Name: Locust Highland
Appearance:
Colour Image
Locust is a 25 year old man of a lean build. His most notable feature is his left eye, which has been blinded and is completely white. His hair, which is almost kept covered by his hat, is short and brown, and is almost always kept unstyled. His armour detracts from the usual style of the order as he has chosen instead to wear his family's traditional garb, despite being disowned by them. This includes leather armour, stained dark purple with a matching cape and feathered cap along with similarly colored boots and white leggings.

Biography: Locust's history starts a century or two back with his ancestors. They were Dumatians, tired of the abundance of religion within their kingdom who moved out from the city and created a settlement just outside of Maltheria. For years they grew the settlement and began training their offpsring to defend themselves. At some point, the settlement changed from a small farming village into a training camp for some of the best archers in the kingdom. It's hard to pinpoint when and who did it, but many point to Wasp Highland, the first to adopt the new naming scheme. Males of the Highland clan would be named after an insect, while females would be named normally. From that point on the Highland clan was expressly dedicated to archery.

By the time Locust was born they had become known throughout the lands among military advisers and generals for their skill in archery. They would often be hired for crucial battles and sieges, and have been present at some of the most historic battles in Arilyth. Locust was raised just like any of the Highland clan, going through rigorous mental and physical training until he was molded into a clone of his brothers. However, Locusts' path would take a different turn while on an assassination job at the young age of just 17. As he drew back the string of his bow he spotted something, darkness moving behind his target before a glimmer of light plunged itself into the man he was sent to kill. Obviously, if the assassination was done through any other method than arrow it wasn't a member of the Highland clan who had done it and, knowing the repercussions if he didn't get the murder weapon, Locust set on following the other assassin.

The chase took over half an hour, leaping over gaps between buildings, ducking under knives thrown his way and finally cornering his target in a dead-end alley. A struggle ensued in which the assassins mask fell off. It may sound cliche to say it was love at first sight, but it certainly stopped the fight. Over the next few months, Locust made an effort to track down the girl who had stolen his kill and, after a rocky start befriended and eventually made her fall in love with him. A few months later they had a secret marriage, but it was not to last. Males of the Highland clan could only marry with the patriarch's permission, and to someone he chose in most cases. Of course, Locust's little midnight escapes did not go unnoticed, and the marriage was discovered.

Locust found his wife's body filled with arrows the next day, before he was disowned and banished from the Highland clan at just 18. With little knowledge of the outside world and how to survive in it, he was bound to turn into some sort of mercenary or thief. However, that was when he met a now deceased member of the order in a pub. The member took Locust with him on a job to kill some zombies, before advising him to join the order. Locust did just that and has been a member ever since.
Personality: An outside might describe Locust as serious and stoic. Those who know him better know this only to be half true. While his upbringing impaired him somewhat to social convention, Locust has adapted to the outside world and, while still often quiet and earnest, he has been known to make a joke here or there and even engage in 'banter' at times.

"I do not fear the shadows. They will learn to fear me."

Appearance:
A grim man twenty six years of age, his naturally pale skin, heterochromatic eyes of light grey and murky green respectively, and reddish brown hair indicate an uncertain heritage. Standing a few inches below six feet, Denric is lean and toned possessing adequate attributes across the board. He has high cheekbones and prominent collarbones, his chin tapered. His nose is prominent but not obtrusive, while his eyes seem to be set the proper distance apart from each other. Denric’s lips rest neatly between his nose and chin, curving downwards slightly. Indeed, one wouldn’t call him unattractive.

Biography:
Dropped off at the doorstep of the House of Fire as an infant, Denric’s life was chosen for him before he was even aware of what choice was. The then current Keeper of Flames, Oszrial, saw great power and untapped potential in the babe, taking the small one under his wing. Under the tutelage of the Keeper, Denric learned the secrets of ebon pyromancy, a deadly form of magic used to combat the undead, and how to bend it to his will.

Oszrial watched as his apprentice grew in strength and skill, even as he shunned spending any amount of free time he had in preference of furthering his abilities still. That singular, focused dedication to the Order was exactly what the Keeper was waiting to see. Oszrial was a practitioner of blood magic, and Denric would follow in his footsteps. He taught Denric that while it was often used for great evil, that same power could be utilized to undo such villainy. Along with the practical applications of being able to immensely increase a maegi’s power and versatility on the field of battle, Oszrial believed that it had more secrets yet to be unlocked. The same magic that brought the dead to life could also be their undoing. A sort of nullification effect, that would dispel the magics surrounding the undead. This is what Oszrial sought, and what Denric was to help him find.

But it wasn’t to be. Years passed, and while Denric became more proficient in blood magic, the two never found the treasure they were searching for. They never had the chance. It didn’t matter what it was. A misplaced piece of parchment, a pair of ears, present but unseen, or perhaps it was simply bad luck. Indeed, it mattered not. Oszrial was caught, and the sandrir rune above his left hip all but confirmed the Order’s suspicions. The Keeper of Flames was summarily removed from his position and executed shortly after. Denric too was investigated, yet they found no rune and no documents incriminating him. Very fortunate indeed.

Shortly after this incident had come to pass, Denric was appointed as Hunter and let loose into the world. He quickly gained a reputation as a powerful and skilled maegi, doing whatever it took to complete his hunts. This has earned Denric a deal of credibility within the Order, but a strong feeling of distrust from many civilians.

Personality:
Those that know Denric know him as one who will do anything to stop the undead, compassion be damned. He isn’t one to let things get under his skin, as people are welcome to their opinions. They don’t change fact. Though preferring to show little emotion, he is not soulless. Anger, regret, joy, Denric feels just as any other. His status as a blood mage also encourages him to keep people at arm's length most of the time, lest he end up like Master Oszrial.

Name: Ehnleth

Appearance:

Approximately 26 years of age, 5'8 in stature, and muscular in build.

Biography:
Ehnleth belonged to one of the many barbarian clans in Sivar Velg. Hers wasn't the most notorious by any means, but it's frequent raids pulled enough attention. Ehnleth herself was raised in this environment, a tribe of warriors ever flowing through the rough and bitter terrain, claiming settlements for their own or razing them down, while she was molded into a small but mighty warrior. At the tender age of twelve, she started her training, learning the ways of her brutal clan. At sixteen, she was allowed to join into the fray herself, gaining rapid experience in her vicious inherited occupation. Ehnleth began with small skirmishes, and graduated to larger raids with age, as she evolved from fledgling warrior to a full force of wrath. She enjoyed the heat of battle, the adrenaline like fire through her veins, warming her despite the surrounding snow. Her passion and bloodlust was unmatched and only grew stronger with time until, at the age of 19, her scarred and muscular body stood as a testament to her skill.
When the Order came to her settlement, Ehnleth's perspective changed. They swept through her village, hunting for something of which she was unaware, while she stared in awe at their swiftness and tenacity. She felt...admiration. Some of her clan watched, careful to stay out of the way of the notorious Order of Cinders. Others were threatened by this, and fought back against the raid, their barbaric cries resounding within the thick wooden walls of the settlement as they were taken down with fire. In a matter of minutes, the hunt was over, and the prey was found. On a whim, Ehnleth approached a hunter and demanded to be taken along, eager to join this worthy and noble group.
Years had passed, and Ehnleth remained vigilant in her pursuit for a good fight, though her purposes changed. The Order of Cinders straightened her out to the ways of justice, the honorable fight against the wicked who existed in the cracks of the surrounding world. Though the barbarian within remains.

Personality:
The being that Ehnleth becomes in battle can't be ignored, and is quite obvious. Nothing short of a beast of war, and twice as deadly. But outside of the hunt, one would find a much more relaxed woman. She is hearty and confident, easily identified as the loudest laugh in any room. She enjoys a good drink, rowdy company, and exchanging stories over her scars and the weathered marks of her peers. If the story turns into a competition, she'll be the first to start it, and gladly be the one to end it as well. As quickly as she will crack a joke, she can turn a storm. Her temper is as wicked and sharp as her axe.
Music is a passion for Ehnleth, as it is known that she will wear out any bard in her midst, eager for another song, the next limerick, just one more tune.

Name: Lethodus

Appearance: At the age of 33, Lethodus stands a little over 6' 2'' in height with moderate bulk of muscle. His mess of near jet black hair and beard are peppered with a slight glimmer of silver and gray. His sky blue eyes stand out against the tan skin of his face. A scar runs acorss is right cheek.

Biography:Once a member of the Knights Order of Lorinth, he has since rejected all of his once proud faith, even going as far to renounce his own last name severing all ties to his home. He stood once proud to be part of the Knights Order but seeing the bitter truth that lie within its own rank, the corruption that was cast aside with a blind eye, he could not be part of such treachery. The Order was suppose to stand for protecting the people and upholding justice yet some saw them above it. He turned against his comrades serving his own justice. Eventually he had to flee his home for it did not matter how many he punished the corruption remained in the ranks. He became a wandering sellsword, his hammer for hire for any that could pay and if the cause was just.

Him joining the Order of Cinders was merely by chance. He had been traveling for quite some time stumbling upon another village yet entering it, the smell of death was everywhere and scent of dark magic all around. Wandering the village he eventually was ambushed by the accursed undead. His hammer served him well but eventually it broke from one of the undead attacks causing him to stumbling back. In that moment he was about to greet death but it never came. Looking up he saw his savior. A member of the elusive Order of Cinders. They drove back the vile creatures, killing all. Lethodus could only watch in awe at the men and women who fought the evil.

Before the Order left, Lethodus decided to pledge himself to them, an Order that served to seek justice and purge such a great evil from the lands. An Order that seemed to be without corruption. This to him was a second chance to do what he wanted. To protect the people of the lands and fight against evil.

Personality: He is a man who sees things in black and white. While over time he has learned there are gray areas he still much prefers the simplicity that white and black gives. He tries to be an agreeable person for the most part with his fellow hunters but he isn't afraid to express his opinion. He prides himself for his sense of honor, though this can be problematic especially if forced into heading into Lorinth for him. He enjoys a good joke and sharing tales of his time of wandering the lands.

Balthier: Butts heads with.
Xho: Gets along with for the most part.
Ehnleth: Gets along with, trades stories with.
Denric: Butts head with. Does not agree with 'means justify the end'.

"We lose our own innocence to make sure that others will not."




Asychis sports a sharp, defined jawline which gives him a strong and gruff appearance alongside his almond-sized emerald eyes. A number of scars run across his lips, almost as if something had stitched his mouth shut. He stands at a mediocre 5'8, but as if making up for his height, the young lad of twenty-four sports a rather sinewy muscular physique. His brown skin tone is somewhat expected from someone who hails from Ibzya, as his sun-beaten appearance and jet-black hair always gives his nationality away. Although he wears the traditional uniform of the Monks of Sun, avid worshippers of the sun god, he has made alterations to the white garment that covers him from head to toe. Lightweight leather covers his torso as well as his shoulders and greaves, just to protect his body. However, the most distinguishing feature of Asychis are the six large orbs that are strung around his neck, almost like prayer beads. These orbs glow a faint red due to his magical energy already stored inside for use. An ornate, steel flute hangs from his waist as it is tied to a belt. Asychis' fingers are heavily calloused due to his time travelling the sands of Ibzya, as such, he covers his hands with a wrapping layer of gauze. All around his torso, distinct lashes are found which have healed into permanent reminders of the torture he endured.


Water was scarce in the areas outside of the capital city of Qaithus. In fact, between a piece of meat that could be considered luxury in the other kingdoms and a jug of muddy water, a lot of people would bid more for the jug than the tasty piece of food. In other words, water was the liquid gold for the places who were not rich at all to begin with. However, those in power didn't see the suffering of the people. Rather, they saw an opportunity to get what they wanted. The gnolls who controlled the underground lakes in Ibzya had been the bane of the dervishes, not only because they control the water supply, but also because they have their own religious cult that is spreading all around the land. Thus, the priests rallied the commoners into fighting against the gnolls, throwing them into a hapless war between unarmed peasants and skilled gnolls. While the priests and the rich sat at a distance like puppeteers, never once getting dirty; countless footmen were slain in a war that only the puppet masters would benefit from.

But, as fate would place it, even foreigners and traders capitalized on the ibzyan's desperate need for water. They brought with them sparkling and refreshing drinks that the people would flock to, scalping them at outrageous prices that would often leave a family poorer though slightly quenched. This is where Asychis' parents met: a foreign trader from a distant land spending a night with a poor though hardworking ibzyan woman. The father's hasty departure was expected, and even ibzyan women were just as hardy and tough as their male counterparts. So, Anhkta, Asychis' mother, in order to have a higher stipend, joined the militia that was sent to one of the caves of Imhotep in order to drive the gnolls away. The young Asychis waited for his mother to return, but after two weeks of futile waiting, the sixteen year-old boy joined the next militia expedition to Imhotep in hopes of finding her.

The battle at the caves was intense. The militia was first to be deployed and slaughtered while the trained troops swept up the remains. Asychis, himself, was one of the survivors who reached the inner caves before being ambushed by another group of gnolls. The combined battalion of militiamen and soldiers held off for a few days, emboldened by reports that another group was being dispatched as their reinforcements. During this time Asychis befriended a girl his age, Miane, who was forced to join the militias in order to provide for her brothers. The two teenagers quickly established a rather intimate bond which would soon be severed when the promised reinforcements never came. Apparently, the battalion inside Imhotep was used as a bait in order to allow the generals and other officers to escape from the battlefield. As the gnolls surrounded them from all sides, the ibzyans had no choice but to surrender. But, while they were in chains as prisoners of the gnolls, they were all subjected to horrific torture. Fingernails pulled from the cuticles, scourged and beaten, and violated in more ways than one, the prisoners slowly died one after the other. As Asychis and Miane dangled from their chains, the young lad saw a familiar, emaciated figure across him: his mother. What was once a muscular, strong woman was nothing more than a bag of bones whose only purpose was to count her ribs until she died. It was a sad reunion, especially for the mother who did what she had to do so her son would not be in the same predicament as she was now.

The days passed into weeks as the tortures intensified to the point that Asychis' mother died in front of him after the gnolls had branded her skin using a white-hot seal. And, while his sanity dangled upon a thread, the one thing that snapped Asychis' mind was when Miane was killed just beside him, her eyes pleading with him to end her pain. Hot flashes of their last kiss together burned into his psyche as the only thing he remembered was the lesson on pyromancy that one of the veteran soldiers taught him and Miane. His eyes saw red before he could only feel a burning, searing sensation up his spine that cascaded into a violent explosion that shook the cave of Imhotep. As the rocks fell into disarray, and the gnolls burned into embers, Asychis waited for his burial death when a pair of soft arms took him to safety before he lost consciousness.

It was only after a few days that Asychis awakened from his dreamless slumber that he was informed that a pair of hunters from the Order of Cinders had taken him to a small sanctuary in a nearby city where they nursed the orphan back to health. And, without much to go back to in Ibzya, Asychis agreed to be trained by the hunters where he was taken to the main headquarters outside of Ibzya. Soon, his hate was harnessed into the deadly weapon that it had become now. And, when he had become a full-fledged member of the order at twenty-one, he went back to Ibzya to reenact his long-awaited vengeance. However, the young Asychis defied orders from the Order, enacting his own personal vendetta not against the undead, but against the gnolls. His insubordination cost him his membership in the Order, but the vengeance-ridden hunter was too far into fury to care.

With but a few friends to aid him, Asychis laid waste to a good number of caves before he was ultimately left on the brink death when an expedition to the caves of Bastet left him cornered by the gnolls. In an utter refusal to be tortured again by the fiends who cost him his innocence, Asychis pressed himself against his limit, producing deadly flames which surged out in a caustic explosion. The gnolls were reduced to ashes as the ex-hunter fell to the ground in a twitching heap. He had exhausted his strength; he gambled too high, and lost against the draw. He clutched at straws, and ultimately drew the shortest one. He would have died if it weren't for a group of monks who saved him, took him to their home in the barren desert, and nursed him back to health.

The monks, who sensed his great rage, told him that the reason why he still was weak was because his source of strength was hate and vengeance: motivation without purpose. And, that, if one was to become stronger, he had to channel his own rage into something that is meaningful. The monks served as his teachers until the present, ultimately reforming the lad into a believer of restraint and control. Though, he still attacks gnoll camps, he is now driven with another purpose rather than just enacting his own vendetta. A purpose to give water and life to the people of Ibzya who waltzed upon the leyline of thirst and death.

Asychis was never the same since. While somewhat magically crippled, he still is a powerful hunter in his own right. Although, every night, he regrets the loss of his family in the Order, he always wished that someday he would meet them again, if only to say his apologies. And, his prayers would soon be answered. A few weeks passed when another injured person was brought to the monks' care. Asychis personally headed the restoration when he recognized the injured hunter: the same man who brought him to the Order. It was Lydic Arun. Though Asychis and the monks tried their best to cure his injuries, the gnolls had done too much damage to Lydic. But, before the older man could have the final kiss of death, he gave a letter to Asychis, telling him to try to go in his stead to Isamanca. Even though he was ejected from the Order, Lydic believed that once a hunter, always a hunter.

As Lydic died in his arms, Asychis clenched the blood-stained letter before tucking it in his pockets. He would fulfill Lydic's last wishes, if only to repay his debt to him. Asychis packed his belongings before saying his farewells to the monks. And, by dawn, he left for the first ship towards Isamanca, excited and nervous to meet the family that he once had abandoned due to a rage that went out of control.


Asychis radiates a very pleasant, calm, and cheerful atmosphere. He always greets people with a smile, accompanied by his gentle and soothing baritone voice. He rarely raises his tone, and is rarely seen irritated or angry due to the teachings of the hermits who saved him. He is quite a touchy person, often placing his hand on the shoulder of another or holding the hand of someone in need. In turn, he's also quite the hugger, giving a solid hug to the friends he would meet. He's also very generous when it comes to giving to others due to the gratuity he feels from knowing that he once had less. However, when it comes to his duty as a hunter, Asychis is a firm believer in his mission. The undead and everything that stands for evil must be slain, not because of any hatred or vengeance, but because they are the ones responsible for the losses of innocence that many experience everyday. Still, seeing others in pain is something that makes Asychis' heart wrench in fifty different ways; he cannot stand the sight of someone in pain, and thus, he does his best to help those in need. However, this comes with his annoying habit of always getting into others' businesses, even if he is not a part of it. He rarely leaves a damaged soul alone, if only because he is just as damaged as them.


1. The Six Beads of Enlightenment - The large beads that Asychis wears around his neck functions as a storage for magical energy, which allows Asychis to draw magic from it instead of a leyline where most hunters would channel their energies from. This enables Asychis to have an easier and faster time to use his spells, albeit on a weaker level compared to others. The reason is for this is because due to him pushing himself to the limit two times that, somehow, his ability to draw form leylines was impaired. Asychis could still channel magic from the leyline, but doing so would be like trying to move a fractured leg: he can do it, but at an excruciating pain. Severe pains wrack through his body should he try to do so.

2. Expulsion from the Order - Due to his defiance in pursuit of his vendetta against the gnolls, Asychis was expelled from the Order. Though he still cares for the people he knew, he knows that they do not feel the same way for him. As of the moment, his current affiliation is with the Monks of the Midnight Sun, a group of dervishes who lived as hermits in the desert. Unlike their elite counter parts, the monks are more hands-on in terms of their involvement with the plight of the people.

----

----