[CHAR] Sword and Dungeon: An Adventurer's Guild-based Fantasy RP

Characters:

• Hyseleia Erenhart
• Quille
• Renard Benoit
• Calphinde
• Lysianna Bren
• Eustace Wyndham
• Nevaris Moonshard
• Rylia Ainsberg
• Soruha Harehk

[Rune_Alchemist]

Snake mage

• Name:
  Hyseleia Erenhart
• Age:
  23
• Gender:
  Female
• Race:
  Python Lamia
• Rank:
  Iron
• Appearance:
  If somehow, the first thing people notice about Hyseleia is her upper torso, they would find a strikingly beautiful, somewhat large woman in quite a few areas. Casually standing at almost six feet at a resting position, Hyseleia possesses long black hair that falls to her waist with a magically preserved flower -a gift from her father from one of his adventures - woven tied in place on her left temple along with a headpiece that fits snugly around her head. Long, pointed ears that twitch slightly in movement if curious or attempting to listen to something. Predatory crimson eyes with serpentine pupils and a pale complexion hidden under a simple dress and a thick warm looking hood that drapes across her shoulders and upper arms.
  
  Oh, and scales...?
  
  Typically, though, what most people would first notice is that her body past her waist is that of a large serpent, covered in a thick layer of greyish scales. Indeed, Hyseleia is one of the Lamia race. A Carnivorous race of folks not often seen, especially this far north. The tip of her tail is adorned with a simple jewel and around her waist a simple skirt.
• Personality:
  Hyseleia's personality can best be described as difficult at best. Not that she's unfriendly, at least she doesn't consider herself as such. Rather, spending fourteen of her formative years living alone with her mother and occasional visits from her father in a far off forest with only the animals she hunted, encouraged by her mother to be as...lets say, merciless as possible has colored her personality quite a bit. Driven, motivated, and tends to have a 'might makes right' view of the world. Ask for her opinion on something and she'll give it in the most blunt and brutal way possible. Ask her to do something? She'll do it, though not without commenting on how lazy you are for making her do it. She always has something to say, really, and she is not shy about sharing her rather brutally honest and brutal way of desiring to handle conflict.
  
  In broad strokes though, in her day to day she generally is a pleasant sort if you can handle words sharper than her fangs. While she does like spending time alone, she doesn't shy away from people joining her or finding someone to converse or hang out with. Often times, she finds a warm spot or fire to curl up by to read, drink, or simply laze about.
  
  And, on the off chance someone happens to be nearby, they may just find themselves occupied for the next hour being in a scaled prison. Not that anyone would ever admit that they don't want such a thing.
• Brief Backstory:
  Born to a Lamia mother in a forest in rural Estival, much of Hyseleia's early life and formative years were spent with just her mother, herself, and her dad when he wasn't busy out adventuring. Much of her life as a child was spent learning magic from her mother - a Lamia of some dubious origins who never learned magic from an official institution. A witch, or at least, a user of magic that wasn't trusted or looked well upon. Not that she concerned herself with such thoughts, no. She was too busy playing, learning, and generally just doing what she wanted.
  
  Occasionally playing pranks on adventurers and other folks passing through the forest, or simply watching them with keen curiosity.
  
  It wouldn't be until she was 14 that she actually got to see the wider world, much at her father behest. And to start with, she was enrolled in Estival's Mage College to lean some proper magic, much to her own chagrin. A serpent dragged out of their home and suddenly forced to adapt to city life. Not that she hated learning, no, she hated the more structured and academic nature of it all. It was no wonder then, perhaps her personality took a bit of a troublesome turn. While she did ultimately excel academically, she was always a source of trouble for both teachers and other students.
  
  Her time otherwise though, living with her Dad after he took time off from adventuring to raise her properly, was spent joyously. She'd also learn much more about his own exploits as Silver-ranked adventurer. Stories of his adventurers and time spent with his own companions, even if he was never a particularly famous. She took to city life surprisingly well, too, though she still finds it as noisy and the amount of people annoying, especially if they stare too long, since Lamia's are a bit of a rarity. Otherwise she spent her free time reading, sparring with her dad, and well...continuing her streak of playing pranks or otherwise messing with people. Especially those ignorant or more fearful or curious about Lamia's.
  
  Eventually she'd graduate from Estival's mages college with fairly high marks, and when presented with the option of returning to the forest her mother lived in or perhaps, making her own mark as an adventurer well...she would choose the latter, perhaps out of some silly sentiment and sense of adventure her father instilled in her. Not that she'd ever admit to such a childish desire.
• Equipment:
  Silver Floral Staff: A large, silver colored staff inlaid a large blue gemstone meant to be held firmly in her tail. A floral pattern is engraved on it and is of course, what she channels most of her magic through.
• Skills:

Hyseleia has a natural affinity for the water element, and as such, is naturally drawn to magic of the water nature. Often times she uses it to effectively create and manipulate water in a mostly violent manner. While she does minor in a handful of other areas, shes not particularly skilled in such areas, and is quite lacking in any support or defensive ability. Such things are both boring and ill suited towards her particular style of fighting. Her mother has also instilled her with a knowledge of some perhaps, things that would be considered a bit taboo or things that would be frowned upon knowing, though she has no interest in pursuing such knowledge herself.

A handful of more common spells

• Hydra's Volley
  A simple spell that creates small fist sized spheres of water and launches them at targets, battering them with highly pressurized and fast moving water.
• Serpents Lash
  A spell that forms water into large whip like streams that lash out towards opponents. Useful for bludgeoning and also restraining targets if need be. She can currently create up to five at once.
• Serpents Embrace
  A more defensive close quarters spell to deter anyone getting to close. Coats her tail in a protective layer of water before lashing out towards a target or targets and crushing or grappling something with it.
• Crescent Fang
  Creates an incredibly thin crescent shaped blade of fast moving, highly pressurized water that cuts through things. Size can be adjusted depending on how much mana is expended.
• Coiling Riptide
  A spell that one may say requires concentration and likely her most complex and exhausting spell. Creates a fast moving halo of water above Hyseleia. In a resting state it slowly builds up more and more speed. Once it reaches enough speed, however, the spell slingshots a highly pressurized and fast moving drill of water towards a designated target. Once launched, the spell returns to its passive state, ramping up speed once again.

[Raineh Daze]

Dark Elf Hunter - Quille

• Name: Quille. The E is not silent.
• Age: ~300; like many elves (and dark elves in particular), tracking a year of birth has never stood out as necessary or helpful; once you’re old enough then everyone in the community is just used to your being there and a contributing adult. For those who live underground, there’s even less point and religious ceremonies tend to be celebrated on the basis of events rather than the calendar.
• Gender: Female
• Race: Dark Elf. This means, like all other dark elves, that Quille can see in complete darkness, although without true colour, but makes her extra susceptible to sudden changes in light level.
• Rank: Steel. It has been officially noted that this is not an accurate reflection of Quille’s skill or experience, but rather a limitation due to unfamiliarity with (and continuing adaptation to) surface environs. She is, in the event an adventure somehow winds up deep underground and in true darkness, to be officially considered silver rank for its duration.
• Appearance: Like all dark elves, Quille has a comparatively unusual skintone; in her case, the purple hue is slightly more dominant than the grey, giving her complexion more of a pale lilac appearance than anything. Definitely pale for a dark elf. This goes for her eye colour, too, a pleasant amaranth pink. Her hair, quite unsurprisingly, is also white rather than some shade of silver, something all too easy to examine as even the tightly-wound braid reaches nearly to the floor. One unflattering comparison was that she looks like a normal dark elf that’s been washed one too many times.
  
  In terms of physique, she has the usual slender athleticism associated with almost all elven warriors or hunters, albeit at a rather unusual 6’2, an eyebrow-raising height for one of the firstborn – who, as a rule, very rarely stray from a range of 5’ to 6’, without difference by sex or race.
  
  For the most part, Quille’s attire is surprisingly light, given Estival’s usual climate: thin spider silk, oddly lacking in much of the way of dye and their natural pale grey, but with surprisingly elaborate patterns sewn into them in silk or – often – some metallic thread. It’s not that she doesn’t have cold-weather clothing – the fur scarf that remains wrapped around her lower face at all times shows that – but as she tells anyone who wonders: the frigid chill of the far north extends deep, deep below the surface, and the climate here is positively balmy in comparison. Dressing like she’s near some geological source of warmth is the only sensible option.
  
  From what little of her face remains uncovered, she almost certainly has the usual refined elven beauty, it’s just hard to see much beyond “those are some mighty pretty eyelashes you have”. Quille’s quite embarrassed by her teeth; like a small minority of her kind, they’re all noticeably sharp. And her ears are, of course, long and pointy – yes, they're also on the long side, that doesn't mean that overly touchy adventurers should play with them.
• Personality: Quille isn’t just quiet physically, she’s a quiet person in general, leaving the business of starting conversations to others and often needing to repeat herself because she’s just not speaking loudly enough. That’s not to say she’s rude or disinterested; the elf watches other people keenly and always answers politely when spoken to.
  
  As is typical for a dark elf found wandering around further south, she’s quite interested in new experiences and new sights, although this only infrequently extends to the local cuisine. As much as she’d want to eat with others, the diet frequently disagrees with her, and exposing her teeth… well, she got more than enough attention when she first arrived.
• Brief Backstory: Dark elf society, despite the harsh environment, isn’t as hostile or uncultured as some southerners like to imagine, and elves that choose to become hunters are actually a minority – a prestigious minority, but not a massive contingent either. Nor is it something that tends to be pushed from parent to child, unlike many other specialisations; it demands a certain natural talent and inclination that can’t be forced.
  
  Quille was one such child with this talent, and rather than follow her parents’ more domestic specialisations – and such things really are specialisations, not careers, with an elf’s endless life and the way the tunnels of the north enforce a migratory lifestyle – she was picked up by the older hunters and taught their ways. How to move silently, how to track and find prey in the deeps, how to kill – and how to do all of these while running away, or fighting for her life when it went wrong.
  
  It was something that she got very good at.
  
  And then, as occasionally happened, she wondered about the warm and sunny lands in their cultures’ songs and stories; the stars and other celestial objects that they can almost never see; the great constructions on the surface and in the dwarves’ halls. So she made sure to find someone to learn the necessary languages from, replaced her worn set of knives in their entirety, and went through the long journey up to the top and then steadily south, through Barukstaed and then into Estival.
  
  This… didn’t go perfectly. She, after all, had nothing in the way or money or tradeable goods on her, and there were some extremely difficult misunderstandings involving livestock that needed to be resolved before she was pointed at the adventurers’ guild as a way to both pay the restitution necessary – a much more practical punishment than imprisoning a baffled and heavily armed elf – and gather the funds she needs before continuing her journey in full.
  
  Quille hasn’t been in the guild long at all, only just starting to find her place amongst the other adventurers and learn about Estival in detail.
• Equipment: Given her background, Quille operates lightly equipped for an adventurer planning to get in the thick of a melee at some point: soft leather, and a very thorough assortment of knives. Armour, in her prior profession, is almost useless compared to not getting caught in the first place, and it’s more a matter of wearing something that can deal with scrapes and sharp rocks and go under actually warm clothing.
  
  Fully half her knives are tools of one kind or another, but the rest cut a neat split between very thin and very pointed daggers, and wicked single-edged things. Interestingly enough, only half of the full set appear to be metal, the others are reworked teeth of some underground monster.
• Skills: First and foremost, Quille was – is, despite her interest in the surface – a dark elf hunter. This is not the skill set and job of someone who tracks and stalks herbivores or fowl that they don’t want to scatter and run, or a grand hunting party to bring down more aggressive quarry. It’s the skills of someone who expects, given the slightest slip, to be in a fight for her life against a raging lithovore that could grind her to dust, against a predator eager to eat her just as much as she wants it, or the mushroom eaters that can somehow survive this environment.
  
  Her movements must make no sound, mustn’t disturb the environment at all; she cannot even be a glimpse in the vision of those creatures that have sight – whether by speed or by remaining in a blindspot. Every strike must be a killing strike into somewhere vulnerable, no matter how protected or hidden. The floor might be too dangerous, or not even there, but there are walls and ceilings too.
  
  And then begins the process of butchering and taking everything back home.
  
  These skills… mostly translate to the above-ground world, but outside of the perpetual snow and extended darkness of the northlands, there are always things that she’s still accounting for and not used to. Leaves. Foliage in general, in all honest. Things not echoing, a sense Quille has never fully accounted for. Shadows are a big one that she slips up on, that she can be seen without being seen, and worked stone is a lot harder to get a grip on (let alone wide open spaces, although caverns and the occasional above-ground hunt don’t make that too crippling).
  
  Although she knows magic, it’s all of a practical bent: cleaning, cooking, creating fires that burn with no fuel to save on things too precious to waste. Some measure of her normal silence is magical, and the ease with which her knives can carve through rock and metal, but the spells are something she uses so constantly and with such ease that to catch her ever casting them in a big display would never happen. Only when a dark elf can cast these spells with a word and keep them going for the length of a hunt are they truly considered a hunter.
  
  Quite unsurprisingly, although she knows Elven (in all its major dialects) and the languages of Barukstaed and Estival reasonably well (enough to puzzle through Veltish), Quille knows nothing of Talderian or its daughter languages, like Ithillane.

Signup Fun

For guild receptionist Ervan Seliac, it had been a slow day. There had been the usual early morning rush of junior adventurers picking up the local tasks but on a rainy day like this things tended to be quiet, and the quiet, bookish man was never the most popular of the receptionists to go up to. Fine by him – it gave more time to catch up on his studies: they could always use more healers and it paid much better than manning the desks.

With the polished tile approaching the counters and the well-lit main hall, it was easy to tell when someone was coming, even with his nose buried in a textbook. There was just a distracting drip, drip, drip…

When he looked up and adjusted his glasses, there was someone standing there, an awkward-looking figure with a slight frown marring what was visible of her features. An elf, obviously an elf with those long ears, figure swallowed under a rough, leathery mantle, the drip coming from the rain pooling off of her cloak.

“Ah… how can I help you?” How long had she been standing there waiting? Ervan leant forward slightly to try and gauge from the size of the puddle. That long? How had she crept up?

Her response was a quiet murmur. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that.”

“The guard have advised me to become an adventurer. The magistrate gave me this,” her voice was still soft and distinctly accented, but a pale hand carefully emerged and placed a sealed scroll on the desk.

Ervan took his time checking and breaking the seal before reading the contents – nothing unusual, dock a fraction of the bearer’s pay as fines, or report back to the authorities if they quit early – and tried to ignore the way her eyes seemed to constantly bore into the top of his head.

“This all seems to be in order. There’s some paperwork and an assessment to complete, if you don’t mind following me, miss…?”

“Quille.”

The short trip through to one of the guild offices, normally overboard for a simple onboarding but necessary with the additional legal complexities, was unnerving. More than once, the receptionist felt the need to stop and check that she was following, only to find the tall figure exactly one pace behind. It was just too silent.

Most of the paperwork was simple: name, agreeing to the pay garnishment, and so on. When it came to skills…

“We’d normally start any newcomers at copper rank, but if you have any prior experience or applicable skills, we can take that into account and arrange an assessment,” he explained, giving her a smile.

“I am a hunter,” there was a definitive tone that hadn’t been present in her previous answers.

“Ah, like deer? Or perhaps elk, maybe mammoths…?” Ervan clarified. She had been apprehended for poaching, and it was clearer in the office’s magical illumination that her heritage was of the northern folk. Definitely not a complete novice, but…

“When visiting the surface. I normally hunt anything beneath it, but I like karakmeli the best.”

“That would be…?”

“I think the translation is… rock eater?” Quille dug about beneath her cloak and carefully placed a cleaver on the table. The blade was odd, with a distinct metallic gleam to it despite being otherwise a creamy ivory; the blade and handle were carved from a single piece, leather roughly wrapped around it to provide more grip, “Teeth are better than steel for blades, very long lasting. But hard to work with.”

That was not a creature that he had realised could exist – one where a single tooth could be reworked into such a sizeable implement with a ready cutting edge. Definitely skilled enough for monster-hunting work, if that was Quille’s normal prey, but they would need a full assessment.

“I’ll see who we have available to test your skills.”

---

The assessment was easy to arrange; the Venne branch always had a few silver ranks hanging around and even a gold-ranked adventurer today, and they were happy to give up a little bit of time in exchange for some free drinks later. Despite the weather, they filed out to a nearby common, a few bored city folk lining up to watch what was going on.

When Quille shucked her cloak, one of the adventurers let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of knives.”

But nothing really in the way of armour, which went some way to explain the hunter’s silent movement… even if the knives ought to offset it somehow.

As a self-professed stealth specialist, the direct test of her combat ability was postponed, starting with an actual test of those stealth capabilities. One or two at a time acting as prey, while the others performed as examiners – and a mage they had wrangled doing her best to fake some cover or interesting features without ruining the common beyond their ability to restore.

The results were odd. Quille’s skills were clearly polished, refined, and tracking her was a veritable headache; if she started in someone’s blindspot it was very hard to catch a glimpse. But she’d get caught out by the oddest things. A novice might not notice the sudden crunch of leaves or the snap of a twig, or the slight hint of a shadow when the sun started to come out, but the more experienced adventurers in this rank could reliably pick it up in time.

When the roles were swapped, there were similar oddities, occasions where she might instantly pinpoint where someone was approaching from, but have to take longer to narrow it down when the terrain was open or muffled wood. Not a problem for your average expedition, but in a high ranked one…

There was a frustrated cast once again to Quille’s brow when they concluded after the combat assessment – her knife fighting skills, at least, were much above the expectation for a stealth specialist concentrating on instant takedowns, although much of that was a slipperiness and difficulty in pinning the woman down rather than out-and-out engagement.

“Does your guild have a large basement?”

Ervan scratched his head. It had several – there was lots to store, even if you only counted the beer and wine cellars. “It does, why?”

“One more test. There, in the dark.”

All the odd flaws finally came together once – after a promise of another round of drinks – the assessment was repeated, down there amongst the wine racks. It wasn’t completely perfect; they didn’t have an equally subterranean group to really contest her, only old Hjalmar. But with much more controlled light sources, or true darkness, and no plants…

Ervan’s wallet suffered at the extra round of drinks he’d had to pay out to make sure his girly scream was forgotten.

The strange, quiet elf was admitted to the guild as a steel rank that evening, as many of the usual crowd as possible making sure to buy her drinks and get to know her.

Against alcohol, she barely even rated a copper.

[Eisenhorn]

Renard Benoit

• Name: Renard Benoit
• Age: 29
• Gender: Male
• Race: Hundi
• Rank: Steel
• Appearance: Renard is a lean example of the Hundi people, around 5'4" tall.
• Personality: Renard is truly a byproduct of his parent's best efforts, bringing him reasonably in line with the traits Hundi are best known for. Honest to a fault, rarely even omitting things when asked directly, he does his best to maintain a cheery presence despite sometimes (oftentimes) being a bearer of bad news after an adventure or job ran into unforeseen problems. He treats anyone he is working with as fast friends, and is quick to put past events opposing someone behind him if it was a matter of work. Mercenary and adventure work could lead him to working with people he had fought not too long ago, so holding grudges was a hard thing to do while staying true to his path in life. He would face each challenge, job, or adventure with all he was able to muster, and once it was done enjoy the free time and coin this lifestyle earned. His view of life is one of fighting well, living well, and if need be, dying well.
  
  Even in the middle of a fight, be it from a job or finding himself in another honorable duel, he keeps up this friendly, chatty behavior. He'll make remarks on an opponent's fighting style, metaphorically or literally poking at weaknesses with a grin and complimenting skilled opposition just as readily. He tries to avoid getting worked up in anger, or letting someone get into his head, though this is hardly foolproof for someone who wears his emotions as openly as he does. Still, by his own estimate, he considers himself friendly and easy enough to get along with. Whether everyone agrees with that or not is another matter completely, but as far as Renard is concerned that is beyond his control. He will do his best in life, and as long as he keeps doing so he can look himself in the eye and be content, though he won't rest on his laurels and will keep driving for every higher heights.
• Brief Backstory: Renard is the son of two Hundi, his mother a knight in a minor Thaln house, having bested the best of the house guard to earn that position. His father was a mercenary who had been bested by his mother in a duel during his ongoing coming of age journey, who had joined a mercenary company joining in on the violence in Thaln for profit. The two would elect to depart Thaln before Renard was born, both their patron groups drifting into actions that the two stubborn, proud Hundi could not be party to and having a soon to be born son to raise. They returned to northern Ithillin, putting distance between them and their past, and soon after Renard was born.
  
  Renard was raised with two different outlooks, though both colored by the Hundi way of life, as both his parents continued their own lives while raising him. His father, who had taken up a post as a local town guard, drilled him in the usefulness of hunting, of being able to be self sufficient, and a mercenary sort of honor in staying true to a job once agreed, no matter what. His mother, who had taken to assisting in the day to day running and rule of the town, drilled him in the use of spear, as well as tactics when fighting with multiple allies of varying skills. He had inherited his father's spry speed and sharp eyes, though she made sure to reinforce a more traditional knightly honor in her son to offset her husband's meddling. Despite butting heads routinely, they genuinely cared for each other and their son, ensuring Renard had a, by and large, untroubled if intensive upbringing.
  
  Upon reaching his sixteenth birthday, Renard's family and friends came together to celebrate before he struck out on his coming of age journey. He chose to head north into Estival, much to the relief of his parents who had been worried he would choose to head south to find out more about his parent's past, and after receiving several gifts and well wishes, he departed with all his worldly belongings slung over a shoulder. Initially, he almost immediately ran into adventurer's while they were on the job, an Iron rank leading several Copper ranked adventurers on a mission that Renard accidentally finished for them, challenging the bandits after they tried to shake him down. Rather than immediately challenge the adventurers, he found himself sharing a campfire with them, talking about the Adventurer's Guild, the perks and lives they led as part of it.
  
  This chance meeting set the tone for Renard's life, who immediately struck out for the capitol on his own since the group he met had a few other jobs to take care of before returning to report their success. Renard engaged in no small number of duels, ultimately coming out of them victorious and with a growing understanding of Estival by the time he reached the capitol and made a beeline for the Guild itself, intent on joining as part of his journey. Sure he could wander aimlessly, and see where fortune and fate took him, but a life as an Adventurer sounded far more appealing, and would give him the chance to actually be recompensed for his time and efforts. He was accepted after initial examinations and trials, assigned the Copper rank as appropriate, and this would begin his long career as an adventurer.
  
  Renard always went for the most challenging jobs his rank would allow, aiming to prove himself and make good on his developing outlook on life, much to the chagrin of some of the less skilled among his rank who he ultimately ended up working with. Not that it stopped him from being friendly with his fellow adventurers, building a reputation of friendly and driven, and would continue pushing to advance in the ranks of the Guild. Reaching Iron in his early twenties, Renard would embrace the wider variety of jobs available to him eagerly, continuing to work steadily on his reputation. He would send regular letters home to his family, corresponding and informing them of his efforts, successes, and defeats, treating it all in stride. He never did end up losing a formal duel that would have led him to being married, something his mother was quietly sad to hear, though he still had plenty of time to have that change so she never brought it up.
  
  Renard's last job as an Iron ranked adventurer would be dealing with bandits who had settled on the Estival/Ithillin border, which should not have been anything unusual for the group of Iron ranked adventurers to handle. It turned out that the reports had not been accurate, and the bandits were more experienced than expected, turning the fight into a rather pitched, dangerous affair. Renard challenged the bandit leader to a duel in an act of desperation to prevent the capture or worse of his allies and him. It took some goading, but the agreement was made, the loser's forces would surrender to the victor, with everything that entailed. His allies were in no shape to argue, and while already worn down from the prior fighting, Renard threw everything he was into the fight. He would rather die than let his allies down, and despite significant injuries, he did manage to lay low the bandit chief for good before he collapsed from exhaustion and injury.
  
  The remaining bandits surrendered, turned over to local guard forces, while the rest of his group helped Renard to a healer so he could recover from his injuries. It was a slow trek back to the capital, though a message reporting the outcome had been sent ahead of them. By the time they got back, Renard had recovered from the worst of his injuries and was able to greet the waiting news in good shape. He had his rank increased to Steel, though he was cautioned to consider other options than a do or die duel in the future, and he celebrated with his fellow adventurers before they moved onto their next jobs.
  
  Renard would continue to prove himself as a Steel ranked adventurer, taking on harder jobs whenever possible, continuing to write home regularly between jobs. He had his eyes set on Silver next, ready and willing to do what he had to in the effort of reaching that next rank in his career, writing eagerly about his excitement and drive to continue bettering himself and reach that next level of recognized capability.
• Equipment:
  
  
  
  • Light Spear - A custom spear commissioned to celebrate Renard's coming of age before departing on the traditional journey to gain valuable experience in both combat and life abroad, the spear is, understandably, the pride and joy of Renard's otherwise modest possessions. Incredibly well balanced, ideal for either one or two handed use depending on the situation and need, and reinforced along its length for both striking with the spear head, in either thrusts or slashes, or striking blows with twirling motions. It was fashioned to suit Renard's preferred style of fighting, and he always keeps the weapon within arm's reach whenever possible.
  • Dagger - A longer example of its kind, with a slight curve and single edge, Renard keeps this blade handy for both utility and combat, though it is otherwise unremarkable.
  • Throwing Knives - A bandolier of knives that Renard picked up after learning how to throw knives as part of tavern games, and he now maintains a respectable number of them in an easy to access manner. They are balanced and made exclusively with throwing in mind and not well suited for actual use in melee fighting, to give him an edge when approaching a fight or catching someone off guard. Plus, they are useful for the aforementioned tavern games to win a few bets or to keep himself entertained.
  • Personal Belongings - Renard typically travels with all his worldly belongings at any given time, which consists of a sleeping roll, small tent (though more of a tarp than tent proper, mostly to keep the rain off him), a comb and grooming supplies for his tail and hair, any money he has earned, as well as a small set of cooking implements for preparing food he either catches or forages while adventuring, or brings with him when going places where forage and hunting is not viable.
• Skills:
  By and far Renard's most developed and noteworthy skill, he is an accomplished wielder of the spear, though by his own admission he would not call himself a master yet. Capable in both one handed use, whether paired with a shield or just to keep an open hand as necessary, or in two handed use as he prefers, the Hundi employs an acrobatic, high mobility style of fighting. Constantly moving, swaying, probing and evaluating his opponent in the opening strikes and skirmishing, he leans on the strengths a spear offers over other weapons of choice and treats each fight like a dance. While ill suited to fighting as part of a tight formation, his style shows its worth in skirmishes and duels where one is not expected to work in tight, shoulder to shoulder tandem.
  
  In addition Renard knows how to use a dagger in close when he can't bring his spear to bear effectively, though this is often in an effort to create space to bring his preferred weapon to bear. He learned to throw knives initially as part of tavern games and ways to pass the time when nothing else needed done, giving him an eye for putting well balanced knives where he wanted them to go. While lacking both the reach and force a proper option for ranged fighting might have, they are quick and handy in a pinch. Beyond this, as far as combat related skills go, he is capable of maintaining combat footing and pacing for extended durations, a combination of endurance and control over his expenditure of stamina, to keep up with opponents he might not otherwise best in sheer skill alone.
  
  Thanks to his father's drills and continued practice, Renard is capable of supporting himself and several allies when cut off, or otherwise unable, to rely on normal supplies. He can put his spear to good use hunting, and he is also capable of foraging and scrounging up food and clean drinking water when its available. Add in his father's cooking lessons as part of this broad skillset and you get a Hundi who is confident in being able to make do far from civilization whenever needed. His mother ensured that he has at least a basic understanding of tactics, though these are fairly straightforward, and he does often end up slotting himself into a battleplan better than coming up with one on his own. At least if that battleplan involves more than bringing everyone's strength to bear directly.

[LaserGunPewPew]

(.)

[The Otter]

Calben

Name: Calaphindë, often called Calben after an unfortunate incident with someone that couldn't entirely read his handwriting and ended up misreading/mispronouncing his name.

Age: Approximately 150

Gender: Male

Race: Elf (Wood/High)

Rank: Copper*

Appearance: Grey-haired, bright eyed, smooth and youthful even by the standards of the ageless elves—despite the obvious intelligence shining within his green gaze, it's clear just looking at him that Calben is a quite young elf. 5'8" tall, thin, and perhaps a bit soft, coupled with the artfully made clothing he wears and lack of any sort of scarring, he does not cut a particularly adventure-y sort of figure. He's clearly physically fit, of course, and holds every weapon he has like he knows how to use it—but he lacks any sign of real life experience or hardship to lend gravitas to his features.

Of note are his curiously short ears for an elf.

Personality: Wide-eyed, idealistic, and absolutely delighting in getting to experience the world beyond his home. Calben clearly has the mind of a scholar, especially given his near-perfect recall of almost everything he witnesses, so long as he pays attention to it. With that comes a drive to learn more, see more, do more—he's a hard worker and doesn't shy away from nearly any challenge put before him, but tales of the capriciousness and flightiness of elves are proven in how he goes about whatever catches his fancy. Woe be to any who expect him to keep paying attention if he should spot some rare alchemical ingredient while they're walking down a trail...

Brief Backstory: Born in the Wood Elven city of Almindon, Calaphindë's father is a skilled archer and bowyer, serving within the city's guard, overseeing some training for them and any who may wish to volunteer for it in times of trouble, and selling his bows on the side; his mother is actually a High Elf, as skilled with magic as is expected of her kindred. The pair oversaw Calaphindë's education as soon as he was able to start, tutoring him in their respective skills while both fostered in him a general love of knowledge and scholarly mindset. His mother taught him of magical spellcraft and alchemy, while his father taught him not only how to fight with bow and spear, but also how to interact with other people, a valuable skill in his own work. His wider family taught him how to hunt, how to survive off the land, the laws of their settlement—all the general education that a young elf of Almindon would be expected to know.

Calaphindë took to most of it well, though not without a few hiccups here and there as he experimented with things he likely shouldn't have.

It has since been some decades since he last saw his mother, as she was called back to the family of her birth, behind Lethienvel, beyond even the settlements that the High Elves had made beyond the Veil. As such, his magical education could be said to have lagged somewhat compared to the more physical or social pursuits passed from his father—though as much of the city learned before he was very old, he never really forgot something that he put his focus on, and it's more a matter of practice. However, perhaps brought on by the same drive that first set his mother to set out so far from the High Elven settlements and come to Almindon, the elf boy was restless. The city and its immediate surroundings were not enough to hold his interest forever, not compared to the stories he'd heard from both his parents, the rest of his family, and the few traders that were allowed to come of the rest of the world beyond their city and their tract of forest, not compared to the tales and histories he could read in the books available to him.

Much like his mother, he was also not one for long goodbyes. With little enough said to ensure he'd be stocked well enough for the journey, Calaphindë set out from Almindon, and as he was in search of adventure, in search of the chance to verify and experience all the things he'd learned of, joined the Estivalian Adventurer's Guild at the first opportunity that presented itself. He quickly learned to be less artistic with his handwriting, after an unfortunately not-Elvish-experienced guild member thoroughly misread and mispronounced his name, giving him a nickname that has stuck ever since; the rest of the guild that tried to determine his skillset and placement found themselves with a dilemma of just how to rank him, with such a breadth of knowledge but no actual experience behind any of it.

To his (only mild) dismay, they assigned Calaphindë the provisional rank of Copper, and set him to work with more real-world experienced members of the guild to see if he was quick enough to actually cut it at Iron or Steel or if he'd really have to start from the bottom and work his way up.

Equipment: Other than general travelling gear, standard the world over, Calaphindë's possessions are totaled up in the form of a journal, a couple of books brought with him about general upkeep of the stuff he has and the sorts of materials he may be able to find while he's out travelling (he hasn't finished reading that one yet, so he just brought it with him), he has a longbow with arrows and a quiver (all lovingly made by his father) a somewhat long-bladed hewing spear (often finds itself used as a walking staff), and should all else fail (or he needs to cut through some particularly dense brush or the like), he has a small, light falchion/hanger type blade.

Notably, he does not have any special focus to channel the magic he knows through.

He may have forgotten it when he was packing to leave home.

Skills: Despite his parents' best efforts, he's not particularly great with other people. He's friendly, he can generally get along, but expecting him to be a leader or persuasive or the like is a stretch.

Other than that, though, he picked up on everything relatively well—fighting skills courtesy of his father, hunting and survival skills, even magic courtesy of his mother, though he's rather limited with the latter given a lack of practice and lack of a good focus to use in spellcraft, and the former has yet to really be tested. Perhaps most unique to him is his nearly photographic memory; for things that he experiences, whether that be reading them, seeing them, tasting, smelling, hearing, feeling—Calaphindë's recall is almost entirely perfect, barring the obvious inherent bias that every observer has.

Of course, that bias comes with one clear drawback—it is entirely focused on whatever he was focused on. And for him to recall anything, it has to catch and hold his focus enough for him to actually think about it, as any spontaneous memory is far more likely to be related to his interests that have captured his attention than for anything that might be directly helpful. For the guild, this is already a known struggle for those that have to deal with him to overcome, but if they're careful about it, it may be more useful than it seems...

[Pyromania99]

Lightning Spellsword

Appearance

Bios:

• Name: Lisianna “Liz” Bren
• Age: 26
• Gender: Female
• Race: Human
• Rank: Iron
• Appearance: Lisia is a tall human woman approaching six foot tall.
• Personality: Lisia is a plucky and cheerful woman, usually with a smile on her face that gives off a soft, motherly charm at times. She has fun in a fight though if things get a bit rough she takes it a lot more seriously. She’s also a lot more serious while she’s on the job than in her everyday behavior.
• Brief Backstory: In the capital, Venne, 26 years ago, Lisianna was given life. She was born the daughter of her father, the Captain of the Guard and a Mage mother. Her mother was busy with her work at the Mage’s College while her dad often brought her to the training grounds of the City Guard. Naturally, she grew up with a sword in hand though at times she felt reluctant about it, as he was harder on her about training than any of the actual guardsmen.
  
  Not that her mother was absent through her childhood, but she was a new teacher and struggled to keep her personal life and her professional life together at the same time. However, around the time Lisianna turned 12, she managed to find more time at home without being overwhelmed with other projects or work. Lisia asked her mom about the College and about magic and if she could use it. Boasting, her mother puffed out her chest and said, “Of course any child of mine can use magic!” After going through some testing, they found she had an affinity with lightning magic.
  
  Over time, she trained with both the sword and magic, figuring out how to infuse electricity into her blade as well as her other lightning spells. Occasionally, she would also accompany her mother to the College, usually carrying things for her that were a little on the heavy side.
  
  When she turned 18, she officially joined the City Guard. Between her two separate trainings, she spent six or so years helping around town. However, the one thing that the guard didn’t do for her was push her training to the limits. There was only so much she could do in the guard to train and get better. So she turned her eye to the Adventurer’s Guild. She decided to join the Guild to train herself to be stronger.
• Equipment: Lisia has a greatsword gifted to her between her mother and father for her 20th birthday that’s a bit more conducive to her magical energies. Her armor is insulated slightly against electricity so she doesn’t accidentally shock herself when she infuses her blade with lightning.
• Skills: Due to her intensive training with the Guard (her father, really) for most of her life, she knows all the ins and outs of her sword. Her swordsmanship is one of the four things she’s proud of in the world. Two of the others are both of her parents and the last thing is her magic skills.
  
  After her training with her mother, Lisianna considers herself proficient with her magical skills. She has an affinity for lightning magic which she uses in a more normal way as one might think of a mage, but she also infuses it into her sword to deliver shocking slashes.
  
  With her combined styles, she realizes she’s nowhere near challenging any of the platinum ranked adventurers, but she’s pretty confident that she’ll climb the ranks of the Guild in due time.
  
  
  Magical Abilities

  Electrical Infusion: For a time, her blade is infused with electricity, making every attack that connects and is conductive shock the opponent.
  Bolt Discharge: Lisianna charges volatile electricity in her hand before discharging it out in a bolt that shocks the first creature it hits. It moves at a speed that if you blink, you might miss it.
  Lightning Speed: Lisianna embodies her electricity and moves and reacts at a faster rate of speed (approximately 25% faster reaction and movement speed).

[SilverPaw]

Eustace Wyndham, healer and light mage

Name: Eustace Wyndham

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Rank: Iron

Appearance:

Standing at 5’9, Eustace is slender, his frame only beginning to gain the musculature of an active life. His hands are fine-boned, his soft palms more used to a pen than a weapon. A gentle expression and faraway look soften his features, and he is quick to a quiet smile. Whatever scars he once bore had all been healed by his mentor. However, he has several tattoos – stylized stars arranged in constellations: the Weaver of Fates across his back, the Guide of the Lost over his chest, the Seven Fortunes along his left bicep.

Personality:

Eustace is thoughtful, quiet, curious, and creative. His interests are diverse but particular, and he might focus on what seem like odd details. Often, he’s felt out of sync with other people and the world at large, yet he eagerly seeks connection and understanding. He finds appreciation in the little, everyday things, and experiences a particular contemplative contentment in nature. He enjoys listening to others, especially if stories or music are involved, and has a habit of people-watching. Eustace can be a lively conversationalist, but experience tells him it is best if he speaks less rather than more. Get him drunk, however, and he will philosophize at length, pester you with questions or trivia, and launch into purple prose of dubious quality.

Despite all oddities, his is an undeniably kind soul. Too kind, perhaps, for he dislikes violence, even though he recognizes its necessity. A strange distaste for an adventurer, yet he has overcome it by viewing combat as a puzzle to solve; a challenge for the body and mind. That, and he finds questing a worthwhile pursuit which sates his wanderlust as well as fulfills his romantic notions of helping the weak or troubled. An idealist at heart, Eustace will strive for peaceful solutions whenever possible. While empathetic and attentive to others, he has little to no awareness of danger to his own being.

Biography:

Eustace was born to the baron and baroness of Venton, a town in northern Velt. Situated at the very foot of Cahladren, it was a hilly area rich with vineyards, farmsteads spanning the plains below. With a forest and a mine nearby, it had resources aplenty, and thrived as a crossroads for several key trade routes. The intricacies of its geopolitical positioning, alliances, and rivalries were matters Eustace’s parents and tutors worked hard to instill. He was not the heir, no, but as the delegated spare it behooved him to know the barony’s affairs – or so everyone insisted.

He was named in the hope that he would be steadfast, a dependable lord who assisted his older brother. Eustace disappointed every expectation. While he liked to learn, he did not have a practical bone in his body. When taught about Venton’s rivalries, he’d ask, “Why can’t we get along?” When instructed on their barony’s wines, their seasonal yields and profits, he concluded that adults simply liked numbers. So, he would question, “How many swallows flew past yesterday? How many beats of their wings did it take?” Then he would set off to find out.

Adults, as it turned out, did not enjoy many questions. Still, curiosity drew him to explore wherever he could. “Fey child,” the townspeople whispered. Naturally, he sought to learn all about fey, from legend to story to fact. Of course, his parents did not approve, having heard the same rumours. When his interest transitioned to elves, then deities, then the stars, and so on, the relief was overshadowed by despair as they struggled to figure out what to do with a boy such as him.

Eustace was talented at music and painting, but for a noble, that was a hobby at most. Besides, his utter lack of dedication to perfection was yet another failing. When he showed a knack for languages, a faint hope burgeoned that he could be a diplomat. But his poor social sense doomed that idea. He forgot nobles’ titles, was plainly bored by their habits, and skipped polite small talk for academic debate or overly personal inquiries.

By late childhood, his parents quietly chose his younger sister as the secondary heir, yet they still sought a role for Eustace. As a last-ditch attempt, they tested him for magic capability, then promptly hired a tutor upon the promising result. Showing an interest and aptitude for light magic, his teacher tried easing him into the venerated art of Astromancy. Even after two years, however, Eustace refused to learn anything remotely offensive. He remained fixated on the play of light – tricks better suited to an entertainer or a rogue.

Recognizing his inclinations and his family’s hopes, his mentor proposed an alternative: healing magic. At last something clicked. Eustace remained ill-suited to rigid lessons, but the desire to help others bolstered him. Guided by his teacher, he focused and improved. Upon reaching majority, he became an assistant healer, capable of basic spells, learning advanced techniques under supervision.

There were still incidents: he sometimes wandered off to offer his services to the poor for little to no pay. His parents grumbled, but he argued in an inspired bout of articulation that goodwill was a form of currency, and they reached a compromise. Overall, things looked promising.

So promising that his parents chose him as a delegate to a reclusive wood elven settlement, as he was the most fluent noble in elvish. First contact went well, and it seemed an agreement might follow in the near future. But on the journey home, things went wrong.

Buoyed by his success, Eustace celebrated late into the night at a local tavern. Drunk on wine and victory, he ventured out onto the moonlit path, intending to swim in the nearby lake. What happened next is hazy: he may have lost his way, or met a stranger too eager to share his joy. Whatever the cause, he awoke the next morning hungover and bound in a cart.

A bandit group had captured him. He overheard their talk of a ransom or selling him for a pretty copper. Drawing on his noble upbringing, Eustace told them which family to contact, and demonstrated his healing skills, hoping to make himself too valuable to harm.

That worked. Mostly. Months passed as the bandits evaded pursuit. Eustace learned firsthand the cruelty of men, and had long, lonely hours to ponder violence, isolation, and human nature.

In the end, a party of Estival adventurers found the camp, for the outlaws had crossed the border to evade Velt’s guards. Eustace was enraptured by the adventurers: there was a strange, almost ethereal beauty to their contest. The song of life and death, the interplay of good and evil, the clash of steel as lives and livelihoods hung in the balance. He had been to hunts, tournaments, and duels, had seen the bandits inflict harm on hapless souls, but he had never witnessed anything like this. It was pure, almost, undeniably if unexpectedly enchanting.

Or maybe he was delirious.

Even so, Eustace had tasted the unknown, and longed to understand. What was different about that encounter? Why did it move him so? Could he ever recreate it?

He returned home to prove he was hale, then announced his decision to become an adventurer. There was no stopping him once he made up his mind. Harsh as it seemed, his family recognized that his ordeal had changed him, and believed that seeing the wider world might grant him wisdom.

Living away from his family, away from expectations was a novel freedom. He even turned to combat, poring over neglected magical theory to incorporate battle spells, sparring, and polishing his healing craft. Over the next two years, Eustace came into his own as an adventurer, seeking new knowledge as he pursued that mystical, ever elusive song.

Equipment:

• Rapier – A melee weapon with a quartz gem inset in its pommel, his rapier doubles as a magic catalyst.
• Buckler – A defensive off-hand.
• Talisman – A necklace with a paired moonstone and sunstone jewel. A backup magic catalyst.
• Enchanted attire – Fancy clothing enchanted with protective spells.
• Hooded brown cloak – A cloak he always wears over the more distinctive garments. Don’t let it be said that one past kidnapping incident was not a lesson well learned.
• Bag with supplies – A satchel with travelling essentials; a bedroll, blanket, water canteen, compass, map, a selection of nonperishables et cetera. Alongside the necessities, he carries a leatherbound journal, implements for writing and sketching, a flute, and a monocular. Any coins on his person are hidden in a pouch sewn to the inner side of his shirt.

Skills:

Eustace is primarily a healer. He has a good sense for gauging how severe a given injury is, and can get a more accurate read with a diagnostic spell.

He can mend scrapes, bruises, and shallow cuts with ease. Stabs, gashes, punctures, and deeper slices will be dealt with the staunching of blood and an uncomfortable sealing of flesh mid-combat, while finesse is reserved for its proper time and place. He can temporarily reinforce broken bones to prevent further injury and enable semi-normal functioning. He can speed up the healing of breaks and fractures, but it is a mana-intensive effort. Internal injuries are tricky – a quick fix mid-fight might keep a combatant going for a bit longer, but can and often does complicate matters later on. Generally, it is best for severe wounds to be treated out of combat, as they require great focus as well as measured and calculated doses of spellcasting over a longer period of time.

Eustace cannot reattach severed flesh nor can he grow it or create blood. He can gather and purify a person’s lost blood, and channel it back into their body, but this procedure is too lengthy to be done in combat.

He can cast a spell to detect poisons and toxins; with it, he can uncover harmful substances in general, but so far, he can recognize only a few commonly used ones (such as nightshade, hemlock, aconite). With a general purifying spell, he can attempt to nullify a poison or slow its effects, however this is less likely to work on complex or unusual toxins.

Eustace dabbles in light magic, which he uses in a supportive role. He can generate light or manipulate existent light. It costs barely any mana for him to create a swarm of light motes to dazzle, distract or blind enemies. Thankfully, he has prudence enough not to confound his allies alongside his opponents. He can illuminate dark areas, conjure faux campfires or torches, and ‘stick’ a light to an opponent to mark them. He can trick enemies with very simple visual illusions: the glint of a thrown knife, a blurred shape in their periphery, the disguising of uneven terrain. However, the latter is very much a beginner’s skill, one he is not yet confident at. He is far more at ease when creating light shows and mirages for entertainment, but that is a very different matter.

Adding two combat spells to his repertoire has assisted him greatly in missions of the Iron rank:

• Barrier: Solidifying light, Eustace forms a protective layer formed of interlocking hexagons. He cannot cover a large area, and a single layer of the barrier lasts a few hits at most.
• Light ray: Gathering light in the palm of his hand, Eustace fires off one to three super-heated rays of light. They are fast, and can curve, but the moment of charging up the spell is a noticeable tell.

Technically, he was taught to duel as part of his upbringing, but though he’s been practicing since becoming an adventurer, he is a novice fighter. Usually, he will stand on the backline, trusting others to protect him while he keeps an eye on the general flow of the battle. Eustace does have a decent sense for strategy, and basic theoretical knowledge of it, but it is still developing in practice.

As far as any other marketable skills, he can sketch passable maps, speaks a fair few languages, and could earn at least a meal with a song.

[Coda]

Nevaris Character Sheet

- Name: Nevaris “Nev” Moonshard
- Age: 22
- Gender: Male
- Race: Human
- Rank: Iron
- Appearance:
- Messy black hair that flops forward over his eyes a bit
- Tan skin
- Irises a mix of brown and pale turquoise
- Plain linen clothes, with dark leather jerkin with violet accents over top
- Red tattoo on his right forearm that resembles a proud hunting hound running through thick woods

- Personality:

Reserved and polite when first getting to know someone. Once he begins to feel more comfortable, he will quickly become friendly and protective. A very emotional person, sometimes to the point of being volatile, his worst mistakes tend to come from acting without thinking, even if he means well.

He is known to hold grudges against those who wrong him, even slightly. He also has a competitive streak that can seem a bit out of nowhere to people who have only recently met him. This likely stems from a deep-seated insecurity about not actually being good enough for the path he’s chosen.

- Brief Backstory:

Born in the town of Felrist, Nevaris was raised to be a hunter by his parents from a young age. While he enjoys the profession as means of providing for his family and as an excuse to explore the great outdoors, he has always yearned for something more. He was enamored by tales of heroes and adventurers, regardless of whether the stories were fact or fiction. Unfortunately, he was always mediocre at best when it came to personal combat, and when he was assessed for any sort of magical ability, his mana potential was judged to be below average. While he was always handy with a bow, he had little experience killing anything that also wanted to kill him. Dejected, he resigned himself to being an adventurer only in his daydreams.

Then, early one morning, he awoke to screams outside of his window. A neighbor had been mauled to death by a large, unknown beast. Oddly, Nevaris’s dog Milo was also missing. After tracking the creature to the woods, Nevaris made the harrowing discovery that the creature *was* his loyal hunting dog Milo, somehow mutated into a towering beast by a strange disease or curse. Deciding to end the creature’s misery rather than let him be hunted by the townsfolk, he decided to kill Milo himself, though he barely survived the confrontation.

As he laid in the grass holding his mauled, ruined arm, a strange fae creature appeared to him, apparently having watched their battle. It was impressed with Nevaris’s conviction to kill the creature himself, as well as his ferocity when faced with death. The fae knitted his wounds closed using the blood of the beast, leaving a red tattoo of Milo running through the woods where the wound should have been. The tattoo allows for Nevaris to summon a magical sword of sharpened bone that can also give him a sudden boost in strength and speed at the cost of his blood.

While the fae’s true motivations are unknown, it has agreed to give Nevaris more tattoos with spells to summon magical weapons, but Nevaris has to provide blood from powerful creatures he has slain in order to do it. Seeing this as an opportunity to chase the dream that has always seemed out of reach, he sought out the Adventurer’s Guild.

- Equipment:
- Hunting bow / arrow quiver
- Hunting knife
- Outdoor survival equipment. Flint and steel, rope, fishing nets, etc.
- Skills:
- Hunting / tracking / archery
- Cooking
- Middling sword-fighting competency. This is usually supplemented by the temporary boost in physical ability that the bone blade gives him

Nevaris Gets His Tattoo

The low, otherworldly growl shook the leaves, the branches, even the ground beneath Nevaris’s feet. Thick streams of blood dripped from the creature’s fangs. It was a hulking, hunched figure in a vaguely canine shape, the arch of its shoulders nearly six feet from the ground. Nevaris’s grip tightened around his bow. This thing in front of him that paced slow, menacing circles in the forest clearing was very familiar, but at the same time, very, very alien.

“M…Milo. That’s enough, boy.” Nevaris swallowed hard, struggling to maintain eye contact with the distorted, monstrous form of his once-faithful hound. “You’re just sick. I know you’re hurting… and scared. Just stop all this, okay? We’ll call the mages. They can make you better.”

His voice was thin, trembling along with the rest of his body. He knew Milo couldn’t understand him. In the past, he had imagined that he could; he would ramble all about his plans for the future. Adventures, danger, excitement. Big, silly dreams without a single foothold in reality. Milo always listened, enraptured like a loyal best friend, but Nevaris knew deep down that he didn’t understand his words.

It didn’t make lying to him any easier.

The gore that soaked Milo’s maw was that of a neighbor’s son - a friend that Nevaris had known for as long as he could remember, now nothing but a bloody stain on the ground. Even if the mages could cure this… disease, curse, whatever it was, the town wouldn’t just let Milo roam free. They would kill him. Several hunting parties were already out looking for him, but they didn’t know him like Nevaris did. This place was special: somewhere the two of them would rest during their long hunting days. If Milo had to die… then Nevaris would be the one to do it. It’s fitting that it would happen here.

Nevaris took a deep breath, in and out. He blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes and drew back an arrow. Milo stopped his pacing, head low. As they held each others’ gaze, Nevaris searched the beast’s eyes for any glimmer of the friend he had known. There was nothing. Just two burning red embers that yearned for blood.

“I’m sorry,” Nevaris whispered, and he loosed the arrow.

A blur of movement, and Milo’s form vanished from the arrow’s path and eclipsed Nevaris’s vision with otherworldly speed. In the next breath, Nevaris was slammed onto his back and pinned beneath the beast’s immense weight - it was all he could do to interpose an arm between the incoming fangs and his exposed throat. His scream echoed through the trees as the bite shredded his skin like paper and sunk into the bone of his forearm.

Pain and panic engulfed him. This wasn’t Milo - this was a monster draped in Milo’s skin. As the creature lashed back and forth, threatening to sever his arm with every pull, Nevaris desperately clawed at his side pocket, his own blood matting his hunting leathers.

Finally, he freed his hunting knife. His eyes went wide and he hissed through his teeth as the curved blade sank into the side of the beast’s throat. The vice-like grip on his arm didn’t even loosen. Instead, the beast flew into frenzy, pulling back with such force that Nevaris was lifted into the air before being slammed back down to earth. There was a sickening sound of cracking ribs.

Nevaris’s thoughts began to spin. I’m… going to die here. This thing is going to… kill me. KILL ME.

His mind went blank, except for one thought. SURVIVE. Knife still clutched in his free hand, he let out an inhuman shriek as he sank the blade into the beast’s throat again, and again, and again, his guttural cries becoming more and more incomprehensible with each strike.

The great beast cried out in turn: first a roar, then a series of grunts and groans, and then… whines. It shuddered in place before lilting to one side and slumping to the ground, finally relinquishing its grip on his arm. As the monster’s labored breaths began to slow, Nevaris forced himself upright, blood streaming from his arm and speckling the grass beneath him.

Once again, he found himself gazing into its eyes. Where there had been unholy embers only moments before, now there were two familiar brown eyes staring back at him. The pair beheld each other one last time, a moment of quiet reverence, before Milo finally went still.

Time didn’t seem to move. Nevaris could only look at the distorted corpse, his mind so far away that he didn’t even feel the searing pain in his right arm. The edges of his vision began to go dark as he fell deeper and deeper into numbness.

Then, someone began to clap.

Nevaris spun around. “Who’s there?!” His breath caught in his throat as his arm throbbed with the sudden movement.

Behind him, lounging on the stump of a fallen tree, was a creature from a children’s tale. Human-like, but with the legs of a goat, the torso of a man, and long, spiraling horns that curved back from its forehead. The hairs that coated its goat legs where sharp like the spines of a porcupine, and what should have been its skin more closely resembled the gray bark from an old, old tree. Its eyes were two empty, sunken sockets filled with a pale yellow light. The same yellow leaked from its mouth as it spoke.

“Quite impressive.” Its voice was like a hollow grave. “It’s not so often that the small things kill the big things. But of course, this is how it must be, lest the big things get fat and lazy.”

Nevaris fumbled and grabbed his knife from the grass, then shakily pushed himself to his feet, right arm dangling uselessly at his side. “What… Who are you? The hell do you want with me?”

It lifted itself from the stump, almost hovering in the air as it did so. “A pertinent question, little hunter, but a boring one. I am a simple thing of this forest: a thing of watching and knowing. But you… you.” It walked forward, hands outstretched. “You are a lovely, interesting thing. A delightful contradiction - pride and shame, ambition and sloth, bravery… and cowardice.” It looked him up and down, like a butcher sizing up a prize cut of meat. “You want the world, but you do not take it, because you know it is beyond you. But what if…” It was very close now - close enough to lay a cold, tender hand on Nevaris’s ruined arm. “…what if it weren’t?”

Every muscle in his body screamed for him to run. But… he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look away from this strange thing whose words crawled up his spine.

It continued. “You tell yourself that a simple hunter cannot achieve the great things that you want, the things you want deep, deep down in your bones. But answer me, my dear, is one who could turn his blade against his own hound truly a simple hunter?” It tilted its head. “You could have let the other hunters do it. But no, you saw your beloved thing, your Milo, heading to a wretched end, and you said no! The end would be you, instead.” It smiled then, wide and unnatural. “And you showed it who the real beast was, didn’t you? Oh yes, yes you did. It was wonderful.”

“How… do you know all this?” Nevaris’s voice was barely a whisper.

The thing closed its “eyes”, still smiling, and shook its head. “I told you, my dear. I am an old thing. An old thing of watching, and of knowing.”

Gently, it took hold of Nevaris’s wounded arm. There was a flash of sickly light and the wounds began knitting themselves shut. With its other hand, it coaxed the hunting knife from his grip, blade still wet with the beast’s blood. As the wounds were mended, it used the bloody knife to trace lines along the scars. These lines quickly began to take shape, red blood outlining a scene of a proud hunting dog bounding through thick woods.

Nevaris regarded the beautiful composition on his skin, mouth agape.

“Focus now,” the thing said, it’s tone low and sharp. “His spirit needn’t be gone from this world.”

Without taking a moment to question, Nevaris poured all of his will and focus into the mark. A vision flashed through his mind; once again Milo’s fangs were bearing down into his flesh, and the pain was as real as it had ever been. Nevaris screamed.

“Do not fight it, boy. Persevere!” the thing bellowed, more a command than comfort. “This pain will be your strength!”

He gritted his teeth, the pure need for survival pushing everything else aside. All at once, he was jolted back to the present. His hand felt heavy.

A sword of sharpened bone sat in his grip. It was bladed on one side with a gentle curve, and the guard was wrapped in wicked thorns. The weapon felt nearly alive in his hand, and as he held it, his body surged with energy.

The old creature stood beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is power in blood, Nevaris. The small needn’t always be small. Just like a little hound can become a beast of nightmares, so might a little hunter become a hero.”

[VitaVitaAR]

Rylia Ainsberg, Paladin of Reon

• Name: Rylia Ainsberg
• Age: 18
• Gender: Female
• Race: Human
• Rank: Iron, much to her annoyance
• Appearance: Rylia is a very petite human girl, standing around 137 cm/4'6 in height. She has a small, slight figure, and a fair skintone. She has light blue eyes and pink hair, the latter of which is usually tied up in pigtails using gold ribbons. Her armor, consisting of her breastplate, her gauntlets, vambrances, couters, and rebrances, her greaves, and her sabatons, is silver in coloration and decorated with gold details. Her clothing is primarily red, with white and gold details.
• Personality: An impatient and ill-tempered girl, who nevertheless fully commits herself to the duties and ideals of a paladin of Reon. Rylia is quick to anger, swift to complain, and often all too eager to point out what she perceives as stupidity or otherwise ill-advised behavior. Additionally, she exhibits a wide sarcastic streak, prone to making comments that others may find aggravating when she is irritated or believes someone needs admonishing. She is also rather proud and self-confident, though at the very least this is due to her having performed well during her training to obtain the position of a paladin. She is somewhat frustrated that she has to further prove herself, but at the same time views being an adventurer as an opportunity to assist others who may be endangered. Even if she does think her rank should be higher. Her high degree of pride and self-confidence also means that she does not like to admit when she is wrong about something.
  Despite her temper, Rylia is a strong believer in justice and the destruction of evil for the sake of the innocent. In this way, she can be considered a model paladin who upholds good and chastises wickedness in the name of the Sun Goddess. And, as one who dedicates herself to such ideals, it is only natural to refuse to leave behind those in need. Rylia will not abide with any decision that places innocent people in danger, nor will she leave behind anyone in need. For her, doing such things would be to throw away the very meaning of the title of Paladin.
  While she has a confident and stubborn personality, Rylia is insecure about her height and petite figure, and will sometimes take this insecurity out on those who are more gifted in overall size than herself. At the same time, she will also try to deny this insecurity entirely. She is also fairly easily flustered, despite her pride. Rylia likes sweets and has a considerable soft spot for both dogs and cats(as well as pretty much any other cute animals).
• Brief Backstory: Rylia was born in the village of Merlsberg, near Pelle. While it was not a small village, it was far smaller than Pelle. It exhibited a small chapel for worship of both Reon and Mayon rather than the dual churches of larger settlements. Rylia’s father was the local priest, who had moved to Merlsberg to replace the previous priest who had recently died. His wife, a paladin who had retired due to injury, came with him. Rylia was born in spring, and named after a minor divine spirit in service of the Sun Goddess. Needless to say, one could say that service to the sun goddess was in her blood, and she looked up to heroic tales of paladins and saints as a young girl. Particular favorites were the tale of Saint Atrus, who killed one of the Dark Lord Orodrunn’s four strongest generals, and Saint Salva who purified the poisoned waters after the slaying of the Dragon Avoraaz. She had already initiated the early stages of her training, expectations upon her both from within and without, when disaster struck Merlsberg.
  A necromancer bearing a grudge against the Lord of Merlsberg suddenly attacked during the night, while the town was unprepared. However, through her father’s swift actions and her mother taking up her weapon once more, the undead were repelled and the necromancer was forced to retreat with the arrival of several paladins and a contingent of soldiers from Pelle.
  However, Rylia’s mother’s health deteriorated. The injuries she’d sustained during her time as a paladin had left her health frail, and fighting so intensely throughout the night had weakened her greatly.
  She died only a week later, when Rylia was only seven years old.
  This event, the memory of her mother, the pride in her heritage, caused Rylia to become even more strongly motivated when she recovered from the death of her mother. She was eventually sent to the Saint Salva Religious Academy for Girls in Venne, furthering her training to become a paladin and indeed excelling, just as her mother once had. After all, she had plenty of expectations to live up to. Serving under an experienced paladin, Rylia passed preliminary trials that involved clearing a small tomb of undead, before finally moving into the final phase of her training: Practical experience.
  This meant following many paladins before her and signing on to the Adventurer’s Guild, in order to gain proper experience fighting alongside others in a variety of scenarios.
• Equipment: Rylia carries a handful of pouches with assorted basic supplies and a dagger, as well as a Reonite prayerbook and a Lily Symbol for basic divine casting. Additionally, her armor carries a light blessing that makes it much harder to damage and slightly lighter. But the most noticeable aspect of her equipment is her enormous hammer. A blessed weapon, her hammer is far lighter than it appears which enables her to wield it despite it weighing more than her entire body. Additionally, as is common for the blessed weapons wielded by paladins, it exhibits an empathetic trait that responds to righteous fury. In Rylia’s case, her hammer becomes wreathed in golden solar fire automatically in response to her feelings. She can also trigger this effect manually. These flames burn entities of an evil nature and undead all the more intensely, and can be gathered at the head of the hammer and released on impact to cause a small explosion.
• Skills: Rylia has received considerable training in the duties of a paladin, which include skill in combat. She is most versed in the usage of two-handed weapons, particularly her hammer. Her style of combat is aggressive and unyielding, aimed to break through defenses and shatter barriers in order to reach her targets and crush them. As a paladin, albeit one who must still complete the practical experience portions of her training, she has been educated in how to identify various types of undead and evil spirits and how to combat them. This includes the divine spell Litany of Ending to weaken nearby undead, as well as basic exorcism rites. While Rylia is not exceptionally gifted magically, she possesses enough mana for these as well as self-enhancement spells and light healing. She cannot mend injuries that are too serious, but she can assist in recovery and heal minor slashes, bruises, and bone fractures. Anything more serious she can only mitigate but not fully repair. Her capability with exorcism cannot oust a true demon from a possessed host, but can weaken its hold.

[RolePlayerRoxas]

The Cool And Mystical Raven

• Name: Soruha Harehk. Goes by the mysterious and cool and awesome moniker of "Raven"
• Age: 19
• Gender: Female
• Race: Nem
• Rank: Iron

• Appearance: Sketch courtesy of Vita
• Standing at a towering 3”1’, Soruha’s general appearance does not stray far from the standard nem, with raven-black hair reaching her shoulders, a rather pale skintone, and bright, ruby-red eyes. Her clothing also tends towards blacks and greys, aside from her brown leather cuirass. The hooded clock is a vital piece, both for adventuring, and for helping shield her eyes from the sun during the day, and her clothing is otherwise generally light in nature.

• Personality:
• Stoic. Quiet. Mysterious. Truly the most accurate and truthful appraisal one could make of this roguish nem, surely. Indeed, while she may seem possessed of little words, Soruha is hardly an introvert, or even inclined towards loner tendencies. She certainly makes an effort to lean into such conceptions, but Soruha is very much a people person, and possesses a childlike curiosity when it comes to exploration... and extreme suspicion of any item that hasn't gone through several rounds of verification. Given her current circumstances however, she has deemed it easier to seem aloof - but totally super cool as well.
  
  In contrast to her (projected) demeanour, Soruha can easily get cocky, and riled up perhaps more so - with a surprising amount of pride in her capabilities, insulting them is a surefire way to earn her ire, possibly even resulting in deliberate silent treatment! And if she’s holding up well against a particularly tricky opponent, her swelling head will probably put an end to her good fortune without a guiding hand to keep her focused on the task at hand. Basically, for as much as she wants to be seen as a veteran adventurer, she is still quite green in the grand scheme.
  
  In more casual settings, Soruha can often be seen studying artefacts. Not out of an innate interest, but rather to hopefully solve her slightly annoying issue. After all, workarounds can only function so well, especially out on the field. Otherwise, you’re likely to find her occupying the comfiest corner of the local tavern, silently sipping the sweetest beverage they have and brainstorming cooler, more awesome techniques for battle. And wondering why so few seem to notice her cool, mysterious aura in such situations.

• Brief Backstory:
• Hailing from the desertous south, Soruha’s childhood was largely unremarkable. She played, she studied, she grew up… she had no real goal or dream to focus on, but that was fine with her, it was a simple enough life, she figured she might just become a merchant or a guide for travellers at some point.
  
  She’d heard stories of fae merchants from other nem that had ventured northward at some point, who sold goods of dubious quality, very much unlike what she was used to - a nem would never dare sell potentially dangerous items! At least not without a lot of warnings, and she’d never really seen wandering merchants come to their lands to hawk shady wares before, either. And so, at fifteen years of age, when a merchant was crossing the desert and stopped near her settlement, she took a look at whatever items he was offering, and became enamored with a lovely, silver ring with ornate, indecipherable inscriptions emblazoned upon the band. The cheap price and the merchant’s imminent departure led to an impulse purchase.
  
  It hadn’t been immediately apparent to Soruha that she was cursed the moment she put it on. From her perspective, nothing was amiss, she could hear herself perfectly fine… but soon enough, conversing with others soon proved inexplicably difficult, and the ring’s refusal to be removed from her finger eventually confirmed the issue; no one else could hear her voice. Well, not without screaming at the top of her lungs at least.
  
  About a year after this, Soruha decided to move north - finding that particular merchant would be difficult, but finding someone or something with the knowledge to help remove te stupid ring was a lot more likely in more populated places. Still, to fund her travel and eventual lodgings, she’d need to pick up some sort of work - between fighting off the occasional monster, and becoming intrigued by the new sights she came across on her way to Estival. By the time she got there, she had decided to become an adventurer, finding it best suited her goals and interests, and for the past two years, has been cultivating her image as a cool, badass rogue. Oh, right, and finding out how to undo the curse.

• Equipment:
  
  • Her trusty twin daggers, Sparrow (left) and Finch (right), lightweight blades suited for Soruha’s combat style.
  • A cursed ring, bound to Soruha’s left ring finger and the source of her troubles. The curse effectively lowers the volume of her voice to near-silence; those of exceptional hearing could still perceive her voice, but otherwise she is effectively mute in most situations.
  • A lockpick. It picks locks. Usually successfully, even.

• Skills:
  
  • Leveraging her natural agility and small stature, Soruha is quite adept at swiftly shifting her position, slipping into one’s blind spot to strike at weak points, avoiding retaliatory blows, and generally being a nuisance. She has a slightly easier time dealing with humanoid-shaped threats in this manner, but the distinction rarely matters - armour is the bigger issue for her. Whether steel or scale, Soruha generally lacks the power to punch through most protective materials. She also happens to work better in more enclosed spaces, utilising even the walls to affect her direction of attack.
  • Outside of combat, Soruha has picked up lockpicking as of late. Partly for the utility of unlocking new passageways in dungeons that happen to possess doors with a lock on them… and partly because she thought it would heighten her mysterious image.