[hider=Venyamin]
[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjA0MDJiYi5WbVZ1ZVdGdGFXNCwuMAAA/the-godfather.regular.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://data.whicdn.com/images/149182423/original.jpg[/img][/center]
[b]NAME[/b]: Venyamin (Surname is Strois, but guild members of the Bounty Hunter Guild are strongly discouraged to keep their surnames)
[b]HAIR COLOR[/b]: Light sandy brown
[b]EYE COLOR[/b]: Slate grey
[b]DISTINGUISHING FEATURES[/b]: A pair of black metal framed, lightly tinted, square glasses covering his eyes, a small silver stud earring in his right ear and a black tattoo of a small scorpion on his left collarbone. Venyamin, standing at the height of 180cm, is relatively tall and slender with lithe muscles and tanned skin. He wears his straight, dusty brown hair short, the ends reaching just past his shoulder blades. His eyes are heavy-lidded, giving him an apathetic but intense look (mostly hidden behind his glasses), both of which are very much part of his personality. Ven is usually seen in a dark blue double-breasted military-esque uniform with poison green accents left unbuttoned, allowing the white dress shirt beneath to be seen, and black boots on his feet. The sleeves of his jacket are always rolled up to his upper forearms and he wears white gloves on his hands. A high-collared cloak completes his outfit, and he is never seen without his trusty rifle. 

[b]SCARS AND BIRTHMARKS[/b]: Ven has a scar above his right kidney, the entry and exit wound courtesy of his mentor when he was fifteen. He also has gun callouses on both palms as well as little barely-visible scars from accidents or mishandlings of gun repair when he was still green. 

[b]DESCRIBE A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING THEM[/b]: At first glance, one would mistake Venyamin for a palace guard due to his attire. However, on closer inspection, the colours on his coat as well as his well-used clockwork rifle with the guild's [url=http://paintthetownbodyart.com/wp-content/uploads/Scorpion-Silhouette-Tattoo-Design-1.jpg]scorpion emblem[/url] is telling. 
The first impression one will have of Venyamin is a lazy, carefree guy, reinforced by his relaxed gait and slight slouch. Most of the time he is indifferent to situations around him and seemingly content on going with the flow, often making random trips to nearby Towns in order to pass time and gather information if there is anything interesting happening in the area whenever he is not thinking about making some cash or fulfilling guild commitments through hunting. He is extremely loyal towards those who has earned his trust, respect and friendship. He is also quite inquisitive and if something catches his interest, he will obsess over it until he has solved the puzzle (so to speak). Ven sometimes develops a liking for those that can stand their ground against him and/or prove a challenge (mentally, physically or otherwise), which he shows by bestowing upon them a nickname he creates on the spot. Despite his typical portrayal of being a lackluster person when off the job, his fellow bounty hunters or anyone who has spent some time with him know full-well he can be serious, and what can keep him motivated and focused.
Venyamin is extremely practical and thus, that makes him rather blunt with his speech and actions. While he can censor the words coming out if the situation calls for diplomacy, most of the time he doesn’t see the need to. This tendency of being very frank has its ups and downs. Some might appreciate his non-sugar coated words while others might be offended. Due to the nature of his job, his sense of justice might be different from the average person, but that does not mean he doesn't have a set of principles to live by, and would stand by his beliefs no matter what it cost him. 

[b]WHO ARE THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY? WHAT SORT OF PEOPLE DO THEY SURROUND THEMSELVES WITH?[/b]
For most of his twenty-four years of life, Venyamin treats his close friends like family, as his flesh-and-blood parents perished as a result of double-crossing merchants and his only living grandfather passed when Ven was four. Growing up in the orphanage bagged him quite a few friends due to his easy-going nature, but his bluntness whittled that group down to a bare handful. Some drifted apart after they were adopted, others became more focused on their respective careers when they became old enough. Eventually, Ven was left with only one other same-age friend from the orphanage by the name of Irwin who stuck with him through all five years. Although Irwin's personality is the total opposite of Ven's and the latter often finds himself in all sorts of situation thanks to his energetic friend, the two boys were joined at the hips. Slowly, that circle of one best-friend-slash-brother expanded when the two were semi-coerced into joining the bounty hunter guild at the age of eleven. Ven found a father-figure in his gruff, reluctant mentor Tristan and good friends with a bunch of eccentrics within the guild. Between the guildmates that he deems close friends, each of them have a fondness for messing with people by communicating half in spoken words and half in sign, deriving amusement from the lost or confuse expressions of strangers. As a general rule of thumb, Venyamin doesn't give a damn what sort of being or morally-skewed person you are (unless you are a mindless murderer or the like, of course). As long as you have a sense of loyalty to those you keep close to your heart and will not betray them, he is cool with you. Needless to say, his acquaintances are a mixed bag, guildmates or not. 

[b]WHERE WERE THEY BORN? WHERE HAVE THEY LIVED SINCE THEN? WHERE IS HOME?[/b]
Venyamin was born in Fir, the capital of Maple, one of the four islands that makes up the Isle of Cancer. Shaped like an isosceles triangle, the largest island Cedar occupies the centre area and is surrounded by Birch to the north, Oak to the East and Maple to the West. Cedar is connected to birch, Oak and Maple via bridges whereas the smaller islands at the edge are not connected to each other. One can travel over by ship or take the inner roads to Cedar before heading to their desired destination. 
As the Isle of Cancer functions as one unit rather than four separate little nations, Venyamin views the Isle as his birthplace rather than Maple. Perhaps this line of thought was strengthened through being able to travel freely around all four islands and familiarising himself with them due to his job as a bounty hunter. However, while trade flows smoothly within the Isle without restrictions, the same can't be said for technology. Cedar is the most advanced island in terms of technology, relying on clockwork operated machines to run its capital and other smaller cities. The other three islands rarely see and use machines larger than an elevator.
Although he spent the first ten years of his life in Maple, his true home is the guildhall in Cedar. There is where he can kick back and truly relax, knowing he is always welcomed.

[b]WHERE DO THEY GO WHEN THEY'RE ANGRY?[/b]
Where he goes depends on the scale of his anger. If he is merely mildly angry enough to act, he will retreat to the guild's trainning hall to take his emotions out on the targets at the shooting range. If truly enraged, he will leave the guildhall and head towards the south of Cedar, where the cliff lies. There, he will sit and enjoy the view until he calms down enough or thinks things through. 

[b]WHAT IS THEIR BIGGEST FEAR? WHO HAVE THEY TOLD ABOUT IT? WHO WOULD THEY NEVER TELL?[/b]
Venyamin's biggest fear is torture, steaming from stories and accounts he heard from his fellow members. As a gunslinger, he acts as support when in a group and long-range marksman when alone. Hence, unlike Irwin, he has lower pain tolerance and as such fears the possibility of being captured and tortured for information rather than being killed outright. The only person he told this to is his mentor Tristan, who has thought about subjecting Ven to torture training. However, that has yet to come to pass. 
His second fear is large automatons after a botched job that resulted in his team and him nearly being crushed.

[b]DO THEY HAVE A SECRET?[/b]
Venyamin has a secret. One that pertains to the death of his parents. It's nothing big, just that he takes it upon himself to hunt down the main members of the merchant organisation that double-crossed them and find out why they had his parents killed in the first place.

[b]WHAT MAKES THEM LAUGH OUT LOUD?[/b]
Really funny jokes/stories. Strangers making a fool of themselves.

[b]HAVE THEY EVER BEEN IN LOVE?[/b]
No, he has never been in love. Although he did have a crush a few years back. Pity the person's dead now. 

[b]DESCRIBE THE THINGS THAT WOULD BE HARD FOR THEM TO PART WITH.[/b]
Friends, home, job. These are what he views to be his purpose in life and is loathe to part with any of them. 
His [url=https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uhnjWUKFlyk/VTPT3iJt33I/AAAAAAAADxY/EFd2OVp-swg/s1600/tumblr_mnnqok6c1e1rwjpnyo1_500h.jpg]rifle[/url] is his most prized material possession, given to him by Guild Master Riften, crafted by his mentor and self-modified, it has been serving him for a good eight years now. 

[b]LOOK DOWN AT THEIR FEET. DESCRIBE WHAT YOU SEE.[/b]
Well, his legs are clothed in black trousers, for one, with laced, black leather boots that reach mid-shin covering his feet. The state of his shoes is not pristine despite being well-cared for. Although polished, various scuffs and marks riddle its surface. Dark jarrah wood makes up the floor beneath his feet, the planks fitting so well together it looks as though it is one giant piece. The flickering candlelight from the lamp on his desk cast wavering shadows around the room, offset by the sliver of moonlight seeping through the closed window and half-drawn curtains. To his immediate right is the lighter cherry wood bedframe, slightly scratched and dulled with age. If one squints, two deep rents can be seen on the bottom left corner where an [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/1b/e4/6e/1be46eaaff72e6577fe0dcc0dbe74d94--mythological-creatures-bestiary-mythical-creatures.jpg]Enfield[/url] sharpened its talons on the poor furniture. Thank the Gods Prima took that mischievous little creature back with her. His room would have been reduced to splinters by the end of the week.

[b]WHEN THEY THINK OF THEIR CHILDHOOD KITCHEN, WHAT SMELL DO THEY ASSOCIATE WITH IT? WHY DOES IT RESONATE?[/b]
Baked beans and burning wood. The orphanage, while reasonably well-off, has to take care of about thirty kids and a handful of staff. Maintaning the house required money, buying the children clothes and other necessities cost a fair bit. Not to mention how much food is consumed at every meal. Hence, baked beans was something that is served at every meal as it is filling and cheap. Easy to cook over the fire, too. 

[b]DESCRIBE ONE STRONG MEMORY THAT HAS STUCK WITH THEM FROM CHILDHOOD.[/b]
One of his fondest and strongest memory would be Venyamin's first meeting with Irwin. Ven had been reading in the corner of the orphanage's small library, happily lost in another world weaved by words and all the exciting adventure Mr. Snowman was experiencing when the candlelight suddenly disappeared and he couldn't make out the words on the page. A little annoyed at the unwanted disturbance - it was during the climax too! - Ven glared peevishly at the culprit who sent the lamp flying off the table. He had barely registered the other boy's features when two hands clamped tightly over his mouth and a body shoved him right into the corner, squishing the air out of his lungs. Ven's annoyed mumble was cut short by the shrieks coming from downstairs. He blinked, recognising the chorus of voices to be Matron Yule and Brenn. Amongst the intelligible cries, Ven could make out the matrons cursing someone named Irwin to hell and back. The hands over his mouth retracted and the other boy giggled softly. Apologising for ruining Ven's peace, he introduced himself as Irwin, proudly tagging on the title of "Resident Prankster" at the end. As Ven merely shrugged away the apology and didn't blow up at Irwin, the prankster took it as a sign of budding friendship, prompting him to start seeking Ven out.

[b]WHAT DO THEY WANT MOST OF ALL?[/b]
First and foremost, that he would always be welcomed home. Second...his inquisitive little mind has always wondered what other sorts of mysteries await discovery in the cast world beyond. He would like to discover such things himself at least once in his life, maybe while on a job, on vacation, or after he retired. 

[b]RIGHT NOW, IN THE FIRST MOMENT OF OUR STORY, WHAT IS THEIR BIGGEST PROBLEM?[/b]
Stranded...on an island that was no more than a jagged piece of rock smack dab in the middle of the ocean. Did they really just left him here after taking his transport fee?! Those damn money-grubbing worms! Why, he ought to pepper the side of that ship with holes and laugh as it sinks into the watery depths. But he wouldn't because if anyone discovered his involvement, compensation will come from his paycheck. Idly, he glanced around. There's a grand total of two palm trees shading him from the unforgiving afternoon sun and a smattering of weeds and grass. Great. With only a half-full water skin at his waist, Ven will need to survive for who-knows-how-long before another ship might come his way. 
[/hider]


[hider=Belze of the Mygalomorphae]

[color=blue][b]Name[/b][/color]: Belze, of House Mygalomorphae

[color=blue][b]Age[/b][/color]: 31

[color=blue][b]Appearance[/b][/color]: 
[hider=True appearance]
[center][img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/002/861/468/large/jowie-lim-arachne-illustration.jpg?1466569193[/img][/center]

In her true form, Belze is easily 2m tall, 70cm of which is the height of her upper human body (from the tip of her head to the abdomen). The human part of her sports unblemished, ash-grey skin, looking as if it's chiselled from stone. Of course, it is mere human flesh. The fingers of both hands end in sharp claws, the same shade of dark grey as her spider half. She has mandibles poking out in between her thin lips. Like all Mygalomorphae, their mandibles point downwards and do not cross each other.
[/hider]
[hider=Human appearance]
[center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/11/e2/99/11e29936b19c8c314199cd68a7da9645.jpg[/img][/center]

In her glamoured human form, Belze stands at 168cm.
[/hider]


[color=blue][b]Classification[/b][/color]
Arachne/Jorogumo
These long-living, half-human-looking half-spider race is made up of females only, for they reproduce with unsuspecting males of other species before either killing them off or keeping them in a state of comatose, wrapped in a cocoon of webbing for further use. Most Arachnes have long lifespans. Arachnes are split into various Houses, categorised by habitat/environmental nature and led by the Brood Mother, with a handful of Brood Elders as second-in-command. The Brood Mother is usually followed by two Brood Guards, sometimes more, depending on the size of the House. Each House has their own territory, but it is not uncommon for neighbouring Houses to descend into conflict over territorial disputes, or simply being the case of one House targetting a weaker one. Arachnes share a Brood mentality, where the Brood Mother is the supreme leader, and the most important member of them all. By nature, they are ruthless towards enemies, indifferent towards those they deem neutral and relaxed amongst confirmed allies. Each House has their own unique ability.

Those of the House of Mygalomorphae are a sneaky bunch even if some are rather big, and prefer to observe before striking. 


[color=blue][b]Powers[/b][/color]
1) All Arachne have supernatural durability due to their exoskeleton, and can stand both cold and heat (not to the extreme ranges, but higher/lower than most beings)
2) Their supernatural regenerative abilities only kick in when they suck the fluids out of a prey
3) Their sting induces paralysis. Of course, stronger beings require a larger dosage, and beings immune to poison are naturally immune to the Arachne's sting
4) They can shoot webs out the rear and from their claws
5) Arachnes can telepathically summon help from normal spiders under the same category as they are, in this case, the Mygalomorphae category (for example: trapdoor spiders, tarantulas, funnel spiders, etc)
- House Mygalomorphae's unique ability: Chameleon-like camouflage

[color=blue][b]Skills[/b][/color]

[b]Positives[/b]
- Like all spiders, she is an excellent weaver
- Extremely stealthy and agile despite her size
- Deadly at close combat
- Good at ambush and guerrilla tactics
- Extremely patient

[b]Negatives[/b]
- Only one House of Arachnes is able to wield magic. Unfortunately, Mygalomorphaes is not the one.
- While she technically can wield a gun or the like for long-ranged combat, her multiple eyes does make it inconvenient and distracting, so she doesn't do long-ranged
- Overly-cautious and analytical 
- Lightning is the one element she dreads facing
- When forced to engage in outright combat, she will keep fighting no matter the injuries she sustains until either she dies or her opponent does

[color=blue][b]Weapons or Artifacts[/b][/color]: The only artifact she has is called "Brood Mother's Justice". It takes the form of claws which melded with her fingers and appears to be an original part of her. It has no magical properties other than being extremely durable and sharp. There are only three such artifact, and every Brood Guard of the House of Mygalomorphae bears it as a symbol of their status. Only in death does the artifact detach and is handed over to the new Guard. 

[color=blue][b]Personality[/b][/color]
[b]Positives[/b]
- Extremely patient
- Able to think on her feet in the heat of battle. Cool under pressure
- Works hard to eliminate personal flaws as best she can. Even as a Brood Guard (and mainly because she is one), she firmly believes that there’re still things to learn and skills to polish every day. No one’s perfect, after all.


[b]Negatives[/b]
- Overly-cautious and analytical 
- Has a tendency to over-estimate her opponents and under-estimate herself. This doesn’t usually happen, but when faced with someone she knows outclass her, she tends to second-guess her actions.
- Has an explosive temper and will become reckless when the Brood Mother is threatened. (Doubly so now, as her new Brood Mother is rather young.)

[color=blue][b]Biography[/b][/color]
Hatched from a small cluster of eggs spawned from a Mygalomorphae Arachne and a Manticore, Belze, although the runt of the clutch, was still blessed with a large form thanks to the male's genes. From the moment she could see and weave her own web at the age of six months, the female who gave birth to her - Fyre - took her clutch siblings and herself away from the nest and threw them out into the wide expanse of the Mygalomorphae's territory. Left to fend for themselves, they needed to survive until Fyre came for them again. How long that will be, they had no idea. But that was Arachne tradition. As Fyre was a warrior of the House, her offsprings would be set on the same path, and only those who had the ability to survive as a hatchling would be welcomed into the fold of fighters. 

So for days Belze crawled through the territory, more often than not taking advantage of her camoflague ability to sneak away from danger than engage in a fight. She saw the gruesome end one of her siblings suffered by being too arrogant. Mygalomorphae's territory it may be, but that didn't mean the Arachnes chased away every other creatures. Because if they did, what will they eat? As she was now, even a hellhound pup would have no trouble ripping her in two. Less than a year old, Belze was only two feet tall. 

Despite the various dangers, she survived by consuming smaller insects and animals until Fyre returned. The clutch of thirteen was now five. Proven that she has what it takes to be a warrior, she and her siblings were shoved to train with the veterans, learning to take advantage of their stealth to ambush and attack, to spin traps and use their multiple eyes effectively. For four whole years this went on, until they were deemed good enough to re-integrate into the House as full-fledged warriors. Before they could actually call themselves Warriors of the House, though, there was one last trial. To bring back the corpse of a creature on par or stronger than themselves. Belze caught within her traps a young witch and didn't hesitate to suck her dry. 

From there on, Belze led the fairly exciting life of a warrior, patrolling the territory, training the hatchlings, participating in skirmishes against other Houses and fights between creatures looking to take over Mygalomorphae's territory. Of course, there were the occasional humans who hunted the supernatural, all of varying capabilities. She was lucky enough to survive each encounter. Perhaps it was due to this that she was picked as the next Brood Guard at the age of eighteen human years when one died. This also marked her first time seeing the revered Brood Mother face-to-face.

However, a decade later, tragedy befell the Mygalomorphaes. Skinwalkers launched an attack on her House in a bid to move into the Arachne's territory due to the barren state of their own. During the conflict, the Brood Mother was critically wounded when the Guards were swarmed. Victory for the House was bittersweet that day and went uncelebrated. The Brood Mother's heir was relatively young, and amongst the three appointed Guards, only Belze survived as the previous Mother's Guard. After failing to protect the previous Brood Mother, Belze took it upon herself to be the new Mother's shadow. Unfortunately, in the middle of the third year serving the new Mother, she fell victim to The Order. 

At first, she tried resisting, taking advantage of the fact they didn't seem inclined to kill her just yet. However, what she least expected happened. The Knights of the Order managed to pinpoint the exact location of the Brood Mother's nest. Any further resistance from her would result in the death of her charge. Unable to see a way out, she caved. So it was in her thirty-first year that she was blackmailed into working for the Order in exchange of her House's continued exsistence. 
[/hider]

[hider=Duyi Killian Song]
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[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3c/e5/31/3ce5316ac390622fe324902f421456ad--korean-celebrities-korean-actors.jpg[/img]
"Save your breath if you know not what to say."[/center]

[b]Name[/b]: Duyi Killian Song

[b]Age[/b]: 16

[b]Appearance[/b]: Dark auburn, shaggy hair that is left to hang below his shoulder in an uneven cut, Killian's steel grey eyes are almost always hidden behind a curtain of long, uneven fringe. Apparently, he has his father's nose, mouth and sharp chin, his slender frame concealed beneath his standard uniform. At times when he is not in classes, he favours the muggle T-shirt and jeans. When he isn't hunched over a cauldron, he stands at the height of 177cm, weighing 69kg. Since he rarely exposed himself to sunlight, his skin is rather pale, contrasting sharply with his dark hair. At his left hip, looped through his belt, hangs his potion kit and emergency medical supplies. Strapped to his right wrist is the wand pouch.

[b]School Year[/b]: Finished his 5th Year

[b]House[/b]: Pukwudgie (Ilvernmony)

[b]Short Bio[/b]: 
Born in Shenzhen, China, Duyi was five years old when his parents died in a factory explosion, caused by a gas leak and an errant flame. As his aunt was in the middle of a case during that time and in an entirely different country halfway around the world, Child Services handed Duyi over to the local orphanage, where he got into scrapes and scuffles with some of the boys due to his lanky frame and shy demeanour. More often than not, he found himself in the medical bay, and was fascinated with the way bruises, sprains and even broken bones could be mended under the right care. Sister Li taught him the basics of first aid whenever both of them had spare time, and by the time his aunt discovered what happened to Duyi and his parents, the boy was able to name different ointments and their specific uses. A little over six months since his stay in the orphanage, Aunt Chelsea turned up and got custody of him. Which was just as well, because his first bout of accidental magic kept his aunt from crashing her car.

Thus, at the age of six, Duyi was thrust into a whole new world when both aunt and nephew moved into Chelsea's apartment in New Orleans. On top of adapting to a new environment and language, he learned that his aunt was a witch, himself a wizard and there were many more like him. It was during this period of transition that Duyi started using his unofficial English middle name of Killian. The following years was spent reading Chelsea's old texts and interrogating her over dinner about her school life in one Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, trying to learn all he could about this secret society he was now a part of. Imagine his delight upon discovering the many uses of potions and the Art of Healing readily available to be pursued in the Wizarding World. Between Chelsea's personal experiences and his textual knowledge, Killian entered Ilvermorny relatively knowledgeable, glad that he wasn't floundering about like a few other still-adapting muggleborns.

In his third year, a friend of his one year above introduced him to duelling, a sport he eventually took a liking to after finding his feet, and a role he could play well within the team. As he grew older and became more confident in both his potions and spell-weaving skills, Killian became bold enough to conduct his own experiments during his spare time. Although he has yet to discover something ground-breaking, he is not discouraged by that little fact. After all, he planned to pursue the path of a Healer after graduation.

Imagine his surprise when he received a letter of invitation from Hogwarts for a school trip to Egypt, a privilege the Headmaster of Ilvernmony extended to high achievers in their fifth, sixth and seventh years. Killian accepted it without a second thought. It would be foolish of him to forego a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, after all.

[b]Personality[/b]:
Killian has many different aspects to his personality. He is often serious, typically trying to appear bland and unassuming, with his average looks and proper uniform that allows him to fade into the sea of students and mild-mannered speech, enabling him to acquire information on unsuspecting people in the environment he shares. He is also practical, calmly facing hard truths and situations without descending into hysteria.

He is striving to be a great healer with the mastery of potions and relevant spells. For the greater good of his chosen craft, he will do his part without hesitation, whether it be experiments or using real-life situations to collect data. This, of course, makes him seem heartless and detached due to being extremely devoted to his craft to those who don't know him. His one redeeming characteristic is ensuring the important people in his life are and stay safe if he can help it. Opinions about him are varied: those who are outright disdainful of his callous approach to anyone he deems as enemies, those who admire him for his efficiency and care for his people, those who fear him by repute or experience and those who see a non-threatening healer who has no place or talent on the dueling floor, seeing as he is not the 'muscles' for the team.

Killian also has a humorous side, often displayed in the form of dry or sarcastic comments, especially when hanging around the few people he comes to like and/or trusts - magical or otherwise. He can be carefree when in a place he feels safe. He is relatively caring, treating his close friends as family, and protecting them at all costs. While he can be considerate of other's feelings, he typically keeps his words frank and gives his opinions bluntly.


[b]Classes taken[/b]:
Art of Healing
Charms
Potions
Herbology
Study of Ancient Runes
Alchemy

[b]Wand[/b]: 
12" Alder wand with a core of White River Monster Spine

[b]Hobbies[/b]
Sketching (anything from creatures to landscapes to objects he finds interesting)
Playing chess (Chinese, Western, shogi, it doesn't matter)
Playing badminton
Duelling (mostly team)

[b]Extras[/b]: 
- He has a rather single-minded focus, meaning someone has to be there to shake him out or prompt him to do something if he is absorbed in a particular task.
- He doesn't have an owl, instead, he has a runt of a red salamander for a pet.
- Even if Ilvernmony rules states that students have to leave their wands in school when they leave for holidays or the end of the school year, an exception was made for students attending this trip to Egypt.
[/hider]

[hider=Taheton Alosaka]
[center][img]https://images.cooltext.com/5070750.png[/img]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/79/a9/7f/79a97f23775ef6813259f1b8bf276752--men-with-long-hair-the-long.jpg[/img]
[color=CD5C5C]"Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for people who have already been there."[/color][/center]

[color=CD5C5C][b]Name[/b][/color]: Taheton Alosaka (Previously Taheton Cliffe)
[color=CD5C5C][b]Alias[/b][/color]: "Red Crow" (to other Native Americans)
[color=CD5C5C][b]Age[/b][/color]: 30

[color=CD5C5C][b]Appearance[/b][/color]: Taheton, standing at the height of 170cm and weighing 70kg, is of average height but gifted with a good, solid build, the product of intensive training in the use of dual hatchets and stamina-building exercises. Like most of the people from his tribe, his hair is solid dark brown, deep black in the dark and a lighter brown under sunlight. His long, wavy hair hangs freely save the various braids on the left, intertwined with two crow feathers, one red and one black, as well as tribal beads that symbolise his status as a veteran hunter and accomplished healer. His steel grey eyes are heavy-lidded, giving him an apathetic look, never ceasing in their darting movements, as though there is a constant need to be alert. There is a light crease between his brows due to frowning too much. His eyebrows are low and pinched, contributing further to his serious, no-nonsense look. Since he dislikes the feeling of scruff around his mouth and chin, he keeps himself cleanly-shaved so long as he can afford to do so. His thin, pale lips, straight nose and sharp jawline are directly inherited from his mother. The tanned skin and darker colouring is all his birth father, though.

Clothes are the least of Taheton's concerns. As long as they are a comfortable fit and are able to cover all they are designed to, he would gladly wear them. However, his daily outfits changes depending on his current situation. If he is with his tribe, he adopts the woollen tunics and trousers native Americans favour. If he has to travel across the land on his own, he prefers dark coloured shirts and trousers, with a long overcoat to complete the outfit. The shoes are always the same brown leather ones, as he feels the most comfortable in them.

[color=CD5C5C][b]Personality[/b][/color]: Taheton is extremely practical and thus, that makes him rather blunt with his speech and actions. While he can censor the words coming out if the situation calls for diplomacy, most of the time he doesn’t see the need to. This tendency of being very frank has its ups and downs. Some might appreciate his non-sugar coated words while some will be offended. Due to events he witnessed in his youth, he strives to be a man who stands by his principles no matter what it cost him. He can be stubborn and hard-headed when he believes he is right, and refuses to be convinced otherwise unless the opponent manages to bring sound logic into the argument. He refrains from judging people by first impression alone, and usually reserves his opinion until he knows them better.

In the eyes of mere acquaintances, he is a serious person. However, he actually has a humorous side, often displayed in the form of dry or sarcastic comments, especially when hanging around the people he feels comfortable with. Those on that list includes his tribe and a select few outside friends. While Taheton might be a hard person to offend with his seemingly endless patience, he can't stand being belittled since he tries his best in anything he sets his mind to, and can get rather competitive, especially if that particular person proves rather challenging. His temper is a slow simmering fire, not easily coerced to rearing up and retaliate, but the right trigger works like kerosene, making it explosive and abrupt, but dwindles down quickly. The right trigger? Threatening anyone he cares deeply about.

[color=CD5C5C][b]Bio[/b][/color]: Mid-winter, when the chilly wind blew across the land, a baby was born in the dark of the night under a half-moon, delivered by an ageing midwife to a single mother. Taheton had never known his birth father except for the fact that he was a member of the nomadic Red Indian tribe Sioux, and he shared the colour of his skin and the mane of dark hair. That was all his mother ever told him, when he was younger and wondering where the other half of his parent was. Year after year passed, and soon curiosity over that question ebbed. He had everything he needed and wanted here, on a small ranch in the middle of Arkansas. 

When the little half-Sioux boy turned six, his life went down another path. It was one he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge back then, but looking back now, he rather thought he didn't mind the way life seemed to work out for everyone. With the arrival of a man seeking shelter from an oncoming storm, the time that was seemingly frozen by deep pining and longing started to tick once more. A spark of life returned to the eyes of his mother, a glint that Taheton had never seen before. The man - later revealed to be a doctor - quietly eased his way into the heart of a young mother. Gregory Cliffe did more than soothe. He gathered the broken pieces and melded them back together so it was stronger than ever before. And for that alone, he earned a place in Taheton's eyes and heart. [i]If[/i], was the boy's thinking, [i]he was to stay in this small farmstead and remain with Mother, then I wouldn't mind acknowledging him as Father.[/i]

So it was then the young widow was a widow no more, and the little family lived in peace upon their small, fruitful piece of land. The young boy grew in body and mind, learned to properly handle and care for his father's rifle, but was ignorant still of the wider world, having little to no chances of interaction with a large group of people. Only the occasional caravan or wanderer passed through this land, and none took the chance to tangle with his stepfather. Consequently, none stayed longer than two nights before heading out again as if the very devil was on their heels. He would be lying to say it didn't make him curious, but each time he asked, he was answered with a smirk, tapping of fingers on a scalpel and a "don't piss off anyone who can remove metal from your insides and stitch you back up".

But alas, peace was never meant to last. During his seventeenth winter, a party of men came seeking shelter for the night. It was a common sight for the Cliffe family, so with the typical welcome by stepfather and stepson - a sharp smile with glinting scalpels and a pointedly cocked hammer of the rifle - the small party was granted stay for a night. However, unlike the other strangers who came and went, this lot refused to leave peacefully. The leader of the gang tried to persuade Gregory to go with them, promising someone called Richard Dawson would make it worth his time if the doctor was willing to sell his skills. 

Upon hearing the name Dawson, Gregory's face went sour, and vehemently refused, snapping at the party to leave this instant. Apparently, that was not the response the gruff man wanted, for he whipped out his revolver and shot Taheton's stepfather square in the chest. In the next moment, Taheton shot the murderer and drove the butt of his rifle into the temple of the closest one reaching for his own firearm. While the rest of the gang scrambled for their guns, Taheton grabbed his mother and ran, mounting the ranch's only horse and fleeing. Amidst the exchange of gunfire, his mother took a bullet to her arm. 

The next two days was a blur of events as he pushed the horse to its limit, trying to lose their pursuers. By the time he shook them off his tail, his mother was delirious due to high fever and he was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, luck shone on him when he stumbled upon a few Sioux scouts who were camped nearby. Due to his appearance and story, they were willing to lead his mother and him back to the main body of the Sioux tribe, who tried their best to treat his mother. However, she had lost too much blood and soon passed.

Thus orphaned, Taheton found a place amongst the nomadic tribe and for the next few years, learned everything he could about the culture, language and people his father was a part of. Here, he discarded the surname of Cliffe and took up his birth father's name of Alosaka. By the age of twenty-four, he was an acknowledged Hunter and Healer of the tribe, earning the name of "Red Crow". Nevertheless, time and circumstances did nothing to lessen the hatred he held for the name Richard Dawson and those under his employment. Not after they tore apart his family.

For better or worse, the ever-moving nature of the Sioux Tribe meant they had to stop by a town every now and then to trade. And each time they did, the name of Dawson never failed to turn up one way or another. Whether it be the form of rumours or gruesome deeds, the man managed to engrave his identity deep in the lands. Enraged that vile beings like Dawson and his men were allowed free reign, Taheton took it upon himself to do what little he could. Sabotaging a caravan transporting gunpowder here, slitting the throats of sleeping mercenaries there. He made sure not to leave incriminating evidence behind. Not that it would have been easy to track him, but there's no such thing as being overly-cautious. Who knows if the man had trackers in his employment.

For years he continued, but it was evidently insufficient. At most, his actions were about as crippling as a pinprick. Taheton wanted - needed - to do more. So it was with little persuasion he agreed to join a man named Henry Leopold Adams when said person offered a place in his quest to topple Richard Dawson.

[color=CD5C5C][b]Weapons[/b][/color]: His [url=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/99/Springfield_Model_1855_-_AM.030363.jpg/1200px-Springfield_Model_1855_-_AM.030363.jpg]Springfield rifle[/url] is almost always slung on his back, as well as the twin [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/5d/37/36/5d3736151bd683ea1722de664701d3bd--american-indians-native-americans.jpg]tomahawks[/url] at his left hip. A [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/31/94/7e/31947e57e15e96971cc619c51bbaac4d.jpg]bone dagger[/url] for crafting, skinning and cutting is sheathed to his belt at his left hip. A belt of bullets is slung over a shoulder and across his chest.

[color=CD5C5C][b]Relationships[/b][/color]: 
- Family: None left in the living world
- Sioux Tribe: He views this nomadic tribe as his second family, and the Chief as a grandfather he has never had.
- Henry Leopold Adams: He had yet to form a solid opinion of this man, but he at least respects his ability to survive thus far.
- Others in the party TBA

[color=CD5C5C][b]Recruited?[/b][/color]: Yes

[color=CD5C5C][b]Other[/b][/color]: He is an accomplished healer in both traditional Indian and western healing methods.
While most Sioux tribesmen and women see no need for mounts, Taheton has a [url=https://www.hanaeleh.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/mustang-black.jpg]black mustang stallion[/url] named Mato.
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[hider=Evelio Laugier]
[center][img]https://images.cooltext.com/5071708.png[/img]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/3d/c5/bc/3dc5bc8f92d390ad59bf3d6072d71ce0--character-ideas-character-inspiration.jpg[/img]
[color=4682B4][b]"Do not believe madness to be a curse! It's not an illness. Just...another state of mind."[/b][/color][/center]

[color=4682B4][b]Name[/b][/color]: Evelio Laugier
[color=4682B4][b]Age[/b][/color]: 41
[color=4682B4][b]Hair colour[/b][/color]: Dark auburn
[color=4682B4][b]Eye colour[/b][/color]: Cobalt Blue
[color=4682B4][b]Distinguishing features[/b][/color]: The very first thing one would notice about this eccentric man - if they caught him at the right time - would be the dark grey-and-white [url=https://assets.peregrinefund.org/visualmedia/photos/explore-raptors/Falco-peregrinus/1064.jpg]peregrine falcon[/url] perched on his right shoulder. it doesn't usually stick around for long periods of time, preferring to fly until it is exhausted, then use Evelio like a resting place. 

A leanly muscled man standing at the height of 181cm weighing 76.6kg, Evelio looks to be in his late-thirties despite his rugged face. Weathered tanned skin, strong jawline, slightly crooked nose, firm lips, straight shoulder-length dark auburn hair with streaks of grey and neatly-trimmed beard give him an overall image of a refined gentleman, if one ignores the brown leather eyepatch covering his right eye and the nasty scarring surrounding it. Several angry looking vertical scars travels past the covering of the eyepatch and ends just above his cheekbone. His lone eye is a dark cobalt blue, hard and piercing despite the obvious crows-feet at the corner of the eye. 

He favours light tunic and breeches, with a heavy leather coat and vest over it. On his hands, he wears thick gloves and boots on his feet. His outfit rarely changes despite changes in season, but he hardly cares as he has gotten use to wearing this much even during summer. This is because the cold makes his scars ache. If he takes off the glove on his left hand, a small brand of a [url=http://danielhuscroft.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/tattoo-men-hand-small-15-designs-for-on-hands-3d-temporary-sleeves-best-tattoo-jpg.jpg]five point star[/url] can be seen on his wrist, and a circle branded around his ring finger. Evelio always has his [url=http://www.swordforum.com/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=107071&stc=1&d=1330741326]falchion[/url] clipped to his belt at his left side.

[color=4682B4][b]Who are their friends, family, comrades?[/b][/color]: It has been around two decades since he last contacted a member of his family. As far as he knows, however, his parents are still alive, his younger brother doing a better job than Evelio ever could in running the family estate and the family business was flourishing. His younger sister was engaged last he heard.

Comrades? Now that's a touchy subject. Granted, he didn't look back when he left - got booted out, more like - the Order all those years ago. Most of the brother-in-arms probably heaved a sigh of relief when the doors closed behind his back. The select few that acknowledged him when they happen to cross paths do hold a special little place in his heart, though.

As for friends, Evelio supposed he could count those within the Order that didn't shun him as friends, but friends keep in touch, right? So...that's makes them more of acquaintances than friends. And the various strangers that came into his life and left are only short-term friends or companions.

So I guess the closest he has to a friend for the past decade is his falcon companion. He can talk to it, share his woes and thoughts and it wouldn't judge him for it. And it has always returned to his side for the last five years.

[color=4682B4][b]Where were they born? Where do they call home?[/b][/color]: Evelio Laugier was born in the Laugier Estate, in the town of Machiva to wealthy merchant Bernard Laugier and his wife, Daniee. The stone-and-wood mansion was located near the eastern edge of Machiva, built on top of a hill and surrounded by fertile land for plantation. This place was his childhood home, filled with happier memories of playing with his siblings and escaping those tedious arithmetic tutors. 

When he turned twelve and decided that being a merchant wasn't the path best suited for him, he enlisted with the Order of Astra, the group of knights serving the Goddess of Stars. Aster was the dominant religious figure in Machiva as well as their neighbouring towns, but Evelio wasn't a religious person. He didn't believe in Aster, but being a Knight of the Order was better than being a simple soldier of the kingdom. The pay was better, and he didn't think he would witness much fighting. From the age of fifteen to twenty-nine, the main barracks of the Order of Astra in the city of Grimsole served as his second home. 

Unfortunately, for Evelio who thought he would spend the prime of his youth as a glorified priest-in-armour for a religious Order and little else, his dream was shattered in his late-twenties. All the training and mock-battles he was forced to undergo wasn't just to keep up appearance. Ignorant of that little fact, Evelio was blindsided by the sudden skirmishes the Order of Astra had against another Religious Order, the Order of Taigi, Knights serving the God of the Moon, Taini. Tension had been growing between these two Churches, and poor Evelio was caught up in the middle of it all. These skirmishes turned into small-scale battles, and by the time both sides retreated and an unofficial truce was formed, his fragile psyche broke a little. So it was at the age of thirty-one, the former Knight of the Order of Astra was unceremoniously kicked out the doors of his second home on the grounds of being punished by the Goddess Aster and subjected to random bouts of insanity. 

For the next decade, he wandered the lands as a nomad, doing odd jobs here and there. From the age of thirty-two, he sees the lands itself as his home. After all, nature itself provides him with food and shelter wherever he went. 

[color=4682B4][b]Where do they go when they're angry?[/b][/color]: Go? He doesn't go anywhere to vent his anger. If he is angry at you, a fist to the face is what you're gonna get. Of course, he doesn't make it a habit to hit women or children. His ma raised him better. 

[color=4682B4][b]What is their biggest fear? Who have they told about it? Who would they never tell?[/b][/color]: His nightmares give his fear form. Corpses littering the ground, the feel of warm, sticky - [i]fresh[/i] - blood on his skin, the pleading eyes of his brothers-in-arms boring right into his soul. And then comes the hands - bony, rotting hands pulling at his legs and clawing at his body, the dry rasp of "help me help me I don't want to die help me why don't you die too --"...
He told his Order's Grandmaster about it when he first began experiencing night terrors, but the older man wasn't much help, citing them as survivor's guilt and telling him it will pass given time. When Evelio coped with it through other means - filling his mind with nonsensical thoughts so the nightmares don't come - he was dismissed as insane. Needless to say, he will never tell anyone again.

[color=4682B4][b]Do they have a secret?[/b][/color]: Nothing major enough to be worth talking about. Although...he does secretly wish he was a little [i]more[/i] insane, mad to the point he doesn't remember anything. That would be a blessing, eh?

[color=4682B4][b]What makes them laugh out loud?[/b][/color]: Everything. Anything. Nothing specific. He could suddenly find a worm squirming in the mud funny. His sense of humour ranges from nonsensical to morbid and everything in between. 

[color=4682B4][b]Have they ever been in love?[/b][/color]: Unfortunately, no. Being labelled a loose cannon during his time in the Order didn't give him many romantic prospects, and after that, he just didn't feel like pursuing romance.

[color=4682B4][b]Describe the things that would be hard for them to part with.[/b][/color]: His freedom: A decade of not being tied down to anything and anyone, of having no expectations on how to act and not giving a damn about what people thought of him has been riveting. He never wants to lose this sense of freedom, ever.
Materialistically, his coat. It's his favourite and he personally crafted it himself. There's his falchion, too. Well, it didn't start off his, but his best friend wouldn't really be needing it in the grave now, would he?

[color=4682B4][b]Describe the smells and sounds of their childhood kitchen.[/b][/color]: Evelio's mother usually frowns upon her children venturing into the kitchen and interfering with the cook's work. But the few trips he took to the kitchen without his mother knowing, the first thing that greets him is the smell of freshly baked bread. Beneath that strong aroma is the ever-present charcoal and roasted meat from the night before. If he sneaks in at night for a midnight snack, then it would smell of crushed berries and honey they had for dessert. 

[color=4682B4][b]Describe one strong memory from childhood.[/b][/color]: The book's spine smacked soundly on the palms of his hands. Flinching from the initial sting, watery cobalt blue eyes glared disdainfully up at the bearded old man holding that offending tool. With a harrumph, the frail tutor turned away from the desk and Evelio's gaze dropped sulkily back to the half-filled paper sitting on his desk. Cursing the demonic tutor in his mind, the boy grudgingly picked up the quill and started writing once more, the flesh of his palm throbbing as it curled around the slim writing tool. 

"Eh hem...you're making the same mistake again, Young Master Lio." 

Evelio jerked, startled by the old man's voice suddenly coming from over his shoulder, the action sending a drop of ink to stain his answer. Growling from irritation and annoyance, he slammed the quill on the table, heedless of the mess it made on his desk.

"Stop hovering over me, you old coot!" He snapped. "I'm not the only one Father paid you to teach."

The tutor sniffed, looking down his nose at the scowling child. "Young Master Will is doing admirably on his assignment. He has already completed this set of questions."

Evelio's teeth clenched, forcing down another retort with difficulty as his eyes involuntarily drifted over to his younger brother working quietly in the other corner of the room. Willbur's gaze rose to meet his for a second, a quiet plea and apology swirling in those big, expressive eyes. Just like that, his anger drained away. With a quiet sigh, he dipped the quill in the ink again and continued working, trying his best to ignore the man hovering behind. He knew his younger brother was smarter than him, better at academics no matter how much Evelio tried. He wasn't jealous. Far from it. He was proud of Will, but he just wished his father saw what Evelio already knew deep down. The eldest Laugier child was not suited to be a merchant.

[color=4682B4][b]What do they want most of all?[/b][/color]: Acceptance. To not be turned away because of his queer mental state. Perhaps that's why he refuses to stay in one place with the same people for too long. A funny stranger would garner a few looks but no one would truly mind as said person's just passing through. But once that same person hands around and becomes a common sight, general tolerance might drop. He doesn't want to experience being kicked out the doors again.

[color=4682B4][b]What is their interest in the motes?[/b][/color]: Obscure records show these motes to grant the strangest of things to the world around it. Mayhaps, if he is lucky, the mote can either make him forget everything or restore his mind. He's not holding his breath, but better a sliver of hope than completely giving up, right?

[color=4682B4][b]Give a (non-spoilery) synopsis of a small adventure-plot that would be personally meaningful for your character.[/b][/color]: Two decades since he stepped into this town. While the streets are hazily familiar, almost everything has changed. No one recognised him, which is understandable, given he hasn't been around since his early adolescent years. Not to mention his appearance has changed significantly from the fresh-faced boy so long ago. But the biggest change has to be the silent, empty manor sitting forlornly on the hilltop, surrounded by weeds, uncared for. What had he expected, really? That they would still be here after all those years, waiting for him? Something sharp dug into the soles of his boots, making him look down. It was a small silver star pendant, half hidden in the dirt. On it, the words '[i]Marigold Laugier[/i]' were engraved in a cursive script.
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