquisitor’s career depending on how public it was, so Vashti acted with patience and always went out of her way gather the necessary evidence before an arrest or execution. It should’ve always been easy with the gods guiding her senses, but the gods are gods, and Vashti found that they often get bored and enjoy playing with mortals. There were times that they would lead her astray while on a witchhunt; testing her by muddling with her senses, forcing her to determine if she was truly following the gods or just her gut. Yet even in these trying times she would be able to root out evil, and with each wicked person she condemned she could feel her magic occasionally grow stronger—a divine reward, surely.

Even if Vashti was truly being gifted by the gods, it did not prevent her from being despised by mortals. They saw an inquisitor and assumed it was her duty to bless their harvest, or cure their sick, or officiate their weddings and bless their wives so they can spit out even more babies despite not being able to take care of the ones they already had. Vashti paid little mind to the whispers or curses she heard whenever she refused, which was almost always, and she turned her cheek when angry gentiles spit or hurled rocks as she dragged their wicked cousin or sister to the hangman’s perch. She didn’t raise a finger against them; it wasn’t evil to be ignorant, even if their ignorance did get in the way of her doing her damn job. So Vashti ignored the pleas, the bargains, the insults, the criticisms; after all, they were words coming from stupid simpletons, while she was acting directly as the hand of the gods. It was clear which side was the right one.

However, while Vashti was unwavering in her ways, the church had been changing over the years and they had been receiving complaints about one of their inquisitors for over a decade. There was no one single infraction that pushed everything over the edge, but when tens to hundreds of their flock demand the excommunication of one of their inquisitors they are forced to listen. However, Vashti had served them for over a century and her record, outside of her poor public relations, was rather spotless—the only skeletons she had were the ones she had made in the name of the church and the gods. Still, the leaders of the church knew that they had to get rid of her, or at the very least get her out of the public’s eye, so they ‘promoted’ her. Vashti was recalled to the monastery that she had studied at, where she would now act as one of the head trainers.

Vashti saw through the ruse and was upset, naturally, but she was no idiot. It was better to be kept in the fold of the cloth where one day she could perhaps return to the duty that she had been born for than to be completely shut out without any hope of ever returning. She expected that she would teach swordsmanship, magic, or even forensics, anything to help the new recruits combat the creatures that were appearing across the sea. Instead, she was made to teach history of the church. It was obvious that the church was trying to make her resign out of boredom, but the only resignation that came from Vashti was the acceptance of her fate. She taught glassy-eyed students about Cardinals So-and-So and Bishops Doldrums while her sword hung on her wall, untouched except for the times she took it down to the training yards to take out her frustrations on wooden dummies that bore the faces of the snot-nosed brats she taught. Still, as the years began to pass she did not question the church for removing her or the gods from letting it happen, at least not until her divine magic began to wane in power.

At first she was distraught, knowing that divine magic was related directly to how favored one was by the gods. Vashti firmly believed she had done no wrongs and that she had willingly followed the path the gods had sent her down, but regardless she was losing favor. Slowly a revelation came over her: her magic had waxed and waned before when she was an inquisitor, growing when she had being challenged and diminishing when she was slogging through easy foe after easy foe. Vashti realized that the gods had once again been testing her by leading her astray, and she had failed to recognize it for years. A life spent behind a podium was an easy one, a safe one, but it was the wrong one, and for that her power had been greatly crippled. If she wanted to appease the gods and win back their favor she would have to do something magnificent, something absolutely herculean; wringing the necks of a few sinners like she had before wouldn’t make the cut, it had to be something grander.

Vashti knew the way. She shirked her responsibilities and left her post at the church under the cover of darkness and, with a few personal effects, made her way to her homeland of Ilya. After all, the institution would do nothing but question her new calling and hold her back, and she did not need their protection where she was going. Her philosophy had not changed, it was still the simple ‘do good by hunting evil’, but her path had taken her across the sea to the New World. Vashti knew she should’ve been full of doubt, having abandoned the life she had lived for years on a personal whim, but when she stepped on the boat to the Expeditionary Camp she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, quite similar to the first time that she had dispatched wickedness. It was as if strings had been attached to her limbs and, like a marionette, she was being moved once again by the gods. She could feel the divine magic blooming like a flower inside of her, and knew for certain that she had made no mistake when it had come to her decision to crusade against the evils of the New World. In fact, to call it her decision was incorrect; she was just following the will of the gods.

Skills and Abilities:
Intuition - Sixth sense, second sight, clairvoyance, detect evil, call it what you will, Vashti will sometimes get hunches that something isn’t as it seems, that there is danger afoot, or that someone is clearly evil. The accuracy of this ability is faulty at best, but she’s convinced that this is the way of the gods guiding her so that she can act in their stead. Still there’s no actual proof in any of this being more than nonsense, but who needs proof when you have faith?

Investigation - Okay, well, some people do require proof, especially when you are accusing their loved ones of high heresy, and Vashti has spent decades training her eyes to spot the things most people don’t see. There’s nothing magical about her abilities, she is just uncommonly observant and patient when it comes to spotting things that should or should not be. She’s no tracker, however, and even in the old days she would tend to outsource to third-party help to find someone who had gone into hiding.

Close Combat - Vashti has a century of training underneath her belt, and her physical prowess on the field has not dampened over the years. She can go blow for blow with the best of them, and her divine magic gives her the edge she needs to win fights with what would otherwise be equal or better opponents. That said, her fighting style is that of rigid church discipline and fairly one-note, leaving her to be rather predictable while in a scrap and susceptible to dishonorable techniques.

Divine Magic - Vashti specializes in spells that destroys her enemies and strengthens herself through prayers. Each prayer requires constant channeling through chants, so she cannot cast prayers simultaneously or if she has somehow been silenced. The gods enjoy hearing their praise, after all. As well, prayers are spiritually draining, and how long a inquisitor can pray without becoming completely exhausted is determined by how much favor the gods show them. Currently, Vashti is fairly limited in how long her windows of prayer last.

• Prayer of Exorcism - The first spell an inquisitor learns, and the only one they ever really need. Vashti can call forth the heavenly power to bring down holy light that smites the enemies of the gods in an area. Stories have told of inquisitors who could lay waste to entire towns of heathens in one blinding blast, but even at her best Vashti could only hope to erase a large orc in one blow. Now, she can probably just punch some rather painful holes through the enemies of the gods. It’s still effective in combat, sure, but she misses being able to exorcise an evil being completely from existence.
• Prayer of Vigor - Vashti can beseech the gods to help her exert herself physically that comes in a form of a dull light that surrounds her body. While in this state she can easily shrug off some hits that would’ve normally knocked her off her feet, strike with a strength unnatural for her size, and push herself to fight harder for longer. It also temporarily eliminates the need for what a body naturally requires to survive. Stories tell of inquisitors who went years without having to eat or sleep in their quest to destroy evil, but at her peak Vashti has only gone a week (and the week after was rather unpleasant).
• Prayer of Mending - An inquisitor’s line of work is dangerous, and those who aren’t partnered with a cleric or chaplain often find themselves stuck in a bad spot unless they learn how to take care of themselves. Vashti can use the favor of the gods to heal herself or others of physical wounds and to expel some toxins from her body. Stories tell of inquisitors who could survive deathblows and resurrect themselves in the middle of combat, but even at her best Vashti could only heal light wounds while being active. Now she could probably stitch together herself or someone else if given the time and place to meditate, but in the heat of the moment it’s practically useless.

Equipment:
Inquisitor’s Claymore - The standard two-handed sword of an inquisitor are often engraved with runes and blessed by chaplains to keep the blade sharp and to help inquisitor’s complete their duty of smiting evil. The runes and blessings on Vashti’s sword have long since faded and the blade has grown somewhat dull and misshapen, but it is still her most trusted tool.

Inquisitor’s Breastplate - Resistant to blades and infused with a brass alloy to dissuade those pesky mages, an inquisitor’s armor is quite something even before it gets heavily blessed. For decades an inquisitor has to watch out for brigands who would kill them just to steal their armor, but its ineffectiveness against firearms has thankfully seen this trend fade. Vashti’s armor is a bit weathered, but it still holds up.

Expeditionary Uniform - Vashti would’ve preferred her coat in red, but apparently the expedition quartermasters don’t take special orders.

Short Rune Pattern Ethergun - Vashti’s supposes that it’d be pretty hard to miss with a gun if she fires it point blank. Otherwise, maybe it can serve as a bludgeon if she loses her sword.

Leaf of the Great Tree - A brass religious pendant shaped like a leaf that is worn around the neck by a beaded chain. They’re a fairly commonplace item and actually offer no real benefit to the wearer, although people like to convince themselves that the gods will cast a protective eye over wearings of the necklace as if it were some kind of good luck charm.

Appearance: Identifying as "Two-Spirit," Honihaka is outwardly extremely androgynous. Soft features, with feminine proportions, but a tall and strongly-built body make it impossible to readily identify them as male or female. Their thick, brown hair is worn in long braids, and their clothes are usually sensible rough-weaves and leathers in earthen colors, though they do own some more vibrant garments from the Old World. Haka has a fondness for such trinkets as baubles and feathers, and also hangs a variety of shamanic fetishes from their clothes and hair. Their dusky skin is often painted with chalk and various other natural pigments. Haka's bright, blue eyes are the only indication of their Ilyan heritage, and alienates them from other natives of the New World.

Name: Honihaka Prendergast ("Haka" for short)

Age: 22

Race: Human/Beastkin

Profession: Shaman

Personality: Haka strikes most as being austere and emotionally detached, indifferent to the horrors plaguing the New World. This is quite far from the truth, as Haka feels the pain of the land deeply, as well as their own personal grief, but they have built up a thick shell around themselves to shield their emotions and control their magic. Depending on whether Haka's human or beast spirit is more in control, they may be submissive and helpful, or ruthless and savage. In this way Haka can be somewhat mercurial, as having lived as an outcast for most of their life, their reaction to further mistreatment is difficult to predict.

Backstory: Honihaka was born the child of a young woman of a Mohe tribe, a native of the New World, and an Ilyan colonist. Their parents met as their father traded pelts with the tribe, and the two formed a strong attraction to each other and eloped. They lived together happily in a remote cabin in the forest, their father working as a trapper for a living, and trading his catches for goods at the nearby settlement. While their existence was remote from both of their parents' ancestral homes, Honihaka was brought up on both the legends of the Mohe, and the history of Old Ilya, making them very much a child of two worlds. Given their isolation, Haka was allowed to express themself as they saw fit: neither boy nor girl, but both at once.

Sickness took Haka's father's life when they were only eight, and the grief of his loss awakened a power inside of them. It was this time that Haka first took on their beast shape, revealing their Two-Spirit nature. Their mother had suspected as much, given their strange identity, but this confirmed it beyond all doubt. Haka and their mother tearfully left their remote and happy home, returning to the Mohe so that Haka could learn the ways of the Shaman and control their power.

They were accepted back into the tribe with great trepidation, as Haka was seen as a half-breed outsider, and their mother a runaway and iconoclast. Despite the prejudices they faced, Haka learned dutifully under the master Shaman of the Mohe, practicing both the secretive arts of nature magic, and the power inherent to the Two-Spirit. However, as their affinity for magic grew, the spirit of the beast inside of them grew stronger. Their personality would often fluctuate, depending on which spirit grew more dominant.

When the tide of monsters descended on the New World, the Mohe were one of the first tribes to be attacked. While their tribe barely survived the first few years, they were pushed to the very edge of their ancestral territory, bordering the Old Worlders' colonies, and they had taken many losses. Haka's mother had been among them, slain by a vicious beast, and the grief of losing their last remaining parent completed Haka's transformation as Two-Spirit, allowing their twin souls to meld and become more powerful together. Haka seeks to avenge their mother and their clan by halting the onslaught of monsters, and has joined an Expedition as guide and mystic.

Skills and Abilities: A native of the New World, Haka is one with the land and can survive in the wild with ease. Whether hunting a wild animal for a meal or sleeping under the stars, nature is Haka's home and provider. As they were raised this way among others that lived much the same, they are more self-sufficient than Old World rangers, and are not predispositioned to aiding the survival of their fellows. That said, Haka is strong and healthy in body, clever and resourceful, and has great knowledge of the wilderness and their peoples' customs and legends. They have decent skill as an archer and horserider, and can hold their own in bare-handed wrestling.

More notable is Haka's status as Shaman. Their dominion of the powers of nature is great, able to divine secrets from the land and bend natural forces to their will. Haka has a particular affinity for communing with spirits, which inhabit every aspect of the natural world. As Two-Spirit, Haka is both human and beast at once, and can assume both their man-shape and the form of a great wolf. In beast-shape Haka's connection to the world is stronger, but they have less direct command over it. By allowing their spirits to meld, they can take the shape of the man-wolf, a powerful and aggressive creature, and the power of their magic is boosted immensely.

Equipment: Haka carries numerous basic survival implements passed down among their people, such as a bone knife and waterskin. They carry a willow bow with stone-tipped arrows, a variety of herbs and poultices, and numerous shamanic charms and fetishes. Haka's primary focus is their shaman's staff, carved from a lightning-struck tree and adorned with sacred bones and symbols.

Appearance:



Name: Thea'kel Heartwood, or Thea for short.
Age: 34
Race: Elf
Profession: Priest

Personality:

Thea doesn't consider herself a priest in the strictest sense of the word. She was never particularly interested in meditating over religious texts or sermons. Their words are delivered through mortal lips and hands, and as such Thea sees them as fallible. Her overarching motivation can be easily summed up as "as long as you can live with your conscience, go right ahead".

Witty, sarcastic, and at times downright stubborn, her approach to learning is to simply question others incessantly and challenging ideas. It is no small source of annoyance for those around her, though she also has a kind heart. She brings food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty, and often will go out of her way to help those in need. She has a particularly soft spot for children and treats them almost as if they were her own.

Her general approach to people, however, tends to be reserved and cautious. In her words, she "loves the populace but not its people". Having seen how the worst and least of society are treated, she is understandably cynical about individuals' and their motivations, even if she has love for society at large.

Backstory:

The Heartwood clan while technically belonging to the priesthood and clergy, do not actually serve as priests or priestesses. They all serve either as smiths or fighters in the elven priesthood's military wing or among the hunters where no formal clergy exists in the village.

Thea was raised and trained in the arts of the Heartwood clan, and took to it quickly. While her talents lay largely in crafting, she enjoyed the outdoors and her excursions to gather materials with the hunters. Given her personality, it occasionally meant she strayed off course for days to help the odd merchant caravan navigate the forest safely.

The elves had a friendly relationship with the nearby towns, so once she was old enough, Thea began her forays into the settlements and trading their wares there. Eventually she got to know the elves that had chosen to live among the other races, and took it upon herself to settle in around orphanage. She contributed where she could, and when she wasn't helping to mend the place or feed the orphans, she frequented the red light district to help the whores there (and occasionally bring one or two home with her).

When the town began getting harassed by the monsters, however, she quickly joined the militia to help in defending her home. Frustrated by the lack of men and resources to properly protect the town, Thea signed up with the expeditionary force to hopefully put an end to the trouble.

Skills and Abilities:

Divine Magic - Nature's Bounty

The Heartwood clan is blessed by the goddess of nature, Ethandril, with the ability to work their magic into natural materials. As smiths, they are able to craft weapons from tree bark and shape it as if it were fluid, making just as hard as steel or drawing various effects out of it. Leather and other materials like spider-silk can also be easily blessed with their enchantments and divine power, providing magical protection. Healing herbs and poisonous berries also become a lot more potent and allow them to treat various wounds and ailments.

Thea is an extremely proficient archer, able to put an arrow through a rabbit's eyes at 100 yards, albeit helped greatly by her elven sight.

While no veteran fighter, she is able to hold her own in melee combat. To her, it is of utmost importance that a smith know how to use their wares, even if she mostly uses her fighting knives to fletch her arrows.

She also has pretty good knowledge of herbalism and poisons from plants. While she might grind them into paste for salves and ointments or make teas, she lacks the experience to make elixirs and more complicated medicines from them.

While naturally agile and able to climb trees with ease, Thea has no parkour skills to speak of and scaling walls without a hook and rope prove difficult without plenty of places to find purchase. In the forest, however, only other elves will be able to keep up with her as she moves through the terrain.

Thea's most notable skill is undoubtedly her craftsmanship. While not much good at making things out of ore and metal ingots, she knows how to do maintain metal weapons and repair them. Anything made from leather and wood, however, she pretty much work as if it were clay.

Equipment:



Thea's very first masterpiece of a bow, she uses it out of sentiment. Its runic enchantments imbue any arrow she fires with divine magic, a useful weapon against the monsters. She also carries a quiver filled with special arrows of her own making with a myriad of effects, including a few coated with healing salves on soft arrowheads.

While many think them obsolete, the elves prefer them as they do not make as much noise as their ethergun and musket counterparts, and allows them to avoid drawing more monsters within earshot.



Heartwood Amulet - A wooden amulet made from Ethandra bark, a tree named after the nature goddess herself, pressing it against a tree will allow a Heartwood elf to pull bark, wood and sap from it harmlessly and limitlessly, as long as they have the magical energy to spare.



A pair of fighting knives made from Ironbark - a type of wood that carries its namesake metal within it.



Leather armor - Thea hasn't quite mastered enchanting armors beyond basic protection spells, and thus her leather armor only provides the benefit of keeping her comfortable.

Over her leather armor she wears a spider-silk cloak. Its color changes according to her surroundings to help her blend in and camouflage herself in foliage, but it doesn't pattern itself so anyone with a sharp eye will still spot her if they look hard enough.

On her waist is a utility belt with various pouches, carrying various herbs, berries and vials of tree sap that allow her to do her job as a healer and archer.

Name: Kathrine Vivian Dumoor
Age: 27
Race: Human
Profession: Soldier

Personality: Kathy used to be a shy, pliable girl. That was what was expected of her and she knew no different. However as she grew and her nurses and parents paid her less attention she became more independent and self reliant. As she aged she also developed confidence from her peasant friends. Now Kathy is a strong willed independent woman. She is often described as cold and aloof by her fellow officers. However her men would describe her a friendly but commanding.

Backstory: Kathy was born and raised in the Ironhoff Dominion. She was the fifth daughter of Lord Brandon Dumoor and Lady Maryellen. The heir to the Dumoor's wealth is her eldest brother Donald even though he's naught but five years older than her. Being the seventh child was hard on Kathy. She was barely spared any thought other than what her parents were to do with her. From an early age she expected herself to be wed off at any moment for a strategic alliance.

Kathy was raised by an old spinster woman, her aunt actually. Aunt Danielle was a sour woman with a terrible disposition. Kathy's pliable-ness stemmed much from her Aunt's treatment of her as a young girl. Nothing she could do was ever right. If she misbehaved she was quickly disciplined. The young girl's spirit was on the verge of being broken. Kathy, resorting to desperate measures to escape her Aunt's heavy hand, scaled the garden wall one day and ended up outside.

Freedom was a heady thing for young Kathy. She spent most of that day wandering aimlessly. She didn't fear wandering far for she had been cooped up in the family mansion all her life. Nor had she been told anything about the outside apart from the fact that the peasants were below her. "Those filthy unwashed masses" her Aunt would snear.

Kathy soon ended up leaving the noble quarters and down into the tradesman section of the city. There she found children around her age that she bonded with. When her father and a few of his men picked her up later that evening she knew she had to come back. These children didn't think she was only good for getting married and having babies. Nor were they as filthy as her Aunt described. They all had to take baths too!

Kathy wasn't able to escape for another few days. However once she had the opportunity she took it. Eventually after multiple escapes her father got tired of hauling her back home. Just as long as she came back each day. Kathy learned a lot from the tradesmen's children. The things she learned in her time there was invaluable to her. She learned a lot of the skills she'd use later on in life including how to use a gun, a sword and even to fight.

However her freedom was but a fleeting dream. Her father announced when she was fourteen that she was to be wed to the son of his business partner. Kathy ran away again that night. But not back to the streets. Nor did she try to flee the city. Instead she went to the barracks of the Dominion army. At first the men there laughed at the young girl who tried to join. Not to be deterred Kathy struck a bargain. She wagered a gold coin that she could shoot it in mid air. It was a trick shot one of the merchants had showed her just a few weeks ago. If she succeeded she'd join them. If she failed they could keep the gold coin.

Needless to say Kathy did shoot the coin and joined up under an assumed name as a nobody. It took her father nearly a month to track her down. At that point she was firmly entrenched in the military and despite her gender they weren't willing to give up someone of Kathy's skill. Not even to the Dumoors. Unhappily her father threw his (not inconsiderable) weight around and got her moved over to the officer side of the military.

Kathy excelled in swordsmanship, horseback fighting and musketeering. She made a name for herself in one of the skirmishes against Ilya. Their company Captain was killed leaving Kathy to command their squad into victory. Her skills, quick thinking, and ability to follow the chain of command earned her a promotion and a position in the newest Expedition into the wild and lost lands of the New World.

Skills and Abilities: Kathy is a soldier. She does it really well. It's really something she enjoys and it's a bonus that she's good at it. (Can do other things like play the violin. She's good at it but she hates it) She's still new to the whole commanding a regiment thing, but she's rapidly improving.

• Tactics: Kathy is a skilled tactician. She's good at gauging the situation and judging a response.
• Sharp Shooting: Kathy is quite possibly one of the best sharp shooters in the Dominion military. It's one of the reasons why she was accepted in the first place
• Horseback riding: Kathy is an expert horsewoman. She can ride sidesaddle or normally. She can shoot accurately on horseback also.
• Swordswoman: Kathy is not as good of a swordwoman as she is sharp shooting, but she can hold her own.
• Unarmed Combat: Kathy learned a lot of tricks for fighting hand-to-hand from her lower class friends. Much of her skills include dirty fighting. The military did teach her more of the professional style. Combined with what she already knew, it gives her a slight edge in unarmed fights.
• Violinist: Kathy's not a concert violinist, but good enough for a tavern.
• Charismatic: Kathy is able to command loyalty from her men.

Equipment:

• Long Rune Pattern Ethergun
• Blunderbuss Pistol
• Sabre
• Three knives
• Expeditionary uniform
• Steel breastplate and chainmail elsewhere

Appearance:


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Equipment:

Name: Arthur Harker
Age: 37
Race: Human
Profession: Mage

Personality:
"Every man is guilty of the good he did not do."

If you had to come up with a word to capture Arthur, it would be dedicated. Arthur believes firmly in the precept that one should never ask of another what one wouldn't do oneself--if you need to press the advantage, you press. If you need to hold the line, you hold. Not one to be concerned with popularity or pride, his pragmatic and joyless disposition hide a rare kindness--the mage would give you the jacket off his back if he thought it would help you make it through the night. It is this kindness and willingness to take on the job himself that prevents him from being overly disliked by the young-bucks who find him a grueling and merciless taskmaster. Arthur doesn't expect people to work as hard as he does only because he knows betters. Instead, he expects them to work harder than they ever have in their lives because he wants them to survive to live them.

Patient to a fault, Arthur is a conservative defender and a believer in defense as the best offense. Never one to rush into a situation without understanding it, Arthur preaches luck as the moment when opportunity meets preparation and teaches those he works with to think similarly. Dying for what you believe in is easy--waking up tomorrow to fight again is harder, and Arthur has never been one for the easy road.

Backstory:

Maer is a small nation compared to the powerhouses of Ilyra or the Ironhoff Dominion, but it survives because it plays to its strengths. Such was the nature of the Harker family who for generations capitalized on the magic that threaded its way through their bloodlines. While not all members of the family have the gift there are enough of them that any given generation can be expected to produce a few mages of quality; Arthur is one of them, as was his father.

Professor Isaac Harker was a talented mage in his own right, but his sons were brighter and more talented than he could imagine. His first son, Dorien, was a veritable genius in a way that few men are. Magic was a gift to him and came naturally, spontaneously, and inflated his ego in much the same vein. It was dour young Arthur who took to it with effort and force of will, but through his studies and his works he acquired a mastery of barrier magic and defensive tactics second to none. Dorien jokes even now that his brother's 'turtle-shell' was an early innovation to prevent any number of pranks that might have been played upon him as a child, in truth Arthur has simply always been a young man with an instinctive knowledge that the world is not a kind place and that if one is to survive it, one must be able to endure it.

Both brothers were accepted to The Academy at young ages and distinguished themselves even outside of their relation to their father (who had for many years been the Dean of Projections and the foremost authority on energy distribution). Dorien's theories on magical density and the manipulation of the coiled-energy projectile were instrumental in developing a more efficient network of basic defense spells, while Arthur's application of Deghast's Fourth Theory of Binding quickly became worthy of more advanced study. While Dorien jumped eagerly at an early acceptance to a doctorate program and the promise of a Professor's position within a few scant years, both he and Arthur were instead proposed as research assistants to a particularly prestigious program geared towards the New Frontier and the understanding of its' Shamans' nature magic. In tow of a proper professor and a few other prospective students, they made the journey across eleven years ago.

Of them, only Arthur and Dorien lived to regret it.

Not even a year after they arrived the calamity occurred and monstrous creatures descended on the town they pursued their studies in. As magical adepts they fared better than most and managed to make their way back to the ships, surviving side by side to make their way onto the only ship to return from that awful endeavor. Arriving at port and quickly drawn away to the Academy to report their findings, it was there that the two finally parted ways as Arthur... got back on the ship. Having seen what was there, having watched it tear through villagers and soldiers and friends, he could not in good conscience allow others to go where he himself would not. If they were to stand a chance against the threat they would need all the help they could get, and with so few of the survivors of that lone ship willing or able to return... Well. Some things are best done oneself.

The first years were a learning experience for Arthur. Though his magical arts had always included combat applications it was the day in, day out maneuvers and life of a soldier that took getting used to. Unwilling to simply advise, he preferred instead to put himself through the paces any other soldier would be expected to. He hadn't returned to research, he had come back to save lives. He didn't cut corners and he didn't rush through it, and when the time came to step into a leadership role there was no question that he had earned it.

Lieutenant Arthur Harker now serves as a squadron commander in the New Frontier. His mages, known as the Wallmakers (or, more colloquially, Wallers) are well renowned for their dedication under fire and their grim but resolute nature. They have higher mortality rates than most thanks to dangerous relief operations and a position that frequently places them under fire, but more than once a Waller has made the difference between a position overrun and a line held. Though there have been attempts made to promote him to a larger commanding position Lt. Harker has refused them all--his mind, he says, works best in small unit tactics and he has no desire to be taken out of the field.

Skills and Abilities:

The Wall
Arthur's primary expertise lies in his arcane magic and the creation of energy barriers of various shapes, forms, and sizes. As the foremost practitioner of his art Arthur can create sizeable barriers capable of withstanding tremendous punishment for an impressively long time. These range from defensive ramparts of pure energy to screaming barriers of lightning or fire to personal defense spells that outpace even the strongest armor. The larger the barrier the more energy and concentration it requires to maintain, as one might imagine, and so Arthur is careful to measure his magics.

Battlefield Manipulation
Arthur's secondary expertise is in the use of magic to manipulate an environment. A believer that magic should be used to support cheaper, more mundane methods of victory, Arthur has a gamut of abilities that most would consider supportive in nature--from stasis fields that can slow or stop an advancing force in its tracks to accelerant schemas that empower etherbolts that pass through them to greater effect, Arthur is a team player and tries to use magic as a force multiplier rather than a show-stopper.

Soldiery Most Fine
Unlike most mages, Arthur believes that magic should be relied upon to do what strength of arm can't rather than replace it entirely. As such he is well practiced with a rifle and bayonet, a capable swordsman, and a proficient tactician favoring defensive tactics and counterattacks. He's neither a marksman nor a duelist, but his level-head and dedication to competence puts him cleanly above your average rank-and-file. His technique is clean and practical, with heavy favor towards middle-ranged engagements.

Equipment:
Arthur's equipment is largely standard issue--able to provide much of his own armor, he prefers to demonstrate and master the weaponry that any given soldier can be expected to have rather than rely on fancy or enchanted equipment. That being said, one of the first things he teaches new mages is how to make waterproof, fireproof jackets and boots, and so he sports a pair of both.

His primary weapon is a New Rune Pattern Ethergun. He carries a short, heavy back sword at his waist alongside a dagger in case an engagement pushes to close range.

a very typically religious chaplain, not that that's bad by any means. The character itself is well written, and I'm not seeing any major discrepancies. A bit on the arrogant side, but it fits and I like it. This isn't a criticism, but Oscar's ability boost blessing probably wouldn't work on any non-religious characters.

very righteous and strong character, the hard headedness toes a very fine line between party disagreements/character development and outright conflict between characters. Your character mentions being naturally gifted with magic- would that be arcane magic? As divine magic is a gift by the gods to their priests. I know it's in her character, but she's also quite martially powerful, which is a bit at odds with the sort of tough, increasingly desperate feel I want to give the rp, but nothing that can't be worked with.

Appearance:
Above average height, the build you'd expect from a soldier with his abilities, a lean warrior who's frame allows for a perfect harmony between speed and power. His normally well groomed facial hair has, since his imprisonment gotten a little rougher. His hairstyle's lost a lot of it's grace. While still considered handsome, he's grown more rugged in the later years. His green eyes have grown dull, and that fire that was once inside of him has since long faded.

Epithet
The Golden Prince

Age: 32

Race: Human, hailing from the kingdom of Ilya.

Profession: Conscript.

Personality:
In a word, Arthur's complex. He's a skilled warrior, a well tried and proven commander and a great ally to anyone who would have him. He's able to adapt to the slums, or the noble courts – from which he's born, of Ilya. Get work protecting an Akivir convoy, or commandeering a ship protecting merchants from the New World from pirates. He generally gets along with most people – unless they upset his sensibilities.

Intelligent and cunning, able to stave off a fight when necessary, but not afraid to push the advantage when it's presented, showing a martial prowess beyond his years, yet showing off his decade and a half of experience in the service.

He's generally rather bored of the peace in the continent of Yggdrasil, and while a officer in the Ilya army, he still gets into his fair share of trouble. Dreams of becoming a folk hero, someone who's legacy will be remembered forever for his valor, his honor and his protecting of the weaker are all factors that drags him into trouble. Well, that, and his giant flirt. It's in fact what landed him in this predicament to begin with.

Coming off as deeply religious, praying the divine Gods daily, his extra-martial affairs tends to paint him as quite the hypocrite. He blames his affairs on his artistic soul, claiming the gods put him in this world to follow his heart, and there's not been a woman yet he has not fallen in love with.
He deems himself something of a Druid of the developed world, in deep touch with cities – especially his home in the capital of Ilya, as opposed to the forests. Finally, he's mistrusting of magic and their uses, rather relying on a regular flintlock pistol and his trusty sword over fireballs and thunder from the sky.

There are attributes of his personality, especially the more likable ones, the reliable ones, don't shine through the six years worth of constant alcohol consumption, giving off more of a sarcastic asshole who likes getting into trouble, than the complex man Arthur really is.

Backstory:

Frankly, Arthur Goldlink's story's starts rather dull, he was born comfortable in excess, never meant to work a day in is life. He's born to Jack Goldlink, former knight of the Papal Knights, Grandson of George Goldlink, one of the most fierce bankers in the entirely of Yggdrasil's recent history. As such, he's the third generation Nobleman, raised as such. He faked his father's signature, and stole his signet ring one night after a courtly party at their estate and signed himself up to go attend the Royal military school, shipping off a week later, having convinced his father it was a good idea, after all. Even as a teenager, Arthur was a clever boy, finding new and interesting ways of solving his problems, but often they came back with new problems.

He graduated the academy two years faster than his peers, he was a natural soldier, quick to take to orders, a man of action, a man of the sword. He furthered his skills by attending the Officer school, his first official mission was as captain of a small naval vessel of 20 men, meant to be part of a convoy that would protect approaching merchant ships from the New World.

His mettle was first tested when one of those ships was infested with Pirates whom had taken the merchants hostage, and were outnumbering his own crew two to one. With his tactics and sword skills, a display of his bravery and at risk of his own personal health, he and his crew took back the ship, rescuing the hostages and bringing all of the pirates into custody, it was how he earned his nickname by the men under his command, his lastname and his royal-like demeanor were the basis for it.

Following the incident, his vessel was Dubbed The Golden Prince, and the crew were named the Golden Stripes, each and everyone of them proving to be valiant warriors and capable soldiers, doing everything they could for their country.

The adventures of the Golden Stripes were many, protecting the innocent from bandits and ruffians, while serving their homeland they earned great fame, all to further fuel Arthur's Hubris and his dream of heroisms, pushing him into greater and greater dangers.

One mission, after the emergence of the monsters in the New World The Golden Stripes were sent as backup. Not even one week out of landing The New World, the monsters attacked their unit, decimating his friends, none of his swordplay, or careful planning could save the lives of the greatest friends he had ever known. He had always been brave in the face of danger, never been afraid to die, putting his honor above his live. But this, this was something else. He ran, hearing the final screams of his men, men who had trusted him and called him a brother for the past decade.

He left them to die, returning back home, he dove deeply into alcoholism and whatever joys he could find, constantly at odds with both his father, and the rest of the noble, but also his superiors and his fellow officers. The last straw came last year, when he was caught in the bedroom of the Minister of the Soldiery, the highest superior in his field.

The minister challenged him to a duel, provoking Arthur as much as he could, the man almost twice Arthur's age. Arthur did not just win the duel, but he humiliated the Minister, robbing him of his pride and his honor, gloating over his warrior prowess. The Minister spat a venomous line about all of that swordplay couldn't save his friends in the New World and Arthur snapped.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in the dungeon, handcuffed and in tattered clothes. Blood stains on his face and clothes. It came back to him, he had killed the Minister, stabbed him six times, and when the guards moved to arrest him, he had cut two of them down, before he was finally stopped by a mage.

He was going to get executed, and none of his former glory was gonna save him. Nor could the near-unlimited influence of his patriarch. The only thing his father could do for his beloved son was plead with the court to give his son a different fate. A chance to redeem himself. To return to the New World and seek redemption. His father knew it was a suicide mission, but he had hoped they would have put Arthur in charge of another patrol, and not as a conscript. But Jack's influence had limits, indeed.

Being shipped off to the new world, Arthur's going to have to fight to survive, with no one to have his back. Well and truly, he's alone in the New World.

Skills and Abilities:
Martial Training; Put in the Royal Military Academy at the age of 14, he shattered all records. Graduating from the prestigious academy at the mere age of 16, two years quicker than his peers, a fully trained soldier as it were, yet, that was not enough for him. He studied to become an officer and had the rank of Commander of a battalion at the age of 19, all in testament of his skills as a soldier and commanding officer.

Duelist; While shooting a rifle and a pistol were both part of the training regiment he went through, they were never his talent. Besides planning and seeing things from a different perspective than most – both things that lent themselves to commandeering, he's an excellent swordsman. Doing his best word in a one on one duel. His personal favorite is the finesse and elegance of a rapier, but he is a quick study and skilled with just about any straight sword.

Survivalist; He's an adept survivalist, just not out in the forest. He does not know how to setup traps, he only knows that one should, nor how to collect food, and he's not much of a hunter. No, his survival skill comes from dealing with other people, bartering information for supplies. Able to tend to the needs of others usually always goes well.

Brawler; When without a sword, he's fully capable of throwing the gloves and having a old fashioned brawl, brawling champion in the Garrison for three years in a row – before his disbarment, that is.

Naval Combat; He's unable to man any part of the ship except that of Captain, able to direct the rest of the crew for the best course of action, yet, his understanding of Naval Combat's impressive.


Equipment:
Conscript equipment. He wears his family crest on a necklace around his neck, carrying a run off the mill rapier that was handed to him by the garrison. The only thing he carries that's his own is his leather chest armor with it's one shoulder pad, that once bore the mark of the Golden Stripes, but since his last visit in the area, it's been cut off with a knife, leaving scarring in the leather. He carries a flask with vodka in it, now his most priced possession.