Another char concept:

Username: Sleater

Character Name: María Morena

Race/Species: Human, praelian

Gender: Female

Age: 28

Career/Class: Former Inkeeper, mercenary brawler

Weapons:
>list [Bad temper]
[Short sword]
[Big, round shield]]



Physical Description: Morena is a tall and strong woman, with the kind of force only given by heavy work. She has also seen her chances of becoming beatiful hindered by hard labour. Her hair is brown and her eyes black and intense, with ample shoulders. She has a scar in the right side of the jaw, product of a bottle attack. Everyone says she has a terrifying smile.

Armor: Chain mail vest and leather robes

Equipment/Other: Phisical strength and very bad temper. Three different sets of dirty clothing, five torches, bottle of water and a week of dry meat, bottle of bad wine, bottle of good wine.

Mental Description/Personality: She is Scrooge and easy to anger. Although life as taught her to screw plants, furniture and little animals or objects in order to avoid the worst consequences of that. Otherwise, she has a tender facet in her love to cats, and keeps a gremial consciousness towards inn keepers and waiters, making her tendant to side with them in taver brawls. For the same reason, she feels a compulsory hatred for rats, worms, and vermin in general: whoever sees her hunting down mices with the shield, or cleaning his own table after having a beer in the inn, may imagine where her past lays.

Goals: Gold (lots) and their own piece of land. Maybe just another, better Inn. In a good neighbourhood, were she can charge good fees.

Background/History: Born in Praelior, she fell in love early with a mercenary. The relationship went in a terrible way, and María ended up taking care of her family's Inn without any marriage perspectives in sight. During that time, she acquired the habit to reserve bottles of good wine for the rich customers, and the bad, vinagered wine for the poor or those who dodn't paid their debts. Finally, one day, the customers got angry and protested. María refused to change her commercial policies, and the insuing frey ended up with much of the Inn's furniture utterly destroyed, most of it by María herself, who had battled the customers by her own.

Angry, Furious! María sold everything she had left and armed herself to become a Mercenary. Creating in the process a new expression in Praelior: "The armed Marimorena"* to refer to big ruckusses and disturbs. Now almost no one knows Maria is the origin of the expression, but it doesn't makes her happier about it.

* I swear to god: this story is based on a real, historical story. The tavern, the wine, the disturb and the expression: all that happened once in Madrid, XVIII or XVII centuries.

Username: POOHEAD189

Character Name: Kayden Aberglen.

Race/Species: Human (Borderlander, from the Kingdom of Eilean)

Gender: M

Age: 24

Career/Class: Mercenary Captain

Weapons:

• Arming sword
• Hunting Bow
• Hunting Spear

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): A lean, fit, but refined man with dark hair and eyes, with a navy blue tunic over chainmail (covering leather) and loose fitting dark brown trousers. With the sword strapped to his hip and the bow strung at his back, his forearms wrapped in purple cloth, connecting to golden rings along his middle fingers. On his left hand, his ring finger bears an expensive diamond. He dons a single earring on his left ear. Has black tattoos along his forearms of a coyote and a dragon (covered by the purple cloth), indicating he is an heir of Eilean. Considered quite handsome by many a maiden.

Armor:

• Chainmail hauberk
• Leather armor
• Leather bracers/pauldrons

Equipment/Other

• Sword sharpening/cleaning kit
• 30 arrows
• Water Jug
• Herbal remedy to halt light bleeding
• 3 pounds of beef jerky

Mental Description/Personality: Kayden's charismatic in various perspectives. He knows how to command men in battle, and he knows how to woo women into his bed. It's quite funny, because strong willed women are what he is most attracted to, yet it's what he is most shy with. He has a problem with authority, getting quite agitated if he is being ordered on what to do for more than a small length of time. He's determined, yet frustrated, proud of who he is, yet forsaken his family name. He enjoys leading men into battle, but hates himself for it, for he knows it's nothing more than toying with their lives. If he could escape a position, no matter how highborn, that he did not enjoy, who was he to lead men to their deaths? He has an astute and tactically brilliant mind. He has the intelligence to remain hidden, yet the arrogance to not change his name or remove his jewelry.

He often enjoys drawing, if he can get his hands upon a quill and some parchment. It was a skill that came naturally to him, however he decided to pursue it to clear his mind and show himself he could do more than what his father wanted him to. He's an avid and skilled chess player as well, his strategic mind translating well upon the board. Kayden fears being captured and taken back to his father, but his true fear is the meaning behind it. He fears a life of mediocrity, a life lived un-authentically, and to trade in his freedom of choice for 'security' and 'duty.'

Goals: Kayden's goals are to seek his own fame and fortune, through his own skill and determination. He wants to live as a free man, outside of the pointless bickering of the court.

Background/History:

• Born to the royal family of Eilean, Kayden is King Duncan Aberglen's 2nd son. Brandon was the first born, raised to be the heir behind his father. Gregory was third, groomed to be the statesman and advisor. Kayden was raised to lead their army when the time called for it. He was taught the art of the spear, sword, and bow. The 2nd son was taught all of them equally, but became skilled with them in that order (spear, sword, and bow).
• He grew up in his older brother's shadow, making friends with commoners and other nobleman's children. He was trained by the Knight Gregor (whom Gregory was named after) in combat, until he turned 16. Gregor had other duties, and Kayden's father had hired a criminal turned duelist, Morrelle, to teach Kayden advanced techniques with weapons. When not being taught the sword by her, he was schooled in tactics by Grand Marshal Theodred Erikssen, for a large fee. Luckily for Kaiden and his father's coffers, the young noble was a quick study and a natural at tactics, and only required Erikssen's schooling for two years.
• Due to Kayden being taught to lead men and not follow, his over bearing father scolding him on duty (which contradicted his schooling of command), and his older brother being the perfect heir (something to live up to), he grew into a rebellious youth. Why should he grow into their standard? He was told from a young age that he would need to marry to further his house line, which led him to search for a woman of his own choice. He admired women who flaunted their skill instead of their status, seeing it as their true worth. He could find almost none around his capital however, bedding those who were convenient to him.
• At age 19, raids between different provinces grew more and more frequent, with forests clearing and land being up for grabs by various different lords. Kayden and his brothers had experiences in war through that, though it was his brother Brandon who conducted most of the raids. It was when Kayden was 22 that his brother Brandon, heir to the Lordship of Eilean, was killed in a skirmish, making Kayden the next in line. His rebellious nature, coupled with his lack of hereditary ambition, and increasingly violent arguments with his, while not unloving, stern and harsh father, caused Kayden to flee his lands. That last night before he fled, he and his father had gotten through another heated argument. When he left his father's chambers, while he was indeed angry, it was his exhaustion of living the life of a prince that drove him to grab his things and flee. He took a sizeable amount of jewels, a fine horse, an arming sword and hunting bow.
• Kayden found Morek the Dwarf along a small road, the ironclad warrior having just run out of beef jerky. Kayden shared some of his, and found out the Dwarf was quite enamoured with the meal. After they were attacked by a wyvern together and lost their horses, they decided to team up and slay the beast. They have been traveling together ever since.

Name: Cassilda de Revaro

Race: Human

Sex: Female

Age: 26

Class/Career: Enchantress/Swordswoman

Weapons:
Sword
Ritual dagger
Staff


Physical Description:
Cassilda is a statuesque woman with sleek black hair and bright blue eyes. She has a beautiful heart shaped face and keeps her hair cut short to keep it out of the way. Years of fighting and study have given her a wiry dancers build which seems at odds with her aristocratic features. She carries herself with an easy feline grace.

Armor:
Shield
Fine Leather Armor


Equipment/Other:
Spell book
Cloak
Writing equipment
Horse (gray mare)


Mental description/personality:
Cassilda is intense, intelligent and has little patience for fools. She views herself as a warrior and a professional and respects both qualities in others. Years of battle have given her a healthy cynicism and a black sense of humour.

Her dark reputation is a source of some consternation to Cassilda. On one hand, she recognises its utility and plays it up, but on the other hand it makes it harder to connect with others.

Deep down she longs for the camaraderie of her early days. She tries to be polite and even friendly but this often makes people more convinced of ill intent.

Goals:
Cassilda is the bastard daughter of a powerful aristocrat, although she was bought up in court she aches for some sort of legitimacy. Reckless pursuit of magical power also spurs her on, she is pursuing a way of staying young and beautiful forever.

Background/History:
Cassilda is the bastard daughter of an Andredian duke and a Vrettonian exile who fled to Andred following the coup. Although he could never acknowledge her, her father kept her at the court and paid for her education. Her two great loves were magic and sword play, both of which were heartily disapproved of by her mother and indifferently supported by her father.

Growing up in a duke’s household there was ample opportunity to learn sword play from the dukes men-at-arms, always eager to impress their lord daughter. Her illegitimacy made this especially true as any knight who married the girl could expect to rise highly in the duke’s esteem. The magic was more of a problem but hefty payments to private tutors ensured that she received extensive, if eclectic education.

During her early teenage years her father remarried and fathered a child with his new wife. This wife was an Andredian aristocrat and feared that the charismatic and popular Cassilda might prove a threat to her child’s claim. This was particularly true given her Vrettonian heritage and her magical talents, especially in the field of mental manipulation.

A few days before her sixteenth birthday an assassin, paid for by her step mother, plunged a knife into her several times and left her for dead. To this day the scars are visible on her abdomen. Surviving through sheer chance and expensive physicians she slowly recovered her health but the lesson was clear. As soon as she was able, she gathered up what money she could and signed on with a mercenary company that was passing through her fathers domain.

Cassilda loved the mercenary life and, further more, she was good at it. Unfortunately she was plagued with bad luck. The commanders of several of the companies she served in died under mysterious circumstances shortly after becoming her lover. This, along with her affinity for mental manipulation magic, has led to her developing an entirely (in her view) unfounded reputation as a black widow.

Username: dragonmancer

Character Name: Fafnir Sigurd (Knight of Dragons)

Race/Species: Human (of Andred Kingdom)

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Career/Class: Knight Mercenary

Weapons:

• Steel Short sword
• A Black Spear
• Steel Great Shield

Physical Description :
Fair and smooth skinned though with a farmer's tan. long black hair messy and spiky acting almost as a mane down the neck to the shoulder, with bangs over his face. He large dark blue eyes, smooth pale lips and round nose. He is somewhat muscular in build, but mostly thin, weighing 200 lbs and his muscles aren't too impressive, average at best from working at a farm. He stands 6'0" in height, and has a youthful yet stern and hardened face, a bit chiseled from the elements, but not enough to appear older then a youthful teenager. He has a scar across his chest from an encounter with a beast.
Armor:
Black Plated armor, crimson cape bearing an emblem of a dragon over a crescent moon in black ink, and a helmet with a horizontal opening in the face guard for vision.

Mental Description/Personality:
Prideful of his strength and skill, but not so much as to underestimate an opponent, though he may overestimate his ability against certain obstacles. He has a passion for adventure as much as his passion for women, however despite his seemingly flirtatious nature he never goes to far, satisfied with a simple kiss or giggle from a maiden, he seems a bit scared of getting any closer to a girl despite such behavior.

Goals: Hearing legends of a black dragon, he seeks it out but not to slay it. An old foreign man once told him the power and wisdom dragon, and he believes that he can be taught the dragon's way of power. He also seeks to free his friend from slavery with large sums of money.

Background/History:

• Grew up in the southern region of the Andred kingdom, raised from a poor family of farmers. Though poor they worked at a farm alongside other farming citizens and slaves paid for by wealthier farmers and property owners.
• Despite working as a farm hand, he had learned spearplay from a lizardman slave who he became friends with on the farm. As a young boy he was fascinated with the unusual looking slave and made efforts of kindness and conversation, such as bringing him morsels of food and helping him with chores in secret. This quickly bonded the two to a closely nit friendship. The lizardman's name was Alex and he told him about dragons and their glory, inspiring Fafnir of their power and wisdom despite their savage and beastly infamy. Though it seems fabricated, Fafnir nonetheless was now determined to seek out such power. Before he decided to set off however, he also figured to amass as much cash as possible to buy Alex's freedom. This lead Fafnir to find two goals in his life, which would be the driving factor of his exploration, adventure, and mercenary work.
• Alex, a name he had given to the lizardman after a few conversations. Alex had snuck off with him in the few times he was able to train Fafnir with use of a spear, in a style that reflected the savage and beastly aggression of his race.
• Leaving the farm, with what little money he spent he bought his own spear and started to explore regions outside of the southern border at the age of 16. With the promise to free his lizardman friend with the fortune he will retrieve.
• He obtained his Short sword, shield, and armor from a retired knight foreign to his province, who was nostalgic of the young adventurer upon their encounter. Though the knight never claimed who he served, he went by the name of Sir Siegfried. After the veteran challenged and beat Fafnir to a duel, he offered to train the young traveler and offer some equipment, the armor given to him was refurnished and customized with a cape to symbolize his quest inspired by Alex, to find and learn the powers of the dragon. He furthered Fafnir's skill in battle, adding discipline to the savagery Alex had taught him. And he became handy with his new weaponry as well, though still did best with his trusty spear.

Username: Fubsy

Character Name: Silias Ramhin

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Career/Class: Sahib

Weapons:

• Khopesh
• Dagger

Physical Description:
Silias is fairly tall, standing at an impressive 6'4" with a thin body unused to physical labor. Being from the deserts of Arad Luin, his skin is a dark golden-bronze with little to no scars on his body, however several tattoos are visible on his neck and face. His hair is long and dark, reaching just a little bit past his neck, and his face is unshaven with a scruffy beard. He has sharp, blue eyes--an unusual trait that's sparked some rumors in the past of him being a bastard child. Silias can usually be seen robed with fine silks in traditional Ra'sheek style.

Armor:
Rarely does Silias wear armor, if at all, as he's more a diplomat than a fighter. What little protection he does wear consists of a single leather chest piece hidden beneath his robes, as well as iron shoulder guards.

Equipment/Other

• Several bags of coins
• Journal + Quill
• Two extra robes
• Necklace bearing family emblem

Mental Description/Personality:
Charismatic and calm, Silias basically emanates confidence. He's used to charming his way through life, his main weapon not his blade, but his words. Silias is outgoing and social, enjoying a good drink and company whenever he can. Whenever he's alone, however, he's thoughtful and pensive, often scribbling random trains of thought in his journal. To those he fancies as companions, he's genuinely kind and generous. He's a believer that life, whether good or bad, is based on the whimsies of Lady Luck. He's a notorious gambler, eager to take chances and go where chance wills.
Despite his friendly attitude, he's dangerously ambitious. If something or someone gets in his way, he'll do anything to destroy them. Silias is intelligent, but manipulative. A childhood of observing royal politics has shown him how to lie and cheat his way to the top. Silias can be greedy and proud, his grudges silent and deadly.

Goals: Restore his family's fortune and social status trough any means necessary.

Background/History:
Silias was born in Arad Luin as the only child of two high ranking officials. While his father was a kind man who sought to use his fortune to aid others, his mother was harsh and unforgving, often telling Silias that the only way to survive was to fight for what you wanted. She forced him to study frequently, often keeping him up for nights if he couldn't understand a subject. She revealed the harsh truth of court life, revealing the thorns sown into the bed of comfort. The affairs, the murders, the deals; she'd even once taken him to the Pit to show what others considered 'entertainment'.

Despite her harsh ways, Silias and his mother had a close relationship. So when she suddenly fell ill and died, the young boy was utterly devastated. But that was nothing compared to what his father felt. Broken and depressed, Sahib Ramhim gradually retreated to his chambers, refusing to leave for days at a time. Years passed, and the family fortune was beginning to dwindle. While Solias eventually got over the death of his mother, his father refused to open his chamber door, let alone step out. He would send out couriers to fetch odd items, while strange noises frequented the night. Rumors began arise around court, whispers of the sahib's clandestine activities. Everyone knew something amiss was going on. Something dark. Something...magical.

One day, everything stopped. No servants were sent out. No noises were heard. Silence had taken over the chamber, yet no one was brave enough to discover why. It was like that for several days before Silias mustered up the courage and checked his father's room. What he saw horrified him.

Books, potions, and other odd ingredients lay scattered around the room. The bed was ripped apart and the windows were covered up. Strange runes were painted on the walls, ceiling, and floor. And, in the middle of it all, lay the rotting corpse of Sahib Ramhin. A quick investigation was all it took to figure out what happened. Struck by the loss of his wife, the lord turned to magic. More specifically, dark magic. Gathering the rare tomes of cultists, he sought to find a spell that would resurrect his late love. What he got was a spell gone awry and a brutal demise.

Utterly ashamed, Silias opted to give his father a silent burial and threatened any staff member in secrecy. He rose to power, excusing his late father's death as the result of grief. A truth wrapped in lies. However, that did little to suppress the truth as an unknown source leaked it around. Now, Silias was faced with a new problem: the family fortune. With funds so low they bordered bankruptcy and a stain on the family reputation, Silias' first course of action was clear. He would restore what was lost, through any means necessary.

Over the years, Silias cheated, threatened, and even killed to restore his family name. He traveled northward to dabble in the politics, gaining allies and enemies while a trusted advisor watched over affairs in his home. The fortune was beginning to grow, but not fast enough. He needed something certain, some sort of help. Upon hearing of the contest between sellswords and the large prize, he found his answer. He wouldn't enter it personally, of course. Instead, he'd see how it went. Get some allies, maybe find a good enough company to fund. He'd wait for them to lower their guard, grow careless and rich as he watched from the shadows, ready for the opportunity to strike and take what is his.

Username: Free Faller

Character Name: Laila Saihdar

Race/Species: Human, Ra’sheek

Gender: Female

Age: 29

Career/Class: Rogue/fighter/intelligence gatherer

Weapons:

• Scimitar- a well maintained and balanced blade, this smaller saber-like curved blade can often be found swaying from Laila’s hip as a clear sign to her Ra’sheek heritage. The lack of wear on the leather wrapped hilt, however, suggests that the weapon may in fact be more for show than actual combat.
• 2 Long Knives- strapped snugly to the small of Laila’s back sit two twin blades, both the length of her forearm, and double edged. A special technique of forging iron with other metals found only in the Arad Luin gives the metal a distinctive dark, bluish-grey color that doesn’t shine or reflect light. These weapons are that of her trade, being both versatile in function and easily wielded in the smallest of back alleys to the most open of fields. Like all her equipment, the knives are very well maintained and it’s just as common to see her wielding just one blade in her right hand as it is to see her twirling around both.
• Depending on the situation, Laila may have a number of daggers hidden on her person. All are balanced for throwing and are made of the same alloy as her knives, light and durable. She will always carry at least two daggers on her (One in a boot and one hidden somewhere on her upper body) but has no qualms about strapping a blade to every available inch of her body if she is going into a known battle.

Physical Description:
Laila is a tall and lithe creature for her people, standing at an even 5’8, and possessing a musculature that is all long lines and definitive toning as opposed to being bulky or broad. Over this willowy frame is skin of a warm, dark sandstone color that has lightened somewhat since her departure from the deserts and is sporadically covered in a variety of scars. She has almond shaped, tawny eyes that are almost always lined in copious amounts of kohl and sit beneath expressive brows. Her nose once looked to be slim and delicate, but now has a noticeable bend due to a broken nose not being aligned again quite right. Laila has an oval shaped face, with a pert chin and quick, mobile mouth that can most often be found pulled into a lazy, lopsided smirk. Her hair is a thick, wavy mess of black that stretches to the bottom of her shoulder blades when left down. She’s considered a pretty thing in her homeland, and in most places outside of it her darker complexion has labeled her as “exotic,” though it is just as often meant as an insult as a compliment. It’s also important to note that Laila’s ring and middle fingers on her left hand have been cut off between the knuckle and first joints, leaving only tiny nubs, and she has severe scarring across her back after a few run ins with whips.

Armor:
Heavy, clanking metal armor would be detrimental for a woman who would much rather approach a fight from the side than head on, so Laila employs a set of brown leathers. These are well made like the rest of her equipment, and even have a few plates sewn between layers of leather for extra protection (her forearms and upper chest, namely). This armor is very plain in appearance, bearing no markings or embroidery that may make it easily identifiable. She also wears a wide, decorative looking leather band around her neck that is inlaid with small, square metal pieces of the same alloy as her knives; a small piece of armor that has saved her from a slit throat in a back alley on more than one occasion.

Equipment/Other
For clothing, Laila prefers to wear dark clothes of earthy and natural tones. Never black, ever. She’s found that besides being horribly cliched and dreadfully hot in the sun, that black clothing can often make one darker than the shadows they’re trying to hide in. So, usually she can be found wearing clothing that is at least similar to the colors in the area in which she finds herself. Oddly she often offsets these plain clothes with a small splash of bright color that can be easily hidden, reds and teals being among her favorites. Slim leather gloves are almost a constant presence on her hands for many reasons, but the most overt being her lack of digits on her off-hand. She has supple, flexible leather boots that ride up her calves as well, and aside from her weapons are probably her favorite thing she owns. Their soft soles are exceptional for treading lightly across any sort of terrain, and they look damned good on her too. She also has a traveling pack that contain some essentials: rope, a vial of her favorite kind of poison, food stuffs, spare clothing, and extra daggers.

Mental Description/Personality:
Laila has a lazy confidence, wit, and fiery charisma that at first glance makes her seem like a run-of-the-mill charming rogue type who reaches her mental capacity with sarcastic quips and sticking her hands in places they don’t belong. She’s far more complex and cunning than that, however. The woman is just very skilled at appearing to be exactly what people expect her to be, and adapts to situations with a fluidity that would make a chameleon jealous. Hell, she even changes her accent on a whim just to throw people off balance. But even when she feigns extreme boredom or even incomprehension, the woman is soaking up every detail around her while her brain constantly travels down a dozen different winding paths at once. She’s always scheming and has some hidden, underlying purpose for her actions and a big picture only she can imagine. Laila also has an underlying ruthlessness that can be quite shocking, as she seems of an amiable and impish nature to most despite her conniving tendencies.

Goals:
Laila was once a prominent member of the rogue guild in the Ra’Sheeki city of Kheshan-e Gohar but was banished after staging a coup and almost succeeding in taking it over. She seeks to return to her home and try for the title of Rogue of Kheshan-e Gohar again, as well as get a bit of revenge on those that betrayed her and caused her plan to fail. Before she can, however, she needs to rebuild her power base and funds.

Background/History:

• Laila was born to one of the lowest castes in Ra’sheek society, where one either conceded to their lot in life being manual laborers or turned to the underground to scrape together some sort of freedom and power. Luckily for her, Laila had the advantage in growing up at the Rogue’s court, where the highest ranking and most skilled criminal types in the city did business and relaxed. This provided her with early insight into the world, as well as the opportunity to learn from as a curious and friendly youth.
• Though she spent the vast majority of her childhood running errands and messages for the Rogue’s court, Laila’s first official job as a full member of the guild came at the age of thirteen. She was chosen to be apart of a con that required her to play the part of a Sahib caste girl, and spent many months preparing for the role under the tutelage of many of the veteran members of the court. For this reason, Laila can and often will employ a flawless high-born Ra’sheek accent, though she was raised speaking her native tongue or low-born commons.
• By the time she was a young adult, Laila had elevated herself to being in the inner circle of the rogue leader. It had seemed that the child raised within the halls of their court had grown to be an extremely competent and skilled member of the guild who could be entrusted with some of their most delicate assignments.
• Ambitious to a fault and knowing that the way of the guild was that only the most cunning and strong should lead, it didn’t take Laila long after her promotion to start looking up once again. For years she schemed and made vast networks and connections to grow in hidden power. She had to be careful to ensure that the threat her existence was causing to the guild leader never overtook her value and use to him.
• During her coup for power, Laila managed to take out several of leader’s most trusted lieutenants that she hadn’t been able to sway to her side and was on the verge of taking control of the underground court when a single act of betrayal caused her years of work to come crashing down around her. She did not usurp the Rogue of Kheshan-e Gohar. In fact, she ended up captured and trussed to a chair in his dungeons. That is where she lost her fingers and very well could have lost her life. Laila still isn’t sure exactly as to the why, but the Rogue spared her and decided that banishment was preferable to her death. So she went.

Username: The Fated Fallen! Hi!

Character Name: (Ser) Gerimiah Duval (of the Lowlands)

Race: Human Vrettonian

Gender: Male

Age: 22

Career/Class: Knight and Lord Heir of the Duval estate, southern Vrettonia

Weapons:

• A long spear, designed and weighted for mounted use rather than throwing
• A bronze coloured Longsword, intricately decorated and built for use in duels more than actual combat. As such it is more blunted and light than most other swords since it's not meant to kill very easily, but far from wholly unusable or non-lethal
• A medium shield, but heavy. Painted green with bronze edging. It is round shaped, and bears a large golden arrowhead on it, the symbol of his family and it's farmer/military background.

Physical Description: Geramiah's defining feature is young. His fair skinned face is chiselled and unblemished, his shoulder length black hair flows slightly curly. Golden yellow eyes dart quickly from object to subject, in a quick witted sort of fashion.

Armour: He wears his family colours, copper coloured chainmail with a green and copper spotted tabard. In battle he wears a basic copper coloured kettle helm. Although he owns full tourney plate at home, he decided not to take it with him since it would in all likely-hood be stolen!

Equipment/Other:
A fairly extravagant harp by most standards, but fairly cheap and cheerful by Vrettonian noble standards. He left his more expensive one back at home
A cuddly toy! A small ragdoll-like knight. But don't you dare mention it... Ever...
3 lucky coins and an unlucky one in a single pouch
Mauvaise Humeur, Gerimiah's war horse. Named in the Aulde Tongue
Basic camping gear!
Basic equipment maintenance gear!
Basic adventuring gear!

Mental Description/Personality: More curious than anything else, finally free from the confines of court back home. He still holds the three values of his house close to his heart; Honour, glory, humility
To this extent Gerimiah always strives to leave a good impression, and help all those he meets
Ever since he was young he has always listened intently to stories and songs of great knights, from his mother's harp to the lord he was in service to's travelling tales. Gerimiah strives to make it so any action he does could be worthy of ballad!

Goals: To become a golden knight of Vrettonia, like every knight and noble from across the land.

Background/History:

• Became a page at 7 and a squire on his 14th birthday. Knighted into the general army service at the age of 21 for a year where he saw no action and didn't learn much. As with all knights in training Gerimiah learnt the usage of most weapons, though he particularly excelled with the spear, mounted or unmounted. He also largely showed an aptitude for dueling with longswords, though this is hardly irregular for anyone from Vrettonia
• Learned to play the harp through his squirehood. the ability to play a musical instrument is a a skill most people from Vrettonia have, and pretty much all those of gentler birth are great at it.
• Gerimiah has yet to prove himself proficient to the masses in either martial means or courtly intrigue, but has a good understanding of both. This puts him a great deal above people of similar stations from other nations. For a fortnight the talk of the inner circles was of how Lord Gerimiah politically manoeuvred his son to ruin a courtship deal across two rival families, where Gerimiah managed to overcome both the best man and the bride in duels and managed to convince her father to wed her to one of Gerimiah's younger brothers. She remains a great friend of Gerimiah's back home. Of course the court is fickle, and few remember this day
• A small, but powerful, movement is stirring in Vrettonia that seeks to overthrow the magi ruling class. Gerimiah's father, Lord Gerimiah Duval, has sent him away so that nothing in the coming days may be attributed towards his heir. Gerimiah has taken this opportunity to head south and make a name for himself, to write songs of his accomplishments and perhaps even have songs written about him

Username: Frapet

Character Name: Halbark Gurnson

Race/Species: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 87

Career/Class: Fire Alchemist, whiskey brewer

Weapons:

• Runed iron gauntlets
• A great variety of concoctions that enable him to set things aflame or make things explode
• A set of iron hatchets, one on each thigh

Physical Description: Halbark physically is a stereotypical Dwarf with broad shoulders and a lush beard. Were it not that he is fully covered in red dragon tattoos and burns. His beard is braided in several short singed points tied together with different metal ornaments. If he ever takes of his leather and metal mask with the gaping mouth it would be visible that the Dwarf’s face is scar-tattooed with the oathbreaker sigil.

Armor:Halbark wears a set of iron gauntlets over leather under-gloves. He nigh always wears a mask made out of leather and iron, engraved with runes of flame and other flame sigaldry. His trousers are also of a thick leather with a few protective plates on the knees and upper thighs. The belt of his trousers is lined with flasks of different sizes and some claywork ‘balls’.

Equipment/Other Halbark brings along a backpack with a wooden case at the center that functions as his alchemy lab, the sides and top are worked over with a leather harness to put on flasks, sleeping gear and so on, it is topped with a small wooden cask of whiskey.

Mental Description/Personality: The fumes and liquids that Halbark uses to work his craft have a strange effect on a man, or a dwarf for that matter. Due to the excessive alcohol-like liquid intake and inhalation Halbark has formed a split personality of sorts, in a way that he always refers to himself as Gurnson and has entire conversations with himself, especially during battle. Luckily he is usually in agreement with himself. He never talks about his past or other Dwarfs, and seemingly tries to maintain a permanent state of drunkness, even though he calls it ‘sampling ingredients’. Most would simply call him mad.

Goals: To stay drunk enough to avoid dragging the past into the present.

Background/History:

• Halbark grew up as a member of the FarForger clan in the Forge-City of Thundrim-Garugil. He grew up as the son of a miner family. During his times working in the mines he grew especially interested in the alchemist guild who provided the miners with light, fire and most of all explosions (this is the order in which Halbark likes them most).Halbarks curiousity was noticed by the Alchemists Guild and they educated him.
• With this education Halbark travelled from Thundrim to Thundrim to help excavating new minerals, light halways or purge mines from critters in a rigorous manner. During an excavation in Thundrim-Tarok things backfired, badly. He lost several guilds-members and miners due to a too early explosion of a liquid that was meant to rid the mine of its unwanted denizens. Halbark tried to flee to another city but was captured and branded an oathbreaker when it had turned out he hadn’t helped the few survivors of the explosion get out of the rubble.
• Ever since Halbark has travelled with various mercenary companies, circuses and preforming companies to provide his special spark, as he likes to call it.
• His wandering has brought him to the town of Starkvale where his excessive drinking and need for expensive supplies has forced him to seek a job once more.

Username: BCTheEntity

Character Name: Nuva Doer

Race/Species: Dark Skayleigh - A half breed of dark elf and giant.

Gender: Male

Age: 47

Career/Class: Living weapon, barbarian, bodyguard, mercenary.

Weapons:

• Arm spike - A large steel spike attached to the stump of Nuva's right forearm and about twice as long as that was, complete with front-facing barbs to tear even larger holes in a target; in combination with his already-great strength and inherent khala, he can fairly readily "punch" with the force of a cannon shot, and in a pinch, the mass of metal can also function as a rather hefty club, block attacks in the manner of a shield, or even break any blades which get caught up in the barbs.
• Maul - An overly large lump of steel-plated lead on the end of a long and sturdy oak shaft, with two sides for differing purposes - a flat side for blunt force trauma, and a sharpened spike for similar effects to the arm spike at a longer range. Nuva is strong enough to wield this weapon in his single remaining hand, and its impact can also be enhanced with bursts of khala, to arguably greater effect than the arm spike.

Physical Description: Nuva Doer is all but impossible to mistake for anything but a skayleigh. Standing a full 220cm tall, he is at once more lithe and more powerfully built than any normal human, possessing a figure that would be all but impossible for a human to achieve, but which is merely well-crafted by skayleigh standards. This, however, is where his resemblance to a normal skayleigh ends - where they possess blonde or brown hair, his is bone white; where their eyes may be many other colours, his share the strange gold glow of many a dark elf; and if a normal skayleigh is wrought from marble or sandstone, then Nuva is wrought from obsidian, his skin a strange indigo colour which, whilst not quite as intense as the dark elves he draws half of his lineage from, is still more than sufficient to mark him as one of their number on its own. Most notably, of course, is the immense barbed spike where he once had his right hand and forearm, seemingly welded directly on to his flesh in a permanently-scarring fashion, the seam seared near-black as a result.

Oddly for a skayleigh, he tends to walk around slightly hunched, as though trying (and generally failing) to draw minimal attention to himself at all times. Furthering this effect is his choice of clothing; aside from torn and blood-stained white cotton underclothing that is generally hidden beneath his armour, he wears a series of items designed to cover his skin as best he can, including a hooded cape, a loose robe that partially cloaks his weaponised arm and nearly drags along the ground at the feet, tall boots which serve to cover up whatever parts of his legs robe and armour do not, a single elbow-length glove on his remaining hand, and a full face mask.

Armor: Though he is physically strong, Nuva is in no way invincible. In years past, he wore relatively light leather armour which proved itself insufficient for its purpose; this has since been upgraded to significantly thicker leather, plus a full suit of chainmail to sufficiently cover the majority of his vitals without reducing his mobility too greatly. Incidentally, it also helps to cover up the majority of his body, with additional clothing as described above to hide whatever else might be visible.

Equipment/Other: Nuva's other equipment is simply composed of essentials that a wandering mercenary might require - food and water rations, a few purses for coin, a holder for his maul, and a set of bedding for sleeping in the wilderness.

Mental Description/Personality: Nuva Doer is all but the definition of "a product of their upbringing" - having spent most of his life in the hands of dark elf society, he can quite readily be callous and cruel in ways that more civil societies would consider abhorrent, and he is certainly not the friendliest of people even on his better days. This is tempered, however, by his generally submissive attitude - it has been hammered into him time and again (sometimes literally) that to disobey is to suffer, particularly when a woman is commanding you, and even in the heat of battle where he functions best, he is highly prone to following the orders of others against his better judgement. The overall impression he gives off is rather depressive, the image of a person who has been pushed around their whole life.

Goals: To acquire a purpose beyond what meager role fate appears to have set for him.

Background/History: Dark elves, beleaguered on all sides as they are, are often in search for the next method of advancing their prowess in various fields, be it improving their ability to work steel or increasing the power of their military forces. It happened, then, that when some dark elves headed to the Kaelic Isles some time ago, and learned that wood elves and giants could interbreed to produce beings with as much grace as themselves yet far more strength, they wondered whether such units would make grand shock troops for their own armies. With that in mind, many decades were spent by certain dark elf factions attempting to acquire giants of their own, for the creatures were immensely strong by any merit, and it was difficult to capture one without killing them for various reasons. Eventually, however, some success was seen, and through use of certain specific capture techniques, giants began slowly trickling into the Low-ways in chains, there held and used as breeding slaves by the dark elves to produce what came to be referred to as "dark skayleigh" - as strong and lithe as their Kaelic counterparts, if not stronger given typical dark elven physiques, yet with the same strange aesthetic alterations as the smaller half of their bloodline, and more importantly the capacity to be raised from birth as living weapons.

Nuva Doer was one such individual. His entire childhood was spent as essentially a slave, taught the ways of normal dark elves and yet that he was lesser than them for his "impure blood". More oddly, in his mind, he was constantly told to train himself in a peculiar fashion - to punch things as hard as he could with his right hand, and to wield a particularly large maul in just his left. This pattern continued until he hit twenty five, and roughly the cusp of his full growth; then, he was taken into a forge room, only to be chained to the anvil in preparation for his right arm to be removed, and an oversized, superheated barbed spike to be impaled deep into what remained of his forearm by two rods, permanently mutilating him and welding the weapon to his body forevermore.

He learned- or at least was told so- afterward that he was quite lucky to not be dead, as other dark skayleigh before him had gone through the same procedure only to perish of infection, with the idea of extreme heat to prevent such a thing proving to be a newer innovation. Regardless of luck, this didn't particularly lead to much better fortune in the future - after a period of acclimation to his new appendage, he and many other dark skayleigh were sent out on to the battlefield, in his first battle leading the charge through a cave system against a force of dwarven spearmen accompanied by a wizard of flame. Many of his brethren died; Nuva did not, and he was sent out again many times in the future, eventually proving himself a veteran in that same sort of assault over the course of fifteen years, yet consistently remaining subservient even to most basic soldiers in the force, never mind whichever dark elves were in charge of the forces proper. Ultimately, whatever luck he had ran out, and at roughly forty years old, he suffered extreme injuries that led to his passing out and presumed death, and thus to the abandonment of his body by the dark elves who had held him in thrall for so long.

And yet, as it happens, skayleigh are significantly tougher than some people give them credit for, dark skayleigh in particular. Though he remained unconscious for a fair period of time, he lived long enough that a passing gnome mage noticed him, and fully healed the recent injuries Nuva had accumulated, though in exchange, the gnome insisted the dark skayleigh work under him for a few years, as both a bodyguard (complete with better armour than he'd had on at the time of his "death") and an assistant in the physical plane for whatever esoteric arts the mage decided to indulge in - and given the gradually-revealed eccentricities the gnome possessed, these were sometimes extreme in their nature.

Eventually, a combination of decreasing need for his services and increasing consternation amongst the local population led Nuva to part ways with his employer and set out on his own, though given his race, mutilations, and attitude, it consistently happened that the only work people were willing to grant him was mercenary work of high danger and comparatively little pay, and then only begrudgingly even when he disguised himself beneath clothing and mask. His current presence in Starkvale is a last-ditch effort to find some purpose for himself beyond the constant battle and subservience that has defined his entire life, or else to make peace with himself on the matter; he fears that failure to achieve this will ultimately destroy him, and again that continuing his role as a mercenary surely isn't the right path to achieve his goals, but sees no other way to progress than to pray something will show up and guide him to a better path.

Username: Boomlover

Character Name:Leonard Greystone ( The Grey watcher)
Race/Species: Human
Gender: Male

Age:40

Career/Class: DarkSlayer

Weapons:

• An Ancient Valdium Longsword used in the family for generations. This sword is used for slaying monster and men alike. It used to be enchanted with strange magic that someone seems to have erased from the blade. 20 years prior.
• A small dagger for close quarters and using it to slice off heads of the monsters he has killed for proof.
• Six small fire bombs. He rareley uses them since it takes a long time to make them.

Physical Description : Leonard stands 2 meters tall and has broad shoulders. He has raven black hair, has green eyes and small scars all over his face. One of his eyes brows seems to be partly burned off. His hands have small bite scars all over them and the top of his pinky is missing. And seems to be in the progress of growing back. His chest is full of scars from fangs, sword strikes and seemingly a few female nails as well. He is rather muscular. With strong looking arms and legs. His skin is rather pale having become a little darker over the years.

Armor: His armor is a mix of metal and leather . His Leather is the main part of the armor covering most of his arms, legs, and chest. His elbows are protected by a light patch of metal Which also counts for his knees. Over this, he also wears a rather light steel breastplate which is strong enough for decent blows. But light enough for decent maneuverability.

Equipment/Other

• Herbs
• Poison for most monsters
• a small alchemy kit with vials
• several maps of the continent.
• a small pouch where he keeps his money of 5 gold and 20 silver.
• Out of combat clothing.
• A satchel that carries small and not notion worthy things.
• A black horse to carry most of his equipment.
• A ring of the family which has the family crest on it.
• A book of all the monsters he has faced and slain. With a description about them including weak points behavior and the level of danger.

Mental Description/Personality: Leonard is always serious when on the job always looking out for ambushes and traps. He doesn't trust someone easily because of him being backstabbed and betrayed a little too many times. He isn't a cold emotionless man though as he will protect those that cannot protect themselves. even if it means going against orders. He prefers to work alone though will join up with others if the need arises or if there is enough coin put in front of him. He is a man that likes to get straight to the point. He is sarcastic and snarky and really does not care what another thinks of him. He is not cocky however and sees pride and honor as a quick way to the grave. When he is at work he is always serious and focusing on the job. But even if this man is such a lone wolf it does not mean that he does not enjoy the company of attractive looking women. He also loves to drink. And usually, will be in a much better mood because of it. Friends he rarely makes. Mostly because people in his line of work die quickly. But if you can survive long enough in his presence he will start to respect and even befriend you.

Goals: Restore His families sword to its former glory, Take revenge on those who destroyed what i held dear and to become the deadliest dark slayer of all time.

Background/History: Some men will never leave their homes in their entire life. Slowly wasting away while tending to their farms. Others will be born as lords and conquerors. Leading their armies to never ending battlefields. And then you have the group in the middle. People with a real story to tell about the adventures they have lived. About the things they have done in their life to make the world an either worse or a better place. These people will pass on in history there stories eventually disappearing into the eons of time. Mine, however, won't be. Mine shall be a story that will be told through the years. Turning into legend and myth.

My story begins in a small town in the nation of Bania. Born to a family of Darkslayers. I was the only son of James greystone. I was trained a lot younger than most Darkslayers which was at the age of five. Though this training was more being told story after story about Darkslayers what they did and how they did it. And about our family sword which had powerful magic runes and Glyphs which would vanquish any enemy it fought against. My father would take me on hunts in the forest showing me how to hunt and fight. When i was at that age i was still scared of the monsters. But my father got the fear out of me by showing just how easily he could get rid of them. Those days i enjoyed the most. I just sat peacefully in a tree and watched my father go to town on whatever nasty thing walked up to him. He even taught me how to skin animals. But such luxury cannot last forever and soon I found myself at the age of 8 when the real initiation began. The trails I endured were hard and many but in the end, i was able to succeed. Though in all honesty, I did fall unconscious after I got home. After this, my real training would begin. In the first years, my father taught me how to track and hunt simple prey. In those times I still used a bow. A weapon I rather dislike. Only at the age of 12 did my father start to teach me sword fighting. Every day we would practice and every day I would go to bed with bruises and pain. My father said that my opponents would also show me no mercy. And so he also would not show me any. He really was a hardass on me. I have to admit that. But his training did keep me alive for all these years. When I turned 16 I started to learn about herbs and poisons. I also decided that a little alchemy on the side wouldn't hurt one bit either. At the age of 18, the graduation began. The test involved me and three others to go into the deep forest and to kill the biggest creature they could come across. We were all given a single sword and supplies for one day. For two weeks I walked through the cold forests and white mountains. Fighting goblins and werewolves. But these creatures were not what i wanted. My target was a juvenile troll. I finally got my wish when I saw one charging at me. It took me an hour to defeat it slowly tiring it out before killing the beast. Satisfied with what I had killed I made my journey back home. However when I arrived I did not find the home I was expecting.

I smelled it first. The smell of blood and fire. Then I saw the smoke hovering above the town like a cloud of death. As I ran through I heard no screams or battle. Just ominous silence. As I cleared the woods I fell on my knees as I looked at the destruction that had one been my home. Most of the buildings were burned and the wooden wall we had built around our town was in tatters. As I walked inside my old home I saw bodies lying everywhere. I recognized most of them. They were the people I had grown up with. The ones I held dear to my heart. And some I did not know where men with faces as pale as snow and eyes of black. It was the vampiric plague that still destroys my homeland to this day. I slowly walked towards my home. Which had a trial of dead vampires towards it, I then arrived at my home. Our courtyard had become a last stand as the remains of barricades could still be found. As I walked inside I saw endless amounts of bodies everywhere. These bodies were just simple men and women who could not defend themselves. The bodies were all bloody messes of their former self. And I even saw children with their throats bitten open. As I walked up the stairs still following the trail of vampires. Which lead to my fathers and mothers room. I then saw a nightmare made a reality. My father, or whatever was left of him lay scattered across the room. His body had been torn to shreds his eyes had been ripped out of his sockets. I then saw my mother's naked and raped body behind him. I dropped to my knees and looked at them in utter silence. I sat there for at least a few hours crying like a baby. I then saw our family's sword. It's runes and glyphs seemingly erased or destroyed. I picked it up and looked at it. the powers it had once had were gone. The monsters had destroyed everything I loved. They had destroyed my heritage and my family. That day I became a different man. A man of pure revenge and hate against any vampire he would face. I burned the fallen to make sure none would turn undead, took some supplies and a horse and never looked back.

I have traveled the world and visited many places. I have hunted countless a creature. I Saved many damsels in distress which i then bedded. I got involved in politics and wars which i was dragged into by said damsels. All in all, I have had quite a long an epic life with soo many stories that we would sit at this table discussing them till the end of time. But i think i have said enough. I only have three things that make my life worth living for. Revenge, restoring my sword and to become the most feared and loved Darkslayer of time. Quite a big challenge indeed. But I still have some years in me to leave my mark on this chaotic world. Now if you'll excuse me I have a contract to fulfill.

Theme song:

Username: rush99999

Character Name: Hobbit 'Hobnob' Nobson

Race/Species: Gnome

Gender: Male

Age: 112

Career/Class: Artificer

Weapons:

• 1 homemade matchlock rifle
• 3 homemade matchlock pistols
• A seemingly infinite supply of ammunition for aforementioned firearms with various enchantments
• 1 large steel monkey wrench

Physical Description:
Hobnob is shorter than the average gnome. He stands as 3 feet rather than 3 and a half. A small magical mishap during his 1st attempt at merging magic and engineering left Hobnob's full head of hair and somewhat bushy eyebrows turquoise. After many a day of inventing rather than shaving, Hobnob possesses a luxurious beard rather than the goatee a gnome usually has. Aforementioned beard is also turquoise. While his eyes are green, you wouldn't be able to tell because he never takes off his goggles. While he isn't what you'd call muscular, all the manual work he does when making inventions keeps him out of the scrawny zone. There is always a sharp pencil behind at least 1 of Hobnob's ears.

Armor:

• Leather armor with a rune based magic resistance enchantment
• Everything else resistant chain mail (No enchantment here. Is't just very sturdy chain mail.)
• Leather gloves with a rune based electricity resistance enchantment, a glyph based heat resistance enchantment, and blade resistance because it's leather.
• Hobnob's goggles are also surprisingly durable.

Equipment/Other

• 1 gnome made smoking pipe
• A seemingly infinite supply of pipe weed
• 1 large tool kit
• 1 canister of blueprint paper
• 1 gnome fishing rod
• 1 small bag of magic seeds that grow into mushrooms large and sturdy enough to sit on in 60 seconds.
• 1 pair of goggles with enchanted lenses [+]

  The lenses on Hobnob's goggles have glyph based enchantments that allow him to see in different types of vision. Each type of vision makes the goggles glow a different colour when in use.
  None: Ordinary Vision
  Green: Night Vision
  Orange: Thermal Vision
  Blue: Mana Vision (Allows Hobnob to see the magic in the world and beings around him and tell how highly concentrated it is.)
  Black: X-Ray Vision
  White: Telescopic Vision

Mental Description/Personality:
Hobnob is incredibly eccentric and fixated on inventing things to the point that the aforementioned fixation over-kills the magic addiction that dabbling in the arcane arts usually brings. Hobnob also enjoys pond fishing while sitting on large mushrooms.

Goals:
Step 1: Find money for crazy inventions.
Step 2: Think of and invent crazy inventions.
Step 3: ???
Step 4: Profit.

Background/History:

• 112 years ago, Hobnob was born in a small town in Cutterstone to an inventor and an enchantress.
• As he grew up, Hobnob took an interest in his parents' work. They were happy to teach, he was quick to learn, and by the time he was 35, Hobnob knew some basic enchantments as well as most of the ins and outs of inventing.
• Soon enough, Hobnob got the idea to combine what he had learned from both of his parents. His invention exploded during the enchanting, but the explosion did nothing worse than turn Hobnob's hair turquoise.
• Many years of studying and research later, Hobnob decided it was time to try again. This time around, he received assistance from 7 other like minded artificers and 2 like minded enchanters.
• Their work bore fruit, and The Obstacle Flattener Mark 1 was born...and exploded 7 days later. Convinced they could get it right the 2nd time around, Hobnob and his crew began work on Mark 2
• At the end of it all, The Obstacle Flattener Mark 2 was fully operational...until it exploded 7 weeks later. Undeterred, Hobnob and his crew began work on Mark 3.
• 7 months went by before the explosion happened. Just as Hobnob and his crew had predicted
• Before work could begin on Mark 4, Hobnob and his crew realised that almost all of their money was almost all gone.
• And so at the age of 111, Hobnob and his crew decided to leave Cutterstone to find odd-jobs and merc-work to fund their inventive endeavours after realising that their work on The Obstacle Flattener had almost emptied their collective coin purses.
• 1 year later their adventures bring them to Starkvale and the beginning of this RP.

Username: Jbcool

Character Name: Arassel Lanthirwen

Race/Species: Woad (Wood) Elf

Gender: Female

Age: Around the 250ish mark

Career/Class: All-round exceptional scout, guerilla fighter, survivalist and first-class archer

Weapons:

• A 'classic' Elvish longbow, similar to the comparable Human weapon, around six-feet from top to bottom and etched with swirling designs – oddly, the bow is constructed from a wood that cannot readily be identified but seems to stretch with extreme ease; to the Elves of the woodlands this is known as 'Wyrdwood' a special kind of wood from a tree that is both flexible, has the blessing of the forest God, and has limited regeneration if the object is damaged. The string is made of a hair from the mane of a unicorn.
• Quiver or arrows – within this quiver, worn across the back, contains numerous arrows of varying designs. From the most common arrow, a simple triangular-headed shaft, to bodkin arrows more capable of piercing thick flesh and armour. These tips are usually crafted from bone, runes into tips that would otherwise be unable to penetrate anything more than leather armour.
• Elvish short-sword – This weapon is usually worn concealed beneath the flowing cloak worn by Arassel, around eighty centimetres in length it has a leaf-shaped blade of bronze (all the better for causing grievous wounds), and an edge that is always sharp.
• A small flint hatchet/hand-axe that can be used as both a utility tool, as well as a more 'fearsome' weapon in combat.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):

Arassel could almost be the quintessential Elf in appearance; around 5' 8” in height, yet possessing a graceful and sylphlike form of packed muscle – her limbs like coiled springs of corded muscle and her overall frame not as 'light' as one might expect from an Elf – she is nevertheless broader than her Silver Elven cousins across the shoulder, and owns the athletic form of one who has spent their entire life in a constant state of exercise and readiness for conflict.

In the face it is hard to tell whether she is male or female for those not of her own race - her almond eyes of emerald green, elongated and pointed features covered by flesh which appears constantly 'dirty', but in actuality is simply a deep tan, and the locks of auburn hair – complete with leaves woven into the strands and around her ears - flowing between her shoulder-blades all plausibly able to be found on any of the rather androgynous Elven peoples.

Yet it is her lilting and enticing voice (as well as the more...obvious points of anatomy) that show her as nothing but female; as with many of her people, she is versed in the songs and ballads of both the Kaelic Isles and her forest-dwelling kinsfolk, capable of silencing entire halls and bending the ear of most to her will.

One thing that does mark her out from any other Elf are the various tattoos and markings patterning her body and face using a method unknown to man, but probably carved into the flesh at a young age. These designs vary from appearing as the veins of forest leaves, to the swirls and interlocking variations more often seen among the tribal Kaelic peoples. These patterns are generally varying hues of green, giving Arassel a more natural camouflage as well as accentuating her already otherworldly look.

Armour: Woad Elves are often seen as backward and primitive, compared to their more civilised relatives at least, and this particular Elf does nothing to dispel that notion by way of her attire.

Needing to move with fluidity, and capable of avoiding most damage in melee combat, she clothes herself in loose-fitting robes of gossamer layered over the top of solid but flexible bark – these reinforced sections mostly covering her shoulders and around the waist area, as well as being crafted from the same unique material as her bow – a cloak of tawny deerskin hanging from her shoulders, covered over with leaves, pieces of bark and hanging moss.

She wears nothing upon her hardened feet, capable of walking over most things without damage.

All-in-all, to those not 'in the know', she often appears as a living embodiment of the forests fury and indeed counts herself as a guardian of nature and the natural world in general

Equipment/Other Nothing, really...perhaps a few herbs carried in a small leather pouch, as well as a wooden figure of Sendarius worn about her neck. That's about it.

Mental Description/Personality: Wary and withdrawn would be the best way to describe her, a tough nut to crack, but once someone has managed to prize her out of her shell they may well find a hospitable and good-natured person there to meet them. Unlike many of her kind she has left the Forest and seen much of the world, both the good and the bad, and it has allowed her to produce a more balanced view of it in general. Nevertheless, friend or foe, get on the wrong side of her and she will have no qualms about returning someone to the ground from whence they came – there to feed the Earth and rejuvenate the nature she worships as a deity itself.

Goals: To learn more about the world outside Vérna'thelan, to safeguard her kith and kin through any means necessary, and to exterminate demonic forces wherever she may find them.

Background/History:

• Born in a small settlement in Vérna'thelan, she was raised, as with any other of her kind, to respect nature and to be forever on her guard against the evils of the world. Hence she grew into a suspicious, yet not entirely xenophobic, member of her race.
• As she grew, her parents relocated to one of the few Elven enclaves on the more northerly part of the Kaelic Isles, constructing their own long-house within the branches of the towering trees there and conversing often with the marked Humans that they encountered. Trade of all manner of things was commonplace, and Arassel warmed to these fiery but lovable islanders, a gift of a bronze sword made to her in return for helping a local village fend off a raiding party of Vretonnians – men who had just happened to get lost on the waves of the sea, but who had decided to try their luck against the primitives of the island.
• Upon reaching maturity, and with the consent of her parents, she returned to Vérna'thelan to seek the permission of the ruling elders to partake in a rite of passage known as the 'forest pilgrimage'; an undertaking practiced in some of the wide-spread villages upon the Kaelic Isle (less prone to xenophobia and paranoia than their forest-bound relatives) which involved young Woodland Elves travelling from forest-to-forest across both the island and further beyond, learning what one can before deciding ultimately whether to return to the Great Forest or not.
• Granted approval she set out almost at once, taking little with her save for what was essential, and before long – well, almost a century and after experiences of every type later – she is walking down the road toward Dethu'lun and her future.

Username: Fuzzybootz
Character Name: Zinvalur the Reticent
Race/Species: Great Clan Elf
Gender: male
Age: 98
Career/Class: Mercenary/ Warrior

Weapons:

• 2 Kukri
• Throwing bola

Physical Description: Zinvalur stands at a mighty 6' with a lean muscular physique. He has long wavy black hair, often with bits of feather and beads tied in, that reaches just below his shoulders. His long pointed ears peek out from under his hair, but he will from time to time cover them to appear human. His complexion is golden honey beige with many blemishes and scars. He has a major scar across his right cheek, nose, and to just under his left eye. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue. He wears a pallium draped over his right shoulder, leaving bare his heavily tattooed chest and arm. Around his neck, he wears a necklace of feline fangs. From the waist down, he wears a pair of loose fit trousers and boots.

Armor: Zin wears a thick leather girdle about his waist to protect his stomach and kidneys, along with leather arm bracers.

Equipment/Other:

• Belt
• Pouch of coin
• Pouch of Flint and steel
• Sharpening stone

Mental Description/Personality: Zin's presence is often stronger without words. His initial impression usually comes off as being aloof and perhaps somewhat cold, but time spent with him will prove otherwise. Zin keeps his feelings and opinions to himself unless asked directly. And when asked, he doesn't mince words. Truth wins out over tact. He prefers to follow instead of lead but is willing to make difficult choices if the need arises. Internally, he is having trouble discerning the line between right and wrong. Things aren't as clear as they used to be and it frustrates him. This has led to self-doubt and double guessing his actions.

Goals: Zin's Goal is to regain the honor he once lost with his Clan and with his deity, Sendarius.

Background/History:

• Born the second son in a long line of honorable warriors, it was to be expected that Zin would follow in the family tradition along with all of his seven siblings. More so than any of his other siblings Zin took to the warrior way of life with great ease and at a very young age proclaimed that he would one day be the Clan’s Master Hunter.
• It is a tradition that when the clan elders believe a warrior in training is ready to join the Clan during the Hunt, he or she would be sent on one last test of valor. When it was Zin's time, He was given the task of tracking and defeating a large feline that had eaten the clan's domesticated animals. Zin tracked the beast for 3 days before cornering it in a cave to the north of the village. Armed only with a single Kukri, Zin defeated the beast, but he did not leave unscathed. He returned to the village bloodied and carrying the carcass of the feline over his shoulders. He dropped it at the feet of his chieftain, and only then did he allow the healers to care for the open wound across his face.
• Eventually the opportunity to fulfill his youthful proclamation would come to pass when the Master Hunter was killed accidentally during one the Clan's yearly hunts. Following another tradition, the chieftain challenged all warriors brave enough to a great many trials and tests to determine his next Master Hunter. Zin proves victorious over his companions and becomes the youngest clansmen to become Master Hunter at the age of 73.
• Things would go well for Zin for two decades. However, that would come to a tragic end when a neighboring Clan’s Chieftain Dies and leaves his sadistic son, Miirphys, in charge. Within days, Miirphys orders his clan to begin raiding, murdering, and kidnapping from all other clans sending the forests into civil war. During one of the raids on Zin’s clan, the chieftain’s daughter was kidnapped and ransomed. Zin begs his chieftain to let him lead a rescue mission, but the chieftain forbids it. Unbeknownst to Zin, the clan’s shaman had predicted such an attempt would end in Disaster. Zin disobeys this Chieftain’s orders and gathers 5 of his siblings to attempt the rescue. It ends just as the shaman had predicted. 4 of Zin’s siblings and the chieftain’s daughter are killed in the skirmish.
• The chieftain is so furious when Zin returns that he nearly strikes Zin dead in front of the entire Clan. The only thing that saved Zin that night was the pleas of his grieving mother. She begged the chieftain for mercy and that she could not bear the loss of another child. The chieftain, given the chance to calm, agrees on the condition that Zin would be exiled. Only During Zin’s last days would He be allowed to return and seek forgiveness.
• For the first few years of exile, Zin wondered aimlessly. He lived day to day wallowing in his own grief and self-loathing. He avoided people where ever he could. Until one day he happened upon a caravan being robbed on the road. He almost walked away, but he could not in good conscience turn away when he heard the cries of a young babe. With haste, he approached the caravan and scared away the bandits. The caravan occupants were so grateful they gave food to eat and asked him to escort them the rest of the way to their destination for a small boon. Hesitantly, Zin agreed.
• It’s only been 5 years since his exile, but Zin is now determined to regain his honor by selling his sword to those who are in need.

Username:Jotunn

Character Name: Surd "Darkmane" Thruggson

Race/Species: Khalahar Half-Giant

Gender:Male

Age:35

Career/Class: Caravan Guard

Weapons:

• Steel Longsword
• Leather Sling
• Weighted Gauntlets

Physical Description:

Surd is a mountainous man, almost comically bulging with muscle. He stands seven feet eight inches in height, and over six hundred pounds in weight. His head is buried beneath a mountain of knotted, wavy black hair, and his face almost entirely obscured by an equally thick and messy beard. His eyes and nose are all that can be seen through the mess. His eyes are bright amber in color, sitting deep in his skull, under a perpetually furrowed brow.
His skin carries a smooth brazen tan, stained over decades in the sun-baked fields of Khalahar. His hands and feet are calloused and weighty, and often act as his main weapons of choice. In spite of the brutish blood running through his veins, he stands straight, and walks proudly. His body is covered with many old scars, as well as many newly acquired scrapes and bruises.

Armor:

-Chainmail tunic
-Iron gauntlets and shin-guards

Equipment/Other

-Cloth pants and under-tunic
-A large wooden shield
-A bag of 40 metal pellets
-Leather water-bag
-A bundle of leather strips
-A jar of salt

Mental Description/Personality:

Surd is imposingly silent. He speaks very little, and uses as few words as is required to make his point clear. He doesn't present himself as arrogant or confident, due to his size. Rather, he bears a great resemblance to a bear. His acts and speaks almost purely out of utility. He presents every person he meets with the same basic respect, that he is a tool to them, and they are resources to him.
On days where he isn't occupied by a job, he sleeps late into the day, and walks at a snails pace. When nothing is required of him, he resonates a deep sense of peace and simplicity.
When he is confronted by aggression, he responds quickly and violently, again very much like a bear. His aggression remains unending, until he believes all threats and annoyances to him have been pacified. Unless it is required of him, for the completion of a contract or major goal, he refuses to run from a fight.
In spite of his size and appearance, he is far from a slob. He eats slowly and deliberately, and walks with a level of distinction.

Goals: Surd has a dream to obtain a great fortune, that he may bring it back to his village, and see the village turned into a notable holding in the world. As it stands, his tribe is far to obscure. He intends to change that.

Background/History:

• A bastard child of a giant and a human. Surd's mother died in child-birth, leaving him to be raised by the locals of his small village.
• As an adolescent, he experienced grotesque growth-spurts, becoming increasingly large and strong as his giant-blood became more prevalent. While this was a curse to him personally, it was a great blessing to his village. His newfound size and strength allowed him to scare off many bandits and raiders from the village. As he grew larger and larger still, he became something of a spiritual figure, a blessing of prosperity and security. The village elders taught him of the ancient spirits and demigods, that composed the mythological history of the village. They trained him to act cold and reserved, to embody the demeanor of the gods.
• As word of his strength spread, he gained invitations to tournaments, as well as contracts guarding caravans and dignitaries. All of this became his way of blessing the village that called him their protector. Soon enough, he was able to afford armor, and then hire guards to look after the village while he went on longer and longer expeditions.
• When he was confident that his village could look after itself, and was no longer a target for local bandits, he left for good.
• Since then, he has worked in the service of various companies and lords. Now he rides a supply caravan, transporting goods to Starkvale.

Username: Jollan

Character Name: Adelhard Baldewin (Allard)

Race/Species: Khalahar

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Career/Class: Odd jobs, Vigilante

Weapons:
His father's large, heavy, two handed sword. Instead of a traditional two sided blade, it has a single blade. The upper most portion of the handle is protected with a bar in front of the hand, while the lower portion is unguarded and ends in a curve like an ax handle. Its sheath is a rectangular wooden scabbard with a fur lined inside and metal bindings at both ends. It attaches to the harness at the back and the sword is sheathed from the right.
A cutlass, though instead of the traditional curve, it has a straight blade. Its sheath is at his right hip.
His fists, which he will most likely use unless he has to resort to a weapon.


Physical Description: He is 6'3" at 320lbs (solid body with a little bit of fat, giving his muscles a slightly smoother look instead of a hard-cut one), with a large skeletal structure and a clear large muscle structure. He has a broad and barreled chest and a squared jaw with a trimmed beard. His hair is dark brown, a little short but clean cut. His eyes are green and very kind. He wears durable tan slacks that have a cargo pocket made into the left side for various items, and a plain white shirt, which sleeves end above the biceps. He has a two belt harness that runs across the front of his chest and his back. He has a shoulder cape on his right shoulder that is dark red on the inside and black on the outside studded into his harness by a leather pad, and just another pad on his left. both pads are lightly fur cushioned. His left arm is covered by what can be described as a large grey arm warmer that fits a little loosely on the arm and is held up by a small belt above his bicep. He has a regular glove with a thin cuff on his right hand.

Armor: None to speak of at the time being. He can't afford that.

Equipment/Other:
survival kit: small versatile knife, flint and steel, hooks, fishing line, small bowstring (for small hunting bow), and arrowheads. these are wrapped in a small roll-up leather pouch that he keeps in his cargo pocket.
Flask in his back pocket containing some ale.

Mental Description/Personality: A hearty and friendly man who is always willing to help someone in need, almost to a fault. When he sets his mind on something he will see it through to the end. He always falls for the damsel in distress routine, but oddly enough, is somewhat shy around women. He would rather fight with his fists before having to resort to his weapons, believing that fighting to the death should only be required if absolutely necessary. Though this isn't to say he doesn't enjoy a good fight, in fact, he finds them quite stress relieving and even fun most of the time. He still holds a grudge against the hierarchy and military of the Andred's kingdom, but doesn't hold it against its people. He has an incredible resolve to finish what he starts and a strong willpower that keeps him driving. Not being raised in any sort of higher status, he sees himself as a common man, never claiming to be anything more. Once his trust is earned, he would willingly give his life for his fellow friends. After the incident with his village, the need to defend what is important to him comes first. Because to him, if it came down to it, if his sacrifice would allow others to live, then it is his place to do so.

Goals: To start a new life and to become powerful enough to protect it. Secretly, however much he denies it to himself, deep down he wants to extract revenge on the crown of Andred, for the years of misguided crusades of slaughter against his people. When he heard that there was a mercanary guild, he decided to start making a bit of money out of his vigilante routine, since his odd jobs didn't seem to make that much. Not many people want a Khalahar working for them around their homes or business, go figure.

Background/History: Allard grew up in the Khalahar plains. It was a normally peaceful place, save for the occasional bandit group or rare so, but not that bad considering it wasn't very populated. Growing up, he learned basic survival and hunting skills alongside his two brothers. When they were old enough, their father taught him and his brothers how to fight and had them help hunt larger game. Since Allard was about 25, he was known to be great fighter, even taking on large hunts with so much as a knife. To do so however, Allard had built himself up to be an incredibly imposing figure of a man. However, sheer strength can only do so much.

One day, a group of bandits attacked the village while most the men were hunting. When the men got word and rushed back to the village, the whole place was nearly decimated. The bandits that came that day revealed themselves not to be bandits at all, but Andred soldiers traveling under the guise of bandits, leading small surprise attacks in Khalahar lands in the name of their 'crusades'. What made matters worse, is that there were also an unusual number of mages as well. Caught by surprise at their skill and magic, the retaliating men were cut down quickly. Allard was chained down by an immobility spell by one of the magic users while one soldier was running toward him to finish the job with his sword. Before the blade came to his neck however, one of his brothers spotted him and drove a spear into the man's skull, killing him instantly but drawing the attention of the mage that froze Allard in the first place. Unable to help, Allard watched his brother get torn apart by the black magic. Screaming was all he could seem to do. He watched as all of his family and friends followed suit, unable to combat the invaders with such little numbers.

Keeping Allard alive, they cursed him to reveal the location of other villages, forcing the words from his mind against his will. The payment for the curse required extreme physical pain of the subject, in which case they casually decided to crush his left arm. As soon as the words of the villages' location forcibly left his mouth due to the curse, the memory slipped away from him. For a "reward" they let him live, after beating his already limp body. That night, however, warriors from neighboring villages and traveling nomads came and extracted revenge on the troop, killing most of them and capturing a few. A healer found Allard locked up and attempted to mend his arm and reverse his curse. However, all he was able to do was heal what was left of the arm. It was still gnarled and mangled in a ghastly manner but the wounds were closed and not bleeding anymore. For the arm to work however, the healer made it able to mimic the ability of the other arm, making them equal in strength. Although the healer warned him that should his right arm be injured to a point where it was unable to move, he would lose the ability to use his left arm. To cover the arm from sight, Allard uses a thick, fingerless, grey arm warmer that starts at his knuckles and ends above his bicep, held up by a small belt.

Gathering the few belongings he had left, he recovered his father's sword from the ruins of their house and bid farewell to his family's graves, vowing never to learn or use magic. He then made his way to Starkvale and managed to make a living as an odd job man. Though, he is more commonly known as a vigilante. In this he his highly regarded by a few townspeople, hated by most, and not in good relations with the guard. He now dedicated his immense strength to protecting the things he holds dear. Though that isn't much considering he is a Khalahar. Somewhere inside is still a hatred for the Andred nation, but has come to find that the people and the kingdom can sometimes be two entirely different entities. So far, he just tries to stick to the slums, where people tend to overlook his place of origin.

Username:
MiddleEarthRoze


Character Name:
Ninlisus “Lis” Jadan


Race/Species:
Half-Human, Half-Dwarven


Gender:
Female


Age:
54


Career/Class:
Rogue/Duelist/Soap-Maker/Dark-Slayer


Weapons:

• 2 High-tensile, lightweight steel blades, rather narrow and meant for swift flurries of duel-wielding attacks.
• Several small knives and daggers hidden about her body.
• Spare steel sword; this one broader and heavier than the others.

Physical Description:
When most cast their eyes upon Lis, they would assume she were a diminutive human woman, or a rather tall dwarven-maid. The truth is both; born of a most uncommon and inappropriate union between the 2 races, Lis has characteristics of both. For one, she has retained the excellent night-time vision of the Dwarves, this particular natural skill saving her life more than once on dangerous nights. As for other Dwarven talents, she believes she can see the imperfections stone and gems, but isn't entirely sure about that. Whenever she attempts to examine a rock she concentrates hard, and when perfectly sure all she can see are dust motes and dirt, Lis casts the rock aside, blushing at her own silliness for even attempting it. She does hate her rosy cheeks, even moreso when they brighten maddeningly when embarrassed or caught unawares - but to any other's eye, it lends a softness to her angular face. Such features include high, prominent cheekbones and angular eyebrows, more often than not raised in some form of light disdain for her fellow's antics. Her brows sit above quite charming brown eyes, so light they give off a golden hue. While it is rare these days to see a genuine smile on her face, when such a thing it occurs, it brings her features to life. Eyes crinkle in the corners and dance with warmth; her gentle nose scrunches up, and dimples are joined by laugh lines long since unused. However, there isn't much these days that amuses Lis so much.

When looking at her body, one can see again the influence of man's blood - standing taller than the average dwarf at a height of 5'0", she has retained the stamina of Dwarves while having longer and slimmer limbs than her underground kin. Lis' figure too, is less stocky than that of a dwarf, with a more defined waist and slender shoulders. The skin covering her body keeps tanned complexion, born of her father's Praelian roots - it is littered with pale scars, most being minor and small. The only scar that has ever really bothered Lis is a particularly deep one across her back; stretching from her right shoulder to left hip, the scar tissue is knotted and ugly, and while well-healed, is far more noticeable than the other's marring her skin. However, this major one remains mostly covered, either by clothing or her sweeping, waist-length hair. As for Lis' hair, is has the slightest of waves to it, and a black so dark it has tinges of blue hidden within; it can usually be seen tied up, with some strands plaited together and pinned back. While not considering herself to be a vain woman, Lis does like to look after her hair. Being a soap-maker has it's advantages - her hair is usually well washed and silken, smelling of sweet aromas such as roses or lavender.


Armor:

• Lightweight leather pauldrons
• Lightweight leather corset; lined with thin, but strong, plates of metal for extra protection.
• Lightweight leather greaves
• Lightweight leather bracers

Equipment/Other

• Leather boots
• Teal cotton undershirt
• Leather overcoat, hood attached
• Leather gloves; fingerless.
• Teal sash for coat; for aesthetics
• Several lockpicks
• Waterskin
• Bottle of whiskey
• Bottle of soap
• Smoked salmon, wrapped in cheesecloth
• Hardtack
• Some medical supplies; bandages, ointment, etc.
• A meagre amount of gold

Mental Description/Personality:
Unless done sarcastically, it should be noted that Lis doesn’t laugh as much as she used to. She was a far brighter woman prior to the shitstorm that occurred in her life a couple of years back, but these days’ smiles are few and far between. At first, bitter would be a good word to describe her, but she doesn’t complain enough to be considered that. While certainly retaining a cynical take on life in general, complaining is different to her than "stating the obvious". Of course, such cynicism is rarely looked upon favourably by others, especially in bad situations - while Lis is quite comfortable speaking out loud about probable imminent death at the hands of a horde or Lizardmen or something, it doesn't particularly bring ease to other's hearts. But when it comes to pointless complaining, Lis has a very easy philosophy to take on it - move on and deal with the problem. Lost your job? Get over it and find a new one. Feeling ill? How is complaining going to make you better? By the EverGod, find a healer. Somebody murdered your family and severely injured you? Get better, bide your time, don’t let it eat away at you, and when you find the bastard, rip his stomach out and force him to chew on it as you castrate him.

Of course, sometimes it’s hard for her to follow her own advice. Because certain events in her life have changed her, despite her preferences. Lis drinks more than is healthy (For a human, at least - another benefit of her Dwarven mother), has a resting face that makes her look severely pissed off 90% of the time, and is often too quick to deliver a sarky remark where a more sympathetic one would have a better impact. Despite all this, if one were to truly know her, she would show more empathy. Even in her everyday life, one can see this – her almost angry defence of the oppressed, the protection of the weak, and the avoidance of doing anything involving hurting the innocent. Because behind all her anger and sarcasm is sadness, and while it surfaces in fairly productive ways when killing people, it weighs heavy on her heart.


Goals:
Well, her real goal is to actually find a goal. A purpose, a reason to live properly again. Whether she finds this in a cause, a friend or a lover, she's not sure yet. But since what happened, Lis needs something substantial to fill the harsh, cynical void resting in her heart.


Background/History:

• Obviously, Lis was born of two different species; her Mother – Maehi - a Dwarf; and her Father a nobleman of Praetorian descent; Karlos Lehner. The Lehner family was a rich and prestigious one in it's area, consisting of 4 children, and their mother and father. Maehi began working as a governess for the children – taking over from the job that had once belonged to her Aunt, who had died of old age. She taught 3 of the children how to read and write; the fourth being far too young. The mother had recently given birth to the newborn and was permanently tired from the ordeal, she was plagued by migraines and rarely left her room. Karlos began to grow tired of his wife's absence, and so his sights turned to the young, pretty thing teaching his children.
• Maehi was not particularly old, and rather naive; she fully believed the master of the house's sweet nothings and gifts. He was an attractive man, both in looks and speech. They would meet in the dead of night, away from the family and the other servants to enjoy one another's bodies. However, things turned sour when Maehi discovered the fruits of their labours. She was pregnant.
• Wanting to keep his infidelity a secret, Karlos gave Maehi money on the promise that she would leave with her unborn child before anyone knew of it's existence. She was reluctant to go, only leaving when he lied that he would continue meeting up with her and sending money. A few payments got her through her pregnancy, paying for food and rent on the outskirts of the city, but after a while, they stopped coming. When showing up at the house once again, this time with her daughter now in her arms, Karlos threatened to have her killed, and her babe thrown from a cliff. Realising her mistake, and that no more aid would come from her lover, Maehi fled Praetior by the sea, finding a job on a merchant ship that would offer enough pay as cook and cleaner to keep herself and her daughter fed and warm. And this is where Lis' story begins.
• Life on the ship was fine – great, even. Growing up with the ocean meant it didn't take long for Lis to get her sea legs; in fact, her first trip on land was very difficult for her, considering she'd never been on ground so solid before. Even when the seas were calm and without a whisper of wind in the air, you could still feel the tide throbbing about underneath the ship. The stillness of earth was disconcerting to her at first, but in time, she grew to enjoy her trips on land. Lis' mother still met up with Dwarves of her clan whenever possible, passing along stories and whatever coin she could. There was also the issue surrounding Lis' father – Maehi had never heard of a Dwarf and a Man successfully mating before – usually it was the Humans and Elves getting children out of such unions. However, her clan knew nothing of the sort, and just suggested to accept things as they came; by the rate of Lis' ageing so far, it seemed she would not have the lifespan of a common Dwarf – this worried her mother, but there was nothing to be done about it. Additionally, while her lack of Dwarven skill in terms of rocks and metals were undeveloped at that point, Lis has no interest in working in mines anyway. She enjoyed the air and the sunshine far too much to wish it goodbye for a life underground. Living on the waves made her happy; even moreso shortly after her 15th birthday.
• Following the death of their old Quartermaster by way of consumption (thankfully nobody else on board had been infected), a new one named Jasper was picked up as they docked at a port in Andred; with him, his teenage son, Holden. 16 years old, unusually tall and strong for his age, and a welcome member to the ship; Particularly for Lis, for it seemed to be love at first sight. Not only did she finally have someone of her own age to talk to, but Holden seemed equally as besotted with her and she was with him. It took no time for the two to develop their relationship; much to the ire of Lis' mother, she spent too much time shirking her duties to flirt in the crow's nest with Holden. Still, she couldn't be too angry – there had been a point where Maehi had worried as to whether her daughter would find love at all. There weren't many great candidates on the old merchant's ship, after all. Everything seemed to be going right, and as years passed, Holden was soon asking for Lis' hand in marriage, still working aboard the merchant ship where they had first met. But as fate would have it, the two would never be wed.
• At the age of 18, roughly 30 miles from the coast of Bania, the merchant ship carrying Lis and her family found itself in the midst of a terrible storm. The waves had become wild and gray, thunder rumbling so loud you could feel the vibrations in your boots. Winds whipped the sails back and forth, and the sailors scrambled about the soaking wet decks to try and tame the ship in an ocean that had gone mad. Lifelines attached to the mast were all that were keeping the sailors on board the ship. But despite their best efforts, the ship became overwhelmed. Lis had scrambled to the galley to find her mother when lightning struck the mast; crackling with flames that not even the heavy rain could put out, the great wooden construct splintered and fell, crushing men and blocking the door to the galley. To this day, she doesn't know if her mother was in there; she doesn't know if she was even alive to see the gigantic wave wash over the ship and tip it, belly up into the water. All Lis could do was frantically hack at her lifeline as she was pulled down beneath the water with the mass of wood and metal; to see Holden just out of arm's reach; bobbing motionless beside her. She tried so hard. But she couldn't save him. She couldn't save anyone.
• Lis doesn't remember how she got back to shore; but when she woke up on that cold shore, the sky above was blue and clear. Nothing on the horizon showed any evidence of the horrific tempest that night; nor any sign of her ship. Lis had lost everything, and that day, a void seemed to settle in her heart. There was no hope, no light, no love left in her heart – but even in that state of terrible grief, she knew she needed help. Here she was, washed up on the shore of one of the most dangerous and monster-ridden countries in the continent; all alone, weaponless, and getting weaker by the second. Something had to be done.
• When the group happened upon Lis, she was nearly dizzy with dehydration; armed with just a crude, sharpened stick, this new group of people took pity on her and nursed her back to health. When fully conscious, Lis was able to tell them of her harrowing experience; in return, they told her theirs. They were all hunters; mercenaries pledged to kill any vampire or werewolf they found – each member had lost someone to those beasts, and this was their way of exacting revenge. Their leader saw a strength in Lis – being the only survivor of a bad shipwreck showed she was a fighter. He offered for her to stay and fight with them in Bania – and with nowhere else to go, Lis accepted.
• In the next 10 or so years, Lis journeyed across Bania with the monster hunters. From them she was taught how to properly wield a weapon, nothing like the pretend fights with wooden sticks she had once had on the deck of her ship. Stealth seemed to be a forte for the young half-Dwarf, and the hunters used that to their advantage – using her as a spy to stake out potential Vampiric residences, or Werewolves in hiding among humans. Whenever spying in these places, she hid out in the open as a soap vendor; a skill she had learned from her mother years and years ago, it was one task she still found some enjoyment in. They always smelled very nice, after all. Still, despite her extensive spying, it never brought forth anything worthwhile. The Vampires were not stupid; the rare and only times they managed to find one was because it had been newly turned and abandoned, leaving a trail of corpses in an obvious path behind it. Despite the vampire's infancy, it was still difficult to slay; in Lis' mind, it wasn't worth it, from the amount of work put in to rewards yielded. Most of the time, their group found themselves undertaking contracts to kill common road bandits or highwaymen for unprotected villages.
• Although learning much from the group and spending a lot of time in the monster hunting business, Lis began craving more. Bania was becoming too claustrophobic, and the daily toil of yet more vampire hunting - and no vampires - was beginning to bore her. She did not have the same thirst for vengeance as the others to keep her going on a day to day basis, and the lack of actual vampires being found to kill was infuriating to her. So, giving her best to the group, she departed, heading out of the country in the hopes she could find something worthwhile to do. In the meantime, mercenary work would do to keep her coin flowing – she'd become rather good at killing things, and it would be a shame to let that skill go to waste.

Name: Othiosiya

Race: Drabarian

Sex: Male

Age: 170

Career/Class: Warrior (relic searcher, adventurer, hobby blacksmith)

Weapons:

• A throwing spear. He has only one of those, but it's a very large and sturdy weapon which was designed with both strength and reuseability in mind.
• Reinforced shield. Once the spear is away this item allows Othiosiya to charge in and ram and bash while providing a good amount of additional protection.
• His Drabarian breath weapon is still halfway in its infancy. It is effective against lightly armored foes or upon prolonged exposition, but that again implies that the enemy doesn't manage to evade it. After all Othiosiya is not the fastest person to move around.

Physical Description: To call him 'statuesque' would be a serious understatement: Given his age and race, he is used to going through most doorframes both crouched and sideways. His -- currently -- eight feet five inches of height are bristling with huge muscles beneath his hide. One doesn't put one's head too far above the parapet by stating that Othiosiya is a real colossus commanding an appalling amount of strength, but little speed and agility and an embarrassing frequency of incidents caused by his weight. His scales are of a darker and more reddish tone than those of the average Drabarian, a good description would be 'like old rust'. His eyes and facial features however constitute the typical resemblance of a miniaturized dragon's head. The longest of his sharp front teeth stick out along the jawline and he doesn't have ears that would be recognizeable as such. Instead he has a rather prominent array of short, pointy protrusions at places other races usually grow hair at. Anything like a tail is not yet to be seen, but there's a slight bulge on his back that could be the beginning of a pair of wings.

Armor:

• Heavy plate armor covering nearly his entire body. Despite his prolonged stay along the Thangoradrim, he has never been able to pick up a sufficient amount of Valdium, Wyrdwood or even Baldr to make it. It still is ordinary steel.
• His shield (already mentioned under the 'weapons' category)

Equipment / Other:

• A pair of boots and a robe to dress in when armor is not needed or it wouldn't be adequate to wear it.
• Some coins, but not really much to go with.
• Very large flask containing an ample amount of drinking water.
• Dried rations for multiple days.

Mental Description / Personality: Flame Apex ? Bael ? He knows these words all too well. Othiosiya has followed the great goal since he has left childhood, but like so many others of his kind he has not been able to come up with anything tangible. Now he is tired of the damn thing, feeling the pressure to play the good Drabarian who is not allowed to grow weak in his will to continue the pursuit. At this point, one could get the impression that he's already preparing for retirement, but the truth is that this is only a burnt out spot in an ocean of fuel. He has learned how to fight. He has done it many times and if he would already feel like having done enough with his life in terms of that he wouldn't join a band of mercenaries. One could say that in his attempt to escape from the great themes that typically dominate a Drabarian's life he just does the opposite and puts himself even deeper into the glorious thick of the battle.

Otherwise, Othiosiya can very well be considered being an introvert. He's nowhere near having the tendency to try and convince his environment of his own methods and experience, but is willing to lend a helpful hand if politely asked. Even by Drabarian standards he is a quite greedy eater and drinker and when there's no battle to be won he still knows how to keep his body in shape by exercising. He's not the most intelligent, but well within the average.

Goals: Othiosiya is a Drabarian. Going into a fight or trying to forge a weapon is more for him than a distraction with things one likes: It's adding more glory to a heap that has been growing far too slow for many decades.

Background / History:

• Othiosiya never came to know his father, Madawc. He died in a fight during his mother's pregnancy. Having to raise their sole child on her own, she was even more eager to make an independent adult Drabarian out of him than they'd possibly have been else. However 'conventional' education (at least what inhabitants of other nations would consider as such) wasn't one of the primary objectives. Physical prowess and how to fight were the top priorities.
• Once Othiosiya was considered fit, he was sent to the human nation of Thangoradrim. A Drabarian travelling alone and for an indefinite time wasn't something conspicuous within a society which is virtually based on searching for its relic and glory to be earned. Maybe any of those could be found in the hills and dense forests in southern Andred ? At the very least the first real, long-term contact with a foreign culture was a great variation from the typical routine of exercising and training Othiosiya had become so used to.
• His stay with the humans became longer and longer. He had seen Thangorad, but could not really afford to live there. His interest in returning had faded, but ultimately he just had to. At least his knowledge about the world had significantly improved.
• The longest episode of his life so far clearly is that of the relic searcher. It meant traveling wide and far, but 'only' fighting what happened to cross one's way and to be hostile. It still was plenty and allowed him to gain a lot of 'real' experience. Thanks to the generally quite good relationship with the dwarves, he was able to become an apprentice of one of their blacksmiths. Due to restrictions of both time and skill compared to his dwarven master things never went further than that though.
• Being in his late fourties on the human scale (or at about 150 years of his age), he has grown sick of searching. Efficiency is key and being a mercenary is bound to be more efficient in terms of heroic deeds than roaming around and waiting for things one can fight to come by themselves.

Name: Leon “Jackal” L’vard
Race: Human (Ra’Sheek)
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Class/Career: Rogue/Skirmisher/Independent but Honorable Thief
Weapons:

• Long Sword
• A bow
• A clip point knife

Physical Description: A dark skinned man standing at about five foot seven. His black hair had been braided into long thin ropes that hang just a way past his shoulders. They are tied together near his scalp with a red band. And while he definitely has the strength of and body of an acrobat, the exact definition of his muscles aren’t sculpted, but are covered with a thin layer of fat giving him a smoother appearance until they need to flex.

His eyes are brown, and the skin on the palm of his hands are quite rugged from his everyday hard work of just surviving day to day as a thief.

Armor: A well fitting leather vest made of soft flexible leather with an internal lining of metal plates and a few layers of linen that protects his torso. Complete with Pauldrons. The layer of linen continues up past the collar to form a cowl. Two clips on either side of the hood pulls some of it back towards the back to return some of the peripheral to the wearer.
Leather bracers on his fore arms, and hardened sections supplemented with a plate on the front his thighs.

Equipment

• Sharpening stone + oil
• 25 Standard Arrows
• 5 Igniting Arrows
• Thieving tool kit
• Rope with grapple-hook.
• Two Agony Grenades
• Bandages
• Caltrops
• Bag of Dirt
• A masterfully made bronze mask that looks like a jackal’s head.

Mental Description/Personality:

Jackal in just a few words could be described as a both a clever and optimistic free spirited man. It doesn’t sound right for a thief, but it definitely is who he is. So... armed with a devil may care smile, and a heaping pool of sarcasm and humor he can tackle any bleak, dreadful day without a bat of an eye.

Many would assume that this is all an act. But rest assured it is not. However, do not think that means that he is caring. A hungry wolf could be as caring if it spots a lone vagabond stalking through the woods. He’s the sort of man who chooses his friends carefully, and come no tide or hell will he ever betray them or leave them behind. The rest, however, can go to hell as far as he’s concerned.

But that does bring into question one thing that makes this independent thief so strange compared to all others. Honor. And strangely he's a thief that takes honor seriously… to a degree. When he gives his word, he means it. Should you feel he is lying, he’s not. If you fear a knife in the back, it won’t be his. And if you’re worried about him running off with your share of the loot, don’t worry about it.

Goals: He stole to survive, and he’s done with that. He seeks adventure, and a challenge. A little profit wouldn't hurt, but to a well practiced thief anyone's pockets are his pockets.

Background/History:
Growing up in a Ra’Sheekan City as a lower class member is definitely a bastard of an achievement on it’s own right. If you’re not having problems with water, your neighbor, landlord, or debt, you were definitely having problems with the upper class members and of course the Rogue Guilds.

In his early years of life, he began stealing. It started off as simple things; apples, bread, and fish. Then it grew into more impressive things. Coin purses, books, and tools. And heck, he was good at it. If he was caught he was a quick kid. He’d dart through the crowd and weave through the masses to give his pursuers a slip.

He's a self-taught man in his adolescent years. Not only was he wise in the ways of the streets, and the underworld. But knowledgeable from all the books he had stolen and accumulated over the years. And yes, he did read them.

And those years marked the start of his career

He declined many offers from the guilds to join their ranks, and instead opted to remain a freelance thief by contract. The Jackal, a moniker he earned from a stolen mask, was known for being a thief of his word… no matter how high the costs or bounty a heist may produce. He got in quietly, stole, planted evidence, or even kidnapped if hired to. The fates of those that needed to disappear are as sure as anyone who was captured by a Gnoll. Because… well… he was actually friendly and quite welcome with the local Gnoll tribes thanks to his mask.

But then the danger wasn’t enough. He began training in the way of the sword and bow and joining the underground fights. He managed to get himself torn up pretty badly leaving many scars on his body after many fights. And in some cases he barely won. But through those fights he began pick up tricks. And the fights grew more decisive with time.

But… that wasn’t good enough for the thrill seeker, and lover of a good challenge. He turned his back on his old city, and left for the life of a mercenary. A decision he had yet to regret.

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NOTE:
Agony Grenade is similar to a smoke bomb. But it's not something you want to conceal in. It's a vicious grenade that makes a cloud of ground glass, pepper, poison oak, and irritant designed to attack the eyes, mouth, and nostrils as well as open wounds.