Name: Princess Dhatru

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Appearance: Dhatru stands tall, with broad shoulders and limbs. She is the antithesis of the noble ladies of Atlantis or Thrule; where they are slim and frail from lack of activity, her body is solid and muscular. Her strength is complimented by well-developed and full breasts and hips; an ensemble that some would regard the paragon of “barbarian beauty.” Her hair is fairer than wheat and groomed into ornate braids. Though her people are barbarians, she is a princess nonetheless, and makes her station known with all manners of jewelry and trinkets.

Personality: A degree of aloofness can be seen between Dhatru and her followers; through the years of her reign, she has come to rely on her sorcerous reputation to instill loyalty in others. A blink of an eye there, or a wave of the hand here, and her powers are manifest and order restored. Where one man may step out of line, an example can be made, and more will take his place. She is accustomed to being obeyed, to her objectives being within reach and especially, to being feared. Such power has made her somewhat complacent in herself.

However, Dhatru is also plagued by restlessness, perturbed with the need for fulfillment, but never wholly finding it. She is irritable and finds it difficult to remain idle for long. As a result, she spends her time leaping from one activity to another, lest any feeling of gratification escape her. Some might call her paranoid, pointing to her restless nights walking the halls and whispering to invisible confidants as evidence.

History: Dhatru was born well after the beginning of the Age of Dawn – a daughter of Lemurian warlord Franzic, who'd established his own small kingdom between the borders of Hyperborea and Thule. King Franzic was, in fact, the son of one of the generals who followed the mighty warlord against Iiram, whose name none speak. Franzic capitalized on this fact, using his lineage to gather followers and strengthen his territory.

Franzic succumbed to wounds he sustained during battle with a rival Lemurian faction, leaving his only child, Dhatru to inherit his kingdom. The princess, aged seventeen, immediately gathered the closest of her father's confidants and with them reinforced her right to rule. With a keen eye and strong arm, she set about purging political rivals from her inner circle. Any dissidents that were to be found in command, she slew herself. With her rule consolidated, Dhatru turned her attention to neighboring tribes and kingdoms.

It was also around this time that she'd begun claiming to have visions of “Dark Gods” and their extraplanar servants. Any doubts to these claims were crushed when a rebellious chieftain splintered from her rule, and in her wrath, Dhatru's vengeance channeled a portal, through which a throng of fiends manifested and tore him apart. Other similar displays of power convinced neighboring tribes to bend their knee. When she marched on the neighboring petty kingdom of Novorad, she'd promised her followers she would conquer it in no more than six day's time. On the sixth day, when her axe fell on the throat of the Novorad's king, there was no questioning her right to rule. Word spread of the “Witch Princess” throughout western Lemuria, even into Hyperborea and northern Thule.

Now in her twenty-third year, Dhatru has claimed vast swathes of eastern Lemuria, and brought the banners of many tribes under her direction. She has even found allies in Hyperborea, her ranks diverse with people of many origins. Nevertheless, as her authority waxes, there are some barbarians which see her as a threat; a vessel of evil that cannot be trusted. In the deeper reaches of the untamed north, clans conspire against her. Wary kings of Thule gather armies and raise their drawbridges at night, eyes glued to the horizon for the sight of Lemurian banners. Dhatru's reputation serves both as a boon and a bane.

Journey: The simplest of barbarians are content to kill or be killed; the promise of bloodshed equal to, if not greater than the promise of booty. Dhatru is above such base entertainment, having tasted the sweetness of power, but who's thirst has yet to be sated. Though she has made great strides to empower the command that was once her father's, Dhatru's blessings (or afflictions, depending who you ask) have emboldened her reach. Her influence is at its height, but she feels less and less satisfaction from each victory - chasing the scent of blood in hopes of quelling a hunger that will not subside. Her eyes are set on many goals: the northern kingdoms of Thule, her enemies in eastern Lemuria, opposition in deep Hyperborea, as well as places of power that she has seen in her visions.

Ideals: Dhatru is a muse of avarice; she desires many things, that even when attained, may not bring her the satisfaction she imagined they would. Her quest is one of fulfillment, and with each objective completed, a greater desire swells in her heart. She is never wholly satisfied, restless and anxious for the next hint of gratification. Whether her rapacity can ever subside has yet to be determined.

The extant of Dhatru's link to the Dark Gods are immeasurable, as even she doesn't know how deeply they stare into her soul. It is clear that her successes are the result of collaboration with these entities, but to what end they have elected to be her patron is not certain. In this sense, Dhatru's ability to wield their power is a true gamble. Who can say what will become of her when they decide to collect interest on her loan?

In a looser sense, she also represents the desire to surpass one's ancestors. Her realm far exceeds the original boundaries of her father. In her early life, Dhatru was close to King Franzic, and his lessons emphasized the importance of tradition and familial bonds. Her additions to Franzic's kingdom can be interpreted as her way of honoring his memory. It may also be an homage to the “Unspoken Warlord” that ravaged Iiram during the Years of Dusk.

Holdings: Dhatru's sphere of influence stretches from Lemuria's western coastline to expanses at the border of Hyperborea and Thule. She has several tribes and clans of barbarians at her command, giving her a strong core to raise her army. Be as it may, her powerbase is decentralized, and she cannot prevent disputes between distant tribes from arising. They are united only by a fragile thread of awe and dread that her command of ungodly powers has weaved. In that sense, her strongest allies can very accurately be described as whichever tribe she happens to be closest to at a given time. What her domain lacks in refinement and sophistication of the south, it makes up for in sheer, brutal simplicity.

The Lemurian princess resides in her home keep of Vostraghis, a bastion along the coastline. It is not a luxurious place, compared to the palaces and castles of the south, but it is a farcry above the sea of hovels, yurts and tents that are common in the barbaric north. There are treasures foreign and domestic that adorn the halls, plunder from the far reaches of the world that has, one way or another, found itself in the least likely of places. Dhatru has no shortage of servants, captivated by her sorcery to obey her whims. Weapons, horses, ornaments, strong drink, and rich foods, she has aplenty. From this stronghold, she directs the movements of her warbands, plots her next advances and conspires with entities unseen.

Name: Aisling Treoir

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Appearance:

Aisling is not unfamiliar with the phrase pretty boy. He stands at about six feet tall. He's built almost entire of lean muscle, due to his metabolism and lifestyle, there's very little to no fat on his body. He has overlong and somewhat messy, sandy brown hair, which he likes to wear loose, but will tie it up if he needs to in order to keep it out of his face. His eyes are a strange pale blue that makes them look almost colorless. His skin is fair and mostly unblemished, save for a light dusting of freckles across his nose and a few mismatched scars. He is always clean shaven, mainly because he is incapable of growing facial hair. He likes to wear light and loose clothing with minimal armor, but carries a thick, hooded, cloak with him for winter months or cold nights. He always has some sort of headband on, usually colored some shade of blue.

Personality: Aisling is not a loner, but he does enjoy being alone more than being with the company of others. That being said, he will not ignore people when they speak to him, or put up any defenses to make people want to leave him alone. By nature he is serious and goal oriented, able to stay on task and not get distracted by petty things. He isn't the most talkative person, but has been known to chatter about subjects he's passionate about. He's clever and has a sharp wit, able to keep a cool head and think his way out of bad situations. Despite being okay around people, he doesn't do well with teamwork, as he always fights alone. He adapts quickly though and is a fast learner.

History: Aisling has never known a true home. Ever since he can remember, his parents have been travelling around in a covered wagon. As healers, they travelled the land helping anybody in need, regardless of who they were. Even when he was very young, his parents could tell that his vision was sharper than theirs, so they put him to work earlier, making him their lookout. After he grew a little bit and got a little strong, his father started teaching him how to use a bow, so that he would able to defend himself if needed. Though he struggled at first, he quickly picked up the art and began improving. In about half a year he was good enough to be able to hunt game and bring it back to his parents for supplies.

Aisling was taught to be kind to people, and to not discriminate against them. But those teachings only stayed with him a short while. Because when he was thirteen, a group of barbarians took advantage of his parent's kindness and killed both of them, all for the meager supplies in their wagon. The only reason Aisling survived was because he saw them coming, and his parents made him take the horse and leave. But, as grief and hatred clouded his judgment, he returned to what was left of the wagon, buried his parents, and then set out to hunt down the barbarians. With both his normal vision, and night vision, better than the average person's, he tracked them down and struck their camp in the middle of the night, slaying each and every one of them.

After the initial shock of his first kills wore off, Aisling realized what he had done, and that it wouldn't stop with his parents. More innocent people would die because of barbarians like these. It was then and there that he vowed to fight the barbarians, try and keep them at bay, and keep as many innocent people alive as he possibly could. He bends his knee to no king and allies himself with no nation, instead choosing to do what his parents did and help people, though in his own, slightly twisted way. He's travelled ever since, living almost entirely outside of civilization, hunting down barbarians and trying to make the world a little bit safer.

Journey: Aisling has incredibly sharp eyesight, he sees further and notices things faster than most others. This coupled with a lot of hard work and lightning fast reflexes has made him one of, if not the, best snipers in land. He utilizes these skills, along with the survival skills he has picked up, to leave the safety of the nations and hunt the barbarians that roam about. He has been known to take out entire groups before, sometimes before they even know he is there. He is not without mercy though, if the barbarians aren't terrorizing anybody, he leaves them be.

Ideals: Aisling's greatest desire is to help people, but due to his parent's death, that has been warped into something much darker than becoming a healer. He feels that the best way he can help people is through using his skills with a bow, rather than what little he knows about treating injuries.

Holdings: Aisling has with him a longbow and a quiver full of arrows, both of which he made himself and has the supplies to make and maintain. He also has with him a pair of short swords, in case he needs to fight in short range. With him at all times is his companion, and as he jokes his wife, a snow white horse named Ion. In the bags of her saddle are all the supplies Aisling needs to survive in the wilds, including a bedroll, water skins, a small supply of food, fire starting equipment, cooking supplies, etc.

Fernando Benedicto Scordato
43
Male




Proud, stately, and rugged: these words are defined by Fernando Scordato. He is an aging man, and perhaps he is not the tallest of warriors one might find, but the way he stands and the way he looks at others tells them he is no mere soldier. He is a leader. He is a legend.

Fernando barely reaches the height of 5'8", but most seem to think he stands closer to six feet. His mustache is full and thick but carefully groomed and swept off to the sides. The general's brown hair comes down in waves, and he keeps it at a little less than neck length. He remains handsome despite his age - a dignified sort of handsome - and has a certain hardness of expression. His skin is no stranger to war, and he has the body of a seasoned soldier, albeit an aging one. His hazel eyes have a sort of gleam to them.

Fernando's armor is impressively crafted and ornate in a practical fashion. His clothes well-kept, and he is all-in-all a very clean, very respectable looking individual. He may not look like a knight, but he does look like be belongs in command.
Most who know him would call Fernando "austere" or "cold." They'd call him "serious" at the least. They'd call him "blunt" or "honest to the point of rudeness." The general is all of those things: a man who maintains a sombre, steely air. He speaks his mind openly and frankly, leaving no doubt as to what his beliefs are, and makes commands rather than requests.

This is not to say that Ferdinand wears a perpetual mask of iron. When among people he truly trusts, he is known to lower that shield of coldness he maintains. But even then his gestures and expressions seem to lack passion. He most often expresses weariness or determination, and his anger is a silent anger. His pleasure is a muted sort: a small, soft smile or a quiet chuckle is far more common than any true show of mirth for him. With Fernando, it is the small gestures - the rap of his knuckles upon wood, or the clenching of his fist, the closing of his eyes, or simply a cocked eyebrow - that reveal most about his mood.

The general is an idealist turned pragmatist, a knight in sour armor. He sees the world as a doomed place, yet does not stop trying to fight to make it better. He sees people as callous beings, yet he'll do all in his power to preserve their lives. Perhaps that is why Fernando has earned the trust of his troops. He will not waste the lives of his warriors under any circumstances, and he holds himself to strict a strict moral code. He holds his troops answerable to the same code.

And in the end, Fernando is a man that leads by example. He eschews a great deal of luxuries he might otherwise have so that he can show his men how he expects them to behave. He scoffs at the nobility and their great feasts and ostentatious clothes. Perhaps that is why they hate him so much.

But Fernando's greatest strength mentally is his organization. He is an intelligent man to be sure, but he is also exacting, calculating, and incredibly talented in logistics and numbers. The general's mind is very orderly. His orderliness has served him well.
The Years of Dusk saw the fall of Thule and its grand armies. The knights, the nobility, the king: their power was ruined by the plague. Centuries of kingdom-building were thrown away in the span of ten years. It was the end of one age and the beginning of something new.

But those Years of Dusk were hardest on the poor. Peasants, serfs, merchants: those are the people who suffered most from the disease. Those are the people who starved. So it should not come as a surprise that one man was able to rally the common people together for a rebellion: a prophet named Horatio Acciai. He said that there was a God, Vespos, who loved the people and took pity in their suffering. Horatio would lead them in a bloody revolution, stealing away a large chunk of the kingdom of Thule from the nobles-turned-warlords and creating his own realm: the Holy Republic of Vespania.

The birth of the Vespanian people was not a welcome one in the Iron Kingdoms. Such a realm - one where the peasants had risen up, murdered their lieges, and dared to call it a holy deed - was a threat to their own stability, and it surely would inspire others to try their own hands at rebellion if it was not quashed.

So the kingdoms of the land saw fit to wage war against the Republic of Vespania. And though it had been a great and powerful realm at its inception, its neighbors whittled away at it until it was but a husk of what it had been at its birth. The kings of what was once Thule were in a state of peace with Vespania, but they plotted to sweep into the nation and redistribute its territory between themselves. They were merely waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then came Fernando.

Fernando was a young man of twenty years of ago. He was nobody important: a merchant's son, a boy who was schooled in economics and cartography and navigation. He had no formal military education, having taught himself everything he knew about swordplay and strategy. Yet he wanted to be a soldier, and so his father bought him a position in the Vespanian Army as a lieutenant. He quickly proved to have a canny mind and moved up to the rank of captain. The young captain was given command of a small outpost near the southern border of Vespania, one which was in a poor condition with demoralized soldiers.

Fernando transformed that outpost into a small fortress and drilled his men into respectable troops. He reorganized the supply lines to the fort, introduced an improved system of salvo fire to his men, and made sure their equipment was kept in good condition.

When war finally came, Fernando was more than ready. He held off multiple attacks at his fort, using his soldiers and local support effectively to keep the enemy at bay, and soon was promoted and given command of more men. And then he was promoted again and again as his successes mounted, and soon enough Fernando was the foremost general in the army of Vespania.

What should have been a conquered realm expanded. The Holy Republic of Vespania grew in size, power, and influence thanks to Fernando's cunning and courage. Peace was signed. He had saved Vespania.

Since then, Fernando has been the republic's chief bulwark against outside forces, even as factions inside the republic vie for power and even try to limit the general's influence. He is a polarizing force, with some people lauding him as a hero and others viewing him as an upstart. Nevertheless, he is generally well respected, even by his enemies in the neighboring kingdoms, for his cunning, his well-trained troops, and his valor.

But there is something happening in the capital. As magic returns to the world, so too does the power of Vespos become more evident. And yet as loyal as Fernando is to his Doge, he finds the growing power of the Prophet of Vespos to be... disconcerting.

Fernando cannot quite say why.
General Fernando has three principal goals: first, to protect his nation from outside threats; second, to secure the borders and bring about a lasting peace to the region; and thirdly, to put an end to the threat of the Beastmen once and for all. The twisted abominations that came about from the Nemedian Scourge are a threat to all people of the Iron Kingdoms, and they more than anything else must be rid of.

But there is another goal that Fernando has, though he does not make it public: keeping the power of the Prophet of Vespos in check. The Prophet has acted more and more strangely in recent years, arousing suspicions in Fernando. While the general is as devout a man as any and praises Vespos between battles, something about the Prophet unnerves him. He cannot say what.
Order - Fernando defines organization. He is timely, orderly, always preparing contingencies for whatever trouble he foresees, and keeps both himself and his soldiers highly disciplined.
Honor - Those who have served under the general or fought against him know very well just how honorable a man he is. The tactics he employs may be tricky, to be sure, and he may be a crafty old fox. But let it be known that Fernando is an honest man, an oathkeeper, a man who would sooner die than betray his morals.
Loyalty - None can doubt that Fernando is a loyal man. He could have taken control of the government of Vespania if he had so chosen. He commands the army, and he has just enough political clout to maintain the throne were he to take it. But he has no desire to rule Vespania: he means only to serve it.
Strategy - Fernando does not win battles with brute force. He wins by cunning and wit, by maintaining good supply lines and spotting weaknesses to be exploited. He wins by drilling his men very hard and transforming them into truly professional fighters. He is a strategist and a tactician.
Fernando commands an army, perhaps the finest in all of Thule. If it is not the finest, it is at least the most well-trained and disciplined. He commands mixed formations of pikemen and musketeers called Tercanos, the lot of them equipped with breastplates and morions for protection. Some halberdiers are counted among those units as well. The general fields lines of musket-toting skirmishers, and he has been known to pick out his strongest soldiers to serve as grenadiers in those skirmishing lines. Other units in Fernando's army include mounted crossbowmen and heavy cavalry wielding battle axes or horseman's picks with lances.

Of course, it should be remembered that while Fernando commands this army, its loyalty is meant to be to Vespania, not to him. Still, a majority of his soldiers have greater faith in him than in the leaders of their nation.


The general has fewer personal belongings than one might expect. He has no family (sans his father and cousins) and lives alone in a small "manor" inside the confines of the fort he uses as his base of operations. The General's Manor, as it is called, is not much larger than the next officer's quarters, though he has taken some time to try and make the rather bare place look livable.

Fernando has his own horse, a mare named Belle, and has the equipment one would suspect of a general. A well-made sword, an impressive breastplate that marks him as the leader, a war banner, a musket, a sturdy buckler... It may not sound like much, but when he sits astride that horse and stares over the battlefield, there is no doubt who is in command. He may not be an incredibly wealthy man, but his equipment and clothing mark him as a man of high rank and stature.