[hider=Marcher Lord Artyr III Mythricane] [b]Name:[/b] Marcher Lord Artyr III Mythricane, "the Barbar" [b]Titles:[/b] [b]Description: [/b] Standing just ten centimeters short of two full meters, Artyr's presence is hard to come unnoticed. Equally difficult to miss is his far-stretching keloid scar that runs from his nose up to his left ear, a reminder of the damages a nomad can do to an Adanian man, as well as his leathery eyepatch that hides his blinded eye. A lean, built and tall man, Artyr could be charming if not for his receding hairline - at the young age of 37! - and unremarkable facial structure. The Sun gifts men with strength and the Moon, women with grace, but never the opposite, as they say, and for the Mythrian siblings that seems to be the case. Well, at least he can crack a fine smile. [b]Claimant:[/b] Anyamara. She's strong and action-oriented. [center][b]House Mythricane[/b] [i]The Borders, our Duty"[/i] [img]https://i.imgur.com/KB36cv9.png[/img][/center] [b]Reputation:[/b] A reckless, fierce, and highly respected warrior. But as a Marcher Lord, Mythrian nobles think lowly of him - faceless whispers roam Mythre a man as ugly and savage as him has to be a barbarian by blood, illegitimate and unfit to be a ruler; he's a puppet of the cunning Lily; he belongs in the steppes killing barbarians and not ruling the civilized people, et cetera. Artyr views those rumours with sarcastic contempt, as he often sees things in life, but he makes his point very clear that the mere thought of insubordination will be met with a scimitar slash to the throat. His words, not mine... a bit too straightforward, wouldn't you say? Mythrians are known to be frank, but even them are shocked with Artyr's candidness from time to time. [b]Ambitions:[/b] Artyr has always expressed his admiration for King Adendum, and he desires to emulate, if not downright surpass, his legendary campaign by conquering by fire the endless barbaric West, although it wouldn't be unfair to interpret his megalomaniac intentions as an excuse for a never-ending life within the anxiety, excitement and chaos of the battlefield. [b]Aptitudes:[/b] [i]The Western school of war[/i] - Used to the sea of grass of the Timeless Steppes and the vicious horsemen that therein inhabits, time taught Artyr the ways of the nomads. He's well versed in common nomadic raiding techniques and maneuvers, cues and tweaks on how to kill atop a horse, how to aim mid-gallop, swinging curved blades, the general geographic characteristics and influences of the plain grasslands biome that may affect a battle, and many other minute details that makes him a barbarian in all but blood (... and sedentary lifestyle. And manners). [i]Equinacious[/i] - His experience in horseback riding makes him a highly skilled and deadly horseman, capable of confronting nomads as an equal. Certainly the best cavalryman in Mythre, considering he's the only one that was attacked by a barbarian and managed to return home and live to tell the story. [i]One with the arrow[/i] - From a young age his aptitude with the bow was something marveled upon, and years upon years of training and thousand upon thousands of arrows fired made his gift even more significant. There's something about Artyr that makes him intrinsically good in archery. Maybe it's his rudimentary and intuitive notion of weight balance and distribution, aerodynamics, force liberation, pattern recognition to predict his target's movement, the intense emphasis of archery on Mythrian culture or maybe - most likely - all those combined. [i]Gymnast[/i] - Strength is certainly important, but not the only factor in combat. Being able to move your body swift and efficiently are equally relevant aspects which are often overlooked in professionalized armies, but on tribal, ritualistic groups as the nomads often are they're considered key elements as much as being buff. With a lot of training, pain and injuries along the way, Artyr overcame his typically Eastern stiffness and acquired an enviable overall mobility. Along the natural imposed demands of being a horseman, his general physical aptitude wouldn't stray far from a modern day's gymnast. [i]Spatially located[/i] - Men who trek through the endless grasslands west of Adanion either end up lost, missing, hunted, killed and flayed, or back, safe and sound. There is hardly any exception. And the only way to be the latter is to be very, very good in identifying where things are at, distance, and a general acute sense of geolocation and observation. Whether this is a skill or a talent is anyone's guess, but Artyr certainly has it. [i]Resilient[/i] - Artyr is a tough-as-nails sunovagun who can take a lot of mental and physical stress before breaking. [b]Vulnerabilities:[/b] [i]Adrenaline Junkie[/i] - Artyr's biggest shortcoming is, by far, his hedonist, thrill-seeking nature. He often volunteers to partake dangerous and unsavory situations just for the kick of it, 'cause nothing in life feels as good as that adrenaline rush when your life is on the line. [i]Warmonger[/i] - Whenever there's room for violence, war, or conquest, he will opt for those choices. And when there are none, he'll create them. [i]Impulsive[/i] - In a one-to-one combat there is no room for hesitance or meticulous planning, you either do something or you is left to respond to your adversary's doing. Artyr prefers to be the first, both in the battlefield and in his personal life, and as such he doesn't tend to think of his actions nor his words thoroughly. [i]Half-faced[/i] - The slash that scarred his face left him one ear deaf and partially blind. It's not that his eyesight doesn't work - he still retains some depth perception when using both eyes - but it's a blurry, unreliable one, to the point he prefers to simply block it with an eyepatch. [i]Unsightly[/i] - A man with a horrific scar such as his is no nice sight to see, especially if a man looked like Artyr before being scarred... [i]The Eastern school of war[/i] - Hilly terrains, dense forestry, straight bladed swords, swordfight in confined spaces, sword-and-shield approach to combat, and all your typical Adenian military tactics are things diametrically opposite to everything Artyr trained for, and as such, he's no better than an average Eastern infantryman. [i]Easily swayed[/i] - Wondrous imageries can really marvel Artyr. With extraordinary claims and a bit of charm, it wouldn't be difficult to convince, or at least sway, the Barbar into a specific line of thought. [i]A pawn rather than a leader[/i] - Some men are born to command; some, to be commanded. Artyr is definitely the last. He's not fit to be nor interesting in being a commandant, a diplomat, and much less an administrator. Too much responsibility, bureaucracy, and too little fun. [b]Additional Info:[/b] Inherited the march two years ago. [b]Domain Info:[/b] Mythre (informal) / March of Mythricane. Considered the "last bastion of civilization before the ocean of barbarians", Mythre stands as the westernmost region of Westmarch. Towns are rather equidistantly scattered apart, usually garrisoned by pikemen and a few archers, and are intertwined to the capital, Partitava, through well-guarded supply lines (usually patrolled by cavalry), a large fortress where the bulk of Mythrian ranged and mounted forces sit. Lacking adequate communication from the rest of Westmarch's resource-rich regions, and lacking the purchasing power to even acquire such resources to begin with, Mythre scrapped armory and the famed winged Westmarch adornments for a much more mobile horseback archery specialization, to the point they can face toe-to-toe the nomads. (A dozen or so of cavalrymen opts to go heavy, and they're usually members of the most endowed families after Mythricane). And since hunting is still a primordial form of subsistence, archery is a tradition, and it's hard to find a marcher peasant who can't kill someone or something with a bow. Another notable characteristic is the employment of pikemen in choke points such as gorges and city entrances, human chevaux de frise that are an impregnable obstacle when used correctly. One of the few hamlets in Mythre, Argimpasa, is in essence a conglomerate of various stud farms, home of the reputably enduring and agile Argimpasan breed that makes up a large chunk of Mythrian armies.[/hider] [hider=Lady Elay Mythricane, the Lily of Mythre] [b]Name:[/b] Lady Elay Mithricane, "the Lily of Mythricane" [b]Titles:[/b] [b]Description: [/b] As tall as the average Mythrian man and as lean as her brother, pale skin, black, voluminous hair in a spectrum french bob bitter tongues would call tomboyish, delicate lips, cheekbones starting to get prominent, round face and a penetrating green gaze, Elay could pass as being a decade younger and garner strangers' sympathy with her unassuming and innocent semblance. Let it be stated that she's a few years younger than his brother, believe it or not. However, a perceptive eye - a very attentive one indeed - could probably notice the emptiness in her stare. A rather shocking revelation, most likely, how could someone so adorable play such a manipulative façade? [b]Claimant:[/b] Anyamara. Her iron fist is admirable. [center][b]House Mythricane[/b] [i]The Borders, our Duty"[/i] [img]https://i.imgur.com/KB36cv9.png[/img][/center] [b]Reputation:[/b] The fairest lady of Mythre. Well such claims are hardly objectively accurate, so take it as you will. She's also known to be charming, kind, well spoken - a Charismatic Negotiator - and to know how to push's one buttons. But... Elay knows it. She hard heard them before. Figures in the dark. Shadowy voices say she's a farce. They claim to see beyond her amicable mask and stare at an evil spirit that is anything but lovely. A perfidious and perverse demon willing to do anything and ruthlessly shatter anyone in her path to whatever are her objectives. They say her brother either knows it and shares her malevolence, or is a clueless, naive bastard - not to different from Elay's husband, who is most definitely a cuck at this point - and another mere pawn at her sickening game. [b]Ambitions:[/b] Peace. To rest her arms on the topstone of the impervious Partitavan walls and watch the tall grasslands extent as far as her eyes can see, without having to check her shoulder for a spy of some sort sneakily approaching her for a swift backstab. And the only way to do that, naturally, is to control others. No freedom to plot. And who controls more than the Loyce? Whose throne is as powerful as theirs? She needs that. [b]Aptitudes:[/b] [i]Gift of Gab[/i] - It is difficult not to be enthralled by Elay's eloquence and charm. She has a way for words and dealing with people that never ceases to spellbind the candid people of Mythre. [i]Diligent[/i] - An obsessive, goal-oriented mind never ceases until the job is done. Many things may not make sense for her, and she will work her ass off until they do. [i]Cue observant[/i] - Restless legs often indicate stress. Avoiding eye contact, discomfort. Repeating oneself in a more stark throne, impatience. Gleaming eyes, hope. A barbaric horde charging at a pace far slower than usual, a diversion attempt to buy time. Elay is overly perspective and frequently notice untold details in everyday interactions. [i]Good tactician...[/i] - It is on moments of stark pressure that Elay exhibits her ingenuity and reflexes. Cornering her is challenge as she always seem to have a perfectly plausible reaction to perfectly implausible situations. [b]Vulnerabilities:[/b] [i]... and terrible strategist[/i] - Elay just can't see past the carrot in the stick. She hardly ever comprehends the bigger picture and her long-term plans are poorly stitched and schemed. [i]Hardly the sharpest tool in the shed[/i] - While she can observe details and gather more non-verbal information than most, Elay doesn't process them nearly as well. It takes time for her to comprehend elaborate schemes, and the world in general seems a hazy, illogical place, which also helps to exacerbate her paranoia, and make her predictions not exactly reliable. [i]Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me...[/i] - Distrustful of people's intentions, seeing ulterior motives in every action, the overwhelming sensation of being persecuted and spied upon... Elay just can't get a break. [i]Tangible apathy[/i] - How good of an actor can an actor be? She may swindle most with her charisma, but very observant eyes are capable of noticing a rather empty dissimulation in... pretty much everything about her. [b]Additional Info: [/b]The only person she doesn't mistrust is her brother, Artyr. She knows the man is as transparent as glass. [b]Domain Info:[/b] Also the March of Mythricane. [/hider]