Perpetually Beardless
Full Name: Malrein Nasia
Nickname/Alias: Mal
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Country: Woodwyn
Occupation: Former Caravan Guard Turned Jobless Globetrotter
Appearance: Standing at 5’7, Malrein holds his stocky body in an aloof manner, gray eyes always appearing to either be aloof or bemused. His hair is of a dark auburn coloration, generally a windswept mess that he likes to shave off completely every four to five months. The stubble on his chin comes from a beard that he had been growing since infancy, and his soft facial features makes him look younger than he already is, much to his chagrin. A long scar traces from his right elbow down to the base of his thumb, while another scar splashes over his solar plexus.
Like most nomadic types, Malrein doesn’t own a single piece of clothing that can’t stand the rigours of travel, and is accustomed to wearing the same thing wherever he goes. Dark clothing, repaired many times in the past, protect his skin from chafing on the leather armor he wears. Over all that comes a rich, green cloak, embroidered with threads of gold and silver, his pride and joy…outside of his Dwarf, of course.
Background: Malrein Nasia was never particularly attached to Woodwyn. Birthed during a long journey through the great cities of Sagewick to the vibrant floating towns of Wildeshore, Malrein hadn’t even seen his parents’ homeland until he was three years old. Part of a merchant caravan that sold both concoctions made out of Dwarven spit as well as a variety of other items, the young child had learned curse words from Wildeshore sailors before he learned the names of Woodwyn-specific plants, and could recite Mallowater poetry before reciting the capital cities of Woodwyn. Though Woodwyn was seen as many as a nation prone to retreating to their own borders and staying isolated from others in times of trouble, Malrein always had different thoughts on that.
After all, he had seen more of the world in his childhood than others have seen in their adulthood, and the experiences he had gathered so early on had in turn given him a confidence and aloofness that was perhaps too much for a child. Precocious, he jumped at the opportunity to learn new things, taking after his mother instead of his father when it came to life. Even though his only real talent was needlework, Malrein picked up a whole bunch of basic knowledge from his mother when it came to potion-mixing, cooking, haggling, butchering, waking drunks up, singing, and a hell lot of other miscellaneous shit. Compared to his father, a stoic caravan guard with a penchant (not a talent) for card games, what his mom did was just so much more interesting!
Except he was still a growing young lad, and all men were expected to be able to do their part in protecting the caravan if bandits or beasts attacked. So he was tasked with heavy lifting, with standing guard while others slept, with hunting and with fighting.
But life on the road was fun, no matter how comfortable a proper bed was or how miserable the weather was. He wholeheartedly enjoyed every day of his life, where Woodwyn was just a base of operations for the caravan to resupply, while his real home was practically the entire world.
It was for that reason that when the threat of the Leviathans emerged and Master Fontaine, an individual that he never even met before, ordered all residents of Woodwyn to return, to shut down their borders and to refrain from leaving the nation, Malrein rebelled.
His home was the entire world, and abandoning six out of seven parts of the world to
maybe save one? That was just utterly…inane! The globetrotter had tasted the entire world, and he would not leave that same world to rot. Malrein returned to Woodwyn to restock, secretly preparing to leave, and as he ‘borrowed’ from his family’s cellar, the young man encountered a like mind.
A Dwarf, having been kept within the grounds of the Woodwyn’s village for all its life, spoke out to him, and he heard. One was enamored by the scents that the nomads carried back with them after every long journey, while another was addicted to the world that had become his playground. Hiding the dwarf in his satchel, the two left one-seventh of their home to protect the six-seventh.
Well, maybe just five-seventh. Erihollow was fairly unpleasant, if he thought about it.
Strengths:》 Proficient in the usage of spears, especially when it comes to spear-fishing.
》 Well-travelled, and has practically memorized the world map, including all major trade routes.
》 No strange to discomfort, and is unbothered by bad weather or lack of sleep and food. Great fortitude and endurance.
》 Has a friend or two in most major cities across the globe. Pays to network. Also pays to not be…racist? Nationalist?
》 Pretty good with sewing, but lacking when it comes to detailed, ornamental work.
Weaknesses:》 A wide range of skills serve to hide his lack of mastery in any of them.
》 Suffers from motion sickness when it comes to land vehicles. There’s a reason why he walks everywhere, after all.
》 Pretty awful when it comes to mixing anything outside of the most basic potions…which is really terrible when his money-making depends on it.
》 What is alcohol tolerance? Clearly something Malrein doesn’t have.
》 Has an abnormal fear of small wriggling things, such as worms and instincts. There’s a reason why he’s good at spear-fishing, after all.
Equipment:》 The one suit of clothing and armor that he owns.
》 A harpoon purchased from Wildeshores. Great for fishing, though it makes a mess of its innards afterwards. Also not too bad for stabbing baddies.
》 His self-designed green cloak with gold trimmings. Important enough that it gets its own spot.
》 A large pack that basically carries everything he needs to travel alone, from tinderboxes to medical salves to a watershedding tarp to a pot for boiling food.
Glorified Ancient Cattle
Full Name: Zellador
Age: 306, but has he truly lived?
Gender: Male
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: Beautifully white, Zellador is the size of a small puppy, a runt even amongst other Dwarf dragons, with a feathered mane that is yellow at the tips. Despite giving off the image of something that should be treasured, the only thing that’s regal about him is his sleeping posture, and more often than not, Zellador and his perpetually slitted eyes just looks to be half-asleep.
His human form is similarly adorable in the manner of a pet. While most other dragons conveniently shrink in their human form so they can do weird shit like have sex with their Listeners, Zellador just becomes even smaller, turning into a human the size of a small doll. Impressively enough, his voice isn’t reduced to the squeals of a chipmunk, but it’s still fairly high pitched. With pale skin, unmarked skin and two stubby horns popping out of his forehead, the Dwarf human has white hair reaching to his shoulders, accompanied by vivid yellow eyes that seem to glow. It’s a form that’s practically useless, really, unless Malrein wants help with pushing a thread through the eye of a needle.
Background: Zellador’s world was a hidden village within Woodwyn, kept out of the sight of the rest of the world. By his first century, he knew exactly how many trees there were in that small town. By his second century, he had every little crook and cranny in that village mapped out in his head. By his third century, the only thing that broke the monotony of his existence of being an ancient farm animal was the various scents that the nomads of his tribe brought in. Once, it was just the stench of fire and blood, but now, it was salt winds, spicy aromas, and a variety of other things that he could not see for himself.
Resigned to an eternity of being safeguarded within a glorified cage, Zellador had never expected someone to actually accept his offer to get out of this bite-sized world.
But that brat (no talent for thievery, by the way) accepted, and after an unbearable journey of being sandwiched between stale sandwich bread and preserved meat, freedom was finally granted to a being that could no longer bear its cage.
Time to become free-range, baby.
Strengths:》 Zellador’s saliva is delicious.
》 He’s excellent at predicting the weather.
》 His feathered mane feels divine to the touch.
》 He does, in fact, know how to make his bodily fluids into powerful elixirs.
Weaknesses:》 He’s a weakling, through and through.
》 His jaws are so weak that he can’t actually chew jerky.
》 What’s a nation? What are other dragons? Zellador is embarrassingly ignorant.
》 Despite all those crippling weaknesses, Zellador STILL acts like he’s super duper mega important. Not that such a statement is incorrect, per se, but…
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