Eisenhorn

Torchlight

Welp, I'm sort of waiting on other posts, so I'll post once I have something to reply too.

Fire Emblem: Lost Song

Thanks for the heads up, I'll mention ya when the clarification has been made.

EDIT: Alright, expanded on the traits @Denny.

Torchlight

I'm still here, sure as sure.

Fire Emblem: Lost Song

Haven't had a good Fire Emblem rp in far too long, got room for one more interested party?

EDIT: Alright, got a wyvern rider sorted out, figured we might as well get our first mounted fellow thrown into the ring, eh?

WE I L A N D

---

Name: Weiland Voss
Age: Appears to be in his early 30's, though is around 46 years of age in actuality.
Race: Branded
Gender: Male
Affiliated Nation: Begnion Empire
Class: Wyvern Rider
Inventory:
+ Iron Blade
+ Altena - The Wyvern that Weiland has bonded with, on a level that has, mockingly, been noted to almost surpass his loyalty to kin and country. Once having served as the mount of a bandit rider, and rather unpleasantly as well, Weiland spared her life after having unmounted the rider and cut him down. Altena followed him after that point, despite being technically free to return to the wild, and before long Weiland had acclimated to using his swordsmanship from the back of a Wyvern, and her ferocity and terror inducing potential when bearing down on unprepared ranks went well with the Blades that her rider prefers to use over more reasonably sized swords.
+ x2 Vulnerary

---

Personality:
Weiland follows in a long line of family, in terms of sheer bloody minded determination. Voss' have routinely been noted for being willing to dig their heels in, figuratively speaking and sometimes literally, and push forward in whatever task has gotten itself embedded into, in this case, his head. While some argue this is merely being stubborn and beligerant, Weiland understands that sometimes he needs to yield, short term, for a long term goal but will still see something out to its end, no matter what. This makes him quite the free lancer since, once he accepts coin, he will be damn certain to see things through once he decides for certain on his path.

If facing down an enslaved wyvern and its pissed off bandit rider on foot wasn't an indication, Weiland has no qualms staring down just about anything without fear. Without fear isn't accurate, he certainly knows fear and is afraid of things, but it won't stop him from doing whatever he needs to do. Indeed, a fear of heights should have prevented him from being a Wyvern Rider at all, but the bond he shared with Altena gave him reason to overcome said fear. Given a reason, determination and a refusal to let his fears control him means that, as far as other parties are concerned, he has no fear and acts like a fearless freelancer, living from one job to the next.

There is certainly a grand deal more going on in his head, or even in his past, but good luck getting him to open up. Equal parts due to concern over prejudice over his Branded state and having learned to hide it, and the fact that he may end up opposed to former employers after a job was finished, means that getting actual truths out of Weiland is not easy. A lack of trust coupled with a necessary level of discretion due to being Branded has spiraled into an outright secretive nature, to a fault. Situations where opening up a bit and asking for help have spiraled into far messier problems due to his refusal to even speak on the job he is doing. Even worse, he'll lie to someone's face if he has to talk about what he is doing, various small talk about one's self, or otherwise avoid giving away anything.

Background:
Originally from the south western regions of Begnion, Weiland knew full well the stigmata his lineage carried with him from an early age, his father having fallen for a Laguz woman, though who she was remained a mystery to Weiland due to her passing in childbirth. True of all Branded, a brand was at the base of his neck, though it remains easily concealed as his father typically ensured his attire had suitable collars to not readily expose the brand. Learning how to use a sword from his father, Jericho Voss, in an effort to ensure Weiland could protect himself from those that would mean him harm should his secret lineage come to light, he would eventually employ this tendency to use Blades, much like his father does, in mercenary work. So he would depart from home, heading further into Begnion to find work selling his sword, rather than enlist in the army and risk inspection revealing his brand and forcing him to flee his home nation.

Weiland would find success, mostly in protecting traders and nobles from bandits, and even the odd job hunting down bandits to break up bands of them, though word reached him of a rather lucrative offer to deal with a wyvern riding bandit lord near the border of Daein. He found the, to his surprise, woman offering the contract and she directed him to deal with the man however he saw fit. Heading into the hills, he would end up ambushing the bandit and a few of his cohorts, though he nearly lost his life facing down an enraged wyvern rider with nothing but his iron blade. The incident cost him an eye, though in inflicting the loss, the bandit had left himself open to be pulled down from the wyvern, who retreated from the two once freed. Without the Wyvern, the bandit was made short work of, and after tending to his injuries, Weiland would return to be paid for his efforts.

To his surprise, the Wyvern followed him, and the woman who hired him informed him that Altena, the wyvern in question, used to serve her now deceased husband. The man had been murdered in his sleep, and the wyvern kidnapped, prompting the rather sudden and generous offer to see things turned to normal. She had not asked that the wyvern be spared, thinking her lost as a war mount to a bandit, and implored that Weiland at least let Altena accompany him, which he begrudgingly agreed to. This would be the start of a rather notable working relationship, Weiland seeming to have a natural talent in dealing with the Wyvern, seeming to communicate on an instinctive level with Altena, and they would continue to wander and sell their services, now as wyvern rider instead of an unmounted mercenary.

After initially agreeing to travel with Altena, when he was around 32 years old, it took him several months to even work up the gall to use her as a mount just for travels sake. After that, and after taking a 'vacation' to the mountains to overcome his fear of heights and to bond with Altena further, he would focus on training and getting himself used to fighting from Wyvern back. This would span several years, and also helped in Altena growing accustomed to a rider that was not a slaver. This period of training would end up extending into a several year span, living off the coin he had made after starting as a mercenary just after his 18th birthday up until he took this several year break to train and grow accustomed to both flying and mounted combat. Shortly after his 36th birthday, he returned to acting as a sellsword, this time as a mounted wyvern rider instead of simply a mercenary, putting into practice the training he had undergone over the several year period.

He continues to write his father routinely, and has successfully kept his Branded status hidden as a sellsword. Coupled with never sticking around for too long after a job, he has a steady supply of coin, though after his father passed on from natural causes, he had a place to call home. Yet just retiring and hiding out on the border of Begnion did not suit him, so he would return whenever he needed to rest, or lay low for a few weeks, before departing once more with Altena ever at his side.

After several close calls near the Daein border, Weiland's nature as a Branded was exposed to a group of vigilantes that tracked down those of impure blood and punished them as they saw fit. Normally, a handful of bandits would not be much of a concern to Weiland, but between the vigilantes being well organized, well equipped, and specifically gunning for him now, he needed to make himself scarce for some time. Rumors were that Hatari was a paradise and safe haven for any and all, Branded included, who could reach it. Pilgrimages were also known to make their way out there, so after giving false indications he was heading for Crimea, he made a hard march towards his home, to stock up on supplies, before starting to look for a proper pilgrimage out towards Hatari. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but he knew a con when he saw it, so he was confident he could avoid any number of false attempts and find a proper one before his pursuers realized they'd been had and caught up with him.

Torchlight

Voss was apparently the last to reach the coach, having grown to be less than pleased with this northern concept behind hiding in wooden boxes upon wheels that were drawn by horses. Far too easy to be blinded to threats that otherwise would be readily apparent to even warriors traveling via horse or camel. Yet enter the coach he did, for better or worse, for he was sworn to this duty by his Julda, as she was convinced his sword arm would be needed in these northern affairs. He was not nearly as concerned towards the weight, light as it was, of his equipment causing issue to this decrepit parody of a carriage. He would take whatever space was available to seat himself, his shield with its honed edges resting easily on the floor of the transport. His sword remained sheathed at his hip, shifted to rest comfortably and remain easy to access should the need arise in a hurry. The cart driver was named Roake, and Voss distrusted him immensely. Something was off on a instinctual level, yet he had little choice but to ignore such instinct and proceed. In his grip was a parchment, stained a faded red, hinting to others that the previous owner had met a less than noble end.

Voss recalled the parchment had been handed to him by his Julda, her remarks on a band of trespassers having been found with numerous copies of said scrolls in their hands. Initially thought as treachery or propaganda, eventually they reached the Julda who had informed them that it was little more than a call to arms for those willing to aid them. Not uncommon misunderstandings, hence why neighboring civilizations tended to go through very specific methods of contacting and arranging to meet for negotiations with the desert tribesman. Trespassing too close to wherever a tribe resided was inviting death, should they be uninvited and unguided by one of the tribal folk. Yet he had been instructed in enough of the language of the North for him to be able to depart and learn further as he traveled, and he was fluent enough now that communicating with others usually did not go poorly. At least not due to a language barrier, some had seemed to take the sight of a desert tribesman as ill omen, or otherwise disliked apparent savages wandering within sight of them. Yet he had managed to garner enough information to get this far, and once settled in, turned his steady, wary gaze towards those who had also answered this call for whatever reason.

"No expense spent, only the best for us." A soldier woman, who matched the trappings and stance of the outsider Templar. What few encounters he personally had with their order rarely ended well, and less reassuring was what some of his kinsman had spoken of during conflict with bands of such soldiers. Yet this one seemed, for now at least, content to remark on their general situation, in an attempt to foster camaraderie he suspected. Smart, but the surest way to forge such a disparate group into a proper fighting band was through war. Time would tell whether this soldier woman would be of any value outside of taking the first blows, as her lot seemed eager to do. Before turning his gaze to the next, he responded simply enough, likely to be surprisingly fluent in the common language used outside his people. "So long as we arrive, it will do. Needless flaunting of status can be saved for the Kastan."

Next Voss' gaze would turn to the offered drink by the bandit. His people had such folk, useful in scouting and wandering ahead of the main tribes, ambushing would be enemies and looting the dead. Rather than turn away or frown upon such people, they had accepted and found a place for those with gifts such as what this bandit likely bore. Some may accept, some may pass, but when the drink offer reached him, he made a single nod and took a brief swig of the flask, careful not to simply drain its remaining contents and leave the provider of liquor without further drink himself. "Your offer is well met, Baan Taas, and accepted. One with sharp eyes will be useful. "

Voss recognized the prayer of the woman in a dancer's garb, finding such a person offering prayers to the End of Things a strange sight indeed. She had also accepted the Baan Tass' offer of drink, before making a sly remark on fortifying the courage of dead men, having used a viper's spit of the liquor to light an incensed candle. Prayers and incense, a Vul Julda, though her garb did not match the usual attire that those that followed their oaths to the End of Things, perhaps she was of another sect? It was a curiosity that would be answered, in due time, though a follower of the End of Things was both a comfort, and a concern, to have around. Death followed in their wake, though who was to die was rarely a concern of theirs. His tone was neutral, though more cautious than prior when he addressed the woman. "For those who walk as mortals, Vul Julda, courage is all that will help those who cross their path with Vul."

Last for Voss' gaze to cross was a woman, dressed in fine appearing clothes, and one who lacked a honed gut might simply have dismissed her as a jumped up noble and leave it at that. Yet, his gut screamed at him, for reasons he could not consciously place, and he distrusted this woman the most out of those present because of it. She had turned down the drink as well, and seemed intent on resting instead of communing with others present. There would be little rest to be gained on this rickety old carriage, Voss mused, instead opting to instead keep steady track of those around him, what they chose to discuss, and go from there. He had made what remarks he saw as necessary, and would speak further if circumstance demanded it. Otherwise, he would keep his peace for the time being. His manner of speech had been rugged, and accented, likely giving away his origins without ever speaking of them directly, though he had grasped the northern language better than some of his kin, he had slipped into his own tongue all the same. Something he would have to address if asked.

---

@rivaan@GodOfWar@Nameless@The Fated Fallen@Paradoxial

Torchlight

Alright, I will have a post up either tonight or tomorrow at the latest.

Unheroic: The Fish and The Falls [Closed]

Arms of Steel, Now to find their first Test...

Apparently that fancy runed, gilded war anchor wasn't hers? Well, far as Jericho was concerned, it was likely a straight upgrade so he would leave it at that. Once the weapons were put out, however, a rare open grin was present on his face as he stepped over to weigh the various arming swords and daggers in each hand, eventually settling on a pair that complimented each other nicely. Hooking the sheathes of both blades to his left hip, preferring to draw them as such, he was content enough when another offer to lighten the load on bedrolls, general camping supplies, and the like. "Ye lot are rig't proper c'aritable, aren' ye? But a' reckon we can ligt'en the load a touc'." He would grab a bedroll and some other utilities, flint and a striker, and the like. He wasn't one for tents, sneak under a overhanging building in the slums if he had to rough it outside. He recognized the attempts to disengage though, and wasted no further of the man's time, having kitted out as he saw fit and was indeed about to turn and leave when another from the adjoining room came over to check on them.

In all reality, Jericho was mostly surprised it had taken them this long to even bother checking up on the scoundrel and a drowned lass. He promptly went rooting and the foreman fellow went ranting off about some complete bullshit, shenanigans, or the like near as he could tell. Then again, lying came as easy as breathing far as Jericho was concerned, so he did not readily fault the newt fellow for his story being...flexible. Though when presented with a backpack that, apparently, seemed to have more room than something its size could possibly allow, he was immediately wary of it. Reeked of the work of Magicians, fiddling with things well and truly beyond what they should be. That being said, he warily took the bag, before tossing it over to the new fellow once he had gotten the lad's attention. "'ere lad, w'y don' ye carry t'is? Wouldn' want a disreputable fella like me carrin' it, aye?" The smirk hinted that he was joking, though whether or not it was a joke at his nature, or a joke at the fact he looked disreputable as all hell, remained to be seen. That, and he couldn't be arsed to carry everyone's stuff, so he palmed that duty off right quick.

Torchlight

Name:
"Name's Voss."

Class:
"Your kind refer to me as Barbarian, so that will suffice."

Devotion:
"Many of my kinsman favor Ragnarok, but I pledge myself to Kessel."

Familiar:
"I am not Druz Tassa, it is not my place to command the beasts."

Spell List:
"I wield not the otherworldly fury of the Julda."

Backstory:
To the south east, several weeks of hard travel away, are wide and arid deserts that house various tribes of natives to the land. These men, considered little more than simple minded savages playing in the sand, maintain a proud, nomadic culture that often puts the needs of the many ahead of the few. Each tribe follows a larger, ruling caste that tend to form their own pseudo tribe to better lead their people. This is a native form of preventing any one group from holding too much power, as the warrior tribes cannot trade, farm, teach, or otherwise act as a civilized people to anywhere close to the same degree as the tribes that practice the native faiths and magics of the land. Warriors of these southern desert dwellers are trained to be light on their feet, as heavy armor would simply bog them down in the sand and open plains that break up the sand and leave them open targets. Such a life is from where Voss hails from, though why he chose to leave remains a closely guarded secret.

The reality is that Voss is under the command of one of the Julda, literally Sand Prophets, who tend to hold the real power in the society, even if the ruling caste are the faces of the tribes. As a warrior, one of Voss' duties was to protect and defend those of importance, even against the machinations of others within the tribes. He had been a skilled fighter, light on his feet and strong of arm and shield, doing the dance of war that his people practiced. Fade back, braced for the attack, and ducking forward after weathering the storm. Voss was an oddity among his kind, as most of the warrior cast followed their version of Ragnarok, while Voss favored a nameless god, one who was yet considered powerful as most would not invoke their name, and yet hope they had their blessing. Kessel, god of fortune, and given the warrior way of his people, which incorporates heavy amounts of bleeding. A man who is bleeding uncontrollably from a wound cannot readily fight.

Voss was assigned to a Vur Julda that most distrusted, if not outright reviled, as the guardian of their well being. This Vur Julda was dabbling in what was considered godless arts, yet the ruling cast deemed the efforts worthy of protection. So despite misgivings, Voss had to protect the Vur Julda from the efforts of even his own kinsman in their efforts to challenge and slay what was foreseen as a madman. Eventually, Voss would find the Vur Julda in heated debate with another of his caste, and his charge attempted to strike his fellow caste member down with powers that no god could ever grant, be it religious or otherwise. This left Voss with a dilemma, his honor demanded he protect the female Julda from his charge's attack. Yet, his place in the tribe demanded he stand by and let it happen. Voss chose to slit the throat of his charge, drawing the razor sharp steel across the stunned Vur Julda's throat. He was then taken into captivity, held while the ruling caste argued with his warrior caste.

The incident split the tribes evenly down the middle. One side, led by the ruling tribe, by their tongue the Kastan, argued he had betrayed his oaths and acted selfishly. The other, led by the warrior tribes, by their tongue the Bala Tinva, claimed that the attempt on a fellow Julda's life invalidated the oaths that Voss had been forced to swear, and he had been honor bound to act as he had. The strife was eventually ended, before it came to violence, by the Julda tribe. They decreed that the dark arts that the Vur Julda had endangered the tribes and Voss had acted justly. However, to keep the peace, Voss was oath sworn to the Julda who he had saved the life of. She had foreseen trouble in the northern lands of outsiders, and until now had nothing but her complaints to satisfy her. Now she had a oath sworn of the Bala Tinva, and she tasked him with heading north to offer his sword in preventing the madness she foresaw, and had left her unstable at the best of times. Voss would follow his orders, departing and learning the northern outsider terms and language for things along the way, and added to what his Julda had taught him, learning of a King's Call. This surely was the place that his Julda claimed he had to go and prevent disaster at. So, he went, and that was the first step on a path of redemption, according to his tribe and people.

Torchlight

Alright, got my fellow sorted. I also have no problem with another person joining in. (And I do have a growing lexicon of translations for Voss' tribal language for consistency's sake.)

CS

Name:
"Name's Voss."

Class:
"Your kind refer to me as Barbarian, so that will suffice."

Devotion:
"Many of my kinsman favor Ragnarok, but I pledge myself to Kessel."

Familiar:
"I am not Druz Tassa, it is not my place to command the beasts."

Spell List:
"I wield not the otherworldly fury of the Julda."

Backstory:
To the south east, several weeks of hard travel away, are wide and arid deserts that house various tribes of natives to the land. These men, considered little more than simple minded savages playing in the sand, maintain a proud, nomadic culture that often puts the needs of the many ahead of the few. Each tribe follows a larger, ruling caste that tend to form their own pseudo tribe to better lead their people. This is a native form of preventing any one group from holding too much power, as the warrior tribes cannot trade, farm, teach, or otherwise act as a civilized people to anywhere close to the same degree as the tribes that practice the native faiths and magics of the land. Warriors of these southern desert dwellers are trained to be light on their feet, as heavy armor would simply bog them down in the sand and open plains that break up the sand and leave them open targets. Such a life is from where Voss hails from, though why he chose to leave remains a closely guarded secret.

The reality is that Voss is under the command of one of the Julda, literally Sand Prophets, who tend to hold the real power in the society, even if the ruling caste are the faces of the tribes. As a warrior, one of Voss' duties was to protect and defend those of importance, even against the machinations of others within the tribes. He had been a skilled fighter, light on his feet and strong of arm and shield, doing the dance of war that his people practiced. Fade back, braced for the attack, and ducking forward after weathering the storm. Voss was an oddity among his kind, as most of the warrior cast followed their version of Ragnarok, while Voss favored a nameless god, one who was yet considered powerful as most would not invoke their name, and yet hope they had their blessing. Kessel, god of fortune, and given the warrior way of his people, which incorporates heavy amounts of bleeding. A man who is bleeding uncontrollably from a wound cannot readily fight.

Voss was assigned to a Vur Julda that most distrusted, if not outright reviled, as the guardian of their well being. This Vur Julda was dabbling in what was considered godless arts, yet the ruling cast deemed the efforts worthy of protection. So despite misgivings, Voss had to protect the Vur Julda from the efforts of even his own kinsman in their efforts to challenge and slay what was foreseen as a madman. Eventually, Voss would find the Vur Julda in heated debate with another of his caste, and his charge attempted to strike his fellow caste member down with powers that no god could ever grant, be it religious or otherwise. This left Voss with a dilemma, his honor demanded he protect the female Julda from his charge's attack. Yet, his place in the tribe demanded he stand by and let it happen. Voss chose to slit the throat of his charge, drawing the razor sharp steel across the stunned Vur Julda's throat. He was then taken into captivity, held while the ruling caste argued with his warrior caste.

The incident split the tribes evenly down the middle. One side, led by the ruling tribe, by their tongue the Kastan, argued he had betrayed his oaths and acted selfishly. The other, led by the warrior tribes, by their tongue the Bala Tinva, claimed that the attempt on a fellow Julda's life invalidated the oaths that Voss had been forced to swear, and he had been honor bound to act as he had. The strife was eventually ended, before it came to violence, by the Julda tribe. They decreed that the dark arts that the Vur Julda had endangered the tribes and Voss had acted justly. However, to keep the peace, Voss was oath sworn to the Julda who he had saved the life of. She had foreseen trouble in the northern lands of outsiders, and until now had nothing but her complaints to satisfy her. Now she had a oath sworn of the Bala Tinva, and she tasked him with heading north to offer his sword in preventing the madness she foresaw, and had left her unstable at the best of times. Voss would follow his orders, departing and learning the northern outsider terms and language for things along the way, and added to what his Julda had taught him, learning of a King's Call. This surely was the place that his Julda claimed he had to go and prevent disaster at. So, he went, and that was the first step on a path of redemption, according to his tribe and people.

Torchlight

I am putting someone new together, but expect to see him done sometime today.