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28

Half-Elvian

Female- She/Her Heterosexual



Druid Rogue with Bard qualities


Double-ended daggers with a bow and arrow as backups.


Faline stands at 5'7" with an athletic, yet curvy form. She is considered short amongst the Elvian. She has vibrant green eyes and thick, curly red hair that is normally in a braid or dreadlocks that cover her slightly pointed ears. Faline's attire usually consists of leather and natural materials like wool or cotton.


Faline was born to a member of one of the few nomadic clans of Elvian that roam the Evergreen Forest. Her father was an exception, an honorary member of her clan despite being human. He had saved the chief's precious niece from a bandit raid that wanted to sell her into slavery. Her mother was head over bare heels for him and the two grew close to the point where they married and had Faline. While she is considered a part of the clan, the half-human blood that runs in Faline's veins negates any claim to a major position within the clan.

At a young age, no more than three, Faline had a way with animals and plant life that others of her clan did not. She was able to tell where the ripest foods were in the forest and where the best fish were as if an Ursa Major (Great Bear) actually took the time to tell her. Not only that but she had a singing voice that could calm the mind and ease the soul.

It was during one of the few stops at a Settlement along the Trade Road that misfortune found her clan once again. Faline's parents were killed while trying to protect the clan, a majority of Faline's clan was able to flee into the forest but not until after damage had been done. After word had traveled to the reaches of the capital, Faline, and her clan were surprised by a small accompany of men that were employed by her father's family, whom they assumed had died. He was an estranged son of a noble family that had left to find his own way in the world. They had missed him terribly and were saddened to hear that he had perished. With this last attack from the bandits, Faline's clan was suffering to feed everyone and at the age of ten years old, she decided to go with her father's family's men back to Volenstul.

Faline's paternal grandparents welcomed her with open arms and her father's older brother, Nikolai, loved her like his own, considering his wife was never able to conceive. Her uncle recognized her potential with her voice and affinity with nature. Nikolai also sensed the unchecked rage that occurred from her parents being killed. He trained her in hand-to-hand combat and with her stature they found that she was best suited with daggers, double-ended ones became her favorite.

As she got older, Faline noticed that Nikolai would take these trips but would never exactly tell her where he went or what he did. Most recently the trips had been more frequent and the once great sparkle in her uncle's eyes had diminished with each return but he still smiled for her, even with the fact that she was now a young woman. Nikolai had disappeared completely about a year ago. Usually, he would send Faline that he was fine and doing well knowing how concerned she got especially with her parents gone. Nikolai and his wife, Clara, were her second parents.

Now, Faline was on a mission to find out what happened to Nikolai. Lately, she has been taking up odd mercenary jobs that showed some potential leads to her paternal uncle. Her drive to find him and not lose out on another parent figure.

Three basic skills that your character contributes to the group with a short description.

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Theme Song:


Her Siren's Call:


She has a pet owl named Athen.

22

Human

Sorcerer with Cleric training

Blade-Ended Magical Staff

Dorothea is not that special. Her features and skin tone indicates she has Ellenzagian ancestors, like the majority of Volenstul's Human residents. She stands at 5'6", with little in the way of muscle mass. A sedentary life within the Gallows has in turn left her rather soft, making her both curvy in the right and wrong places, a fact she dislikes being reminded of. A rather strange feature is her hair pigmentation. Platinum-blonde hair is a very rare trait, especially on someone who does not otherwise exhibit albinistic tendencies.

Usually garbed in the brightly colored and ostentatious mage robes of the Htead Gallows to her great shame, Dorothea prefers simple, loose and light clothing. Having been forced to wear entangling robes most of her life, she obviously dislikes wearing things that restrict her movement or unduly presses down on her body.

Dorothea remembers no life outside the Htead Gallows. It is equally plausible she was some offspring of unknown parents taken away to be "protected" after signs of magic in her, or her parents are or were mages within the Gallows themselves, illegally fostering a child outside the purview of their protectors. Either way, the guards nor her fellow mages have been very forthcoming with answers, and eventually Dorothea stopped asking.

Dorothea's childhood was nothing special. She, like the other young mages, were taught by a mix of their elders and their protectors. "Magic must serve, and never rule.", they said, again and again. Dorothea could not care one lick about ruling anything. What she wanted was freedom. An existence within the Gallows' walls is by no means uncomfortable, mind you. The mages do not live in squalor, for their self-proclaimed guardians do not wish to incite rebellions and escape attempts. Dorothea herself had little to complain about in terms of accommodations or food. In the end however, a cage is still a cage, no matter how much gilded gold or fine silk you drape over it. Dorothea understood this early in her life, spending much time in the upper towers to gaze across the chaotic hustle and bustle of Volenstul. A world that would forever be beyond her grasp, if her captors had their way...

As she entered her teenage years, it quickly became apparent to the powers that be, that she'd grown up to be a troublemaker. She avoided pranks and the mishaps of her fellow students, for she had bigger plans. She would be the first to escape from the Gallows in living memory. For a month she played the dutiful student and mage, even halting her habitual avoidance of chapel attendance and healing classes. Finally, when she was certain she was ready, she executed her plan, intending to flee the Gallows through a number of old tunnels deep below the surface.

After what felt like hours of stumbling in the dark, crawling through pipes and passageways, and nearly losing herself entirely in the darkness, Dorothea stumbled out into light...and the arms of an awaiting figure.

Master Arvis Deylin was a wizened member of the Gallows, a leading magical scholar and teacher. In the absence of anyone else, the doddering old man had become as close to a father figure as Dorothea could ever had, and he had known all along. That moment, realizing she was finished, Dorothea broke down into a mess of tears and pleas. It was all for naught...

Deylin knew of her plans, but had also seen her prowess and ability. It would be a waste of her potential to see her imprisoned or killed. He could not let her escape, but he did offer her an alternative. An alternative she eagerly grasped for. From then on, she became his apprentice, going where-ever he went, be it on tours of the Imperial Court, travels into the wilderness collecting ancient lore, or anything in-between. In moments of calm, he taught her all he knew.

And then, one day while away from the Capital, investigating recently unearthed ruins, Master Deylin disappeared. His tent was missing, as though it had never been set, and in it's place Dorothea could only find a simple satchel. Sealed within it was a simple journal, page upon page written in a script completely unknown to the young mage, and a strange obsidian amulet. Distraught and confused, Dorothea wept with grief, until she realized her jailors would soon again seek her out. Without the protection of Master Deylin, she was vulnerable.

And so, she made her own escape, fleeing with no set destination in mind, the journal and amulet tightly pressed to her chest. She could not...would not return to the Gallows. She would find her missing Master again, and this time...

This time she'd ensure they both retained their freedom.

Theme Song:

Amandine of the Western Rife Mountains

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Age:

Unknown. Appearance of late teens.

Race:

Dragonian

Class:

Monk, Sorceror (Draconic Origins)

Weapons:

Martial Arts, Traps, Thrown Weapons.

Detailed Appearance:

Amandine is a figure, emanating an aura of mystery and grace. With mocha-coloured skin that hints at both her earthly roots and her inner strength, she stands at a modest 145 cm (4'9), a testament to her petite frame that belies the power concealed within.

Her most striking feature is her long, flowing white hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. Her hair is adorned with an elegant twin-tail on the top, intricately braided and entwined with exquisite ornaments that glimmer and reflect light like stars in the night sky. This ethereal display of her hair is a visual representation of her spiritual connection to her martial monk heritage.

But it is her eyes that truly capture the attention and fuel the rumours that surround her. Red as burning embers, they are said to flash with a slitted intensity akin to that of a dragon's gaze when she is stirred to anger or focus. This mystique only adds to her enigmatic allure, and it is often whispered that she has an ancient dragon's spirit coursing through her veins, gifting her with extraordinary abilities.

Amandine is often clad in loose, flowing outfits made of linen, a choice that might deceive the casual observer into presuming her to be a gentle priestess. However, these garments are the sacred attire of a martial monk, emphasizing her devotion to the art of combat and self-discipline. Like her hair, her clothing is also adorned with gold ornaments that serve as both symbols of her rank and achievements and as protection against malevolent forces.

Her petite stature might lead some to underestimate her, but that would be a grave mistake. Amandine's agility and nimbleness are legendary, allowing her to move with the grace and dexterity of a swirling wind. She is a master of evasive manoeuvres and can effortlessly avoid even the most precise strikes.

Yet, it is her hidden strength that truly sets her apart from others. Amandine possesses raw power that defies expectations. Her strikes are like thunderbolts, capable of shattering barriers and overcoming opponents far larger and more imposing than herself. She channels the might of her dragon lineage to enhance her physical abilities, and her inner reservoir of power seems boundless.

Though Amandine's past remains veiled in shadows, her martial monk training and rumoured draconic lineage have granted her an extraordinary presence on the battlefield. To encounter her is to witness a dance of divine power and mortal prowess, where her opponents find themselves awestruck and humbled by the might of this seemingly delicate warrior.

Bio History:

Amandine's origins can be traced back to the ancient and mystical Western Rife Mountains, a land once inhabited by majestic dragons and their devoted keepers, the Dragonians. The mountains were adorned with magnificent temples dedicated to these legendary creatures, where the Dragonians fostered a profound connection with their Dragon lords. After the Empire’s Great Hunt, and the rumours of the dragon’s extinction, these temples were abandoned. The passage of time has turned these once-gleaming temples into desolate ruins, void of life and purpose.

Among the abandoned temples, one stands as a beacon of resilience and mystery: the Temple of Gikn Gradon. While other temples have fallen prey to bandits and tomb raiders, the formidable reputation of the Temple of Gikn Gradon has kept most plunderers at bay. Numerous attempts to breach its sacred halls have been thwarted, with dire consequences for those who dared to venture too close.

In this enigmatic and perilous land, Amandine, a wandering monk, finds her purpose. As a guardian of her homeland's heritage, she roams the abandoned temples, offering solemn prayers and reverence to the spirits of the dragons that once graced those hallowed grounds.

Her mentor, a man with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, immersed himself in deciphering the ancient scripts of the dragons, believing that they held profound secrets and wisdom. Together, they sought to uncover the truth about an ancient plague and the crucial role the dragons played in protecting their people during those turbulent times, when blood and fire swept the land.

However, as her mentor delved deeper into the forbidden mysteries, he grew obsessed, wandering further and further away from the boundaries of their ancestral home in search of elusive truths. This obsession led him to encounter dark forces and clandestine dealings with the Emperor, raising suspicions of treason and betrayal.

The day her mentor vanished without a trace, leaving behind a diary filled with cryptic discoveries and evidence of his dangerous liaisons, Amandine faced a pivotal moment. Driven by her loyalty to her homeland and her mentor, she made the courageous decision to inform the council of his potential treachery. But she could not let his legacy be tainted without knowing the truth herself.

Determined to find her mentor and learn the whole truth, even if it meant silencing him as a traitor to her people, Amandine embarked on a perilous quest that would lead her beyond the familiar confines of the Western Rife Mountains. She sought answers in distant lands, where ancient secrets lay buried beneath layers of deceit and perilous adversaries lurked in the shadows.

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Extra Information:

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Amandine is not her birth name. It is a translation of her name from Dragon Script into the common tongue.

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28



Human



Paladin/Warlock


A steel longsword and a wooden shield - both quite heavily worn, but normally cleaned and maintained.


Marcos is often heard before he is ever seen. The coins of the House of Yastes have afforded him with plate armor far greater than his need had ever been. His steps are heavy and arrival often announced by the stomping of his boots across the floor, as well as the clinking of the plates around the joints. The armor, as well as the rest of his equipment had clearly seen better days, but even with heavy signs of wear it is clear that significant funds went into equipping the man.
His equipment appears professionally cleaned, while his face appears perpetually groomed - both owing thanks to the artisans around the household. Many years of wearing the armor and swinging a sword have given the man a muscular frame. It remained unclear whether it was the time spent with Edmond or simple lack of discipline, but he always appeared less physically intimidating than the other knights Ymir trained. When observed, one could quickly see that Marcos had a sheltered life. His high mannerisms and lack of caution only seem to push that observation further.


Marcos was born and raised closer to the capital due to the social standing of the House of Yastes. They were never a major power in local politics, but they were very well off. This provided his early life with many comforts those with lesser luck could only dream of. From that early age his interests were somewhat esoteric and thus it wasn't unexpected when his parents pushed him into an apprenticeship with his uncle Edmond, the resident black sheep of the family. It was in these days that he got the majority of his education from.

The uncle often dabbled in foreign sorcery and seemed to draw his power from somewhere beyond normal understanding. While everyone was initially suspicious of his actions, they were more open to his methods once The Plague came. What was once deemed blasphemous in their house was back to being considered. In this shift of opinion, Marcos got a chance to try his own hand at magic. Deemed fully unfit by his uncle, it was instead proposed that he leeched power from a being which already possessed it since he was unable to amass any of his own.

Unfortunately for the man, he would soon realize that the relationship was not a one way street. The source of his power would indeed grant a lot, but it also started siphoning at his sanity. Uncle would notice the man slowly circling the point of no return and would work his influence to get him stationed under Ymir, a prominent holy warrior. The hope was that the corruption could be counterbalanced by a cleaner and more divine power source. Since Marcos' talents were insignificant when it came to actual spellcasting, he was instead selected to undergo an oath - one of protection. At first, it didn't seem like anything had changed - but with time, as he protected those around him, the walls of his mind started protecting him from the foreign influence. While he was never as good of a sorcerer as his uncle or as great a paladin as Ymir, he would finally find balance in the combating influences.

He lived this way for a while longer, maintaining loyalties to both his uncle and service to Ymir. Soon enough, Ymir would fall in battle with plagued and Marcos' world became simpler. His desire to protect the people of the land from the disease which took even Ymir would lead him to start conducting missions for his uncle. Each action he took felt in service of a greater cause, deepening his understanding of this disease, or curse as some had called it.

Before he could ever fully comprehend his role in the studies, Edmond was gone.

Without either of his guides, and with the struggle inside him bubbling back to the surface - Marcos was left to try and decide which mantle to carry into the future.

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Theme Song:https://youtu.be/4bSPI260R0c

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Old by human standards, but young among her people

Elvian

Druid/Ranger/Warlock

A hornbow with the string twined from the web of an Ungolianth. A quiver of arrows with obsidian arrowheads. A two-handed shillelagh made from the core wood of an ironbark tree.

Simbelmynë is a short and light Elvian of only 150cm and 45kg. She has flowing hair of silver and moonstone-pale skin, with outlandish yellow eyes that has a piercing quality to them. Her face carries two lines of parallel scars running from her forehead to her cheeks, an ornament typical of her order. Simbelmynë dresses in a wide variety of natural materials, from leather and fur, to wool and linen, to feathers, bone, twigs, and moss. Amongst this jumbled mess gleams silver jewelry inlaid with mother of pearl and precious stones, carved with runes and eldritch symbols. It is clear for all to see that she belongs in the wild, with the trees and the animals.

Simbelmynë was raised by her mother to be part of a secretive coven of woodland witches devoted to the worship of an eldritch forest spirit known as the Old Goat, or the Wilder, or the Horned One, among other names. Her life was filled with mysticism and secretive rituals from an early age, as well as the struggles of surviving in the wild. The coven was very secluded and guarded, and contact with the outside world was sparse. Simbelmynë was taught about the evils of civilization, the tyranny of nobles, and the barbarism of war. In time, she became a valuable asset to the coven and was seen as the natural successor to her mother. She had passed the basic initiation, but still had trials in front of her to become a fully trained with and privy to all the secrets of the Wilder.

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It is easy to grow uneasy around Simbelmynë. She doesn't feel right in civilized circles, like a wolf in a sheep pen. Her reactions are off, her vibe is all wrong, and she doesn't blink often enough. There is also the creeping feeling, whenever looking into her eyes, that someone very bad is looking back through them. Someone that is more animal than man, and more god than animal.

Theme Song

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27



Human



Cleric + Wizard


Bare handed combat and Spells


Coming in at just a hair under six feet in height, Conn's best, if not necessarily noticeable at times, feature is a pair of striking blue eyes framed by a light skinned face that burns rather than tans in the sun. Though he prefers to keep his attire light and airy so that he can move freely, his preference for the color blue can often lead to his clothing appearing a bit gaudy. This, combined with a well kept beard and equally un-well kept hair serve as distractions from the slight tracings of arcane symbology along the trim of his clothes. Sometimes, when his collar shifts, one can glimpse the edges of a large tattoo that takes up the majority of his torso and back, an oriental style dragon that curls around his body.

In combat, one of the first enchantments he activates is a shimmering field of mage armor, taking the shape of azure half-plate that encases his form.


Orphaned at an early age when his parents succumbed to a disease they could not afford to treat, Conn was accepted into the local Church as a ward. His early years were filled with seemingly endless amounts of prayer and chores, honing his body and mind towards the service of the Church. He learned to let his faith guide and empower him, his devotion earning him the gifts he needed to begin exploring the healing arts. He studied tomes of medicine and lore, learning to channel the gifts his faith bestowed upon him to tend to others in his community. For some, he was simply a friendly shoulder to cry on, for others, a mender of broken bones and soother of fevers.

As he entered his late teenage years, he felt a calling in his soul to leave his humble church and head into the desert region of Vradia. It was during this journey, as his body and mind were frayed by the heat and sands, that he would meet a man named Malachai. Malachai was a hermit of the desert, an outcast from the city of Dolg due to his open belief that the Gods had failed the people. The two nearly came to blows several times over their differing beliefs, but Conn believed the Gods had sent him to this man for a reason. After nearly three days of bartering, interspersed with the occasional religious debate, Malachai agreed to teach Conn the arcane arts in exchange for Conn's promise to use that knowledge to help the people, not just the Faith. Conn agreed.

Years passed, even harsher than his time in the Church. Yet when he finally left to return to the rest of the wide world, it was with a roughly worn book of arcane knowledge in his arms, and a faith that there was good in the world worth protecting.

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25 Human Arcane Trickster Rogue, Illusion School Wizard Dagger Set: A set of finely crafted daggers is his weapon of choice—compact and easy to conceal. He is rather precise when throwing them. He has names for each dagger: Maura and Marci. Darts: Gus carries concealed small darts. These can be easily hidden on his person. He carries a variety of darts, one being laced with hallucinogens and another stylized in a way to make as much noise as possible when thrown. Gus Larkspur, at the age of 25, carries an air of mysterious charisma that is accentuated by his roguish and scruffy appearance. His tousled wavy brown hair frame a face marked by the hardships of street life and the mischievous glint in his eyes. His facial hair takes the form of a well-maintained goatee, adding a touch of rugged charm to his features. The goatee seems to mirror the playful curve of his lips when he flashes his trademark mischievous smile. Gus's attire is a testament to his pragmatic approach to life. Clad in a simple, practical outfit befitting a skilled rogue, he wears dark trousers and a comfortable yet durable shirt. The sleeves are often rolled up, revealing the lean muscles acquired through a life of cunning escapades. A distinctive element of Gus's ensemble is a vibrant, bright scarf that he wears with a casual flair. The scarf, a seemingly incongruous burst of colour amidst the shadows. It is, however, not merely an accessory. August Larkspur, born into the esteemed Larkspur noble family, displayed an innate magical ability from a young age. The Larkspurs, however, held a deep-seated prejudice against magic users, viewing them as a threat to the family's reputation. As August's abilities manifested, whispers of arcane dealings circulated through the noble circles. Facing public disgrace and fearing the consequences of having a magical heir, the Larkspurs decided to disown Gus. They were to be sent to the gallows, a grim fate for a noble child. Gus learned of the notorious reputation of the gallows and seized an opportunity to escape into the bustling downtown of Volenstul. While navigating the dangerous streets of Volenstul, Gus encountered a charismatic charlatan and illusionist named Marcel Duvall. Marcel, seeing potential in the young noble, took Gus under his wing. There was an unspoken understanding between them—Gus's magical abilities were accepted and even encouraged. Marcel became a mentor, a surrogate family member to Gus, filling the void left by the Larkspurs. Under Marcel's guidance, Gus learned the ways of illusion and trickery, honing their skills as an arcane trickster and a master swindler. The two formed a close bond, and Gus found solace in the camaraderie of the underworld. However, everything changed when Marcel disappeared under mysterious circumstances. The once thriving criminal empire fell into disarray, and Gus, feeling lost without their mentor, sought answers and purpose. In the search for Marcel, Gus joined a gang with aspirations for a big score, hoping to unravel the truth behind Marcel's disappearance and reclaim the stability they had lost.

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He has taken in a stray cat he has called Ayla to remember their encounter under the moon’s light. Theme Song:

Rock

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Everyone has their own relationship to war. Some wage it, either in foolhardy attempts at conquest, or in frighteningly efficient campaigns of death and territorial expansion. Others support it, either to line their own pockets or to placate those who they know would be less than charitable towards any dissent. Even more are forced into it, either via their sons and husbands being ripped from their arms or those very same sons and husbands having to make peace with dying in a ditch with nothing but the blow flies to listen to their own self composed eulogies. Yet few have to face those horrors head on, make decisions that they know will lead to the deaths of hundreds, thousands, all of which they've seen, personally, off to what they know is nothing more than a meat grinder. Few have what it takes to survive those horrors, and fewer still have what it takes to survive the nightmares that come after. And yet, when all the fighting is done, with the land now finally having time to settle the blood that's been left stained across it, there comes a final, even rarer class of folk.

Those, that treat war as a profession.

Rock. Born on a stone they said. And apparently Rock just rolled off the tongue better than boulder. Probably during a mission in some godforsaken part of the Western Rife. Still, maybe it was a blessing. There's worse things to be in his line of work than a Rock.

For as long as I could remember, all I'd known was the company. My first memory was of trudging through dirt and mud whilst escorting a merchant convoy making its way through the Ellezag plains. Certainly one hell of a way to learn your first steps but it set the tone for the rest of my life.

It's not easy, being in a Mercenary company. Contrary to the stories, there's no glamour, no fame, hell, you'd be hard pressed to find a woman even in most cases. The people who walk down this road are not the dark smouldering knights or the rough yet gentle brigands of you might find written in the more saucy books of chivalric prose. Every single man, woman, child, whatever you may find, is in some way a deeply broken individual who for one reason or another found that violence was all they were good for and had no other choice but to sell that violence to the highest bidder to get by.

And it's not like you get payed a lot either. Sure, the initial listing might look good but once you count equipment costs, travel fees, rations, and all sorts of other nasty little things that eat away at the budget the amount of returns you can make from an average stint is pretty small once its all divvied up between the group. Apparently it used to be better during the days of the war. I wouldn't doubt it, especially since it was Garth that was saying it.

Garth Martel, a true living legend amongst the Company, and a few others from what I've seen. He's been the leader since way before I was born. A real living fossil in this day and age and yet he's got more meat on his bones than some all of the nobles that've hired us. He's good at what he does, knows his way around the trade and knows how to haggle for what we're worth. And... he's the one who taught me everything I knew.

It was strange. I always felt something was... off... about him. Not in a bad way just, that he was different from the rest've us. He still had this look in eyes. That look you have when there's still something for you to hold onto. There were times when I'd catch him alone, rare times, where I could see him staring all the way off to those wrecks in the Western Rife and he'd whisper underneath his breath when no one else was looking "Surely, there's more out there." And that was one of the tamer bits of strangeness I've experienced from him.

Sometimes he left, told us to stay put or pick some easy jobs for ourselves while we were in the city, and he'd just come back with one of the fattest sacks've gold you could imagine and handed it out. We never asked any questions. Why would you? But still, always struck me as odd.

And then there were those times where we were camping out in the middle of nowhere during one of our brief moments of quiet and he'd just... look at me, and have this... look in his eyes. Like he was looking past me, and seeing someone else. And I'm not even gonna mention all the times he doted on me for no bleedin' reason. Honestly... he's a strange one. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

That is, until he up and left. This time for good.

Something was different. He normally would've said something, given us a heads up, anything, but no, this time he was gone. Left without a trace and even left the entirety of his share of the pot behind for the rest of us. Not even a goodbye note to go with it. Everyone else, they've moved on. I can't hold it against them. No matter how close we were at the end of the day this was just a job and they still have to work but... I can't do that. My eyes may not be the same as his but-

Until I find him, I've got a greater purpose in life than this.

Three basic skills that your character contributes to the group with a short description.

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They currently have a war horse named Ash that they've been with for quite some time. It's more than the bond between a man and their pet, to him Ash is practically family and even though he can't communicate with animals in general Ash is the sole exception to this and as such he has saved no expense in equipping Ash with the finest defensive barding he could find to the point where the horse is actually more well armored than he is.

Theme Song: