[hider=Dwarf Cook] [center][h2][u]Rairsun Cragshield[/u][/h2][/center] [hr] [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/51/1a/f1/511af116972c2c716e5a29f9002a853b.jpg[/img][/center] [hr] [b][u]Age:[/u][/b] 215 [b][u]Gender:[/u][/b] Male [b][u]Race:[/u][/b] Mountain Dwarf [hr] [b][u]Personality:[/u][/b] Forlorn and lost to the memories of his homeland lost in an infestation unlike any other. It is a constant plague upon his shoulders to remember the halls his ancestors had carved from the great stone in years uncounted. Born and raised to be a fair and just king to follow in the steps of his father yet never managed to claim the throne with the same grace and dignity. Rairsun is a powerful combatant with a strong drive that often leads him to the thick of combat in aid of others, but in his heart is fear of losing more kin. More friends. Rairsun carries himself with the grace and authority of a born leader, an inspiring presence and a rock in the chaotic seas. Those who get close know it is a false bravado brought on by his guilt. His passion had never been leading people as a symbol of integrity and faith at the head of a column of able bodies Dwarven allies. His true greatness shines as a simple cook and brewer of sacred Ale. [b][u]History:[/u][/b] Rairsun Cragshield, Son of Reirsun Cragshield, son of Riursun Cragshield, and so on; Destined to greatness as the successor of a prosperous kingdom. Treasuries fit to bursting with the crafted statuettes and armaments brought into this world by the craftsman and artisans of his lustrous homeland in Thesuri. His father had ruled with an unshakable will of burning steel and raised his young child to do the same, giving the growing Dwarfling all the tools he would need to conquer his foes and win the hearts of his people when war found its way to their halls. Rairsun, for his part, was an apt student and devout in learning the lessons of his Ancestors but never had the heart of a leader. Of a champion. The unbroken legacy of his name was a weight that could not be cast aside so easily. No matter the challenge the young boy was faced against it was met with wisdom, understanding, and determination. Rarely was overcoming the obstacles of his life enjoyable or held any sway to his heart at the accomplishments. In the kitchens of the undercity is where his passion bloomed, aiding the aged cooks who turned flour and water into a magic of its own. Food was the bases of his life and through it, the true heart of all the joy to be found in Thesuris mountainous heart. Every gathering hall is remembered for its smiling faces and the laughter echoing in the halls. Good food and better drink were always responsible. When his fathers attentions were not upon young Rairsun he turned to the ovens for warmth and learning. When his appetite for the culinary was sated or stifled, limited by what the cooks knew, he turned to the breweries. Their craft was second nature to Dwarves. When the enemy broke down the Undercity walls with tainted magic and rusty weapons it nearly came to an end. Trapped in their home now turned tomb it seemed hope had been lost. Their people destined to be sacrifices to this ancient enemy infesting their halls for centuries. From the surface had come adventurers brave and strong, one in particular captured the spirit of young Rairsun when his father fell of ugly claws. A beast of incomparable stature brandishing tooth and claw with impunity, its howl had shaken the frail courage from his enemies even when its unbridled savagery could not. Victory saw the mercenaries away from the ruined Thesuri. The weapons and armor of his kin were the coins paid, willingly, for such a narrow escape from the rotting teeth of such a foe. In the wake of the enemies Defeat, so came the defeat of Rairsun. Home in ruins, his Kin strewn about the stones, and their history lost to the destruction of invaders, the Dwarves needed a leader. Rairsun never claimed the throne. Though he had fought and killed many for the sake of his home it had not been his place to rebuild. A new legacy began that day as the old one fell to ruin. In the years to come he had resigned to a position as a cook for the new line of royalty and acted as advisor. Now he sits at the camp in confusion, summoned to this new world without warning and deposited in unfamiliar territory. [hr] [b][u]Weapons[/u][/b] [list] [*][url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a8/79/3b/a8793b0f6e8a1c50cbad642a36887f76.jpg]Carver[/url] - Kept at a razors edge, this heavy blade is more than capable of cleaving through thick hide and bone with ease. [*][url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/23/2b/2e/232b2ebaf086a90175087f31a539cd43.jpg]Mountains Will[/url] - The last few relics of his clan brought from another world. [/list] [b][u]Other[/u][/b]: Carries a supply of cooking equipment; pots, pans, cooking knives, spices, oils, anything he can get his hands on. [/hider] [hr] [hider=Unarmed Combatant] [center][h2][u]Jericho Irving[/u][/h2][/center] [hr] [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ad/89/00/ad8900813c3563058634f0e7464876df.jpg[/img][/center] [hr] [b][u]Age:[/u][/b] 35 [b][u]Gender:[/u][/b] Male [b][u]Race:[/u][/b] Human [hr] [b][u]Personality:[/u][/b] Jericho heralds himself as a peerless combatant, a faithful soldier to those who have earned trust, and an aspiring path finder. Every situation is approached with a rational outlook and a fair assessment of his own capabilities when confronted with an overwhelming strength difference. Rarely a joker himself, Jericho does enjoy mocking his opponents. Taunting them into a frontal assault where his training is most effective. Outside the battlefield, Jericho is quiet and contemplative. [b][u]History:[/u][/b] [s]IN WEST PHILADELPHIA[/s] Where Jericho calls home before coming to the Camp in this world was a monastery deep in the heart of a vast jungle, overrun with beasts and dangers that made traveling nearly impossible for the outside world. A wandering ground of explorers, aided by Monks on a pilgramage, tamed the widlands with cunning and ferocity to match the harsh environment. Nearly 10 years of mapping out this dangerous place made the Monks claim the jungles as their home. It was here that they trained brave outsiders in their art. Unarmed combat pitting your will against the ever changing hunters that roamed the shadowed canopy around them. As scouts, survivalists, and in rare cases even making trophy hunters. Jericho is one such hunter. Seeking out the oldest and most dangerous creatures of the jungle for sport. Some he killed to make the jungles safer. Others were bested and let go, hoping to have them grow into worthier foes. On one such hunt for a razortail, a hulking armadillo creature standing over 5 feet tall and coated with jagged spines, a wave of light stole him from the jungles. In a dizzying rush he regained his senses at the camp, fumbling for understanding. After the locals explained the situation, showing the Obelisk and its message, it was all he could do not to smile. With the hunting armor of his order and his cloak, gifts to aid his trophy hunting days, it was time to hunt more meaningful foes. [hr] [b][u]Weapons[/u][/b] [list] [*][url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/8b/ba/37/8bba3750c914f191ff4473a130749f5c.jpg]Spiked Gauntlets[/url]. Primary source of damage, as he rarely uses a bladed weapon for anything but clearing a path through dense foliage. [*][url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b2/42/af/b242affc6be18a57d085329722ba22c6.jpg]Cloak[/url] of haste. Ordinary looking at first glance, the stylish wrappings are enchanted to make its wearer lighter and faster. [/list] [b][u]Magic[/u][/b] [list] [*] Empowered - Channeling the arcane to his body, Jericho gains raw physical power. [/list] [/hider]