Name: Hannibal Bartleby Hughes "Mr. Hughes"

Color: E0FFFF

Age: 35

Gender: Male

Description:
Hannibal's smile has a tendency to make any looking upon it either like him, or want to punch him in the face, and the two feelings aren't always exclusive. He absolutely oozes with self confidence, thoroughly captured by his own genius or insanity. Often garbed in mismatched clothing, the only thing consistent about his appearance is a rare golden locket around his neck of untold value. Despite his reputation for never shutting up about his deeds, he's remained suspiciously quiet about it.

Occupation: Adventurer! Explorer! Inventor! Savior of maidens! Duelist! The jewel of Oasis!And now Caravan Captain Extraordinaire! At least according to himself.

Personality/Bio: Was Hannibal orphaned at a young age, learning to make a living off the streets of Oasis, picking up his skills after a hard life of crime? Or was his the son of the aristocracy, disowned by his family and using his good start at life to seek fame and fortune? Both these stories and more have been told by him over the years, and nobody has come forward to confirm or deny either of them. What is known is that he has been a sensational news story in Oasis for nearly two decades.

At this point, picking apart fact from fiction in his life would be nearly impossible. If his story is to be believed: When he was still a teenager a scientist employed by the crown came upon him in a bar, after a lively conversation he was taken in as an apprentice, working on a project that may have had to do with the advancement of steam power. This station lasted a couple years, before he was kicked out of the palace after having received a personal pardon from the Queen herself over the death of one Lord Donaldson. He claims it was in defense of a maidens honor, however whispers of murder are still spoken by the aristocrat's family.

That incident alone would have kept him in the papers for a long time to come. This, however, would merely be the first of many incidents across Oasis earning him notoriety. He joined the city guard for a time, intent on becoming a beloved figure of justice throughout the city state. That career also ended spectacular, as word of his ties to the city's organized crime got out, and an old picture began circulating of him making merry with the group's ringleader. His attempts to explain matters fell on deaf ears, and he was only saved by another pardon. This time on the condition that he never work for the crown in any capacity again.

He took this charge seriously, perhaps too seriously, and vowed never to work for anyone but himself again. He continued to make headlines over the years, boasting about a myriad of insane feats. Working as a private investigator bringing down corrupt aristocrats. Being the first man to stalk The Pack and return alive (according to him, they do in fact breed on the move). Tinkering with the prospect of Human flight! The failure of which is one of the few confirmed and documented rumors about his life, a nasty fall off the wall of Oasis nearly killing him. Supposedly he won and lost entire fortunes gambling in the bars of Oasis, and drank away nearly as many.

Now... Now the world felt oddly small. It had been a growing discontent for years, that there simply had to be more to do in this forsaken world. Something other than the sand, The Pack, and the blasted Oasis. It was he who had proposed the idea of a new expedition to the Crown, pointing out that it wouldn't be employment per se. It's said that they agreed immediately, for no other reason than to get rid of him. How true that rumor is remains to be seen.

Possessions: A locket made of pure gold, simply in the shape of a circle. Two swords, one bronze and another, thinner blade, rumored to be steel however no one has seen it drawn. Other than these, he doesn't appear to possess much, at least not anymore. The crown was more than happy to take whatever other possessions he had in exchange for agreeing to this fool's errand.

Name: Dusk Alyiah

Color: Teal.

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Description: Dusk could normally be seen clad in a lightweight white cloak
that concealed his angled features. His piercing brown eyes were mere slits between
their lids as they hid from the glare of the sun, hair of the same color wrapped
into a tight bun atop his skull, tied with a teal ribbon. His brow was accentuated with
a teal circle the size of a pea, slightly between and above his eyes. Beneath the cloak he wore
a hard leather vest and bracers, creased and brittle with the marks aging and the scent of mildew.
He carried an aged bronze scimitar on his left hip, its blade nicked and hilt tarnished.
Upon his back rested a bronze-plated wooden shield of the same make and quality as the sword.
Around his waist he wore a finely made leather belt with a variety of different sized pouches.
His bare feet shown signs of significant abuse, the calloused and scarred pads of someone
who neglects to wear shoes on the regular.

Occupation: Herbalist, Mystic.

Personality/Bio: Growing up Dusk's family was poor.They did the best they could with what they had,
but life in the Oasis was often hard with a lack of food and proper clothing. His mother, the
primary influence in his life, was a medicine woman. He learned his herbalist skills from her.
She could have supplied a more lavish life for their family with her skillset, but her humble
nature and compassion for the underprivileged prevented that. Most of her work was done for the
areas least fortunate citizens who could afford little or no compensation.

Dusk's father was a laborer and skilled fighter. He had at one time served in the military, but
that was a life he tried his best to forget. Most of his coin wasn't made through carpentry, though.
Little did Dusk's mother know, the proud man had resorted to selling his sword for illicit activities,
only wanting to be the best provider he could for his family during these trying seasons. All it took
was one botched job with some sleazy underground society to land the man in prison for an
indefinite amount of time. The only way to free him was with a significant amount of coin.

Dusk takes after his mother mostly, sharing her drive to help the less fortunate. He studied her art
for many years growing up and was now a fine herbalist himself. The compassionate nature and
dedication have lead Dusk to begin having a deeper understanding of himself and a more harmonious
relationship with animals and the world itself. While he normally wouldn't charge much for his
services, the family is in a tight spot. Father has been imprisoned for years, and if they hope
for him to ever see the light of day again, Dusk must raise the coin needed to free him.
Perhaps in service to a travelling party as a healer. The idea captivated him.

Possessions: Lightweight white cloak, old leather vest, tarnished scimitar and shield, various organized herbs,
mortar and pestle, a few bandage rolls, various bottles of herbal extracts and salves.

Name: Ishar Latro

Color: Dark Orange

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Description:


Ishar stands at the height of 5'9" with the build of a standard man, nothing is all that special about him in terms of his physical attributes. He holds blue eyes and a very strong chin that supports a thin, neatly trimmed beard growing from it. He has dark brown hair sitting a top his heard that stops half way down his face, typically it is proper yet it can get messy. He has a scar coming up his left cheek and up his eye. Ishar wears only commoner clothing with a leather vest over that, along with that, he has a golden earing on his left ear.

Occupation: A simple bard who wishes to find tales to sing about

Personality/Bio:
Ishar has been born in the not-so-best part of town where crime is typically common enough for people to simply be used to it, the slums if you will. He was born to a thief for a father and bartender of a mother, the two did not particularly get along all that well. As a child, Ishar was heavily influenced by the people who came into the bar that Ishar had gone to with his mother. He sat there an listened to music produced by wondering bards and tales by some of the guards that came by. This was what caused his love for music and tales of adventure alike.

At the age of ten, he was taken in as an apprentice to a not-so-famous Bard and he had begun his training in the arts of making music and coming up with tales. The two got into a lot of trouble together and it did not particular end well for the master bard. At the age 20, the two had become best of friends, but Ishar's friend had been killed by a gang one night and left Ishar with his scar. After that, he vowed revenge and perused the gang for five years of his life. He found out where the clan held its little recruitment and infiltrated its ranks, just to find out who was leading it.

Ishar took another year to become acquainted with the group, making sure that he held the trust of the members before he did anything stupid. He took a chance one night and murdered the gang leader and the men who killed his friend before he ran from them. Eventually, Ishar stumbled across the opportunity to get away from the town and took it. It turned out to be the caravan that would be going out to explore what seemed to be an endless desert. He held his doubts, but he would agree to go along just to get out of the city.

Possessions:
-A copper dagger
-A wooden lute
-The clothes on his back.

---

Five and a half feet of flowers and flame; she may look innocent, but plays no games.

---

Appearance

Mila has delicate features; full lips, silken skin, and high cheekbones. Striking green eyes framed by wispy lashes gaze with a questioning intensity as she observes the milieu and nuances in life. Her long, chocolate hair falls in gentle waves to the middle of her back – when it isn’t done up in an elegant braid. It’s not often one sees her without her chador, but underneath lies subtle curves wrapped in soft, snakeskin leathers in hues of green and gold.

---

Occupation

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Personality and Biography

Don’t let her fragile appearance fool you. This lady has fire in her soul and is a quick study to boot. Merely preferring to peacefully observe should not be mistaken for weakness – for she is willing do whatever is necessary to complete the task at hand. Mila may take some time to warm up to others due to her lack of social life, as she spends much of her time alone, mainly avoiding her parents and their constant berating and arrangements for her.

Mila comes from a small, middle-class family. Despite not being wealthy, her parents are extremely entitled beings, whose plans for their daughter included nothing more than marrying her off to the wealthiest man they could convince to take her. Of course, Mila had other ideas of what her life should entail; turning instead, to the limitless marvel that is writing – a venture which her parents took full advantage of.

Stipulating that Mila must allow her parents to deal with the business end, she focused on writing… oblivious to the fact her parents were keeping the fruits of her labor, all the while leading her to believe she had yet to sell any works. Rather than be discouraged by this, however, her ambitions remain absolute as she strives for illustriousness.

Despite the money she has unknowingly made for her parents, they find her lazy, useless, and untalented (and rarely miss the chance to tell her as much). So when the opportunity arose to both get rid of their daughter and gain the affluence they had been attempting to procure since her birth… they jumped at the chance, immediately offering Mila up like an unwanted camel.

Be that as it may, the not-so-unexpected betrayal was not a problem for Mila, who was all-too ready to venture out into the world and escape the tyranny of her parents in search of adventure, knowledge, and inspiration… come what may.

---

Belongings

Other than clothing, Mila carries with her a small, hand-crafted journal and a leather roll containing various writing tools.

Name: Geralt ‘Rusty’ Ramerkins

Color: Orangered | FF4500

Age: 45

Gender: Male

Description: Geralt Ramerkins is a large man. This sentence should be enough alone to describe him as once you have been in his presence for more than five moments you know exactly what is meant by it. He is physically a big man with years of decadence taking their toll on his once you and athletic body. He easily clears the 6-foot mark in terms of height and his clothes often look fit to bursting when he is squeezed into them (Some say by a small army off servants with a specially designed shoe horn for dinner jackets).

His hair is also a spectacle as the tope of his head is almost entirely clear of hair. However, in a small ring running just above his ears, down the side burns and just over his upper lip is a ring of bright red hair. It juts out about 4 inches in a great flamboyant disk, from above it is said to be similar to a balding eclipse. This burning red facial monument gave birth to his nickname ‘Rusty’ which is used so often most forget he even has a first name.

He garbs himself in finest silk suits for formal occasions with an immense cravat that cradles the many folds of his neck. For less formal meetings he puts on his hunting garb, he is wrapped in a cloak of soft white linen with fine patterns of gold thread running through. Over which he has a large sun-bleached leather coat the tails of which lead down to his ankles. It contains many tubes of ammunition as well as a distinctive array of handkerchiefs ranging from simple plain white to the most flamboyant polka dot.

Occupation: Aristocrat! Hunt Master! Devourer of banquets! Crack Arbalist!

Personality/Bio: ‘Rusty’ is large in all respects, bar his physically immense form he also has a disgustingly vast wealth almost entirely inherited from his farther who earned it through a boring string of property deals and sound investments. Rusty made it his life work to squander the fortune on anything and everything that his father missed out on due to ‘responsibility’. Including a house that is as large as it is recklessly dangerous in form and function.

Hewn into the walls of the oasis is the Ramerkins estate. A needlessly tall structure that is also almost entirely hollow. This enormous hollow chamber is in fact open to the outside through large gates to allow the pack into the ‘theater’. Fortunately for the wider city there is no way for the beasts to advance further at ground level as the only other access to the room is the viewing platform 4 stories up from the pit where Rusty entertains his rich guests by launching crossbow bolts at the vicious beasts. This so called hunting is Rusty’s most passionate pass time and his main reason for venturing out into the desert is, “It’s bloody boring if the beggars cant bite back’, to put it in his own words.

As one might expect years of launching crossbows while immensely drunk in the companies of other fine and upstanding gentlemen has made him surprisingly good at it sober. He is actually considered one of the best shots in the city. His enormous, ‘Wynderchester Gentlemans Hand Cannon’ can tear the leg of the member of the pack from 50 meters away. Some say the only reason he can fire it is because his fat absorbs all the recoil.

On a day to day basis he is a jolly chap. Warm and accepting of almost everyone including crooks and commoners, in his own words; “My farther probably cheated you out of hundreds with his contracts! At least let me get the next round!”. This boisterous manner has lead to a certain disdain among more academics but surprising acceptance among the commons.

Possessions: ‘Wnderchester Gentlemans Handcannon’ crossbow, a large two handed beast of a weapon with a draw so heavy he breaks a sweat loading it (Though he breaks a sweat doing most things). A large bottle of brandy with a small note attached reading, ‘Best served with victory’. Several changes of linin robe, his hunting jacket and his dress uniform (Never know when you might need to entertain!). A distinct lack of an inside voice.

Name:
Io Nervald Caprixan Leneus Marx Murkveld

Color:
9e0b0f

Age:
18

Gender:
Male

Description:

Almost always hidden under his coal-grey cloak, the only features readily apparent are his short and childish frame and his youthful gait; Io looks exactly as if he were in his preteens, if not younger. Io's dusky red hair reaches past his shoulders, his dull black eyes peeking out from underneath his bangs. His skin is a translucent white from constantly being in the shade of either his robes or the indoors. The faint smile that occasionally peeks out from under his hood practically chills the air.

Occupation:
Arguably a merchant, arguably a researcher.

_{unarguably kinda creepy}

Personality/Bio:
Io was a peculiar child, always keeping a certain distance between himself and others. His eerily calm demeanor frightened other children--not that he cared about that. Instead, Io usually locked himself away in his room, reading books that he'd found in the dark corners of a storehouse. He'd memorized every detail of them, including the state of everything else in the room at the time. The abnormality of Io's absolute memory was never brought to his attention, having been isolated and possessing the misconception that, since one memorized by studying, something that was studied could not be forgotten.

Newspaper articles were also objects of great interest for Io. Although he originally started reading them as something to pass the time with whenever he ran out of books, Io became deeply immersed once he realized that there were some "stories" that spanned across the years: seemingly individual murders could be connected and point towards a serial killer, criminals from years to decades ago reformed into current-day philanthropists. With his memory, these nigh unnoticeable connections were completely clear to Io. Before he knew it, Io became obsessed with knowing everything about anything at any given time, whether it'd be a person, or even the daily events that occurred in the city.

Through a variety of suspicious means, Io managed to learn exhaustive, in-depth information on every citizen: their heights, weights, birthdays, relatives, histories, day-to-day activities, hobbies and possibly more. Unable to track how Io was doing so, and thus unable to imprison him, law enforcement decided to take advantage of his knowledge and bought information from him to solve dozens of crimes. Though Io was happy with being able to stalk study everyone for a living, he often wondered about the world outside the city. When there was news of an expedition, Io decided that, since there would be plenty of people to keep him entertained, it wouldn't hurt to let his curiosity run wild.

Despite being shy to the point of hiding when others look at him, Io genuinely and creepily-affectionately loves everyone he knows. Even if they don't know him. Although he's easily excited by the prospect of learning something new, Io normally just has a tired, dead expression that's matched by his hypotensive movements. The only other exception is if he gets touched; he'll actually get overstimulated if he gets poked right.

Possessions:
One journal for recording everyone else's actions for the day, another for any discoveries.

Name: Gabriel Del'tanon

Color: Regular red
Age: 28

Gender: Man

Description:

With tanned, rough skin and thick brown hair, Gabe certainly looks the part of a desert wanderer. His leather clothes only enhance the look. He's not unhandsome, but not remarkable good looking either. With a strong jaw and piercing amber eyes, he's distinguishable among a crowd alright, though he often has his head covered by his drifter hat. He carries a lean but fit frame, holding himself up at 6 foot even. He only has a Knife to shave with, so his chin is constantly covered in a 5 O'clock shadow.

Occupation: Drifter/Gun for Hire

Personality/Bio: Gabe is tough and no nonsense. He has a dry and dark sense of humor, but he's grim and quick on the draw. He has a code of honor however, and he is anything but heartless. He's just grown used to the harshness of the world, thinking the endless desert is fair mirror for others to look in. It reflects how harsh they can be themselves. He has a soft spot for young folk and women, though if either try to kill him, he won't hold back.

Gabriel grew up in an upper class family, which was nice he supposed until age 8 when his family was killed over some dispute or other. He couldn't remember now if he wanted to. He does remember the fear, and the awakening of his hard self when he snuck out of his house when it happened with his father's gun. He went down to the dusty streets and lived on his own, joining a gang and carving a name for himself. He was 19 when he'd finally had enough of being a scumbag, even if he was well respected for his dangerous nature. He decided to become a Gunslinger for hire, and an explorer if need be.

He made a few expeditions into the desert, but none that took him very far. Just farther than most others, he reckons. He's had to do a few nasty jobs here and there, but none of this magnitude. But he's being paid to keep them safe, and the prospect of new treasures beyond is too much for him to pass up.

Possessions:
Lever Action Rifle
2 Flintlock Pistols
1 Hunting Knife
2 Jugs of water.
4 pounds of beef jerky.
30 feet of rope
Flint and Tinder
Bedroll.

Name: Urs Uring

Color: Light Green

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Description: Urs has shaggy and sandy brown hair with thick eyebrows in width, although they are not necessarily bushy. Parts of his right eyebrow are covered by small tufts of hair which protrude from his shaggy forest which is his hairline. His eyes are a crisp and burning blue, which are fabled for their oft directed daggers, always sent someone by way of someone who is annoying with furious blue passion. Urs' jaw line is defined and sharply chiseled, with high sculpted cheek bones that highlight his cheeks. His teeth are blindingly bright, and when he smiles you can just swear you hear a "Ding!" almost straight out of a cartoon. Plasted accross his facial features is a trademark grin, his teeth glinting, or perhaps when he is feeling stubborn and moodier, a dirty scowl. Moving down his face, his collar bone is accentuated and very visible. Burns and leathery patches from chemical fires or backfiring experiments spot his body. Standing at five feet and ten inches, his body is not muscular perse, but he has a slightly above average build. For present world perspective; he is akin to being able to bench press 145 lbs (slightly above the untrained average of 135).

As far as attire goes, Urs can be seen, when working on chemical productions or traveling, a large and enveloping trench coat which doubles as a cape of sorts, an andonized navy vest under, brown fabric pants, thick leather gloves with adjustable buckles, and leather boots with dried dirt and soot carpeting them. Strapped to his head rests a primitive gas mask capable of filtering out most dangerous gasses and concoctions. Carefully placed atop his head is a wide brimmed classic Fedora, sewn of a rusty colored thread. At his waistline is a an animal-hide belt with various items strapped aboard.

Occupation: Oasis Resident Alchemist / Scientist

Personality/Bio: Urs decided to foray into the field of alchemy not because he had incredible interest in it at first, but rather a lack thereof in other professions. Without a promising future in any other trades, Urs was left a journeyman of many professions for the earlier years of his life. Perhaps by chance, or by fate, whichever you believe in, Urs was given the oppurtunity for apprenticeship at an alchemy shop through a friend of the family. Looking back, Urs always finds comedy in the irony that led to such a fruitful and invariably successful career for him. Much to his surprise, Urs found much appeal and fascination with alchemy, one that would consume him for the rest of his being. Years of extensive research and bestowed knowledge from his old and veteran master, who has since long passed away, have shaped Urs into a master chemist and alchemist. Urs would absorb what little literature the Oasis had on the subject, spending hours at a time invested in research documents written prior to his birth. Long nights would be spent toiling in the Alchemy shop's Labratory, which was furnished with the best equipment that the Oasis had to offer. Urs would be enthralled in the subject, incessantly trying explore new investigations and trials into the chemical properties of his experiments. This hunger and thirst for knowledge would grow to define him as his life went forward. Eventually, at the benefit of his master's passing, Urs was given the keys to the kingdom, and carried on the lineage set before him by inheriting one of the most prominent alchemy shops and research centers in the Oasis.

Urs unearthed many things previously unknown to the field of alchemy in the oasis, and a myriad of possible chemical compounds were uncovered. Urs spent much time hired by nobility and royalty to attempt to find ways to transmute metals and coppers into the elusive and fabled gold ore. Even if all his attempts were unsuccessful, his reputation as an intelligent and sharp-witted scientist and alchemist was growing. Many say that it was Urs' drive for success and his yearning for discovery and knowledge that engendered Urs to become one of the prime alchemists in the field and be considered one of the smartest minds in the Oasis. It was, perhaps, that same drive and desire that led to his volunteering for this hopeless "fool's errand." His desire to discover more, to learn of the deep unknown that extended for as far the eye could see in the desert, was what drove him to volunteer. He has hopes to discover possibly more elements or different vegetation which he may be able to bring back to revolutionize the scientific scene in the Oasis as he had done so many times before with his discoveries. It is on these hopes that he pins his journey.

Possessions: Urs carries an iron dagger strapped to his animal-hide belt at his waist. Although iron and other metals are very rare in the Oasis, Urs' high status as a prominent scientist and alchemist has allowed him access to those types of resources more than once. Although he is not especially adept with the blade, it is there should he ever need cause to use it. Urs also has a myriad vials, a small collection if you will, also fastened to his belt, all of them serving different purposes. He has vials that contain ointments to be applied to be burns or others that disinfect open wounds. Other glass vials can be thrown (parallels are drawn here to modern day grenades) which once the glass is broken and pressure is released various hazardous effects can occur. These effects include things like the effect of a molotov cocktail, poisonous gasses, small explosion on impact, and other chemical defects. And as previously mentioned, Urs carries a basic gas mask capable of filtering out most harmful compounds. As well as this, he carries a collection of elemental and chemical compounds for testing while out in the oasis. Lastly, he carries with him a pair of goggles to keep harmful chemical gasses out of his eyes.

Name: Benji Tenaka
Age: Mid Twenties.
Color:39b54a
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10
Hair Color: Black(Shoulder length hair tied with a blue ribbon in a tight tail.)
Eye Color: Brown(with tones of amber and yellow in direct light.)
Skin Tone: Tan

Personality:
Benji is the quiet type, he doesn't speak much and keeps mostly to himself. Unless the moment requires it. He can often be found staring into the pages of a leather bound book and much prefers to keep his own company. There is a sense of loss or loneliness about him and it is mostly the look in his dark eyes that brings this on. Though the few that have witnessed his smile swears it is like dawn breaking after a long night.

History:
Benji's origin story is a mystery to everyone that cares to look, even to himself. He doesn't remember anything other then the last four years of his life and he is on a personal mission to find the answers to the questions that haunt him in his nightmares.

Shortly after waking up barely alive and badly injured in a dark back alleyway, Benji discovered he had a knack. A quite surprising knack considering the condition he woke up in. He discovered this quite by accident one night as he was caught trying to steal some food. Benji could fight and he fought, though weary with hunger he was still able to win his freedom and leave four dead bodies in his wake. That night he ate well, the killing didn't affect him much and with a full belly and clean clothes he set out on his journey of 'self-discovery'.

And that is how we come to his occupation.

Occupation:
Mercenary, Assassin, Body-Guard, if the price is right Benji is the man for the job.

Dress and Possessions:
Benji wears a dusty long coat of a sturdy yet light weave and an unassuming gray. A sleeveless dark leather petty coat and well worn boots make up the items of his permanent attire. Shirts and trousers come and go as the seasons pass or need arises.
He carries an old pack that seems to hold more then its size would rightly permit. Also to be found on his person but likely never to be seen are various blades of various sizes. Benji also carries with him the equipment for hunting when he ventures out.
His prize possession though is an unique sword that he acquired on the job, his first to be exact. It is also how he came to his name, or at least the name he holds now. The curved steel blade is sharper than any razor and though the hilt and scabbard are plain, it is very clear to any who see the blade that it has value. Very few ever see it though and fewer still live to talk about it. Sheathed the sword looks like a curved cane. The name, his name now, was written on a sash of deep crimson that had been tied to the scabbard.