@Apollosarcher Jerod and Jacob finally butting heads? Yea, those two are going to have quite the sparring match, fitting of the most epic music. And me thinks a spambot hit the IC thread, just saying.
Eisenhorn
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The mercenary pocketed the finger and let the priest blubber on and come up with something to say, laughing easily and clapping the man on the back heardily, which probably would stumble him a bit if he wasn't ready for it. He either wasn't letting the gift of odd body parts affect him, or he wasn't letting it show. But either way, his actions were the same as he also responded to the dark mage lass. "Tha's the spirit, 'ealer. Yer gift is appreciated, lass, an' ye make a good suggestion. S'all we?" They were no doubt aware of his curious accent, even most Feroxians did not speak the way he did so it was rather up in the air whether it was natural or acquired, but regardless, the mercenary led the two off in the general direction of the courtyard, assuming either of them had any desire to follow the man, he would arrive before the gates shut, and would nod to Niya who had beat him there, and would get no response from the woman.
Finding himself in a rather cozy fighting arena, for training purposes, the damage the one wall had received got a snort of amusement from the mercenary. Then some grandmaster looking fellow came out of a ball of fire, and he waved the smoke away from him as the champion lad himself and the grandmaster fellow, name apparently Andres, spoke back and forth and then the older man issued the challenge, and that got a grand old laugh out of the mercenary as he walked out of the crowd, tried and true iron blade at his side and nothing else of note as he approached the two, speaking easily to them, apparently undisturbed by the fact these two were some of the most important men within Ylisse. Either callous, uncaring, or had spent time dealing with nobility before and was unimpressed. Either way, he spoke easily to the two, taking up the thrown gauntlet before anyone else could stop him.
"Ancient beings like t'em dragons are powerful, aye, but t'ey ain' no gods. Ah'll give t'e lad a fig't, see w'at 'e's made of."
"You may try, crudeling, but you might find I have more bite than you may think. Thank you, Ser, I will go and seek answers from the Champion himself then." Niya did not appreciate the unprofessional nature the wyvern rider had displayed so far, and it was clear she had lumped the poor woman in with the same treatment she gave her companion, and regrettably oath holder, Jerod. Disdain and distrust, but would not openly engage in violence with from vows or circumstance. Whether the two would follow or not was irrelevant to the healer, she took her leave and vanished, and would find herself in the arena before long. Within a matter of time the gates were closed and the old man of a grand master arrived. Andres, if her memory was correct, the head of the Tactician's guild within Ylisse. A powerful figure, no doubt, and he issued a challenge to the group, and an all too familiar laugh got a groan from Niya.
Of course Jerod couldn't help but take up that gauntlet. That idiot of a mercenary was going to get himself killed one of these days, he was far too stubborn for his own good and would not lightly back down from a challenge. The only reason he wasn't dead yet was because she had yet to see anything or anyone mean enough to keep that man down, he was resiliant enough to match his stubborness. Even shrugged off magic at times, which had genuinely surprised her and led to the oath binding her now. Until that man released her of it, she was stuck following him around and aiding him in his endeavors, for good or ill. Thankfully he sought out this place and endeavor, but it could have turned out far worse. A cool remark came from the healer, directed at Jerod as a reminder. "Do not forget tacticians use magic and blade, side by side."
Finding himself in a rather cozy fighting arena, for training purposes, the damage the one wall had received got a snort of amusement from the mercenary. Then some grandmaster looking fellow came out of a ball of fire, and he waved the smoke away from him as the champion lad himself and the grandmaster fellow, name apparently Andres, spoke back and forth and then the older man issued the challenge, and that got a grand old laugh out of the mercenary as he walked out of the crowd, tried and true iron blade at his side and nothing else of note as he approached the two, speaking easily to them, apparently undisturbed by the fact these two were some of the most important men within Ylisse. Either callous, uncaring, or had spent time dealing with nobility before and was unimpressed. Either way, he spoke easily to the two, taking up the thrown gauntlet before anyone else could stop him.
"Ancient beings like t'em dragons are powerful, aye, but t'ey ain' no gods. Ah'll give t'e lad a fig't, see w'at 'e's made of."
"You may try, crudeling, but you might find I have more bite than you may think. Thank you, Ser, I will go and seek answers from the Champion himself then." Niya did not appreciate the unprofessional nature the wyvern rider had displayed so far, and it was clear she had lumped the poor woman in with the same treatment she gave her companion, and regrettably oath holder, Jerod. Disdain and distrust, but would not openly engage in violence with from vows or circumstance. Whether the two would follow or not was irrelevant to the healer, she took her leave and vanished, and would find herself in the arena before long. Within a matter of time the gates were closed and the old man of a grand master arrived. Andres, if her memory was correct, the head of the Tactician's guild within Ylisse. A powerful figure, no doubt, and he issued a challenge to the group, and an all too familiar laugh got a groan from Niya.
Of course Jerod couldn't help but take up that gauntlet. That idiot of a mercenary was going to get himself killed one of these days, he was far too stubborn for his own good and would not lightly back down from a challenge. The only reason he wasn't dead yet was because she had yet to see anything or anyone mean enough to keep that man down, he was resiliant enough to match his stubborness. Even shrugged off magic at times, which had genuinely surprised her and led to the oath binding her now. Until that man released her of it, she was stuck following him around and aiding him in his endeavors, for good or ill. Thankfully he sought out this place and endeavor, but it could have turned out far worse. A cool remark came from the healer, directed at Jerod as a reminder. "Do not forget tacticians use magic and blade, side by side."
And just like that I have the perfect place to send Jerod to, finishing the delay in posting I had.
Stukov had been silent from what he had seen during the recording that the servo skull had made. So, it looked like the footage had not gone to waste after all, and wasn't just some mindless recording of the fact that the bumbling of one sister had caused them to have to fight off the statues long enough for the three to escape. Shame the woman was wearing a golden mask or ID'ing her would have been far easier, to put it mildly. The Sister came in eventually, bearing a piece of pie and asking Smiles to move so she could sit, furnishing her with an olive branch in the form of food. He couldn't help but make a comment as the two sat together and spoke in brief, his presence apparently forgotten. "I have heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but Sis, I didn't think you would try that with Smiles. Wasn't aware it worked that way for women too."
Snorting in amusement at his own joke, Stukov half expected some biting remark from Sis since the two of them had yet to see eye to eye on anything, far as he had seen. But he leaned against the back wall of the living room, arms crossed across his stomach as he considered what he had seen during the holo vid. One male, Alpheous from the vid, and some mutantly tall woman in form fitting robes that left little to the imagination. But those two did not mean much to him, the one who kept his attention had been the woman with the gold skull mask. Blonde hair, at least partially, average height and build as far as he was able to tell, armed with the equipment of a sorcerer of some sort. Gold skull obscured facial patterns beyond that, the recording that the servo skull had displayed replayed in his mind like a record. He needed to pick apart further details about that group, what he could gather, and the burning of a brothel really, to be frank, paled in the armsman's mind in comparison to this group.
"If I may Smiles, M4R1-A had some interesting recordings from the run I think bear reviewing. M4R1-A, begin playback from timestamp Theta, if you would be so kind." Assuming the skull listened, or Smiles reverified his command, he would begin to rewatch and analyze the playback that the servo skull had made of the run, pretty much the three figures. He was noting names, specific notes, anything of particular value before they all got hauled off to investigate this burning brothel mess. He had a gut instinct Boss would want to go check it out, and once he had reviewed the information he had found from the vid recording he would speak, to no one in particular. "Alpheous, we have a name. Boss might want to know about this recording, for review once the mess at the brothel has been dealt with, one way or another. Shall I pass word along to him, or one of you two have something else you need to speak to him about at the same time?"
Snorting in amusement at his own joke, Stukov half expected some biting remark from Sis since the two of them had yet to see eye to eye on anything, far as he had seen. But he leaned against the back wall of the living room, arms crossed across his stomach as he considered what he had seen during the holo vid. One male, Alpheous from the vid, and some mutantly tall woman in form fitting robes that left little to the imagination. But those two did not mean much to him, the one who kept his attention had been the woman with the gold skull mask. Blonde hair, at least partially, average height and build as far as he was able to tell, armed with the equipment of a sorcerer of some sort. Gold skull obscured facial patterns beyond that, the recording that the servo skull had displayed replayed in his mind like a record. He needed to pick apart further details about that group, what he could gather, and the burning of a brothel really, to be frank, paled in the armsman's mind in comparison to this group.
"If I may Smiles, M4R1-A had some interesting recordings from the run I think bear reviewing. M4R1-A, begin playback from timestamp Theta, if you would be so kind." Assuming the skull listened, or Smiles reverified his command, he would begin to rewatch and analyze the playback that the servo skull had made of the run, pretty much the three figures. He was noting names, specific notes, anything of particular value before they all got hauled off to investigate this burning brothel mess. He had a gut instinct Boss would want to go check it out, and once he had reviewed the information he had found from the vid recording he would speak, to no one in particular. "Alpheous, we have a name. Boss might want to know about this recording, for review once the mess at the brothel has been dealt with, one way or another. Shall I pass word along to him, or one of you two have something else you need to speak to him about at the same time?"
Y'know, all things considered, that would be quite the coincidental number, a band of three (and our good narrator of course). That would be fine by me, sure as sure.
@Penultimate_Pi Hmm, that bit about warning the other players could actually work better than I had planned for Shaeld initially. That sounds like a good idea, Shaeld was sent to warn the nearest grouping of people, the players in this case, before or even during the last clash between the mercenaries and encroaching army.
@Penultimate_Pi Alright, I can really just add on a bit where the mercenaries he's running with get wiped out by the vastly larger military they parked themselves in front of, and that would free him up to be with the main group, just like that.
Alright, sweet, thank ye kindly @Dedonus, I just got back from work so I can get on a post ASAP.
Ok, just got back from work everyone, I'll get on the fixes ASAP.
EDIT: Alright, keeping the class feature intact as it is, fixed the stat spread, and hopefully fixed the image. Not necessarily all done in that order.
EDIT: Alright, keeping the class feature intact as it is, fixed the stat spread, and hopefully fixed the image. Not necessarily all done in that order.
Name: Calev Shaeld
Race: Beorc
Age: 34
Appearance:
Class:
- Hoplite -
A well rounded defender that wields a lance and their ever present shield to prove themselves as some of the hardiest troops on the field, these foot soldiers truly shine when they are backed up by, and fight alongside, allies.
Proficient In: Lance
Features:
- Defensive Formation -
Gains an additional rank in Constitution, and performs increasingly better when working alongside brothers and sisters in arms, losing offensive power and movement points while gaining in defensive power and resistances when working alongside allies.
Stats
Strength - C
Agility - C
Constitution - C
Mentality - C
Skill - C
Inventory: Iron Lance
Personality:
Calev Shaeld is a humble man, and would never dare brag nor boast about his skill or talent, but operates with a focused clarity of mind on one goal. Improving himself, physically and mentally. From improving his lance techniques to studying the tactics and methods of heroes, and villains, long past, the man spends almost every waking moment bettering himself and preparing for the next test of his skills, or proving himself once more. He tends to see people for who they are, regardless of rumor and opinion, and will accept the aid of just about any man or woman, of any race or creed. Anyone can make themselves better, and he would be the last man to ever try and stop them and has even offered to others, in the past, to give a hand in training and preparation in whatever their next endeavor might be. Just so long as it does not prevent him from bettering himself somehow.
Biography:
Calev Shaeld knows not who his parents were, nor would it really matter to the man if you would ask him of the matter today. It is an old, well healed wound, being an orphan with no idea who one's parent are, and not something he tends to discuss, nor enjoys doing so. As long as he could remember he has been either attending other soldiers, or acting as one himself, and was part of a company of mercenaries that specialized in taking a piece of land no one else could, and not letting anyone have it unless they were willing to pay dearly in blood. Knights and other Hoplites, the mercenary company being one of the few who used such men trained as such, made up their rank and file. The company master was led by a disgraced General who still aimed to prove himself and expected the absolute best out of every man and woman within the company. The infantry company had a nick name they were proud of, the Iron Brigade, and even their youngest and rawest recruits took pride in the name, alongside the fact the company had a tendency to stand against dictators and mad kings, its long history full of battles where they would nearly be wiped out holding the line to save one last village, one more important person, or that last vital supply caravan. Calev Shaeld would spend his life in the ranks of the mercenary company, working up the ranks and skill from being the attendant of a knight and bearing the crimson battle standard of the Iron Brigade to holding his own in the battle lines, shoulder to shoulder in a defensive position or taking an impossible position. The Iron Brigade would deliver, and until detached, Calev Shaeld would deliver right alongside of them. The Iron Brigade, as soon as word spread of the mad attacks in search of the Fire Emblem, the General ordered the march, they would park themselves in the path of the greatest military in the world and buy the poor sods they found themselves protecting as long as possible to escape or complete their task.
Additional Info: Calev is the most likely to overly strain his limits working too hard at a task.
Race: Beorc
Age: 34
Appearance:
Class:
- Hoplite -
A well rounded defender that wields a lance and their ever present shield to prove themselves as some of the hardiest troops on the field, these foot soldiers truly shine when they are backed up by, and fight alongside, allies.
Proficient In: Lance
Features:
- Defensive Formation -
Gains an additional rank in Constitution, and performs increasingly better when working alongside brothers and sisters in arms, losing offensive power and movement points while gaining in defensive power and resistances when working alongside allies.
Stats
Strength - C
Agility - C
Constitution - C
Mentality - C
Skill - C
Inventory: Iron Lance
Personality:
Calev Shaeld is a humble man, and would never dare brag nor boast about his skill or talent, but operates with a focused clarity of mind on one goal. Improving himself, physically and mentally. From improving his lance techniques to studying the tactics and methods of heroes, and villains, long past, the man spends almost every waking moment bettering himself and preparing for the next test of his skills, or proving himself once more. He tends to see people for who they are, regardless of rumor and opinion, and will accept the aid of just about any man or woman, of any race or creed. Anyone can make themselves better, and he would be the last man to ever try and stop them and has even offered to others, in the past, to give a hand in training and preparation in whatever their next endeavor might be. Just so long as it does not prevent him from bettering himself somehow.
Biography:
Calev Shaeld knows not who his parents were, nor would it really matter to the man if you would ask him of the matter today. It is an old, well healed wound, being an orphan with no idea who one's parent are, and not something he tends to discuss, nor enjoys doing so. As long as he could remember he has been either attending other soldiers, or acting as one himself, and was part of a company of mercenaries that specialized in taking a piece of land no one else could, and not letting anyone have it unless they were willing to pay dearly in blood. Knights and other Hoplites, the mercenary company being one of the few who used such men trained as such, made up their rank and file. The company master was led by a disgraced General who still aimed to prove himself and expected the absolute best out of every man and woman within the company. The infantry company had a nick name they were proud of, the Iron Brigade, and even their youngest and rawest recruits took pride in the name, alongside the fact the company had a tendency to stand against dictators and mad kings, its long history full of battles where they would nearly be wiped out holding the line to save one last village, one more important person, or that last vital supply caravan. Calev Shaeld would spend his life in the ranks of the mercenary company, working up the ranks and skill from being the attendant of a knight and bearing the crimson battle standard of the Iron Brigade to holding his own in the battle lines, shoulder to shoulder in a defensive position or taking an impossible position. The Iron Brigade would deliver, and until detached, Calev Shaeld would deliver right alongside of them. The Iron Brigade, as soon as word spread of the mad attacks in search of the Fire Emblem, the General ordered the march, they would park themselves in the path of the greatest military in the world and buy the poor sods they found themselves protecting as long as possible to escape or complete their task.
Additional Info: Calev is the most likely to overly strain his limits working too hard at a task.
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