Race: Human Personality: Eleanor Jehenne takes herself and her mission seriously. She is tactical, driven, and clueless when it comes to the intricacies of social interactions- though she wouldn't believe that often wanting to get things done quickly and honestly. Lying, manipulation, stealth, are all to be superseceded by honesty, kindness, and victory.
Often brash and straightforward when it comes to warfare and conversation, she also believes in the base decency of all people of all kinds in the world. Despite her serious demeanor she is very much an optimist. The world will not die- not on her watch.
Criminals and tyrants are scum in her book. All of them take advantage of those who cannot defend themselves and she will not allow it for it is her sworn duty to protect the innocent, and that's an oath she takes (much like everything else) very seriously. Though perhaps if one of these ne'er-do-wells were to beg forgiveness and mercy and say they were going to turn their lives around she would be inclined to believe them and grant them a second chance- for better or for worse. The thought of a villain turning themselves around and becoming a good person is perhaps what she wants to see most; second to saving the world from the oncoming malevolence incarnate.
History:
Eleanor Jehenne was born to a common family in Jumme, a fairly large city in the eastern part of the Parrovian League. Her father was a towns guard and her mother was a practicioner of medicine, so serving the people was in her blood. Her and her four sisters and two brothers all tried out to become members of the King's Finest, and all of them succeeded. In training, Eleanor discovered she had an unnatural skill when it came to swordplay. Her reactions were quick, her strikes quicker and her mind as sharp as her sword. The royal mage investigated and found she was one of the lucky few to be blessed by the Divine with innate magical powers. This accelerated her training and she became apart of the Royal Jummian Vanguard.
There, it was shown that her natural talent was matched by her determination to learn. She served in an elite squad of battlemages and fought in the ever constant skirmishes against the enroaching Enclave. A veteran, Eleanor was proud to be serving under her king and for the people of Jumme.
Of course, not all is well in the world of Ciir. Though Jumme was managing to hold onto glimpses of prosperity, soon the encroaching darkness would consume all, and everything anyone had ever worked for would be in vain. Jumme is limited in martial resources and skeptical of where to divert them, and so can only afford to send a few soldiers to research and combat the oncoming threats. Eleanor was chosen to become a Seeker and travel to The Devoured City and join the newly formed Conclave.
Weapons
A one-handed arming sword, enchanted with additional sharpness.
A one-handed heater shield, enchanted with durability.
A long spear to be used with one or two hands, mostly kept on her horse.
Magic
Kinetic Wave: She is able to summon a small radius of yellow bursting energy to disorient and push back her enemies that are next to her.
Kinetic Pull: An orange, whispy, and immaterial tendril of energy attaches itself to an enemy within around fourty feet, yanking them sharply to send them stumbling towards her.
Other: She has a brown, medium-sized, lightly armored horse named Isabel.
The heater-shield is painted with a 'yellow plus' symbol and black background, the flag of Jumme.
Post Example:
Eleanor Jehenne crested the top of the grass-covered hill on her steed, pulling lightly on the reins and coming to a stop. The cold wind whipped her black hair and ponytail back, and she squinted her eyes against the harsh elements. The hair on her body stood on end beneath her chain armor and steel underbust corset. The young woman leaned forward, scratching the neck of her brown horse.
"Almost there," She whispered to her horse, Isabel, though it was mostly an excuse to talk to herself.
She glanced down at the sword resting in it's hilt on her hip, and felt the weight of the heater shield bearing the symbol of her homeland tug at her backside as it was wrapped around her on a leather band. The steel-tipped spear was sheathed horizontally on her horse, ever present. All of her weapons at her side, and a few spells on the brain, the lone adventurer pressed her legs together and leaned forward, commanding her companion beneath her to go forward and down the hill.
Race: Fire Dragon (masquerading as human) Personality Scarlet is a stern, cynical individual, whose philosophy emphasizes independence and survival, with no small amount of self-importance. Indeed, while not particularly malevolent or twisted, she is incredibly callous, and places little to no interest in social graces and subtlety. Greedy and materialistic, she also seeks new ways to increase her power and influence, be it with riches, boons or new knowledge. Indeed, this greedy attitude also manifests in a nearly unquenchable thirst for knowledge. However, Scarlet is not blinded, and she knows how to stay her hand from going too far, and more importantly, that sometimes, even the most selfish individual has to perform deeds for the sake of everyone and future prospects.
Scarlet dislikes monster hunters in general (Dragonslayers even more for obvious reasons) and their tall tales, and she has a penchant for rare red meat(Some say human meat!) and fair maidens (or pretty boys). She also loves to deliver tongue lashings.
History Scarlet was not born as such. Her original name, now often only seen in hidden obscure lore was Klazuraz, spawn of Kulraoth the Great Flame. Out of a clutch of seven, she was born as the runt of the nest and had to fight tooth and nail with the other wyrmlings for the scraps of food her mother brought. Klazuraz's mere survival relied on the fact that even if she could not outfight her brethen, more than often she could outsmart them and snatch a bit or two by trickery rather than force. As soon as her wings and claws strenghtened and they were strong enough to fend off by theirselves, they were thrown out of Kulraoth's lair, and flew in all different directions, never to be seen again. A dragon rarely had attachment for their siblings.
Klazuraz would end up settling in a rather wild portion of the forests of Averland. With plentiful food, abundant natural resources and enough space to hollow out an adequate lair, the she-dragon spent her youth in relative peace, with the occassional raiding on Human settlements and fighting other predators. One day, she noticed that a Wise Woman had decided to make a hut in her territory. She pondered destroying the foolish woman where she once stood, but then decided otherwise. Witches weren't known for being otherwise rapacious and greedy, and the rumours of a Witch near her territory would also disuade gloryseekers, soldiers and bandit rabble who would otherwise take the challenge to try and seek out a fight with a dragon.
One day, this tacit tolerance turned into coexistence when the she-dragon stumbled across a mob who had decided to storm the Witch's hut. Not desiring to lose the disuassive presence the woman had, she decided to take it upon herself and roasted the attackers with dragonfire. After an awkward silence the Witch offered the she-dragon her thanks and hospitality. Of course, getting a dragon inside a humble hut was going to prove difficult, if not for the woman's magic, which allowed Klazuraz to assume the shape of a human female. The dragon had an almost immediate liking for the old woman, and they spent hours and hours talking about subjects, most mundane and arcane. An alliance was struck, and both beings departed in good terms, after exchanging mutual defense vows (Klazuraz didn't see the point of extorting an hermit for riches).
As time passed, the she-dragon would often than not be drawn to the Witch's hut to sate her curious nature. Eventually, she decided, as a past time, to learn about the mystical fare. Mastering the spell that allowed her to take a human form, she became an understudy in all but name. But to all things come an end, and even the old witch's vitality was snuffed out one day. Klazuraz pondered what to do next, and after not too much thinking she decided that after all what she learned, she could supplant the witch, and act both parts. Witch and dragon, Klazuraz began to style herself as Scarlet Wyrmcaller, and started to pretend she was the successor of her master. It was a really thrilling game, keeping two identities.
The decay of the World put her game to an halt, however. With ever dwindling viable prey, withering forest canopies, mutant abominations and even more bandit vermin she could care about, Scarlet knew she had to take action to survive, and possibly preserve the status. Indeed, she was no illusion, she could feel she was one of the last of her kin. She considered raising an army of raiders and brigands and give the sick Averland the coup-de-grace by eliminating every other faction in the war. However, a better option sprung up in the south. The Conclave. An union of like minds to cure the plague of the lands. She found this option...somewhat more palatable. Weapons None. She usually makes use of her magic or dragon form to take care of herself.
MagicScarlet is a rather competent Witch on her own, with a deep foundation on the arcane.
Fire Magic: Fire is the nature of dragons, and it shows. Scarlet's fierce flames have earned her the moniker of Witch of Cinders. A bonus of this kind of art is that as a dragon, she cannot be burnt easily.
Aural Sense: Scarlet is able to identify the nature and magical aptitude of nearby beings.
Warding Glyphs: The Witch of Cinders is versed in the art of inscribing permanent enchantments as well as detecting wards and other people's enchantments. It's also worth noting that curses operate in the same fashion, only with negative effects rather than boons.
Healing arts: The direct effect of studying under a forest Witch, Scarlet is every bit as proficient at mending as she is as destroying with fire, thus increasing her ability to survive and support others.
(Minor) Human Form: A very specific spell, this seals her otherwise large and intimidating body and allows her to meld among humans. A side effect is that she becomes...well, as frail as a woman when under this spell.
Other
Her dragon form is rather large, but not excessively so for a dragon her age. (Think slightly larger than a Skyrim dragon).
"How long have I been asleep in my own mind. What atrocities have I commited in the name of a god I never believed in. No more. This stolen strength will aid the world, not sunder it!"
Age:32
GenderMale
Race:Human
Personality - Jeggred, his true name forgotten over years of subjegation, is a vindictive and often cruel man. His time worshipping an entity of darkness has torn apart the sanity of his mind under the weight of servitude. A sanity he has only recently begun to recover.
At his core shines a golden radiance that was his true faith to the lords above. It speaks to him of tolerance and peace, at war with the black of his sins.
The inner conflict between his brainwashing and the faith of his forefathers has created twin personalities. Making him dangerous and often unpredictable.
History - Shadows. Suffering. Screams of the dead and dieing, their bodies mutilated and hung like tapestries from the blackened walls of the keep. They speak of pain commited with his own hands. The memories of hiw cruelty linger even now, still so fresh and vivid. The markings upon their flesh is the unmistakable result of his own handiwork.
They were the sacrifices to darkness needed, required, for his tutelage.
When had they taken him aay from the world of his youth. When tapestries of heroes adorned the walls, weapons for good rested on the hips and in the hands of veterans to the righteous causes. Jeggred cannot answer these questions any longer. Stolen from his home and robbed if his fath he had been beaten and broken at the hands of true evil. Influenced by his own pain to share it with others.
Years of prolonged cruelty ended in an instant. The man, old and frail, had taken once glance at Jeggred armed with his sinister tools and smiled. Spoke of forgiveness, not from his captors. To them. His last breathe spoke of a strange gods name, a word beyond strength that tore into Jeggreds soul like a dagger.
His home. Their gods. His past.
Memories long burned from his mind rose again and brought confusion. Pain. A red haze the likes of which he had never known until pnly darkness remained.
The last memories Jeggred has is waking up upon the freezing mountaintops, in robes stolen from his 'siblings'. Stained with red and back blood.
A golden song echoes in his heart, wordlessly speaking of atonement. Atonement he can never hope to be forgiven for.
Wither - Jeggred tears the energy from the target, sundering their will. Enemies effected become sluggish and dazed.
Rot - A single cut can turn fatal when the twisted magics curse them. Enemies suffer rapid flesh decay for a brief period of time based on pre-existing wounds.
Shackle - Nether bindings made from the dark magic at Jeggreds command wrap around a target, preventing them from moving for a short period of time. Can be channeled for longer duration.
Sunder - All things must end. The enemies cursed with this horrible incantation often erupt in terrible wounds across their naked flesh. The more mana put into this spell the greater the wound is inflicted.
Consume - Siphons the lifeforce of an enemy to regenerate Health and Magic.
Sacrifice - consumes the sundered energy of his victims to greatly empower his next spell.
Stolen strength - Infuse the vitality of a sundered soul trapped in his blade to empower himself or an ally.
Damned souls - Steals a fraction of a beings immortal soul, sealing it into his cursed sword. Can be expunged ot consumed at will. The power of the spell depends on the soul, or the amount of souls.
Race: Human Personality Despite the trappings and appearance of, at times, Priesthood, at a casual conversation, Ansgar still comes off like his former bandit days. He tends towards bleak, gallows humor and speaking with sarcasm and disdain for nobility and generally anyone who was born into their station, seeing it as little more than glorified entitlement. He still knows the tricks and tools of the trade from back in his younger years, and has no qualms using them, which has created entertaining moments of a priest picking locks, or lifting something out of another thief's pocket to prove a point. And this suits Ansgar just fine, he much prefers that his peers see him as an uncouth, barely recivilized thug playing at being a pious man, it makes his job easier as far as he is concerned. He would march to war alongside soldiers and guards alike, sheparding them along and fighting as viciously, if not even more so, than they would.
Woe unto any who think that his faith is a sham, because Ansgar is earnest in that his newfound faith saved him from the Executioner's block (and giving his younger sister the satisfaction of outlasting him, and taking his head for that matter). Despite the crass warrior exterior, he is still a priest at heart, and always watching and considering his surroundings. Before, it was looking for ambushes and guards hunting his partners and him, now it was looking to those around him for what they truly were, and why they hid it. He wears his chains, once binding him, now a constant reminder of his past and how he rose above it. And may whomever attempts to mock him for such things be ready for the crude remark they will be getting in return. Though no matter how poorly he got along with someone, he will still give them their last rites and see them buried, commended to whatever gods they follow.
History
Born into the Imperium's middle class, Ansgar and his younger sister by two years, Reinhilde, were the children of an experienced soldier, retired due to his wartime injuries. As the elder child, Ansgar was expected to follow in his father's footsteps while his younger sister would be relegated to supporting or secondary roles, something that she resented greatly from the moment the idea was proposed. The siblings would spend a great deal of time sparring, the sister holding advantage in agility but still failing to beat him out more often than not due to being younger and having trained less than her brother, something she would resent for some time to come. But at the age of 16, Ansgar would volunteer for the Imperium's army, being assigned to a regiment and sent off to war with little ceremony, and within two years he would hear of his sister and her disappearance into the Imperium's army as well, told to keep an eye out for her.
Under the command of a noble with little regard for the lives of the men beneath him, only the results he got from the men before they passed on, he would find himself outliving his peers over and over again, things coming to a head shortly after his tenth year of service, when his request for leave to visit his ailing family was denied. In his rage, repressed and bottled over the long years, he murdered the noble in his fit of rage, the man's upbringing and fancy training no match for a soldier's steady hand honed by the harshest teacher of them all. After he realized what he had done, he quickly fled, only stopping to visit his parents one last time before fleeing into the wilds of Averland, where he would engage in banditry and raiding, using his military training and experience for his own gain.
Being twenty six when this started, Ansgar would spend several years preying on anyone that dared set foot outside the walled cities, contributing to the dangers and hostilities facing the nation through his own selfish greed, and lack of direction to do anything else. Things would not last forever, and despite doing well, he was tracked down by several bounty hunters, accompanied by a rather peculiar looking priest, dressed in mail and wielding a Dane axe as easily as a northern raider might. Backed into a corner, Ansgar would kill off the bounty hunters but find himself disarmed, wounded, and at the mercy of this warrior priest, who made him an offer. Take his second chance, and join the priest's brotherhood of repentant souls, or be taken back to the Imperium and tried for his crimes. The answer was rather obvious, even if he didn't believe in the whole priesthood nonsense.
Ansgar would spend several years studying and meditating, learning the prayers and history of the order of battle priests, not a single one of them were innocent and seeking redemption for their past actions. Despite his initial expectations, he found himself believing in this simple, but earnest faith and it gave him a core of strength he hadn't had since losing faith in the Imperium's army. Once he had found his faith, he was taught how to channel it into a weapon, whether it manifested through his weapon and armor or was launched with bolts of light to reach offenders from afar. With that, he would depart and roam the land, spending nearly thirteen years as one of the wandering warrior priests. He would hunt down criminals, assist hunting parties that targeted beasts that legitimately threatened the well being of the surrounding peoples, and even wander battlefields administering final rites to those that had been overlooked or defiled.
These wanderings and continued attempts at redeeming himself for his past actions gave Ansgar an insight into the world as it was turning into, and it was falling apart. Despite efforts to the contrary, the world was spiralling into ruin and decay, and it was unclear how any one man or woman could ever hope to stop it. This was when word of the a call to arms reached him, through a missive delivered to him from the order's main temple. He was chosen to depart immediately for the Devoured City of Venridge, and offer his services on behalf of the temple. Such an undertaking would not be easy, but things were never easy, far as Ansgar was concerned, so he would depart at once, with a single goal in mind. Reach Venridge, and figure out what needed to be done from there.
Weapons
Two handed Warhammer, it's blessing personally maintained by Ansgar.
Dirk, tucked into a sheath that is firmly secured to his left leg.
Magic
Healing Magic - Fueled by faith and learned to channel through his mentor in his early years as a priest, Ansgar is capable of mending torn flesh and broken bone, as well as purging illness and poison from the afflicted with enough time, meditation, and prayer. Though in a pinch, he is perfectly handy with both splint and bandage, as well as remedies he picked up on during his banditry days, since walking into town and seeking a healer was not really an option for those like him at the time.
Wrath - Unlike priests and healers that maintain oaths of pacifism and peace, Ansgar has learned to channel his faith into a weapon as sharp as any sword, and a shield as sturdy as any wall, if what he said would be believed. When necessary, he can channel his wrath into his combat abilities, war hammer glowing a hot white and, if the situation is desperate enough, emitting a corona of soulfire that would sear any that got too close, friend or foe. The undead are especially susceptible to such a display of power, lesser specimens being turned away at the sight, and often crumbling under a single blow. Of course, he cannot maintain such a state for long, due to how taxing it is on his body, but while he is channeling it, it gives him an edge that he may very well need.
Ruin - A man can be as dangerous as he wants in a melee, but if he cannot reach his enemy, what good does all that skill and talent do them? Though Ansgar is still training himself in these techniques, he can launch bolts of light that blind and burn the flesh of those targeted by the attacks, with the added bonuses against the undead. While that is his only reliable attack at range, if the situation grows dire enough, an earnest prayer and incantation could, God willing, bless him with the means to bring down a column of power to smite a target, though this will leave him drained and unable to call upon any other abilities for some time.
Other His younger sister, Reinhilde Staudinger, remains currently employed as an executioner for the Imperium. Ansgar has not had contact with her for over fifteen years, and has no intentions of rectifying that.
Post Example "Staudinger! Grab your hammer, we've been had!
Ansgar jumped out of his small bed, having been relaxing after the latest raid that had hit some Imperium convoy that had gone too far off the beaten path. It'd been too easy, he'd told them this, but they went for it anyways. Turned out to have a hefty amount of coin, far too much for how underguarded the convoy had been. He had planned to skip out the following day, had his things packed already and everything, but it seemed retribution had arrived before he could skip out on that meeting again. He got out of the crude wooden doorway they had put into the cave entrance in time to see the one who had raised the alarm run through by one of the hunters, and wasted no time bringing the hammer down on the offending hunter's head before he could pull his weapon free of the dead bandit. Wrenching the hammer clear of the dead bounty hunter, he still saw several others already approaching, some man wearing plate with a red collar unrolling a scroll and speaking loudly. "By order of the Imperial Throne, you have been charged with murder of a superior, desertion, robbery, extortion, evasion of apprehension, and other crimes I need not list here. What say you?"
"To hell with you, your charges, and the Imperium, I stand by what I did. Let's get this over with, I want to get some sleep before finding someone else to rob, business has been rather lean lately." Ansgar didn't wait for the bounty hunters to encircle and strike from all sides, instead charging the far left flank of them first, a kid far too young to be in this line of work. He stumbled backwards, shield raised against the impending hammer blow which never came. Instead the blow came across his shins, shattering them and sending him to the ground, and as the other hunters were moving to attack, watched the young blood get his chest caved in. The next had a spear, lunging and landing a shallow cut along his side, passing between an old wound in his mail hauberk, which he hadn't the time or coin to find a blacksmith willing to fix it for him.
Hooking the shaft of the spear with the hammer, he twisted and wrenched the spear sideways and away from the hunter, a swift kick to the groin sending him to the ground, winded and in pain. He kept the last two hunters in front of him, the two trying to attack at once from both sides, sword and mace coming in at the same time. Rather than statically block, Ansgar turned the incoming mace blow aside, guiding it into the sword strike and forcing them both to his left side. Bringing the two handed hammer up from the deflection, he slammed the head of the hammer into the one hunter's gut, causing him to collapse, retching and coughing up blood before the hammer came down on his neck, putting him out of his misery. The spear hunter was getting to his feet, in time to see the swordsman have his shield hooked and jerked forward, pulling him off balance for a pommel strike and follow up blow to the head, putting him down as well. "What, never had a man fight back before? The convoy you used as bait put up more of a fight than this!"
The spear wielding hunter, still unsteady, lunged at the hammer wielding bandit, trying for a better angle on the gap in his armor this time. Problem being, Ansgar was expecting the follow up attempt, deflecting and grasping the shaft of the spear, and headbutted the spearman, breaking his nose and sending him reeling back again. Ansgar thrust the spear into the man's gut, sending him to the ground, and turned to see the armored man who had read the charges produce a two handed axe. Well then, seems the talker meant business. "Not bad for a bandit, a shame you strayed from your destined path as a soldier."
"You tell a man he can't go see his dying father when your regiment isn't going to be sent off for several months while replacements are trained, and see how he reacts." Ansgar charged the armored man, bringing the hammer down for the man's head, only for him to deflect the blow along the haft of the axe, using the axe head to hook and disarm Ansgar of his hammer. Cursing, he took a swing at the balding, smug face of the axe wielder, only to get a knee to the gut and the blunt side of the axe head to the head, stunning him and sending consciousness fleeing for a scant second. When he got his senses back, he felt the cold steel of an axe blade and the stern face of the man wielding it staring at him. "Banditry made you sloppy, but still salvegable. I offer you one chance at redemption, come with me, and my temple master will decide if you are fit for the cloth."
"Fit for the cloth... You're a priest? Hell kind of priest walks around with an axe? It is better than being hung or beheaded, I suppose..." Chuckling, the armored priest stood up, grabbing Ansgar by the collar of his mail hauberk and hauled him to his feet. "The kind that used to be a bandit as well, now come, its a long way to the temple and we'll need to avoid any other bounty hunters. Now, let us see if you can be redeemed" Theme Song:
Race:Oni Personality: Rishi, like the many members of her race she likes crushing people with a massive club, moonlit walks on the beach, and drinking gallons upon gallons of alcohol, she likes the simple things and looks to the lighter side of most situations despite how terrible the situation might be. Like many large creatures surrounded by smaller creatures, she has an arrow-proof attitude feeling as if nothing can really hurt her unless it's bigger and stronger than she is. While she seems simple when getting to know her Rishi is really really simple, she doesn't understand the human concept of money or caring for something smaller or helpless and believes that if you leave certain creatures alive they will come back to kill you later if they don't learn they aren't as strong as her or fighting her is useless and will give people an ass-kicking so they can learn it first hand.
History
Rishi's story changes with each time someone asks where she is from, in one story she could say she's from another world and had fallen into a portal to this one while she was in search of gold, alcohol, and out of boredom; in another, she would say that she was birthed by a human mother on a tiny farm not far from the current city that she is allowed into and woke up big with horns one morning; while in yet another, she would say that she was split from her mother and father during a fire and grew up in the wilderness without parents or anyone to take care of her. Her history is mostly all over the place, but she use to deal with a number of Oni that lived in a village, she would usually stay nomadic and wander the lands on her own wielding a number of iron clubs; a path of defeated humans would usually be the trail leading to her cave or the camp she would have set up, most of the humans that survived fighting her call her The Red whirlwind.
The moment the decay started to happen she didn't care about what was going on, nor did she think that the decay would affect her kind in any way, but she was wrong, really wrong. When she went to check on the village of Oni she would frequent a plague rolled in, many were lying in their own sick, unable to move, growing spots along their bodies with some even turning a sickly color, Rishi escaped from the village so she wouldn't get infected with whatever illness that they were blighted with. Back at her cave, Rishi wondered what could've infected, grabbing her favorite clubs, Rishi set out on a journey to find something that would help them. Weapons
Metal spiked great club
Studded wooden great club
Skinny metal great club
Magic
Oni roar: Rishi lets out a monstrous roar that puts fear in the hearts of true cowards and weeds out stronger and more courageous of people to fight her.
You're going nowhere: Rishi creates a magical barrier to prevent people from running away from her in the middle of an ass-kicking.
Age: 135 Gender Female Race: Wood Elf Personality Despite her age and her position, Amila is quite naive. She's a kind sort, and will always try to help others who are in need. This kind of behaviour has also given her the title of "Benevolent Sage", which is used by common folk whenever they see her helping someone. While she is still somewhat grounded in her thinking, she often misreads situations and tries to solve things peacefully even when it is futile to try. Although she may sound like a pacifist, she's quite fearless in battle and is able to trust in her abilities as a Druid. History
Due to her appearance, nobody would believe you if you said that she was a Wood Elf. Her looks are that of an elf, but her magic is that of a wood elf Druid. Elves and Wood Elves.. A pairing that is rare, and almost unheard of as both cultures tend to stay away from each other due to their differences, and their disconnection by distance. As one may guess, Elves live in towns and cities, whereas Wood Elves make their homes in the forests scattered about the continent. As of today, Elven cities are under the jurisdiction of The Imperium.
As a child, Amila was shunned by her peers due to her appearance. She was pale, with blue eyes and silver hair; her Wood Elf peers all had tanned skin, and various shades of brown, red, and black hair. Thus she spent more time with the village elders than she did with children her age. As she spent more time with the elders she naturally grew an interest in Druid magics, and often found herself pestering the village druid about their works. Eventually they tested her affinity for such a magic, as it was rare for Elves like herself to be able to learn it. Much to their surprise and excitement, her affinity for druid magic was on par with the village druid.
With her parents unanimous support, she began her training as a druid. Over the next few decades, Amila had become a very proficient druid, quickly surpassing her teacher in terms of power. Upon completing her training, she was instructed to choose a familiar to help guide her on her journeys. So she chose the Raven.. Because she liked it. No other reason given, although her teacher saw this coming from miles away.
Over the next century or so, Amila and her teacher worked tirelessly trying to find out what was happening to Ciir, as the forests slowly wilted away. The young druid took it upon herself to venture out of the forests.
During her travels, she visited many small villages and towns. She would often find herself helping them as much as she possibly could. It wasn't long before her deeds and feats of power reached the ears of the Sages of Cirr. The Sages of Ciir were a council that ran a college for aspiring magus situated north of Asturica. As such, they were either very powerful or knowledgeable.. Or in most cases, both. Due to her sudden appearance, they took an interest in her, eventually inviting her for a meeting. This meeting lead to a wizard's duel, which was showcased in the Magus Arena. Such a duel was not out of aggression, but out of interest. In the end, they were impressed by Amila's magical prowess and style. They hadn't seen elven druidic magic in almost half a century due to their seclusion from the rest of the world.
During the next few years, Amila worked with the Sages, researching the reason behind Ciir's deterioration. Although they didn't find anything conclusive, she was given the title of Sage. Sage of the Wilds.
Over the next century, Amila continued her research, whilst helping those around her. Eventually the Sage council changed, as the old sages retired to user in the new generation. However, due to her impossibly long lifespan, she never needed to do such a thing. During her travels, she had the privilege of working with many others who sought for a solution to the peril that the realm faced.
Weapons/Equipment
Ring of Protection
Earrings of Power
Sage's white cloak
Magic
Summon Beast - Amila summons a beast of any kind. It's size varies depending on how much magical energy Amila uses when summoning it. She can also opt to summon only a part of a beast. ie. A bear's claw to strike an enemy, or a turtle's shell to act as a shield. Amila is able to see through these parts, as they are translucent only to her. Others cannot see through them.
Animal Aspect - Amila takes on one aspect of a beast of her choosing. ie. Hawk's vision, or bear's strength. She can only have one aspect active as a time. For example, if she is using Hawk's vision and wishes to use a Scorpion's stinger, she must deactivate Hawk's vision first. She is able to use the aspects of mythical beasts, however such things require more energy.
Control - This spell also allows Amila to give orders to summons and other beasts of lesser sentience. ie. Wild dire wolves.
Healing Magic - Amila is able to cure light wounds and common illness. Such magic was part of her basic training.
Gift of Tongues - During her time as a Sage, Amila had taken the time to learn every language there was in the continent. This includes communication with animals, and mythical beasts.
Race: Human Personality: Fearless in the face of danger and relentless in the field of battle, he will rush to the aid of his companions at a moments notice with weapons drawn and a song on his lips. That is the way of his ancestors. Protecting those around him from harm. Hoisting a large oak spear with a green flag emblazoned with a golden bear, Krogier believes himself and the Denmother to be peerless pillars of their group.
Outside of combat and the glory of victory he is a gentle giant exploring the world beyond his forest home. Boisterous and friendly, Krogier is quick to toast the deeds of the day and retell legends of his homeland. Has a bad habit of getting overly rowdy or over-protective of his other traveling companion.
History: The strong and noble forest folk are not limited to just the elves. Humans live in tandem with the forces of nature and dwell in harmony with the forces of nature, nurturing the forest with magical practices inherited from Dryads. At least that is how they explain it. In truth the people of the Black Forest were trained in the spiritual arts of communion to nature.
In time the Elves and Human tribes drifted apart, claiming their own territories in the forest. It was not a hateful relation with the tribes of humans and the elven settlements, merely a difference in interpretation of the wildlife. Peace was prominent among them first and foremost lest their potential war bring ruin to the trees. Krogier is the eldest child born to the tribes eldest independent clan of Druids, their customs and training differing from the tribes many hunters. His communion with nature was deeply associated with the animals and beasts of the forest. Born with a strong body he was also trained by necessity to wield a weapon in the forests defense.
Raiders from the frozen north, Greedy humans from Averland to the east, and an ever present mire of rot have slowly creeped up to the Forests edge. The decay could not be bested or slowed but the humans could. Raiders from other tribes making their homes in the northernmost reaches of the Black Forest were ruthless. They would kill any animal they crossed, butcher the natives gathering in peace, even burn whole acres of forestland just to clear a patch for their towers and homes. A betrayal that was often punished.
Krogier has lost kin to the raids, the humans, to illnesses previously unknown, and could abide it no longer. On an ill fated raid upon one of the keeps brought up by the raiders his party had been ambushed, slaughtered, herded into the untraveled southlands of the forest rife with rotting trees and the stench of corpses. Routed and left to die he wandered the forests path. A cave amid the hills offered sanctuary from a growing storm as he ran, weapons in hand, to the entrance prepared to die. Abominations had stalked the hilltops for months. Inside he saw it. Weakened but not cowed was a brown bear larger than any he had seen. Its fur was matted with blood, mud, den littered with rotting meat it had been forced to consume.
The Denmother. A legendary story told by his ancestors had spoken of the titanic bear said to have birthed the species common to the forests now. Even at a glance Krogier would say he felt its noble spirit stare in defiance of yet another mere intruder to its dieing domain. Armed and armored he was a threat to be crushed.
The weapons were cast aside in an instant as the awe of such a being filled his spirit with new hope to survive as it had against the odds. His druidic teachings urged him to speak and he did, his voice carrying to the Denmother with clarity. Months would pass as they built trust, feeding the bear with what little there was to forage until at last she could move. Could stand to her full height. To roam again. Weeks of fighting brought no relief from the pestilence consuming the forest and both knew something must be done.
The answers were not here, amid the mush of what was once home. Together they set out on the roads to learn of this unbreakable force smothering the trees.
Together, Krogier and the Denmother, joined along with any kind soul that had news of ill tidings. Any in need could depend on their aid in return for information. Weapons - Every weapon he wields represents a friend lost on the road.
Throwing dagger x5 - Hatchling crows lost to careless poachers felling trees on the border.
Warhammer - Belanor Rockblood, a hunter from the Black Forests. Killed in an avalanche.
Heavy mallet - Maira, the humble cook of his tribe. Tenderized meat and men.
Longsword - Char, the wolfhound that served his parents its entire life. Faithful to the end.
Woodsman axe - Arlo the cutter, single minded warrior peerless in combat. Brought low by a strange infection. Killed by his own hand in defiance.
Shortsword - Karras. Even among the stalkers of his tribe she was exceptional beyond comparison. Had it not been for the sheer number of the raiders, none doubted she would have returned.
Magic
Runic tattoos - Bound by druidic magic from his homeland, Krogier channels the energy of the earth itself into his body to enhance his natural abilities; Increased strength, speed, endurance, regenerative abilities. The tattoos under his skin and on the Denmothers fur alter in color depending on which enhancement is active.
Beast tongues - Krogier speaks to animals of all kinds.
Other
Denmother - Many criticize Krogiers lack of a formal name for his colossal companion. They are largely ignored. The great bear stands over 6feet when on all fours, towering over most everyone when reared up. With druidic tattoos and glyphs coating its fur, it can swipe through heavy armor like paper and bite through steel. Who would dare name something so majestic?
Race: Human Personality To a stranger, Dirron would seem rather strange for a knight. He cares not for the formalities and restrictions of class. He has often been seen escaping from highborn gatherings to take part in drink with commonfolk in the average tavern. He has never forgotten where he came from and while he fights because it is the right thing to do, his mind is almost always on the money. One can see that he is not of noble birth, his speech and mannerisms unlike that of any highborn son of Averland or The Imperium. In truth, Dirron has more in common with a mercenary than a knight but it bothers him very little. In truth, to those who look down on him, he relishes the opportunity to brag about his knighthood and wealth. To those who see past his origins, he is a simple and kind man who can be an invaluable ally and rather fun drinking buddy.
History
From a squire in Averland to a monster hunter in exotic lands, Dirron has come a long way from his humble beginnings. Born to servants of a lord, Dirron was made a squire to Sir Leofric Nidhelm, a rather unorthodox knight. Most of his time as a squire revolved around learning how to fight various monsters rather than the traditional knight practices of protecting the realm from more human threats. While the kingdom of Averland was focusing on maintaining order in a world on the brink of collapse, Dirron and Leofric were scouring forests for witches, ghouls, and other abominations.
It was when Dirron turned twenty-two that the apprentice became the master after a brush with a corrupted wyvern and her hatchlings left Leofric mortally wounded. Dirron, with no way to bring help in time and no means of healing his teacher, slew the wyvern and carried Leofric back to the nearest village. Dirron sustained serious injuries but managed to survive thanks to the work of the the vilage healer. Leofric was not as fortunate, after three days of fighting, Leofric passed away in his sleep. Now alone in this world, Dirron vowed to scour the world and destroy all that the decay had placed in this world.
Seven years later and Dirron has taken that vow and made it into a business. Traveling to lands far and wide, he has taken contracts out on monsters, corrupted or not, making voin off their corpses. He has recieved a medal from the Emperor of The Imperium, a knighthood from the king of Averland, and has been named a friend of the people in numerous League cities. Outside of the human lands he has made a considerable profit as well, only spending it on essentuals and towards his family and homestead in Averland. It was only when he heard of Venridge and The Conclave did he truly remember his oath and returned to his native lands to answer the call.
Weapons
Arn's Wrath- a bastard sword named after Dirron's former mount Arnthor, a black-beaked hippogriff.
Silver Dagger- for quick dispatches of various cursed and undead species as well as mortals. A recent addition to his arsenal from his exploits in Nimoria.
Magic
Repulse- by channeling a small amount of arcane energy, Dirron can releasr it as a swift blast of force, sending enemies reeling back.
Candlelight- A ball of light hovers above the casters head, illuminating the area around him as well as those he casts it upon.
Other Dirron's traveling pouch holds various trophies from his past adventures. From vampire teeth to a petrified gorgon eye. Each item has a story that he'd love to tell given the chance. Post Example
"Ser Tavner, I don't see how watchin a stable from within a bush will help us slay th-", an armored hand came over the mouth of Edmun before he could finish. It was well into the night and out of the entire village, only Dirron and Edmun remained outside. The light of the fireplaces within the villagers home looked so inviting to the farm boy who was forced to sit out with this wandering monster slayer. Pulling down the knight's hand he spoke once more, "Remin me why I have to be here, mi lord?"
"Because you claim to have the most experience with a weapon, right?", Dirron didn't turn his gaze from the stables which houses the only two horses in the village. "Well yes, if ya countin swingin a pitchfork behind me pa's home experence", his hands began to shake at the thought of having to fight whatever was terrorizing his village. "First, it is 'experience'. Second, you need not fight, only keep it busy till I'm ready", Dirron began to unsheath his blade as he noticed activity in the stables.
"Experience...what's that again?"
"When you been doing something long enough that its easy for you"
"Why not just say that then?"
Dirron chuckled slightly before grabbing Edmun by the shoulder, "I said the same thing at first, now go" with a quick shove he threw Edmum from the bushes and towards the stables where the young man began to call out to whatever was within. "Oi! You in thea! Come out now or I'll stick you good, ya hear?!", there was a short silence before the door of the stable was thrown open, revealing a dog-like creature with a pair of large serpentine fangs. "By the fuckin gods! Help! Someone help!", Edmun began to stagger back as the beast started to snap at him as it closed the distance. In one sudden motion the creature lunged forward and onto Edmun. Now standing atop the poor boy, the abomination snarled and snapped at the farm boy, attempting to take out his throat but was stopped by the pitchfork shaft being between them.
Edmun's fear was beginning to get the better of him, his grip on the pitchfork began to come loose as the creatures bites grew closer each time. As quick as it began, the encounter came to an end when seemingly out of nowhere, the beast found itself skewered on Dirron's sword, held above his head for a short moment before being slammed to the ground, pinned there by the sword still in his body. Without wasting a single moment, a silver dagger plunged into the heart of the animal, ending its reign of terror on the village. "Told you, I just needed you to keep it busy. You did good, Edmun", Dirron pulled the young man up to his feet and was greeted by the sight of the whole village outside their homes and surrounding the two heroes and their vanquished foe. One of them, the village elder, step forward, "You have our gratitude mi lord, how did you know it was such a creature?"
"I really had no idea. I knew it was a vampiric creature, probably cursed rather than undead. It only attacked livestock which is why I had you all remain indoors with fires lit. Creatures like these are primal and stay in the shadows. Once I knew this I figured all I'd need to do was stab the heart with silver"
"Will there be more of them?"
"I think not, the past attacks indicated only one of them stalked this area. I suggest you gather all the silver in the village and have them melted down into silver daggers, as many as can be made"
"If we do that lord, we'd have no way to pay you"
"Elder, all I require from you is a bottle of mead and directions to the nearest port city"
Personality While Garren has been known to exaggerate his past exploits, and even lie about some of them, he is generally a very reliable and trustworthy person. Though, he is exceptionally defensive regarding both his past and the true nature of his magical abilities, and will quickly avoid the topic should someone catch on to his fables and try to pry deeper. For that same reason he refuses to remove his armor, afraid his true identity will be discovered and afraid of being mistaken for an undead should his magic corrode his body and face (Though the corrosion effects are temporary).
In battle, Garren often fights as if he has a death-wish. Rarely backing away from a fight, the proud ex-gladiator will stand against almost anything that threatens his life or the life of his companions. That isn't to say that Garren will blindly charge into battle, but if he believes his death will save lives or offer glory in any sense, he might just take the risk.
History
Born in the small town of Hramerstead in Sirrendyl, Garren lived a relatively peaceful life wanting nothing more than to be a paladin of the Lawbringer Order, like his mother once was. When he came of age, the order accepted him for training and so his first real adventure began. For years he trained, but could not produce magic - and what was a paladin without their magic? Garren pleaded to the gods for the ability to heal others, and one of them listened. He was granted the ability to heal, but at the cost of needing to drain the life of another creature in order to accomplish the task. Once the paladin order discovered this heretical gift, Garren was exiled from the order and was threatened with execution should he ever return to the sacred ground of their temples.
Garren fell into a depression following his exile, angered and disgraced by his own insolence. He had begged the gods for his gift of healing, but now he begged only to be killed where he stood. The local arena seemed like the perfect place to be for this. However, Garren claims that once he set foot in the arena he instantaneously felt at home, his spirit emboldened with the strength to fight. It makes one wonder just how much of what he says is true.
In reality, he was never allowed into the paladin order despite his mother's achievements. Angered by having been denied entrance to the Lawbringer Order, Garren saw the arena as the perfect outlet for his emotions. His first arena fight was a sort of opening act that preceded a duel between "Alban Le Cannibale" and "Hanne Vulkaan", two well-known gladiatiors at the time. Garren pleased the crowd well enough that he continued to receive challenges, and so he fought again and again, match after match, growing in popularity for four years before he became known as "Garren The Unbreakable".
For the last three years of his life as a gladiator, Garren believed that he was helping people to forget their worries and distract them from their fear of the rot. Though, as it would turn out, the arenas may have done too well at their job. Sirrendyl fell into shambles not long before Garren heeded the call and embarked on his journey to join The Conclave at Venridge, leaving Garren to believe he had failed his homeland.
Weapons
Knochenbrecher - Otherwise known as "Bone Crusher", this foreign-made flanged mace is the choice weapon of Garren. Possessing the ability to extend into a deadly flail and retract back into a mace at the press of a button, this devastating weapon was specially designed for the spectacle of the arena.
The Eviscerator - Named after its previous owner, The Eviscerator is a falchion which shares many similarities to a bastard or 'hand-and-a-half' sword. Garren took this sword from a gladiator he defeated in the arena, whom called himself "Takarr The Eviscerator", in return for sparing his life.
Magic
Overextension - When Garren reaches the physical limits of a normal human, he can force his body to withstand and keep himself in the fight. Although this ability provides an excess of adrenaline, it also causes a strain on his body. If used for a prolonged period of time this ability will damage Garren's body and cause physical deterioration.
Sapping Touch - Garren can touch another creature to sap the life energy out of them and restore his own, reversing the deteriorating effects of Overextension. Freshly killed corpses can be used to some effect, but aren't as efficient as draining live creatures. When used to reverse deterioration, this ability will exhaust Garren depending on how much energy he consumes to repair his body.
Other
Eisen Haut - More than just armor, Garren's Eisen Haut has become a sort of home over the years he spent as a gladiator. Enchanted with magic that allows the armor to self-repair after battle, Garren hasn't removed the Eisen Haut since the day he first donned the armor.
Post Example The roar of the crowd was deafening, and the sunlight blinding through the hefty metal gate. Garren's heart pounded, his blood rushed, his armor clanked. Never before had he fought an opponent as skilled as that which he would fight on this day - the King of Sirrendyl's own champion, "Ghyral Van Kroulger, The Crimson Axe of Fauldusk". Taking a deep breath, Garren turned to look at the only other person in the room. She was plainly dressed, with simple armor over her clothes and face hidden beyond a visored helm, wielding a halberd and standing at attention against the wall. Drawing his Knochenbrecher and gripping its handle firmly, Garren spoke. "I'm ready. Signal tha gate."
The woman then turned to face the gate, pulled out a horn and gave the signal. Shortly after the gate began to rise, clanking as it did. Once the gate was high enough Garren walked out into the light, and the roar of the crowd became overwhelming. Slowly the monotonous roar transitioned into a chant calling the name of the king's champion. Eyeing the massive crowd, Garren banged his armored wrist against his chestplate to make a loud clanking sound three times - he believed it to be good luck - and twirled his knochenbrecher in his hand. His heartbeat rose, his breathing quickened, and his eyes narrowed upon the gate at the arena's opposite end.
Several minutes passed, and the gate did not rise. No champion appeared from within. The crowd grew quieter and quieter, until finally Garren let out a frustrated roar. "COME OOON!" He bellowed, banging his fist against his chest three times once more. "FACE ME, YOU COWARD!" He continued to yell, pressing the switch on the hilt of his Knochenbrecher to release the chain and extend the mace into a flail.
By now, the crowd had begun to whisper. Some had already begun to leave their seats and head for the exits. Then, just as Garren turned to observe the crowd another horn sounded and his opponent's gate began to rise. However, the gladiator that emerged from within was no champion of the king. The crowd booed and hissed, and Garren was outraged. Turning to the king, whom was watching from the shaded seats, Garren threw down his knochenbrecher and yelled. "Your champion is naught but a coward, and you are but a fraud! You have no respect for the gladiators code! No honor-"
"Horse shit." Came a voice.
"Excuse me?" Said Garren.
"Your story. It's horse shit." The voice replied.
Turning away from the entranced crowd around him, Garren turned to look toward the back of the tavern in which he was sitting, spotting a man and two women clad in armor sharing a pint with one another. Returning his attention back to the drunkards whom had been listening to his tale, Garren began waving his hand to shoo them off. Standing up, he leisurely walked over to the table which hosted the individuals that so rudely interrupted his story time.
"Alright, which one of you was it? Just who do ya think you are, huh?" Garren questioned, eyeing the hands of all three of them. Their hands did not move.
"Van Kroulger would never back down from a fight, and you should know that." Said the man, glaring angrily at Garren from under his helm.
"Not to mention he got her first name wrong..." Retorted one of the women. "Typical, for such a big talker."
"Hey... hold on for just one fucken moment. I'll ask again. Who tha hell are you? And, eh, for that matter... how tha hell do ya know if my story is horse shit anyways?" Garren replied, slightly annoyed by their rather nonchalant tones.
"He doesn't even recognize her. One of the few surviving gladiators of Sirrendyl's collapse, and certainly one of the most heroic of all. Apparently saving the King's life makes you a coward, or am I mistaken?"
"Like I said, typical. I bet I could cut him down right now, wouldn't be such hot shit then, would he?"
The third woman then raised her hand to quiet her friends, looking to Garren. Through her visor he could see nearly emotionless eyes staring back, eyes which he recognized almost immediately.
"Van Kroulger? It's been a while" He stated, annoyance suddenly absent from his voice.
"Figured you'd be happier to see me, you lousy bastard." She replied with a sly smile. "Thought you'd talk some serfs drunk off their asses into believing I was some sort of coward, did you? Or have you forgotten I gave you the fight of your life, and am the very reason you were given that epithet which adorns your name to this very day, sir "unbreakable"?"
"Ah, no, well you know how things are. The taller the tale, the better it sounds." He said with a chuckle.
"Mm... indeed. Just don't forget the part where the dragons attacked and we put aside our differences to fight them, aye?" Van Kroulger replied, the four of them laughing together.
