Name: Adam Bradshaw

Age: 40

Race: Human

Gender/Pronouns: He/him

---

Appearance: 6’0”, 180 lbs, Adam is a large and physically-fit man. He has a muscular, disciplined physique honed through years of training, though he’s begun to feel the haunting aches and pains of middle age. His body is covered in scars from a life lived on the battlefield, and he has a generally broad, athletic posture. He generally walks with his head held high and his shoulders back, like a noble. Adam has a stern, stoney face with a large, generally furrowed brow. Crow’s feet have begun to set in beneath his intense, dark-eyed gaze, and grey hairs have started to form in his short black hair and beard. He speaks with a deep voice and a British accent (I’d imagine him being voiced by Russel Crowe).

Attire: Adam generally dresses like a commoner, with a tunic (usually red or beige), tan trousers, and brown leather boots. He often wears a brown hood atop his tunic, which he wears with a matching brown robe in the winter, and a thick brown leather belt. He carries a simple arming sword in a marbled leather sheath on his left hip next to his coin purse.
In combat, Adam wears a chain mail shirt that nearly reaches his knees, covered by a tattered white and blue surcoat, cinched around his waist by a leather belt. Steel spaulders, rerebraces, and vambraces protect his arms, while armored greaves protect his legs. In heavy combat, he wears a visored barbute to protect his head and face.

---

Outward Personality: Adam is a stern and no-nonsense kind of guy. He’s a strict leader, a utilitarian thinker, and has minimal tolerance for bullshit. Adam sees mercenary work as a job, not some quest for glory, and acts accordingly. Efficiency gets on his good side, and the simplest solution is always the best. He’s confident, with a strong sense of self-worth and a generally optimistic, though pragmatic, outlook. Insults don’t get much under his skin nor to attacks on his character; at the end of the day, when it comes down to what matters, Adam knows who will be standing victorious. Mutual respect is a big part of Adam’s behavior: treat him with respect, and he will show the same to you. Behave rudely, however, and he will stoop to your level.

Despite his commonplace appearance and general behavior, cracks of nobility shine through his facade. Adam is well-educated and sharp. He’s a shrewd tactician and is good at reading a room, and he knows things that you wouldn’t expect a commer to know (history, literature, reading, writing, mathematics). While he talks a big game about mercenary work “just being a job”, Adam can’t help but have a heart for the noble and good in the world. He won’t take jobs that he deems immoral (usually) and when it comes down to it, Adam shows restraint in his behavior. If he can, he’ll seek to wound, but not kill, and he will show mercy to those who prove themselves worthy of it.

Bonds: Adam is looking for redemption, as many mercenaries in his company are. He hopes that through this grim work, he will one day be able to give his daughter a better future than this.

Goal: Adam’s ultimate goal is...a secret, for now.

Character Flaws: Adam can be blinded by his desire for efficiency. The simplest solution isn’t always the best, and Adam will usually wave off a more convoluted plan in favor of a simpler one, even if the convolution gives a higher chance of success. Furthermore, Adam is, much to his own chagrin, a merciful person. More than once, he’s offered mercy to those who didn’t deserve it, leading to his own downfall.

Backstory: You don't know much about Adam, cause he doesn't tell much, but from his behavior and possessions you can piece stuff together. Adam clearly has a noble past from Talbor judging by his accent and weapons, but what led him to become a merc is entirely unclear. You know Talbor has a violent past of overthrowing nobility and civil war. Maybe that has something to do with it. What you do know is that Adam founded the Iron Pride ten years ago with a few human buddies, all of whom have died or moved on, and his child, Amelia, who is still with the Pride. He's a single father trying to raise both a child and an army in a world where folk like him are about as valuable as a steak thrown to a lion.

---

Skills:



Magic: None

Weaponry:

---

Other: Adam’s favorite food is fried eels, though he’ll also go to town on catfish.

Age: 17

Race: Human

Gender/Pronouns: She/her



Appearance: 5’8”, 160 lbs, Amelia is of above-average height and weight for a woman her age. She’s fit from a life on the road, with a somewhat masculine-yet-small build. She’s got a fairly athletic and boyish stance, feet shoulder length apart, shoulders thrown back, a broad chest for her size. She’s fairly pale and sunburns easily, much to her chagrin. She has freckles, especially along the brim of her nose and cheeks. She has a serious face with a prominent brow and small round ears that protrude from her mess of brown hair. She has a small, mousey nose and dark blue eyes. Her voice is fairly deep for a woman, and she speaks with a slight British accent (a remnant of her Talbor heritage).

Attire: Amelia dresses cheaply and plainly. She wears a simple brown tunic, trousers, and mid-calf height brown leather boots. She has a brown leather belt around her waist with a bollock knife on it, mostly a tool for cutting meat/cheese/rope, etc, but potentially also a weapon. When it’s cold, she wears a black hooded cloak made of bear fur, a gift from her father.

On the battlefield, Amelia wears half-plate armor: pauldrons, rerebraces, vambraces, gauntlets, armored greaves, poleyns, and a knee-length mail shirt. She wears a grey and black surcoat over her armor. She wears a close helm with a visor atop her head.

Outward Personality: In a word, Amelia’s a bastard. Growing up on the road surrounded by brigands and pirates, she’s developed a tough, rowdy exterior and a brash, aggressive disposition. She curses like it’s her job, drinks like a fish, and generally acts vulgar and irreverently. As a woman in the company of men, Amelia has spent much of her life having to prove she’s just as good as everyone else, and it’s left a serious chip on her shoulder. She has a quick temper, a head harder than steel, and a short leash for insults, especially when it comes to her gender, strength, or prowess on the battlefield. Amelia is someone who thinks actions speak louder than words, with little tolerance for bullshit. The words of nobles and politicians are designed to confound and confuse— bluntness is truth. At her core, Amelia is extremely emotionally-repressed. Her entire life, she’s been taunted for her femininity in the company of men, and such has made her afraid to ever really open up to anyone. In truth, Amelia is as exhausted as she is angry: why does she have to suffer because of a malicious culture outside of her control? Why can’t people accept enough is enough and let her prove herself for who she is?

While Amelia acts like a bastard, she’s by no means a bad person. She has a lot of emotional intelligence and an understanding of people’s limits— she’ll make fun of you for everything she can find, but if she can tell it’s starting to bother you she’ll cut the crap. Amelia has a strong moral compass as well: she despises bullies and malicious folk, and if you find yourself at the blade or fist of a villain she’ll be the first to your side. She loves fighting: while she’s smart enough to not pick fights, she’ll be the first to join them once they start.

Amelia is a lesbian, unable to muster up any attraction to men. On several occasions, she’s been caught flirting with tavern wenches or stable maids, which she’s gotten in various degrees of trouble for. The stigma in some parts of the world against lesbian relationships doesn’t particularly bother Amelia— everyone already discounts and despises her for her gender— why stop there? While she’s flirted with girls a few times, and occasionally stolen a kiss, but she’s never had a long-term relationship.

Goal: Amelia’s goal in life is to prove herself as a great warrior. She’d like to lead her own mercenary company someday, maybe take over the Iron Pride after Adam retires. Knightly roles don’t really interest her much— the pomp and circumstance of noble courts is like vomit in Amelia’s mouth.

Character Flaws: Amelia comes at life with a point of view that everyone she meets is going to discount and doubt her. As such, she has a lot of trouble trusting people, assuming that they will always treat her with the same distaste she’s used to. Furthermore, Amelia has a really short temper and is uncommonly stubborn, a mix that can get violent fast in the wrong context. Determination is one thing— bone-headedness is another entirely.

Backstory: Amelia was born in Talbor, but she doesn’t talk about or remember that part of her life that much. She had an education of some sort, was born in relative privilege, but left at a young age with her father. The circumstances of the Bradshaws leaving Talbor is not a topic Amelia likes to discuss or think of.
From then on, Amelia grew up on the road, traveling the land with her father as he tried to find a better life for them. Amelia idolized her father; he was everything that a knight was supposed to be: courageous, tough, but also kind and chivalrous. He treated Amelia like a queen, always making sure she had enough when times were tough, giving up his own meals or blankets or bedding so she could be comfortable. In exchange, Amelia worked hard to be the perfect child and to live up to her father’s expectations. When Adam went out on missions, Amelia would do exactly as she was told and resented mischief. To keep her safe, Adam taught Amelia basic knifework, just in case. Amelia practiced constantly; she loved being able to defend herself, knowing that it would give her father relief to know she was safe when he did what he had to do to put food on the table.
In those days, the Iron Pride was mostly composed of warriors from Talbor, old contacts of her father’s who had lost their noble titles or deserted, but those days changed. One by one, those men left, killed in battle or gone back to Talbor to fight in the war for this side or that. The men that came to replace them weren’t the same: they saw Amelia as a distraction, not as a person. A child had no place in a mercenary camp, they thought. Amelia was teased and mocked and humiliated for reasons outside of her own control. Several times the teasing got so bad that Adam stepped in, once even beating up a mercenary who had literally attempted to steal Amelia’s underwear from her hamper. For reasons outside of her control, Amelia was a target, and day by day it grated on her.

From the age of ten, Amelia was trained in combat, archery at first but then horsemanship and melee combat. Adam wanted her to be a hunter, if anything. Amelia wanted to be a soldier. She trained every day, rain or snow or blazing heat, with the polearm, axe, and sword, sparring with other mercenaries or Adam when she could. She was so proud to show her father what she’d learned from reading dueling manuals or from watching the moves of the other mercenaries. Amelia’s fighting style diverged from Adam’s pretty quickly; Adam was a knight, trained in honorable combat. Amelia saw no honor in war. She would kick, spit, throw sand, swing for the nether regions with blunted weapons. Once, while sparring an ostaran merc named Sionyn, known for harassing and belittling Amelia, she tackled him to the ground and beat his face in with the pommel of a training sword, breaking his nose and knocking out several teeth. Sionyn...left the company then under less-than-harmonious circumstances. Amelia’s catchphrase within combat became “fight me like a man!”, usually followed by a swift and definitive blow.

For a long time, Adam refused to allow Amelia to fight. He gave all sorts of answers: too impulsive, too young, too disobedient, but in his heart he knew the answer: she was his daughter, the only family he had left, and if anything happened to her, he’d be crushed. The argument went back and forth, Amelia feeling as if her father was treating her as all men did, as a weakling not meant for battle. All that changed a year ago, at what the members of the Iron Pride call The Battle of Cnoc Talamh.

The company was traveling through North Nepharie, guarding a royal carriage containing military implements bound for a fort in the Harvest Mountains. A rival mercenary gang was hired to intercept the shipment and, after careful espionage, ambushed the company while they were stopping to rest. A fight broke out between the two groups; Adam went out to face the enemy, ordering Amelia to stay hidden with one of the other mercs, who was instructed to defend her at all costs. The company was outnumbered; several members died, and Adam was wounded in a battle against two enemies. As one of those two ran to thrust his pike into Adam’s chest, he heard a scream from behind; Amelia had wrestled her way away from the merc ordered to guard her, grabbed the first weapon she saw, a massive zweihander, and ran to defend her father. In one fell stroke, the mercenary’s head toppled from his body. Amelia continued fighting by her father’s side and in the end they were able to repel the mercenaries, though at the cost of several members of their band and a Nepharie government official.

From that day on, there’s been a silent agreement between Adam and Amelia; so long as Amelia proves she is more than capable of defending herself and uses her head enough to keep out of stupid situations, Adam allows her to fight. The two still argue often over Adam’s tight leash on Amelia, but there’s a respect there that wasn’t there before, the kind of respect between a captain and soldier.

Skills:



Magic: None.

Weaponry:



Other:

Emrys Prytchard

Age: 53

Gender: Male

Role: Quartermaster



Appearance: 3’0”, 100 lbs, overweight and jolly-looking. Wide frame, long hair and bushy beard. Wide nose, thick eyebrows, generally earnest-looking. Wears a simple green tunic with a leather belt and a squat red hat.

Personality: Despite looking grouchy, Emrys is generally agreeable. He’s got a positive attitude and is polite, but is also very dedicated to his job of keeping track of everything. He can often be found pouring over spreadsheets and such or performing upkeep tasks around the campsite. Emrys is not-so-secretly envious of the active-duty members of the company, but due to physical restrictions he isn’t of much use on the battlefield.

Backstory: Emrys had a long history as a mercenary before joining up with the Iron Pride. He was born into a large, poor family in western Nepharie and joined up with a band to avoid working the fields for the rest of his life, much to the disappointment of his family and village. Emrys went on to have a long and fruitful career as a mercenary, serving in the Harvest mountains and eventually in the Minotaur War, where he received an injury to his back which keeps him from fighting.

The tale Irae tells differs only in that he fled, marking him a deserter. He traveled far and wide to escape conflict wherever he went. He learned the roads mapping Tithe like the veins mapping his body, and he learned that, like veins, where the roads branched so too did the flow of blood. Wherever there were people, it seemed, so did conflict, and so did death. How ironic was it that the dominant religion of this world preached the sanctity of life -- all life -- and yet no one did a thing to preserve it? The war was where Irae's life began and where it ended. If you asked him where he found his faith, it was after he traveled Tithe and returned home to northeast Talbor. Only after traveling Tithe did he find a temple devoted to Iroh, and it was there he decided to commit himself to the prophet's teachings.

In truth, Irae's tale is a white lie. He harbors no malicious intent in his deceit, but in knowing that the greater public would rest easier in the shadows of lies. Though it is true he is a priest of Iroh, prophet of mankind, he has been one far longer than he lets on and he makes no mention of the secretive faction lurking beneath the institution's foundation. The indoctrination into this order occurred when he was a young man. Lost and without direction, having known love and having love lost, he turned to the faith of his late partner, Isna Ashken. It was originally as a way to heal, but in time, it became all he had. By the time he was a young adult, he was introduced to a secretive splinter group within the institution as a reward and an acknowledgment for his faith and devotion. There is no name or written doctrine, known only by its members as the Day of Wrath. Its cult-like practices were to remain secret from the rest of Tithe, and especially from the Maelan institution.

Death is as sacred as life, the only promised fate, and a necessity of the natural order; all life must die. In this respect, its members are as much a guardian of the grave as they are perpetrators of it, smiting the undead as often as condemning the living. This is not to say that Irae and his ilk are serial killers, but have unique views on death and don't deal with the same qualms as Maelan worshipers. However, as self-appointed defenders of the natural order, this unique priesthood also targets enemies of their faith. This aspect of their practices is treated with utmost severity and is typically reserved for those who violate the natural order, mass murderers, and high-ranking theological figures of corrupt bent -- that is to say the dominant Maelan theocracy. Where they sought to keep the other faiths in line, the Day of Wrath sought to keep them in line. Irae, among a few others, is in the unique position of being both an anointed priest as well as an anointed assassin.

He was active during the war, but he was not a soldier. He was an independent agent doling out justice where appropriate. Talbor has no shortage of corrupt lords and ladies seeking to take advantage of the chaotic environment, but was never caught out in the open and didn't lift a finger to help either side during the hob invasion. He had no political loyalty to whoever would inherit the throne and didn't seek to seat any one person upon it. He was also unique in his order that he chose not to inherit the magic of Mael for personal beliefs, but neither is he lesser in his accomplishments or efficiency for it. It is perhaps because he had less to lose than the other members, but it as though he sees death as an old friend and a ferryman to his way home. If man were truly meant to inherit the earth, then he would find home whether he lived or died.

With a duty to uphold to his order, he cannot simply stay put in his temple to Iroh. So, he began to travel under the guise of a wayward priest lending out his services. Only in recent months did he find the mercenary company. Figuring that was as good a cover as anything else for his purposes, he joined them under the pretense that they'd have someone to provide spiritual guidance, and offer diplomatic and minimal-collateral solutions should the situation call for it. In the time since then, however, at least one thing became clear if nothing else: he's a priest with a colored past and is more capable than he appears. Whether he's taking the path of redemption or is up to something else remains to be seen by his comrades.

---

---

Age: 25

Race: Augury

Gender/Pronouns: Male, him/his

---

Appearance: Scrapbeak is a mostly plain-looking augury, slightly above average in height (3’9) and weight, and of a fair build for someone in his line of work, though hard to tell thanks to his small stature and coating of feathers. His most prominent feature, and key to his namesake, is the small scrap of metal adorning his beak, covering a split he acquired in his youth. The right side of his face is also quite scar-heavy, though those were collected during his early years as a mercenary. His left leg, in its absence, has been replaced with a crude wooden prosthetic, though auguries’ natural sense of balance allows it that level of crudeness.

Attire: Both in and out of combat, Scrapbeak is dressed in a drab scarf, an olive green cloak with belt straps, a beige padded vest, a dark tan gambeson, and a chainmail tunic underneath all of that. He’s certainly not one to bother with maintaining a pleasant appearance, or spend any coin on better wear.

---

Outward Personality: Scrapbeak has become a rather reserved, mild-mannered, somewhat somber fellow as he’s aged. Once he was more eccentric and ambitious, but those feelings have long since left his person. He is always focused on the task at hand, preferring to see jobs and assignments done quickly and without any hassle.

Bonds: A looming sense of guilt and a desire to pay back old self-inflicted debts both spur Scrapbeak to continue doing what he does.

Goal: Scrapbeak wishes to pay back his home rookery for their wasted efforts in acquiring a Tear for him, in the amount of a million’s worth of coin.

Character Flaws: Scrapbeak feels he is ‘broken’ in many aspects. He is physically unable to utilize magic to any proper extent, thus he is broken in that regard. He’s received numerous injuries throughout his life that have scarred him, and in some cases, impaired his capability as a mercenary. All of this, with the addition of over a decade on the road, has bared down on Scrapbeak to an extent, and he often finds himself clouded with thoughts of self-doubt, the inability to pay his debts, and being seen as a failure in the eyes of his people.

Backstory: Scrapbeak, born Karnak Karapet, hails from the Karapet rookery near the eastern coast of Nepharie, close to the border of Jikari. His childhood was a rather ‘exciting’ one, in the words of some of his fellow auguries. He enjoyed descending the rookery and exploring the surrounding expanse, often traveling to the coast and scouring the shore for childish interpretations of buried treasure, most times receiving some new injury in the process - the most prominent of which was when he’d fallen from a small cliff and split his beak open on a rock. But none of those injuries ever stopped him from going out the next day.

When he was six, Karnak discovered an unmarked shipping crate that had washed ashore, most likely originating from a pirate vessel from the Southern Isles, and pried it open to discover little but a small collection of old metal utensils, plates, and other forms of scrap in rather poor condition. Somehow, he became enamored with the hoard, spending days polishing off all the rust he could, and at some point, deciding to patch his cracked beak up with a small sheet of iron and some resin. The rest of the rookery took to calling him Khiao-Parr, or ‘Metal-Beak’ in the common tongue.

Karnak’s fascination with metal found its way to adorning small, inanimate kisha with utensils and scrap, which some of the neighboring younglings mocked him for, but a handful of the elders considered it a spark of creativity. Encouragements to become a soulcrafter filled his mind, and along with ambitions of one day building a grand, towering kiy-kisha of both bone and metal, he endeavored to be the one that the rookery would bequeath an immensely prized Tear to. Karnak entered as an apprentice to the rookery’s resident soulcrafter, showing much dedication and promise.

When the time came, Karapet’s one available Tear, purchased for a hundred thousand Monas - a million’s worth of coin, having taken many years to accrue - was presented before the apprentices, and Karnak was the one chosen to partake of it. But after all was concluded, a heart-rending fact was discovered - Karnak could not fully feel the Tear’s power within him. He tried, he focused as intently as he could, he searched for the Pulse, but he couldn’t even do so much as bend a blade of grass. Every excuse came up - perhaps the Tear was a fake, perhaps he was simply a late bloomer, but as time passed, the conclusion became unanimous. Karnak was, at the core of his being, flawed. The precious Tear that the people of Karapet had worked so much for had been utterly wasted on a nak-karta - a magically stunted augury.

Karnak quickly became the subject of ire and ridicule within Karapet. Very few sympathized with him, and all the rest simply hated looking at him, being reminded of all the wealth that had effectively vanished into thin air. Furthermore, there would be no one to properly take the soulcrafter’s place should he pass away, and the rookery would crumble without anyone to interpret the will of Khiar-koff, and keep the tribe in his good graces. All of this worry and uncertainty surrounded Karnak, crushing his normally happy demeanor, and eventually, he just couldn’t bear any of it anymore.

So he left.

Karnak, no longer feeling welcome, left his rookery behind, and traveled into the heartlands of Nepharie. In the years that followed, he found himself taking up oddjobs and low-risk mercenary work. While not so at the start of his self-inflicted exile, he later came to feel an overwhelming sense of remorse for what circumstances had inflicted on him and his people. One hundred thousand monas, a million’s worth in coins… he felt it was only right to somehow pay it all back, however many years it might take.

Karnak became a full-time mercenary, gradually improving his abilities as such, and slowly saving up considerable amounts of coin, spending none of it for himself save on essentials. Every few years, he traveled back to Karapet, giving a sum of ten thousand monas to his people at a time, leaving soon after to return to work. As the years passed, most of the harsh feelings towards Karnak faded, yet he never let up from his task. Every coin would be paid back, no matter how long and how much work it took. The soulcrafter, slowly succumbing to old age, watched with regret as with every visit, the memory of the ambitious, high-spirited augury he’d called an apprentice became more and more distant, replaced with such a sad, broken, transient thing.

It has since been over a decade. Karnak has paid 30,000 monas back to his tribe, out of the goal of 100,000. The soulcrafter of Karapet is still alive, but no one believes it will be long before he dies. Karnak has become a well-traveled mercenary, earning the nickname ‘Scrapbeak’ from those he’s worked with, for a very apparent reason. He has visited several magical consuls to see if something could be done about his condition, but no good ever came of it. At some point, he attempted to travel to Kara Kapa, a major rookery based in the hostile land of Stellona, in order to request that they send one of their own soulcrafters back to Karapet to take over, should the current one pass away. Attempting to make the trip alone cost Scrapbeak his leg, by way of one of Robore’s many bizarre and oversized forms of plant life that he’d run afoul of. Damaged and discouraged, Scrapbeak retreated to safer lands, and has not attempted the trip again since.

In an attempt to expedite his acquisition of wealth, as he fears that Karapet’s soulcrafter’s death continues to loom, Scrapbeak has taken up arms with the Iron Pride mercenary company, hoping to come into more lucrative contracts and opportunities. He has so far been with the company for about two weeks.

---

Skills: Scrapbeak wouldn’t win any mercenary competitions with unmatched skills or prowess in combat. But he has put himself through many, many arduous tasks over the years that have tempered his capabilities, even under major amounts of pressure. He’s a fine shot with his crossbow, and he’s certainly no slouch with his hatchet. And of course, being an augury gives him some degree of stealthiness that larger beings might lack, knowledgeable of ambush tactics and hiding spots out in the wilds. What’s more, Scrapbeak is something of a jury rigger, as a result of many years spent fiddling with his equipment, his crossbow, his leg, and so on. He is by no means a master of the tinker’s art, but he believes he can improve.

Magic: Scrapbeak is incapable of utilizing magic in any regard, much to his chagrin.

Weaponry: Scrapbeak carries a crossbow that he has taken exceptional care of over the years. He is also equipped with a small steel hatchet that, while unassuming, can make a fair cut. While an augury might be expected to carry weapons bearing their tribe’s mark, Scrapbeak has long stopped feeling like he belonged to one - and thus, he has gone without the traditional weapons of his people.

Name: Iulian Demeas

Age: 28

Race: Jikari Human

Gender/Pronouns: Him/His



Appearance:

Iulian is, without a doubt, one of the most solidly built people one could ever meet. While not particularly enormous in stature, standing just shy of 5'11, he is solid as a rock. He is broad shouldered and stocky, like a silverback gorilla stuffed into a man's body- easily surpassing two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle which flows from his legs to torso around shoulders to arms and full strong neck in an uninterrupted, unemphatic unity of strength.

Iulian's face has the makings of what one would consider attractive, with high cheekbones and a squared jaw, but any hint of suave lady killer has been lost to years and years of the hunt. Replaced instead with a more ghoulish appearance that some may say has its own roguish charm. His mouth is like a knife, and his face like a blade, his smile the flicker of light across a dagger revealing long canines and a rough tongue. His hair was long and tangled and greasy when hung down, concealing a face so scarred with old wounds it was impossible to tell where one began and another ended. His nose had been battered to his cheekbones; his heavy forehead nearly lost in a fierce tangle of eyebrows; but one can always see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines- as they glow with some sort of supernatural iridescence even in total darkness. Unlike most Jikari who are known for their deep olive tans and beautiful skin, there is surprisingly little color to Iulian's skin. It is white; not like another man’s white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl - as if he hasn't seen the sun a day in his life.

Attire:
When in battle or simply traveling, Iulian wears armor that at first glance appears to be of fairly normal leather make. Thick and padded, protecting mainly the torso, forearms, and legs of the body and held together by adjustable buckles and straps rather than sewn into one cohesive piece. When pressed about this, Iulian will beam and heartily insist that after a good meal it can become rather uncomfortable and the adjustment is necessary. What is sewn into this armor however is genuine battle grade steel that protects the shins, upper arms, and stomach area. The steel is segmented rather than sheets, sacrificing a small amount of protection for greatly improved dexterity. The steel built into the armor's cuirass is layered into the leather armor and is largely obscured, but can be slotted in and out of the leather when the armor is removed from the wearer's body- allowing for relatively easy maintenance. The armor is kept in relatively good condition despite its near constant wear (functioning both for protection and daily travel wear) and is protected from the elements by a bear hide coat.

When the environment is not suitable to his standard wear or armor is inappropriate, Iulian wears a simple tunic and trousers with a traveler's cloak. Not one for fashion, and as a traveling blade he has little need for nice clothing, far preferring function to form.

Outward Personality:
Outwardly, Iulian is a fairly quiet man that manages a peculiar mixture of relaxed and energetic depending on how much alcohol is in his system. He's not particularly talkative, oftentimes politely refusing to talk about his life in the cult and the stories of his many hunts. However he is not unfriendly, regularly laughing along with the group or interacting and speaking his mind without necessarily speaking at all. He has a large presence and a forceful voice even if he rarely uses it, so when his does rise beyond that gravely undertone people listen.

Iulian's very nature is that of extremes as a result of the lycanthropy affecting his mind. When he does things, he does it with passion akin to that of a zealot, but when he cannot be bothered he really cannot be bothered. Lycans by their nature are prone to aggression, and his particular brand being that of a pack animal means that those he views distinctly below him in the pecking order might very well be ignored altogether if they get on his bad side. A man of the 'welps eat last' mentality, but far from a bully as many of his kind are. Years and years of channeling his aggression means that for the most part he does not lash out if it is not the heat of the moment, but the beast is still very much alive and well within him. If food is scarce or if tensions are high, Iulian is almost always one of the first to snap being predisposed to the primal entity inside him.

Bonds: Money and the thrill of the hunt. As seen in nature, predators just cant help themselves when something runs.

Goal: Iulian was raised with the mentality of 'find a mate and return with a child' driven into his head. He understands that this outlook is antiquated, and that forcing a person into the life he himself must live might not be the best thing to do in the rapidly changing world- so in the meantime amassing a decent sum of gold and finding someone worth fighting for along the way stands at the top of his list.

Character Flaws: Iulian is a lycan, and is constantly at odds with himself when it comes to managing his more primal desires. Prone to aggression and extreme acts, Iulian is particularly more volatile than the average soldier in spite of the benefits of his affliction. Trained medical experts and other monster slayers may recognize his affliction outright and treat him as the very kind of monster that he seeks to destroy. Iulian has and always will be combating the worlds view of him as a wolf in sheeps clothing- because he is just that: a monster pretending to be a man.

Backstory:

Iulian hails from a tribe, or cult of sell sword warriors that live deep in the savannas of Jikari. This tribe has no official name or banner beyond their uniting affliction, and is largely referred to as simply the generalized Misthios'. From a young age, children are inflicted with lycanthropy of the hyena strain- granting them great strength and supernatural stamina in exchange for a loss of control and permanent alteration of who they once were... and raised as warriors and monster hunters for hire. The men are the hunters and gatherers, and the women maintain leadership positions as the cult is matriarchal in nature. Many male lycans do not remain within the tribe for long after they have completed their two decades of training and set off on their own to spread word of their practices and to introduce fresh blood into the tribe when they return with mates.

This tribe, and Iulian, are entirely carnivorous as a result of generational lycanthropy changing their diets and natural builds to be more reflective of their animistic counterparts and are never in one place for more than a few weeks, instead traveling from place to place following game animals in their never-ending hunt. Iulian has been off and on his own for eight years traveling Tithe and solving problems. Rain or shine, sleet or snow, man or monster. As long as there's coin involved and a sense of direction, Iulian is not far away.

Skills: Iulian's nature as a lycan grants him great raw strength and reflex both in and out of his hybrid state, and phenomenal hearing, sight in the night, and smell. Furthermore the sheer power behind his jaws in hybridized form allows him to punch through armor like tissue paper and tear apart weapons, tools, and armor with relative ease. Furthermore Iulian is a skilled monster hunter, and is familiar with everything that can go bump in the night having spent every day of his life honing his craft. Finally Iulian's nature of living with danger has led him to become an alchemist that would make McGyver smile, and a field medic capable of field dressing most wounds that would otherwise be far worse or life threatening if left alone. Beyond this, Iulian is a skilled swordsman and an excellent tracker and scout, having spent most of his life hunting down things that do not want to be caught.

Magic: Iulian is a competent alchemist, specializing in field alchemy that oftentimes is used to magnify certain aspects of one's person to deal with particular threats. Iulian is not capable of making a person stronger, or faster than normal as the time and ingredients requires are not conducive to life on the road. Instead, his potions function to improve and limit physiological functions of the body. Examples of this would be improved night vision, slower lactic acid buildup, potions that slow heart rate to prevent blood loss or allow one to hold their breath for longer, concoctions that improve the blood's ability to coagulate, or introducing a compound to the blood that makes it dangerous to consume depending on the quarry. Because these potions are oftentimes made quickly and improvisational in nature they come with side effects that can be dangerous and even deadly if taken too much or compounded with other potions.

Weaponry: Iulian wields a silver long sword and a steel long sword, but only one at a time. He also carries a hunting knife and meathook for day to day chores and uses- these two are rarely used for much else.

Other: Wew lad music time

Age: 26

Race: Ostaran (West)

Gender/Pronouns: Female, she/her

---

Appearance: Physical Appearance. At around 2’6”, Cerridwyn is on the shorter side for her already short race. She has a sturdy and stout build with strong arms from years using a bow, but a fairly plump torso and legs. Even so she claims to be the thinnest to come from her family (which could be true, who knows). Her skin is a medium brown tone with ruddy, reddish undertones. It is marked by a variety of scars from years of fighting with most having healed well and covered up by layers of clothing. She has a particularly nasty burn scar on her right left chest, shoulder and arm which is years old. Her hands are calloused and rough. Ceri’s hair is dark auburn in colour and thick and curly, almost impossible to tame. It’s long and falls all the way down her back. Normally she will keep it tied back in a braid so that it doesn’t get in the way, but she refuses to cut it. She has somewhat large, dark brown eyes. Her face is round and generally lacking in sharp edges, with thick reddish eyebrows and a turned up, snub nose. Ceri stands tall (as tall as she can), with an air that’s a mixture of pride and aggression. Though not noticeable to most she’s always alert unless around the right company, in which case she can completely relax.

Attire: Outside of battle, Ceri wears practical and comfortable clothing with little care for appearance. Her most common attire is a sleeveless, knee length tunic on top of a long sleeved undershirt and baggy trousers. She’ll often wear bracers and leather boots. In warmer climates she’ll go without the long sleeves. Most of her clothing is in shades of brown, green, grey and sometimes blue.

Armour wise, Ceri wears leather armour that covers her torso, arms and legs. It is thick and padded but light enough to not restrict her movement. It’s specifically made to allow her to remain fairly flexible and nimble while wearing it, in a way prioritising this over sheer protectiveness. On her left hand she wears a leather bracer which half covers her thumb and forefinger to act as an archery guard. Often she will wear the leather torso piece underneath her normal tunic.

---

Outward Personality: How Ceri behaves heavily depends on the people she’s around. She is incredibly untrusting when it comes to strangers and those she views as outsiders. To those she counts in this category, which is most, she will ignore them at best and is incredibly vicious at worst. She is rude and sharp with outsiders and any hint of irritation towards her will lead to violence in response. This gives her a generally aggressive and violent outward personality that only

Around people that she trusts, which is few, she is like a completely different person. Originally this was only other Western Ostarans but now she views the company in much the same way as she would her Freedom Fighter allies - something akin to a family. Ceri is naturally very social and full of a constant energy that only grows in groups. She is incredibly friendly in general and strongly values the company of others, going out of her way to not be alone. She tends to be bright and talkative with a lot of joke cracking, even if a lot of those jokes are at the expense of others. She can be quite blunt and sarcastic, likely to protect and help others in the company but just as likely to accidentally say something hurtful to them. She tries her best and is adept socially, but grew up in a harsh, militaristic situation which shows in her interactions with others. She treats all those she trusts as equals with little care for their race, though she is incredibly xenophobic otherwise (and is untrusting to any newcomers that are not Western Ostarans).

Bonds: Why does your character get out of bed in the morning? What drives/motivates them?

Goal: Ceri is mostly in it for the money, but is also strongly driven by companionship - and finding another goal of her own, after years of not solidly having one post leaving the Freedom Fighters.

Character Flaws: Distrustful and xenophobic (particularly towards anyone from Nepharie) due to her upbringing. One of her biggest flaws outside of this,to overcome, is her belief that violence solves everything. She is more likely to respond to an issue with violence than words, which serves to both isolate her from others and causes more problems than it solves. If she has an issue with a friend she probably won’t tell them what it is, but rather just hit them and count it as solved. She doesn’t believe in showing mercy in a fight either, and is quite likely to just outright kill opponents even if they surrender. Her blunt and harsh words are another flaw - she often struggles to empathise with others' pain. Less seriously, due to her feeling like she betrayed her own people she constantly overcompensates in the current group to prove she is a part of them and valuable.

Backstory: Born in Ostaria, Cerridwyn grew up in a militant and incredibly anti-Nepharie village. Most of the people around her were “Freedom Fighters” in the Harvest Mountain Conflicts, including almost every member of her family. Her childhood was incredibly turbulent - constantly jumping between helping in the farms to feed the village and some semblance of training as soon as she was old enough with the other children. Aside from this she spent a lot of her time learning from her older brothers, of which she had three, or helping her mother with her younger sister. Growing up where she did she ended up with strong anti Nepharie sentiments and goals of a united Ostaria. While her childhood was heavily conflict driven, it wasn’t one she’d count as unhappy - outside of the risk of losing family members she enjoyed life growing up (including learning to fight).

At age 16 she was deemed old enough to join the “freedom fighters” and aided them in their attacks. While she was often in groups with her older brothers, who helped protect her in her naivety when it came to conflict, she had to quickly learn to protect herself. As the years went on she grew more and more used to fighting and more aggressive, violent and untrusting of those outside her village. However her doubts began to grow as year on year nothing changed, and more people from her village were lost to raids on military outposts. At age 20 she participated in a farm burning that went wrong in which she ended up directly hit by fire in her upper right side. She spent almost a year recuperating from it only to rejoin the battlefield, even as her convictions in their cause were weakening as she saw her village spiralling into poverty and their goal getting nowhere.

The turning point came just under a year later, in a clash with the Nepharie army. The band she was part of was almost entirely wiped out and she only escaped due to attacking at more of a range. In one conflict she’d lost most of her family and many of the people she’d grown up with. This was enough for her to truly see the futility of the conflict and fled rather than returning home. From here on she travelled and sold her skills as a mercenary, somewhat aimless but figuring she may as well make money with what she could do. After a while she came across the company and decided to join, missing the days where she wasn’t alone. While at first she was incredibly distrustful of them all, gradually her walls came down and she now counts them as comrades and treats them with a friendliness she normally only would towards other Western Ostarans. She’s still distrustful (and rude) each time a new member joins, and can take months to warm to them. She’s been in the company for around three years.

---

Skills:


Magic: None.

Weaponry: A cyfansawdd, her main weapon and one that she’s never without. She also carries a long dagger for close combat. She owns a crossbow just in case she was unable to use her cyfansawdd for some reason, but she rarely carries or uses it.

---

Other: Worships and believes in the Smiling Court, even if she doesn’t talk about it much and keeps it fairly private.
Theme Song

Name: Rowan of the Turning Leaves

Age: 24

Race: Fairy

Gender/Pronouns: AFAB - He/Him or They/Them interchangeably.

---

Appearance:

All the common traits of Autumnal Fae are found in Rowan. Dark brown eyes that are large and rounded. Red hair that is chopped short, and sharp facial features. Well, not completely sharp, Rowan has pretty chubby, rosy, cheeks, which he puffs out when he's frustrated. Rowan is a little shorter than the average fairy. He stands at 2'8, but swears he is an even three feet tall. He always stands up completely straight, often with his arms crossed over his chest or braced against his hips. Rowan, always, stands up straight, especially around people taller than him, making direct eye contact with people when he speaks to them. Weighing in at 25 pounds Rowan is small in every sense of the word. On top of being short and thin they appear to have very little muscle development in their arms and legs, clearly not the body of a seasoned warrior.

His voice, by some accounts, does not seem to fit his body. Unlike the high pitched and soft voices of Fairies in movies, Rowan has a more raspy and gruff voice. While this might be a bit surprising to people first meeting Rowan, after time this voice sounds less rough and tumble and more like a young man trying to sound intimidating. But this is not always the case. When he is excited, tired, or caught off guard, his voice tends to take a higher pitch to it. Pointing this out usually ends with some rapid fire curses and some rude gestures.

But given this Rowan tends to...stick out among other Fae. Fae who love to groom and flaunt their wardrobes. His hair is messy, rarely brushed out of it's tangle, his clothes are dirty and torn in spots. While other races might not notice this, other Fairies do, and Fairies love to make a stink about it.

Attire:

Like most Fae Rowan sticks to a very natural color scheme when it comes to clothes, as well as rough hewn fabrics. He favors shades of green and brown, which help with the natural camouflage Fae have in the forests. Most of his clothes are slightly ill fitted, especially around the chest, but if questioned he claims it's easier to move in looser clothes. Rowan's favorite outfit, and the one he is spotted in the most, is a simple. A linen tunic, and trousers. Both of these articles have several patches and repairs in them, suggesting they are rather old.

In battle very little changes. Rowan does not wear armor. The only thing the Fae does to prepare for a battle is roll up his sleeves in preparation to cast spells. The only other change is the spell book, bound in leather and tree fibers, moves from his bag to his outstretched hand.

What Rowan will not wear, however, is shoes. He feels like it is a disrespect to Nature, and severs his connection to the natural world. The most notable thing about Rowan's attire is a leather wrapping around his left wrist. He never takes it off, and nervously fidgets with it when he think's no one is watching.

---

Outward Personality:

Upon first glance Rowan kinda comes off as a dick. Permanent scowl on his face, arms always crossed in front of his chest. He won't speak unless spoken to. But if he is talked to he answers questions quickly and curtly, why say a sentence when a word would do? He's also incredibly defensive, ready to point fingers and verbally attack if he thinks someone is against him. But people who get to know Rowan can tell this is a cover up.

Rowan, in reality, is really shy. Nervous around people, so he puts on the prickly exterior to avoid messing up. But sticking through the cracks is a genuinely gentle individual who enjoys quiet company. An anxious and lost fairy who really just needs to hear a couple of jokes and sing a couple of songs. He also snorts when he laughs.

Bonds: He would have given up long ago, to die alone and forgotten in a ditch somewhere. But he made a promise, and promises are very important to the Fae.

Goal: Rowan is always striving towards getting stronger, in the magic sense. Discovering magical artifacts, learning ancient and unknown spells, exploring dusty libraries for forgotten tomes. But Rowan's ultimate goal is to learn a spell to break a powerful curse.

Character Flaws: Coming from a society, and way of life, that is all about tricking each other, and throwing each other to the dogs at the first slip up, has left Rowan struggling to trust others. He also finds it almost impossible to ask for help, seeing it as a weakness. He immediately assumes if someone wants to help them that this will be used later against him. Any sign of good will is a trick and an debt. Because of this Rowan rarely opens up about his feelings, and instead uses lies to keep people from getting to know him.

Backstory:

The leaves in the great oak tree had just started to turn orange when a Fairy was born.

Rowan, born Rowena, was the third child in a family of talented performers and musicians. It was joked that they learned to sing before they could talk, and went right from crawling to dancing. While other Fae children played in the streets, Rowena was learning to play instruments, favoring the pan flute and lute above all else. And while Rowena was quite reserved, shy around other children, they came to life during a performance. They were often hired for parties and other gatherings, drawing large crowds of faeries. So it came as no surprise when Rowena was chosen, as the tender age of fifteen, to travel with Lord Dryden of the Summer Breeze and his entourage, as his minstrel, announcing his presence and accompanying his meetings and parties with music.

For several years Rowena traveled with this group, but as they grew older, it was clear that they longed for more. And the night they turned seventeen the Lord Dryden released them from their duties as his minstrel, encouraging the young Fae to travel the world telling stories and playing music.

And while Rowena was excited to be free to choose their own path, they had grown unhappy with their presence. They needed something new, a rebranding to mark the start of their journey as a traveling bard.

This was when Rowan was born.

At first nothing but a stage persona, long orange hair tucked into a feather cap, breasts bound with cloth and leather, a mysterious and flirty persona that left audiences captivated. But soon, Rowena realized that they were far more comfortable being Rowan. And so Rowan remained both on and off stage, drawing fans from far and wide as he traveled. One night a member of his audience caught his eye. An Ostaran, with messy long hair, bright green eyes and a mess of freckles across his face. Something about him stood out to Rowan, and the Fae tracked him down after the show.

He said his name was Rafferty. And Rowan was instantly smitten.

The pair traveled together for awhile, first as performer and...manager of some sort, although Rafferty had only ever managed chickens. But slowly the two morphed from traveling companions to lovers. Rafferty was Rowan's balance. When the Fae got frustrated or in over his head, Rafferty was always there to lead him through it. And while Rowan could b cynical and rude, Rafferty was always kind and open minded. And no matter how large his crowds were, Rafferty was always going to be his number one fan.

But not everyone was a fan of Rowan.

Fairies are...tricky creatures. They like to poke and gossip and cause problems, especially with other Fae. It was simply their culture. And Rowan enjoyed a good deal of mischief. Many of his songs were...inappropriate to say the least, many of them insulting to minor Fae lords and ladies. And one of their songs happened to be about a Fae named Eoin having...relations with a goat.

And while the audience found these songs quite funny, Prince Eoin of the Clouded Sky didn't.

One night, as Rowan and Rafferty settled in for the night, buzzing with excitement at the success of the last show, Eoin suddenly appeared in a gust of icy wind. Eoin was infuriated, as this song could damage his reputation in the Winter courts, and as a lover of Maeb, he had quite a bit of power on his side. With a flourish Eoin unleashed a powerful curse, a sickly black beam crackling in Rowan's direction.

Rafferty pushed him out of the way. Saving the fairy and taking the curse onto himself.

Petrification. Frozen in rock, a scared look on his face, his arms outstretched in a permanent shove.

Eoin found this quite entertaining, listening to the distraught wails and sobs of Rowan, and found it a suitable punishment for the song. And he vanished. Leaving Rowan alone with his trapped love. Rowan remained, clung to the stone statue of Rafferty, for days. Completely distraught and heartbroken. He didn't understand how someone could be so selfless, to take something so terrible upon themself to save another. But Rowan knew his simple magical skills would not be enough to fix him, he needed to be stronger.

So Rowan left the forested grove, growing vines and grasses around the stone form of his love, hoping to shield him until he could return. And he would return. He would return with a way to break Rafferty's curse. Or he would die trying.

He was no longer Rowan of the Turning Leaves, he self exiled himself. Ashamed that his tricks and cruel jabbing had caused an innocent such harm.

He was just Rowan now. Rowan of Nothing.

Public History:

Four years ago Rowan joined The Iron Pride Mercenary Company. He introduced himself as a Botanist Mage in need of money and protection while traveling. What they were seeking with the company? Access to any magical tombs or artifacts that Company happened to find, for the purpose of study. Rowan has adjusted quite well to the Company, working hard and without fuss on any mission he is sent on. But he mostly keeps to himself, not wanting to socialize with his companions. He does, however, seem quite curious about what his companions know, and if you have a fun fact Rowan will listen.

---

Skills:



Magic:

Rowan learned magic while he was a charge to the Summer court, but only recently began expanding his skills. However, in the last four years he has become an adept Botanist quite quickly. Rowan enjoys Botanist magic, finding his connection to Nature as a Fae quite comforting. Most of their magical skills fall under the influence category. Using grasses and other plants to control the movement of groups of enemies, such as using tall grass to trip enemies or cause terrain to be difficult to move through, or use bark and vines to shield allies from attacks.

He is less familiar with adaption magic, finding it to be a little...uncanny. Adaption has only been used by him instinctually, thorns shooting from their arm if they are grabbed, or hardening his skin into bark to tank an attack.

Weaponry: Rowan isn't skilled in physical weaponry at all. He carries a small knife on him, but that's more for cutting fruit. He also carries a staff. It is a well decorated with carvings of runes, colorful ribbons, and a simple metal ring pressed into the head of it. However this is used more for balance while they are casting. If Rowan is hitting someone with it, it means someone got too close and they are exhausted of magical energy.

---

Other: Rowan as once a well known Bard, playing a lute to accompany either stories or singing. It's been several years since Rowan has played his lute.

Theme