Name
Horace Upland

Appearance
A tall blond, not altogether exciting. When Horace arrived at the slave camp he was clean shaven, neatly groomed, pale skinned, and somewhat wispy for a man over six feet. By now he’s a little less delicate than before, a lot more untidy, and sporting a very masculine chin of reddish stubble—which does not at all match his straw colored hair. His blue eyes reflect bitter surrender, too tired to be confused anymore about the absurdity of his situation.

The only thing that’s remained the same about him since his arrival is the arid look of contempt he offers the camp guards.

Age
25

Gender
Male

Race
Human

Class
Priest

Magic Description
Divine

Personality
One part piety and two parts dry wit. Horace is easy company for anyone with a lot to say. He enjoys listening more than speaking, and he’s a good source of advice or a sly joke when it is sought. Many would describe him as easygoing, more liable to bend with the breeze rather than stand in the storm, but they would be wrong. Like an extinguished hearth, his cool ashen mein hides a bed of glowing embers.

Despite his approachable demeanor, Horace does tend to be a bit personally withdrawn. He possesses a self destructive streak when he becomes hopeless (like now, for instance), as well as a very unpriestly appetite for vices of all sorts.

Who you were
A novitiate from the Temple of Truth. Before Horace was caught up in this mess, he was a young priest in service to Lord Ceron, God of Knowledge. The Temple boasted a well tended library, often visited by scholars and students, as well as an altar and large marble image of the bearded god himself. Not a great fan of archiving, however, Horace usually served Ceron by visiting nearby villages to treat common ailments with his magical talents, as well as educate young children and curious adults.

Orphaned in his early teen years, Horace was not skilled or unscrupulous enough to resort to thievery and pickpocketing to get by. Instead he begged for coin on street corners where he was paid to please stop singing because busking was clearly not his calling. Over years he became more useless, relying on friends to pay for him to get drunk at pubs and taverns until he was rowdy enough to be thrown out.

One memorable occasion with a duke’s daughter nearly landed him in a situation not unlike the one he’s in now (and when he remembers that, he’ll be appropriately spiteful). A gray-maned priest of Ceron intervened and claimed that Horace was merely teaching the girl history, not unlacing her frock. The duke was skeptical, but the priest was earnest and trustworthy. It was enough to drag Horace to safety by his arm.

Horace’s future looked grim, and confronted with the powerlessness of his existence, he followed the priest to the Temple of Truth in an attempt to fill the void in his heart.

Name: Dotazaic Nobleforge

Appearance: Heavily built, even for a dwarf; broader at the shoulder than almost his entire clan. Long brown hair and a typical dwarvish beard frame his scarred and weary face, with his hard and calculating green eyes being the first thing that people tended to notice about him. One could hardly call him handsome any more, but he had a certain rugged charm back in his youth, and remnants of that remain in his face still, though he doesn't charm the barmaids like he used to.

Alhough he may be a caster, no true dwarf is averse to brawling and physical work, and so beneath his loose grey robes, Dotazaic is just as muscular as you'd expect a dwarf of his age to be. Aside from scars from injuries over the years, he has managed to avoid any serious injury so far, and has no real standout markings to identify him, which has served him well in some of his less savory lines of work.

Finally, the clothes he typically wears are in true dwarven style: A full length grey robe, hemmed at the sleeves and neck with simple but eye-catching gold filigree, and cinched at the waist with a thick leather belt which proudly displayed the emblem of his clan. A full length travelling cloak in a slightly darker grey and a matching hooded mantle completed his regular travelling gear, with his heavy leather boots being practically standard issue for all dwarves.

Age: 186

Gender: Male

Race: Dwarf

Class: Arcane Caster

Magic Description: Abjuration Specialist

Personality: Dwarves are hardly jovial while sober at the best of times, and Dotazaic is an excellent example of the stoicism of the dwarvish race as a whole. Outbursts of emotion are very rare for him, and he tends to deal with life as it comes to him, dealing with things one step at a time in the only way he knows. His long years of life have only strengthened this trait in him, in a way that only seeing the worst of the world first hand can do. Slow to trust and slower to become friendly, Dotazaic now has few people left who he can truly call friend, and has lived the twilight years of his life interacting with strangers only when it was strictly necessary. However, once he chooses to put his trust in a fellow being, he is a loyal and reliable companion, and expects the best of his fellows, both on the battlefield and off it.

Who you were: Born to a minor family of the Nobleforge clan, Dotazaic showed aptitude for magic from an early age. Schooled privately by the resident sorcerer, he quickly mastered the fundamentals of Arcane magic, showing particular strength when it came to the field of Abjuration. At the same time, he also learnt traditional dwarvish skills, such as how to use axes, hammers, and polearms, as well as how to craft with metal (although this was never one of his strong points). Reaching the traditional age of majority, Dotazaic set out into the world in order to hone his skills and find his calling in life.

Unfortunately, not everything went as planned for the young dwarf, and he unknowingly trusted all the wrong people and found himself both deep in debt, and also much too deep into what he only realized too late was a criminal organization. Rather than bring shame on his clan for his involvement, he chose to leave the country as quietly as he could in order to let the relevant people forget; after all, there was no question that he would outlive the majority of those to whom he owed money. And so, joining a caravan as a guard, he set off for distant lands.

Along the way he would find his teacher, an elf by the name of Infineon. Despite the initial friction between the two of them, they each found things they respected in each other, and so Dotazaic spent some years with his teacher, learning more and more about the topic of Abjuration until his teacher declared that any guild in the world would be happy to declare him a master of the class. Having nothing more to learn, Dotazaic bid farewell to his teacher and continued his travels, using his variety of worldly knowledge to keep him alive, though not always above the law.

Now, finally, he is returning to his homeland once more, just over 140 years since he left it. Feeling the need to make amends to his clan for his disappearance and to settle down for the last years of his life, his home called out to him, and he could no longer bring himself to stay away. Before he could reach his home however, he became embroiled in a rather sticky situation, and is now finding his dwarvish body being put to good use deep in the mines of a prison camp...

Name: Zeal

Appearance: Zeal stands at a height of 6' even with an athletic build. She is olive-skinned, her square face a bit harsh in it's aquiline features. She has grey-green eyes, often stormy. Her black hair is curly and get cropped short in a pixie-ish style, though the curls give it a slightly wild appearance. She has many scars, several old and faded.

Age: 120

Gender: Female

Race: Elven

Class: Knight

Personality: Zeal is of a dry, sarcastic wit. She is a fighter, yes, but relies more on tactics and thought than brute force. She is more than willing to be a team player. She does, however, have a cutting tongue and a tendency to use it. She avoids getting too close to others and tends to shut people out from her pain. Though she is always outwardly confident, she is constantly doubting herself privately and tends to think others are always thinking poorly of her.

Who you were: One of the Elite Guard, it was her duty to protect the Grand Marquess and her family.