All right, here it is, my first draft. I uh, did not actually include a biography section for a variety of reasons. Here's why: Most of the relevant information that would have come out of it is already in this sheet in some form or another, either directly explained or at least implied. I didn't feel the need to bloat this sheet further with largely redundant or uninteresting details. Secondly, the things that *are* important and that aren't directly explained (such as the incident with Nitsa) are far more effective from a storytelling perspective if left unexplained, so again writing it out would just diminish the quality of the character. So all in all, unless you really want me to do it, in which case I will, I'd prefer to leave it out.

The only detail that would have been addressed in the story, that needs to be addressed, and has thus far not been treated in the sheet is how my duo of characters came to join the Scarred King's ranks. As far as that is concerned, I don't know, I'll leave it vague for now. I don't know much about the King in the first place, or his rebellion, or the company he keeps. Considering their location and my character's origin it can always be conveniently explained that they simply met by chance and saw mutual benefit in working together.

So, well, there you go. Hope you like it.

[b]Edit:[/b] Oh right, I almost forgot:
[quote=Flagg]-Inspired by Tolkien, Warhammer fantasy and 40K, Lovecraft, Morrowind, Song of Ice and Fire...looking forward to seeing what others bring to the table.[/quote]
Berserk. I bring Berserk to the table. My character is Berserk.

[b]Edit 2:[/b] After mulling over it a bit, maybe I'll add the story after all since I have more to tell now. Point stands that it's technically redundant, but it might make for a nice read, round the character off. Will see about it tomorrow. No promises though.

[hider=Serilda & Nitsa]
[b][color=CD5C5C]Name[/color][/b]
Serilda

[b][color=CD5C5C]Race[/color][/b]
Human (Mostly)

[b][color=CD5C5C]Nationality/Nation Description[/color][/b]
[i]The Highland Clans of the Wounded Mountain[/i]

The northern part of the Godsfang Mountains surrounding Varyon is home to a particular peak named the Wounded Mountain. Its name is derived from the majestic glacier that extends down its frosty slopes, which assumes a deep red coloration near the top that narrows down into trickling streams or veins of red inside the ice until finally petering out to indistinguishable fibers. Seen from afar, it would appear that the mountain carries a mortal wound, perpetually bleeding. The glacier and mountainside feed into a lower plateau where the air is cool and game is rich in the dark pine forests dominating the zone. In its center is a sizeable, cold lake with fresh mountain water whose taste carries a hint of iron.

The region is large enough to provide ample living space for multiple little hamlets that have sprung up around the lake and elsewhere underneath the protective boughs of the ancient pine woods. Often referred to as clans, the villages are mostly just isolationist communities who chose a life away from the hustle and bustle of the southern kingdoms. That said they did not completely break contact when they built their settlements, and frequently send trade caravans down the mountain to barter for products they have difficulty producing themselves and supplying high quality lumber, iron, steel and artisanal goods in return.

The mountainfolk gradually adopted a new religion centered on the Iron God, a nameless, formless deity that apparently dwells in any and all iron – including that in the blood. To outsiders it would seem that this faith is the result of minds addled by decades of consumption of their strange tasting water which, judging by the glacier’s appearance cannot be healthy. And perhaps these outsiders have a point, but no missionaries who tried showing them the path to another religion were ever truly successful in toppling their beliefs. Although the Iron God does not truly have a church or a clerical organization, there is an old temple high atop the icy mountain, near the glacier’s origin, where a handful of ascetic monks and the sage – their leader – live in isolation from even the isolated hamlets. Generally seen as aloof by almost everyone, their council and their blessings are often sought by mountainfolk who would ask for mediators in difficult disputes, blessings for their children or fortune in battle. Rumor has it that the monks know a secret path that leads inside the glacier’s heart, to where the mountain’s blood flows free and undiluted, yet none could confirm that rumor to this day, nor has anyone ever found out where exactly this “blood” comes from. Some take the name quite literally and assume that the mountain is alive and sentient, and indeed has a wound from which blood flows as from any man’s wound. Others assume that it is not the mountain proper but something inside of it. Something old and nameless that is trapped or buried underneath the glacier and keeps bleeding into it.

When God Emperor Dagon IV rose to power and crushed the adjacent kingdoms, it was only a matter of time until his inhuman legions would climb the Godsfang Mountains and invade the plateau surrounding the Wounded Mountain. And so they did, leaving naught but misery, smoke and ashes in their wake. Survivors tell of a particular village by the lakeside that took the brunt of the assault and which was pillaged and raped over a matter of multiple days. So great was their misery that the sage in the mountain temple could watch no more and did the inconceivable: he drank the mountain’s blood, greedily, until his body could take no more. The rest is highly speculative and highly exaggerated, but as the tale goes, the entire plateau echoed with the alien screams that boomed down from the frozen peak of the Wounded Mountain, as if some antediluvian demon had been roused from its slumber. A formless monster composed of rage and blood descended upon the lakeside, obliterating any of the invaders that stood in its way and routing the rest into the woods where it followed them and murdered them one by one. Those who claim they had seen the beast can no longer be considered sane of mind, their account made dubious, but it is true that the great sage no longer dwells among the monks, and they speak no more of what happened on that day.

[b][color=CD5C5C]Occupation[/color][/b]
Vagrant Warrior

[b][color=CD5C5C]Religion[/color][/b]
[i]The Iron God[/i]

Belief in the nameless Iron God is restricted mostly to the small northern region around what is known as the Wounded Mountain. According to the lore, the god is not only nameless but also faceless; he is in everything that is iron, most obviously the ore found in the earth and mountains, but also in the blood. That there is power in iron ore and thus weapons is uncontested (who would argue, after all, that might does not make right?) but believers hold that by drinking blood and/or eating the raw flesh of things, they can acquire part of that being’s power, while others say one simply gains the Iron God’s favor. Either way, the ritual eating of their enemies is widely spread among the mountain folk in this region, a practice that used to be considered barbaric by the more civilized kingdoms to the south in the old days. Eat your enemy and you eat his strength, so the saying goes.

[b][color=CD5C5C]Appearance[/color][/b]
Ask a hundred men to picture a woman, and you will hear a hundred different descriptions – but none will fit Serilda. She is tall, almost uncannily so, easily standing shoulder to shoulder with most men. Her face a perpetual grimace veering between pained anger and a disapproving frown. Even a stranger will recognize that no smile has graced her colorless lips in what must be years. Where her left eye should be there is only a dirtied, brown bandage from underneath which a trail of old, caked blood paints her unwashed cheek, past the puckered mouth and down to the chin. The remaining eye, encircled by a dark tone and amber in color, stares cautiously, perhaps disdainfully from one corner to the other, always watching for danger, for something to kill. Her head is crowned by a wild mane of unkempt black hair whose tips end just above her chest.

A coarse, dark gray linen hood covers her head and hair at most times to shelter her from the weather and shelter others from the displeasure of seeing her more clearly. The hood itself is part of a wide cape, embellished by a simple coiling pattern of black lines, which is slung around her shoulders, concealing a large part of the armor that she wears underneath. A harness made of hard boiled leather protects the chest and abdomen, while plate gauntlets protect her hands, forearm and elbow and additional plates which form part of her well-worn boots cover her kneecaps and shins. The rest of her arms and legs are clothed in simple, faded hemp fabric that looks to have stiffened with layers upon layers of dried sweat and blood. A simple necklace produced from animal sinew, pieces of bone and wood hangs around her neck. Various utility pouches and bags are fastened to her belt containing a variety of necessities like compact food, bandages, rope, a whetstone and more. When travelling from place to place, she additionally carries a decently sized knapsack on her back and underneath the cape, bearing supplies for herself and her companion for the journey.

[b][color=CD5C5C]Personality[/color][/b]
In a world of monsters, only a monster can thrive.

At a glance, Serilda is cold, gloomy and full of bitterness. Although her demeanor can be offputting, she is not one to reject the company of others if they appear trustworthy. She may not reveal much about herself or her companion, but is willing to at least be a good listener to anyone who shares her manic hatred for Emperor Dagon and his fiends. Catch her on a good day and give her a strong drink and maybe she is willing to tell a story or two. For the most part, however, it appears Serilda is too absorbed in her own sorrows to care much for life – except, of course, towards the one person in the world she cares about, more so than for herself.

Nitsa, her fourteen year old daughter, is the only reason Serilda has not yet thrown away her life by doing a death march to Kuranes. To those who merely know Serilda as a stone cold butcher of all that is evil, it comes as nigh a shock to see her being warm, tender and caring when interacting with her child. In truth, the lass is the source of her every emotion. She is the reason she can feel warmth and happiness, and she is the reason for her constant depression. An unknown amount of years prior, Nitsa bore witness and possibly became subject to such heinous events that they have traumatized her. Ever since, she’s not spoken a single word and is deathly afraid of everything besides her own mother. Serilda fears that her daughter may never recover, may never speak or laugh or love in her young life. That fate would spare her child only to cast it down with madness is the true reason why Serilda has given up on her humanity and decided to become just another monster in a world of monsters.

Understandably, her outlook in life is bleak – she is pessimistic, distrustful, hopeless and if there is any humor left in her it is of a deeply cynical sort. That said her sober view of the world has made her very conscientious. She’s honest, having nothing worth lying for. She’s industrious and pragmatic, seemingly channeling her frustration into physical labor and exercise. When she’s not training her skills or her body, or caring after her daughter, she is most likely doing work of some other kind like chopping fire wood, maintaining equipment or preparing food. Although she is brave to the point of recklessness, she has also become extremely stubborn and set in her ways. The only one who could conceivably talk her out of a given course of action would be Nitsa, and she speaks no more. Fortunately, at least, she still values living more than dying a hero’s death, if just to continue protecting her fragile child.

Secretly she harbors the dubious hope that Dagon’s death by her hand will cure Nitsa of her mental ailment.

[hider=Disclaimer]**I’d like to mention that my descriptions of personality are never fully inclusive or final; they are to be understood as guidelines I set for myself, as the idea I had of my character at the time of conception. As such, it is not impossible for the character to reveal new facets not described above, or even contradict one or more of the above descriptions, within reason. Characters, after a while, become living things with a mind of their own, and sometimes they simply do things we have not accounted for.**[/hider]
[b][color=CD5C5C]Equipment[/color][/b]
• [b][u]Cleaving Sword[/u][/b]
The cleaving sword is a local oddity, used primarily by the tribes near the Wounded Mountain. Although it is technically a sword, it is used more like a halberd than anything else. The most unusual part of this weapon is its abnormally long handle which measures just about 70cm (27.5 inch) and is made of hard, heavy oak wood. The grip is wrapped in hemp rope to provide a better grasp. Affixed atop the long handle is a 90cm (35.5 inch) long, straight and 15cm (6 inch) wide blade with a single edge and which narrows down to a point at the tip. At the bottom of the blade, a rudimentary iron cross guard is in place. Typical use of this weapon involves chopping motions in an attempt to dismember opponents (very effective on horse legs), although the pointed tip allows the weapon to be used as a heavy spear as well.

• [b][u]Hand Axe[/u][/b]
Intended as a tool, not a weapon, this hand axe has a length of 45cm (17.4 inch) and features a simple iron head while the handle is made from sturdy oak wood. Largely used to chop wood, but if it can split a log it can split a skull, can it not?

• [b][u]Flint and Steel[/u][/b]
A chunk of flint stone and a small, irregular block of steel to start fires.

• [b][u]Knife[/u][/b]
A small, iron knife not intended for combat.

• [b][u]Whetstone[/u][/b]
A worn whetstone to keep all of her blades sharp.

• [b][u]Oil[/u][/b]
Roughly half a liter of oil contained in an iron flask. Used to prevent rust on the blades and create torches.

• [b][u]Rope[/u][/b]
About 9 meters (30 feet) of hemp rope.

• [b][u]Blankets[/u][/b]
Four rolls of wool cloth that can be used as sleeping mats and blankets.

• [b][u]Bandages[/u][/b]
A few old rolls of coarse linen cloth that can be used to treat wounds.

• [b][u]Curative Salve[/u][/b]
A herbal salve with a strong, alcoholic smell contained in a small wooden jar.

• [b][u]Blood of the Mountain[/u][/b]
A sealed iron flask containing about half a liter of undiluted blood from the Wounded Mountain’s glacier. Can be mixed into water in small quantities to create a sort of battle potion that increases aggression and lowers inhibitions, or be ingested pure… even if the consequences might be catastrophic.

[b][color=CD5C5C]Skills[/color][/b]
• [b][u]Devour the Strength of thy Foe[/u][/b]
Most civilized folk would easily dismiss the old mountainfolk claim that blood and flesh is power, and thus eating it strengthens the self. But perhaps there is truth to the ramblings of the old folk, or perhaps it is a property unique to these people whose bodies and minds have been addled by generations of living near the infected waters of the Wounded Mountain. Wherever the truth might lurk, it cannot be denied that the mountain tribes can whip themselves into an unearthly battle rage if they gorge themselves on the taste and smell of fresh blood. If the legends are true, then they can even gain a portion of their prey’s strength by eating them.

• [b][u]No Hatred is greater than Mine[/u][/b]
There can be no doubt that most free men and women hate Emperor Dagon IV with a passion, but there is a difference still between their unbridled hatred, and the violent turmoil that boils in Serilda’s heart. It has deadened her sense of mercy or compassion. Anyone and anything that she even suspects of being tainted by the emperor can expect to fight or flee for their life. While this makes her a ruthless and efficient killer in battle that leaves no loose ends, it can be a liability all the same. She makes no prisoners, does not differentiate between voluntary and forced servitude, absolutely does not negotiate and has no interest in liberating slaves or improving the state of the world.

[b][color=CD5C5C]Motivation[/color][/b]
Wants to kill Dagon and everyone related to him, willingly or unwillingly. She has no interest in liberating others, or improving their lives. She cares only for the total destruction of Dagon and his taint, wherever and in whomever it might be. Revenge is the likely motive.

As a minor motivation, she also hopes that Dagon’s death will cure her daughter of her trauma, though this is doubtful and she knows it.

[hr]
[b][color=20B2AA]Name[/color][/b]
Nitsa

[b][color=20B2AA]Race[/color][/b]
Human

[b][color=20B2AA]Appearance[/color][/b]
Taking after her mother, Nitsa is taller than the average fourteen year old girl and more akin to what a boy her age might be. In spite of this she appears very diminutive, instinctively sagging her shoulders and lowering her head to lower her profile. Her dreamy eyes also have the same color as her mother’s, but unlike her she keeps hers constantly cast downwards, regardless whether or not she is currently working on something in her lap. Almost nobody knows that behind her soft, pursed lips she is missing two teeth. She keeps her dark auburn hair at chin length, trimming it herself when necessary. Years of a life in the wilderness have not been kind to her, she is meager and dirty, but not altogether malnourished.

Her clothing is plain, a simple brown linen dress with dull white overlays that would be common in any peasant community in the lands. The most expensive thing on her might be her boots, which are of solid quality and keep her feet comfortable and warm even on daunting marches. She wears a self-made necklace from natural materials (sinew, wood, feather and bone) and a bracelet of similar make on her right wrist. A travelling bag is slung around her shoulder and rests comfortably at her side, containing some food and drink, a handful of personal affects (a doll from her childhood) and materials and tools necessary for knitting yarn and working with fabrics in general (knitting needles, scissors).

[b][color=20B2AA]Personality[/color][/b]
Nitsa has closed herself off to the world; something unspeakable must have occurred to her in the unknown past and it defines her very being. Ever since that incident, she speaks no more. She’s not stupid, understands others perfectly well and communicates as well as possible without words, but simply refuses to talk. Often it’s not an issue because she is incredibly afraid of everything foreign, a disposition that makes her disinclined from conversing with others anyway. There are only two things she is not frightened by: her mother, and children below her own age. While her travels rarely take her to children, she has shown a real knack for getting along with them, speaking to them on a more primal level than mere words can convey. She could sit down and play with any child and gain its trust in a heartbeat. Perhaps this is because she herself has remained somewhat childlike in spite of her growing age, playing with a doll every now and again, sleeping in her mother’s embrace and seeking her approval on everything. A part of her wishes she could be this open towards adults too, but every time she sees one a knot forms in her stomach and she feels insurmountable dread and panic.

For the most part she keeps to herself, is shy and reserved and bothers no one. Similar to how her mother tries to forget through physical labor and exercise, Nitsa tries to forget through creating new and pretty things using cloth or impromptu jewelry. Often she can be found sitting by herself, knitting something of her own design or repairing a piece of clothing she or her mother wears. Deep down, there is a Nitsa who wants to be happy and live the life she was meant to have, but the shadow of dread has completely engulfed this version of her, hiding and muting it.[/hider]