[hider=Quintus Laeca] [h3]Character Description[/h3] [b]Name:[/b]Quintus Laeca [b]Species:[/b] Human [b]Race/Nationality:[/b] Arvenses [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]Age:[/b] 28 [b]Languages:[/b]Arventian. That is all. [b]Appearance:[/b] At 5'8'', Quintus is not a tall man, though neither is he regarded as particularly short. He has dark brown hair and, unusually, for one of the Arvenses, steel-blue eyes. He has a square jaw and wide nose that can give him a somewhat brutish look. While Quintus tries to remain clean-shaven, as is the fashion amongst the Arvenses, he often has visible stubble, especially when travelling in the wilderness. Quintus is usually found in a simple inky black tunic, though he will change into more colourful tunics with Arvensian geometric designs embroidered on them if the occasion calls for it. When not wearing a helmet, Quintus prefers to wear a fur cap. [hider=appearance][img]https://i.ibb.co/7dBy0GzX/quintus2.png[/img][/hider] [b]Personal Effects[/b]: Quintus has a horse and is well equipped for wilderness survival. Along with two hard-wearing plain tunics, Quintus carries a formal, dark blue tunic with geometric designs picked out in white. He also has a fur cap he is quite attached to and a brown woolen cloak. Like most travelers he caries a thick woolen blanket; a tinderbox and; some basic tools for cleaning, maintaining and repairing his clothes, weapons and armour. Quintus prefers to go into battle with a compound bow. He carries this, along with an extra bow string and a dozen arrows. Additionally he carries a simple steel spatha, a hatchet (mostly for cutting wood) and a seax (mostly as a utility knife). In battle he wears a chain habergeon and a ridge helmet. [hr] [h3][b]Background:[/b][/h3] [b]Role[/b]: Archer [b]Backstory[/b]: Quintus, as his name might imply, is the fifth son of a Provincial noble family from the Eastern borderlands of the Regnum Arvenses. Quintus was not expected to inherit the family estates and was, rather, groomed for a life in the military, given the necessary education and, at 18, the money needed to afford equipment and a commission as a Decurion in a local cavalry regiment - the 'Equites Sagittarii Loricati'. The Loricati were a slightly unusual regiment of armoured horse archers, put together b the local Governor to hunt down gurzat raiding parties. They were stationed outside of the Regnum, along the Sea pass, guarding it from marauding gurzat from out of the Windy Mountains. For the most part the work was not the most interesting, riding patrols from out of one of the series of small fortresses along the lonely, misty coastal road. Quintus spent a lot of time in the saddle, a lot of time taking part in archery contests at barracks. The monotony was very occasionally broken by an actual fight, usually with a gurzat warband though they typically turned tail and fled upon sighting the Cavalry. After 10 years in the Loricati, Quintus chose to resign his commission, imagining himself making a career as a bucellarius (mercenary) amongst the skeropalian cities. Before setting out for Skeropalia though, Quintus decided to take a few weeks to visit his Uncle in Segestica. It was on the North Road, heading to Segestica, that Quintus happened upon a Firidorian maiden named 'Tárwen'... [b]Character Intro[/b]: The North road was a lonely place, a dirt trail that moved between small villages, the forest creeping in on the right, stony pastures grazed by scattered flocks on sheep to the left. Clouds skipped overhead, dark, dismal and promising rain in the near future. Quintus glanced upwards at the sky, wondering if, perhaps, he should call it a night the next time he encountered an inn somewhere even though it would likely be with several hours of daylight to spare. Better that than caught in the downpour. From somewhere up ahead he heard a woman's voice yelling something. She sounded... frightened? Perhaps fear mixed with an edge of excitement? He paused, reigning in his horse and hopping off to string his bow, bending the limb between his legs to attach the string before hopping back on. The wind carried her voice again and he spurred his mount forward into a canter. Around 100 yards ahead the road bent around a copse of trees and there, as he rounded the corner, Quintus saw her. Tall, clad is an olive green dress and waving a large stick at a trio of vicious looking harpies - feathered eagle type creatures with huge wings, vicious claws and emmaciated human-like torsos. Their faces were something between human and bird, large predatory eyes gleaming with malice. One dived at the woman. She yelled something in a language Quintus didn't understand and abruptly the staff blazed with a blinding light that caused Quintus to shield his eyes. It had even more of an effect on the beasts, with the diver loosing control, crashing into a nearby tree with a crunch, tumbling to the ground where it lay unmoving. Without even needing to think, Quintus nocked an arrow, spotting another diving towards the woman from behind. He drew and loosed, his arrow striking the creature in the chest. It gave a horrid screech, crashing down beside her horse. She looked up, blue eyes registering Quintus' appearance as the third beast, sensing the odds were no longer in its favour, beat a hasty retreat across the sky. Quintus grunted, as he tracked its movement. Too far, too fast. He'd never hit it. Instead he placed the bow back in its saddle holster and jumped down. The harpy he had hit was still moving though it was bleeding profusely. He drew his sword, putting the creature out of its misery before retrieving his arrow, "Well that was a bit exciting wasn't it!" the woman declared, switching from whatever she had been speaking before to Arventian. He looked up at her. She was young, blonde... and had the distinct pointed ears of one of the fair folk that meant she might be nowhere near as young as she appeared, "You have a strange sense of fun m'Lady," he said with a slight chuckle, "Those things would have torn you limb from limb." "Well it's a good thing you were on the road as well," she declared. There was a familiar smoothness to her tones and the way she emphasised the first syllable of her words... she was Firindorian. A proud, hostile race... at least according to the stories. He had seen them around, traders and emissaries. Heard their voices, though none had ever spoken to him before, "Say... you aren't headed Westwards are you." "Aye," Quintus nodded, "Visiting a relative in Segestica." "Oh good!" the woman declared, "We can travel together... at least for a while," she paused, eyeing Quintus up and down, "A soldier?" she asked. "Formerly a decurion," he confirmed as he mounted his horse again, "Now seeking to find my own way as a bucellarius." "Is that so," the woman cocked her head to one side, "Well if you're happy to take Elarion coin, then I might have work for you... we can of course make your visit first! I'd rather arrive late that never." The Kingdom of Elarion had a negative history with the Regnum Arvenses. But Quintus didn't much care for that. He'd been willing to travel into Skeroparalia to work there... though he would prefer to spend Elarion coinage outside of the Regnum if he could. He gave a short laugh; this hadn't been the plan, and she hadn't said how much she was willing to pay yet, but he was willing to talk, "I have no problem with your coin or your company, Elarion... just as long as we're going further afield so I can actually spend it without getting suspicious glances from the merchants." She gave a light laugh in response, "Eaham work for you? ... oh and it's Tárwen." [/hider] [hider=Tárwen] [h3]Character Description[/h3] [b]Name:[/b]Tárwen daughter of Elenarë [b]Species:[/b] Firindorian [b]Race/Nationality:[/b] Elarion [b]Gender:[/b] Female [b]Age:[/b] 125 [b]Languages:[/b]Firindorian, Sidfirian and Arventian, all fluently. [b]Appearance:[/b] Even amongst her own people, Tárwen is a tall, shapely woman, though at 5'10'', she stands as tall as most human men. She has deep gray-blue eyes and long honey-blonde hair which she usually wears loose. She has a slender nose, a cleft chin and pointed ears which mark her as one of the 'Fair folk'. All of this, combined with her fair complexion mean that Tárwen could pass as one of the Gwylfinn, rather than the 'fading' Firindor people. 125 years is not a huge length of time for the Firindor and Tárwen is still considered to be in the prime of her life. Tárwen favours practical clothing in forest greens and browns and rarely wears either ostentatious colours or jewelry. This is fairly typical of the Firindor who tend to prefer muted, discrete tones, complimenting the natural stealthiness of the fair folk. [hider=appearance][img]https://i.imgur.com/kbtMuDx.png[/img][/hider] [b]Personal Effects[/b]: Tárwen has a horse. Everything she carries with her fits into the saddle bags. She has a handful of dresses in a variety of muted colours, a brown woolen sleeveless jacket and a thick grey-green woolen travelling cloak. Hard wearing leather boots complete her clothing ensemble. An accustomed traveler in the less inhabited parts of the world, she carries a thick woolen blanket; a down pillow; a tinderbox; tools for cleaning, sewing, etc.; along with a selection of cosmetic products (including hair brushes) for when she needs to present herself to people of significance. Tárwen carries a small seax as a utility knife rather than a weapon. Instead she carries a 5' long hornbeam staff, which as well as serving as a walking stick and more than adequate bludgeon, also acts as a magical conduit. [hr] [h3][b]Background:[/b][/h3] [b]Role[/b]: Mage [b]Backstory[/b]: Tárwen is the youngest daughter in a family of three. Her father is a miller and belongs to the local militia. Her mother is a weaver. Tárwen initially intended to work as a weaver with her mother though during her 40s (while she was still far too young to be considered marriageable), she spent quite a lot of her spare time with a young man from the Elarion Mage's Guild. While the relationship didn't last into adulthood, Tárwen was discovered to have considerable aptitude of her own and was brought under the tutelage of a mage named Curuwen. Curuwen was a good teacher and over the 75 years since Tárwen entered the guild she has become reasonably proficient, though mostly in the art forms more associated with the Fair Folk. Tárwen is an expert illusionist and can cast spells to hide an area from people though this takes time and effort to enact. In a pinch, she can make her cloak appear as if it is a part of the natural surroundings, hiding herself and potentially another person with her. She can produce light from her staff, which can be blinding, particularly to creatures from the Hosts of darkness who typically despise bright lights. She is also an adequate healer if someone is injured. She can save people from mortal wounds, speed up the healing of those with less severe injuries and slow (if she's doing a particularly good job) or sometimes even stop the spread of disease from cursed injuries. In 3975, 42 years ago, when she was still an apprentice, Tárwen travelled Curuwen and several other Elarion mages to a Conclave in Segestica which was hoped would be the beginning of a rapprochement between the Kingdom of Elarion and Regnum Arventia which had been frosty since the War of Gallus Nasica, which had been fought before she was born. While the Conclave was a failure, Tárwen drew the notice of the Valindorian mage, Calanthor, who discerned in her a willingness to set aside the petty concerns of her short lifetime and that of her Kingdom for the greater good of the Graced peoples of Minadra - something he found many of the people of the Age of Steel lacked. He brought Tárwen into his confidence and the pair began a correspondence over the next few decades, discussing everything from the art of sorcery to the strange animals of the lands south of Varadaban. Over the course of her letters with Calanthor, Tárwen became fascinated by the lost Gulcenedril artefact, an ancient device constructed in the first days of the Age of Steel, designed to allow the King of Caryandor to speak to the Turakindi Kings in the South, raising the alarm quickly should the Host of Darkness ever reappear. While the first part of the artefact remained in Caryandor, the half belonging to the Turakindi had been lost in the last days of their Realms, though Calanthor assured her it had not been destroyed - it was someplace dark, though aside from that, nobody knew where. Since completing her apprenticeship some 20 years ago, Tárwen has launched several expeditions, with the people of Stormfjellheim, to explore the ruins of the Morgador in search of the Gulcenedril. Though they have located some interesting treasures, the Gulcenedril has never been amongst them. In early 4017, Tárwen received an unexpected letter from Calanthor, asking her, in urgent terms, to meet him in Ealdormuda. While his reasons were not explained, Tárwen recognised the urgency of his tone and quickly packed a travelling bag, setting forth on to meet her friend. While Tárwen has travelled extensively in the Morgador and Taurethil forest, she has not made any forrays into human lands aside from the Conclave of 3975 and the trip is an adventure she was looking forward to. [b]Character Intro[/b]: Tárwen shifted on the bench she was sitting at, enjoying the warmth of the fire against her back. She kept her hood up. She wasn't sure the last time one of the fair folk had stepped foot in Eoham, but the locals were certainly curious about her; her ears were hard to hide. Almost inevitably they would conclude she was Sidfir, which she was not, which led to further interest. There wasn't any problem with the interest people showed her, it was not malicious, but sometimes it was nice to have a quiet evening with a mug of mulled wine. Besides, some old soldier was regaling the crowds with war stories. She couldn't speak a word of the local language, so didn't know what they were, but she recognised the scene. Quintus, her bodyguard on the road, had taken himself to their room for the evening. He probably would have enjoyed the story... though he didn't speak the local language either. She cast an idle eye across the other people in the inn... one of the Skyborn. That was unusual. While she had encountered the Skyborn before, in her limited experience she had believed they preferred the company of dwarves to humans. She took a sip from her mug of wine, realising it was the last of her drink. She put the mug down, considering if she should, perhaps call it a night... but the night was young. But the night was young and while she doubted she would be swept up in any eager revelry tonight, Tárwen had no desire to take to her bed prematurely. So she waved to the innkeeper with her mug and a bright smile, signaling for another. A few moments later, there was a scatter of applause as the old soldier signaled the end of his story. People seemed to be moving away from him, though the Skyborn sat down next to him. Tárwen paid them little mind, thanking the innkeeper as another mug of wine arrived. A snippet of conversation from the other table drifted across. They were speaking Arventian. Then another. Turakindi ruins? This far West? Instantly her interest was piqued. She hesistated a moment, she was meant to be meeting Calanthor here, in this inn... though he was a week late. What could be holding him up? The thought that anything might have happened to the old mage did not cross Tárwen's mind. There were few, if any, mortal beings more dangerous than Calanthor. Turakindi ruins. She heard the skyborn say it again. If there were more ruins this far West that nobody had known about until recently, that would explain why the Gulcenedril had proven so hard to find. Could it be wherever this skyborn was heading? She considered what to do for a moment more, then resolved to approach her. Lifting her staff in one hand and mug of wine in the other she stood up, , crossing the few feet to where the pair were talking. The old soldier looked up as she approached, raising an eyebrow in enquiry, "Hello!" Tárwen greeted the pair cheerfully, in fluent Arventian, "I apologise for intruding on your conversation but I couldn't help but hear you mention Turakindi ruins." The skyborn turned to her, peering up at Tárwen with thoughtful blue eyes, "Yes, but you know that kind of place is dangerous." Tárwen nodded, "I'm well aware. I am prepared for danger," the old soldier's eyebrow climbed a little higher, she noted, "I hadn't realised there were ruins this far West." "Not many had," the skyborn replied. "Are you sure you are prepared for danger, girl?" the soldier asked, "As much as I'm sure scholars and the like would love to get their hands on whatever is in those ruins, I only have the one sword arm." "Girl? Oh," Tárwen glanced around furtively, then leaned forward, "I imagine my friend, that I'm probably older than your parents," she swept her hood back, letting the points of her ears show, "Tárwen of Elarion," she introduced herself, "I am from the Mage's guild, waiting for a friend in this city. Though he is late and your ruin could, potentially, hold something I've been looking for." "What?" the skyborn asked. "The Gulcenedril?" Tárwen looked between blank expressions, "It's a device to communicate over vast distances. The Turakindi made it. We have one half, the other is lost and nobody knows how it was made, making the first half a useless trinket. I would like to see if these ruins hold any clue as to its whereabouts." She saw the pair glance at each other. They still weren't sure she would be useful... "I can also heal wounds and produce light in dark places. And I've travelled in the Morgador before... I am not one of your mages who spends their whole life pondering the nature of magic in an esotericist community surrounded by servants. I am quite capable of surviving in the wilderness. And I come with a bodyguard. Arvensian fellow, called Quintus, quite handy with a bow." [/hider]