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Reinold Sul’athar, the Outcast. (MAIN)
Nearby the Cutthroat’s Abode, Southern On’hino
“It’s all I have left!” the woman pleaded, clutching onto a copper pendant. “No merchant would pay you good coin over this thing, just-“ Her eyes widened as one of the highwaymen surrounding her drew a knife. It was an effective signal to shut up, though it only stifled her whimpering; which was barely audible through the heavy rain.
The knife-wielding man knelt in front of her, and looked her in the eyes. “I don’t think you understand what’s happening.” In a sudden motion, he gripped her hair and yanked it back; exposing her throat. Cold steel met the warmth of the woman’s skin. The man’s voice turned sour. “We’re takin’ everything. I dun’ care if’s the most precious trinket in your cart, or some worthless scrap. As long as that lard-pot Garethul doesn’t pay for our protection, he’ll see his shipments and carts go disappearin’. What you do have a say in, love, is whether or not his merchants turn up dead or alive. Are we clear?” As the woman sank to her knees in the mud, she held up the pendant, and cringed as it was swiped.
The other outlaws turned their attention to the horse-drawn cart she had brought along the way. One of them stroked the horse’s mane, before giving a shrill whistle. The cart was cut free, the horse kept in place. The group dragged the cart off the road and into the forest. Only the knife-wielding man and the merchant remained.
“I did what you asked,” she said, “please let me go.”
“Well you did, but not without giving me a little trouble.” The man grinned, leaning in to look her in the eye. “’haps you should do something for my troubles.” There was a pause, before the woman got up and tried to run before slipping in the mud. The man scambled overtop of her, and pinned her down with a hearty laugh. “Go on, love, I like when they struggle!” He gripped the collar of her shirt, and dragged the knife through the cloth; splitting it in two to reveal her bare back. No sooner had he started to pry further with his barehands than he stopped. Blood gushed down his face, and poured onto the woman as the bandit gave way to a violent spasm; his hands reaching up at the spike through the top of his skull. The woman screamed as she looked over her shoulder to find another man driving the sharp handguard further.
With a sharp twist, the bandit stopped moving, and the stranger ripped his blade free before grabbing it by the handle. Pushing the bandit off of the woman and into the mud, the man planted his blade into the ground. The woman started to crawl away again, before a cloak fell over her body. She paused – wrapping herself up – and looked at the armor adorning her rescuer’s form. It was filthy; grime in some parts, broken chain in others.
“Sir Garethul hired me to investigate matters on this route,” the man explained, surveying his surroundings. He knelt beside the bandit, and turned the corpse over. “What was in your cart?”
“Jewelry,” the woman replied, standing up. She held the cloak tight around her form, and approached the man. “I owe you a debt,” she said, managing a sheepish smile. It was plain to see that her terrors were far from gone; there was no chill in the air strong enough to take credit for her shaking. “What is your name?”
“It won't be hard to track.” The man stood up and handed the copper pendant to the woman. “I’ll return with your cart. Stay warm.” With that, he grabbed his sword and strode off in the direction of the other outlaws. Their footprints were well defined in the mud. From what he could tell, there was at least five or six others. The canopy above sheltered his body from the rain as he followed the trail. Rain in On’hino made it difficult for thieves to get away with robbing merchants. Not only because it left tracks for anyone to follow, but because-
A loud crash resounded through the rain. The man grinned, and picked up his pace. It was easy for someone to wreck a cart in the woods when the ground is muck. He climbed up a hill to find a sharp decline ahead. The cart must have fallen down. Peering down, he found the group of bandits circling the cart, trying to pluck their take from the earth. Tightening the grip on his blade, the man walked down the decline and approached the bandits. They were nothing special; all of rather average builds, wearing little armor aside from studded leather.
“I have a message from Sir Garethul,” he said, gathering their attention. Raising his sword over his head, he threw it at one of the highwaymen. It caught one of them by the throat; the sheer force pulling him to the ground and pinning him in the mud. The rest of them drew their weapons; ranging from crudely-formed swords to axes. The man stopped, and raised his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Is there anything you’d like me to say to him?”
As the bandits charged towards him, the man curled his hand into a fist and struck the first one to come in the jaw; a snapping noise in reward to the blow. Before the foe could stagger back, the man pulled him to take the business end of an axe in motion. The force behind the blow sent both the man and his meatshield back, but he remained balanced. However, he grimaced as the bandit he held vomited a torrent of warm blood into his mail.
“Thanks,” he muttered before throwing the body to the ground; liberating a blade free from its dead owner’s clutch. As the axe-wielding outlaw readied an overhead swing to cut the man in half, the man leaned in and jammed his shoulder into the opponent’s core. His strength was enough to lift the cutthroat off of his feet.
The bandit tried to pry the man off of him, before he was slammed into a tree; impaled on a broken branch. The man stepped back before hot pain dragged like a nail through his side. Recoiling and turning around, he narrowly caught the next swing of another attacker with his steel. With one hand free, the man grabbed his assailant by the back of the head, and pulled his face into the back of his blade; eliciting a pained scream that made the last two step back. The scream only stopped as the man grunted and pulled even harder; pushing the metal past the skull.
There was a deadly silence, aside from the thud of a fresh-made corpse falling to the ground. The man stared at the two remaining outlaws. As one sank to his knees and dropped his weapon, the other turned and ran.
“W-we were just doing what was needed to get by,” the last criminal said, “we did what we were told.”
“I believe you.” The man approached him, and smiled. “Offer your hand.”
The criminal hesitated, before lifting his hand. With a single motion, the man released an agonized scream from the criminal. They both stared at the severed hand on the ground; an occasional twitch still coming from the fingers.
“Find your friend,” the man said, “and kill him. Then let everyone else know what happens to anyone who so much as points a sharp stick at Sir Garethul’s employs.” Dropping the sword, he walked over and ripped his own blade free from its flesh scabbard. “If they don’t believe you, show them the bodies.” With that, he left the remaining outlaw in the blood-saturated mud.
Perona, Western On’hino
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re lying,” Garethul said as he and the man walked through the streets of Perona. The amount of years the businessman had spent in the harbor-city had left him adept at weaving through the busy streets, despite his portly figure. The cries of vendors from their stalls fell deaf on his ears. “But I do know better, Reinold Sul’athar. Do you think we’ll hear anything more concerning my carts being stopped in the Abode?”
“Your carts will remain untouched, at least until the Frost sets in.” Reinold held his side, as if his hand would soothe the pain of his bandaged wound. “I’m certain that another pack will take their place, eventually.”
“Well I’d rather pay you to kill them off every now and then, over being extorted.” Garethul chuckled, and patted Reinold’s shoulder. “I’ve seen to it that the information you requested is waiting for you on my ship, along with a little ‘bonus’ for saving me the trouble of another dead worker.”
“Bonus?”
“Trust me, you’ll like it.” Garethul stopped in front of a store; the building itself dwarfing the houses that filled Perona. He turned towards Reinold, with a grin as wide enough to catch the wind. “It’s funny, what you’re doing. You have always been so… well, serious. I’m having a hard time, believing that you’d suddenly buy into all this shite about underground treasures.”
Reinold gave Garethul a look – one that quickly sent the flashing whites into hiding. But, he simply shrugged. “It could be that there’s nothing to this,” he admitted. “To believe now, that there’s more treasure than you or I could haul out in our lifetime; it is foolish.” The Templar flicked his gaze to the docks. Standing there was a hooded figure – waiting on him.
Reinold began to walk towards the figure. “It is not my choice.” He said nothing as he approached the figure. Rather, he sported his statement by the look of confusion on his face. From within the figure’s hood, a beard split into a grin.
“If they were going to find me out, they would have done it by now.” Holden gestured towards the Sea Tigers, who kept watch over the streets. There was a period of silence, before the Exile spoke again, his tone more stern. “We had a deal. Nothing stupid.”
“It’s not my first time working for Garethul,” Reinold said, “and we had nothing else to go on.”
“Then you should have brought me.”
“Brought you? You?” The Templar snorted. “We wouldn’t have half a hair’s chance at leaving.” Shaking his head, he walked past Holden, and toward Garethul’s ship; a modest schooner, in the presence of its neighboring warships.
Holden d'Alnharte, the Exile. (SIDE)
Some call him a war hero.
Others call him a murderer.
Holden served as a marine in the navy of On'hino. His job was to scout for the main forces, report enemy massings, and kill enemy scouts and targets of opportunity. What none expected was his excellence in his tasks. Throughout the war, he was considered a certainty to victory for whichever army he had scouted the battlefield for. It was even reported that after being spotted by lookouts from the rebel armies, they had retreated from a vital control point. However, it could be a myth.
Holden's capabilities of blending in were remarkable. After slipping into the chain of command of the rebel armies, he had not only intercepted vital information, but killed off multiple officials without detection. The result left him with the monicker "Ghost of the Sea". Though his stealth was noteworthy, he did not come up short in the field of combat. Having spent the majority of his time on the field, various battles and skirmishes left him to favor a longsword of unknown descent -- Yusil.
The only thing to outdo his swordsmanship is his marksmanship. A popular story among soldiers of the Royal Army: "When given the task to eliminate the commander of a rebel battalion in a fortified position, he snatched a longbow from an archer's hands. Before he returned, white flags were being raised from the rebels, who explained that 'the gods had struck down their commander with a single arrow to the throat.'"
The Betrayal
After being recognized for his bravery, dedication and effectiveness on the battlefield, Holden was recalled home, to the capital city of On'hino, Okeluiso. He became a war hero. One night, he was called into the king's castle for a celebration over their nation's clear victory over the rebels residing in their northern coast. However, the events that had taken place in the castle are not known, aside from two things: The murder of the king's son, and the exiling of Holden.
When asked, the king could not say whether or not the death of the only heir to the throne was at the hands of Holden, nor would he explain why he banished the war hero. The anarchy that swept the land was over the questionable innocence of Holden. Had he killed the prince? If that is the case, then why did the king let him leave alive? Such questions baffled either side, until a coup arranged by On'hino's generals overthrew the king, and left him to rot in a prison.
The men to replace the king promised an end to the controversy by summoning Holden to trial in On'hino. But, a large problem came to a head then. If exiled from the lands, then where would Holden go? With his vast array of skills, combined with the possibility of him being anywhere in Erelith, the war hero and possible killer could not be called upon so easily.
Having not the manpower to waste over this controversy, the men in charge came up with another solution. If Holden is to come home, his innocence would be redeemed, and he would be exempt of murder charges. However, until Holden comes home, the lump sum of coin on his head stands more than enough for one to build their own nation.
After a year of being hunted, Holden has yet to return to On'hino. However, in his wake over the world is a trail of bodies belonging to those searching for their claim to fame and fortune. One would barely be able to recognize him from his years in service, however his tale is not one to mistake for another's -- nor is his ability.
Age: 32.
Place of birth: On'hino.
Occupation: Scout, Ranger, Freelance.
Physique-
Hair: Chestnut brown, ungroomed, full beard.
Eyes: Stone grey.
Fitness: Strong and lean, resilient.
Morals: "The taking of a life is not a simple task, but one I will not hesitate to complete should I feel mine threatened."
Reinold Sul’athar, the Outcast. (MAIN)
Reinold Sul'athar is a name feared amongst many.
He was death incarnate.
Where he walked, his blade would never dry.
A trail of bodies remained in his wake.
The name "Sul'athar" came from an ancient dialect -- meaning "Gods' Fury."
They believed that Reinold was the act of a forgotten goddess -- Ner --, and that he was augmented with her power. It was by his overwhelming strength that he won a war that threatened to destroy his homeland and her people. But, it was at no small price.
He was death incarnate.
Where he walked, his blade would never dry.
A trail of bodies remained in his wake.
The name "Sul'athar" came from an ancient dialect -- meaning "Gods' Fury."
They believed that Reinold was the act of a forgotten goddess -- Ner --, and that he was augmented with her power. It was by his overwhelming strength that he won a war that threatened to destroy his homeland and her people. But, it was at no small price.
Conflict in the Dragon's Maw
As his homeland's reach ran too far, civil war erupted. Men who were too tired of living under the boots of an untouchable caste rose to strike them down. Farm were drenched with blood. Soldiers and commoners littered the ground, where their atrocities would render the land barren for generations to come. As the soldiers sworn to protect and uphold any semblance of order fought and died for their cause, many independent branches were faced with a grim decision. Which side would they take? Would they have to slay their own kin?
Many withheld from choosing, as Ner's Shield did. A religious sect had no place in a war, after all.
When the war first began, Reinold prepared and prepared. He sought to learn everything he could, to be as ready as he could for the battles to come. However, the Shield was not to partake in the war. They were an order of pacifists, and were to uphold that principle to the death in Ner's name. As time went by, more and more innocent lives paid the price of the order's code.
On the day that Reinold was given the title of Templar -- the second-highest rank among those in the Shield -- he made a choice. No code, no forbidden action would outweigh the lives lost each day the religious order stood by.
By night, he slipped away from the Shield's temple, and made for the frontlines. Though he discarded the Shield's sigil, it was clear the moment he stepped forth into Commander-Knight Theseus' camp that he was no mere peasant looking to earn his pay.
During the campaign to retake the border, Reinold stood unmatched in combat. Through countless trials, he outperformed his commander's expectations, and earned the fear of his opponents. From the first battle to the last, he stood with his fellow soldiers. When the campaign ended, there were few who didn't recognize Reinold as a hero. However, Ner's Shield was not oblivious to his actions.
When he returned to the temple, they placed him on trial. He was expelled from the order, and was told that Oner would no longer tolerate his presence on its soil. He had saved the war effort, but at the cost of his life's dedication. Reinold was no longer a child of Ner. He would not longer devote his life to her will.
What became of him?
On that same night, he was sent over across the border into the world unknown; to hide like a coward, or find an honorable death. Reinold now wanders without a purpose; a blade for hire for some, a potential soldier with undying loyalty for others. What one makes of him is in the hands of his employer, leader, or god.
Though he had disgraced the Shield by his actions, Reinold holds their virtues without wavering. Quiet and stoic, his temper is not quick to flare. He will defend those who earn his respect, and teach those he comes to admire.
Those who ally themselves with the Templar learn quickly that he is not weak in combat. He is a master of the battlefield; ready to take as much punishment as he will deliver. There is not much one can do to determine if he is confident, cocky, or plain stubborn.
Reinold is a Weaponsmaster; adept with a wide arsenal. Very few blades, clubs and axes feel alien in his tested hands. However, his weapon of preference is a bastard sword, made of plain steel. With his gauntlets, he can turn the hand and a half blade into a hammer in a pinch. The pommel itself is sharpened to a point, more as a tool than a weapon. He wears a mix of chainmail and leather, preferring to be more mobile in combat. While his equipment holds no special properties, he has an emotional attachment with them. They are all he has left.
The remnants of divine favor that he still holds grants him resistance to some sources of profane magic. This sacred protection can be overcome by the more adept magic users.
Due to the same divine favor that protects him from the arcane, Reinold is incapable of utilizing any form of magic. There is a reason he sticks to what he knows.
While a skilled opponent on the battlefield, Reinold is a mere man. Illness, poisons and the likes can do him under as they would any other mortal. His wounds take some time to mend without the aid of a divine healer. Arcane methods will not sew his flesh together.
Many millennia before the creation of modern Erelith existed the Arezian nation. A utopian world that surpassed all of Erelith, Arezia worked with technology in one hand, and magic in the other. A great inventor, Kal, strove to place the Sentient Races on the level of gods. In his relentless efforts, he pioneered the way through the most profane magics in the world; soulburning.
In normal practices of the arcane, a mage physically and mentally exerts himself to channel the auras through his frame, which manifests to his will. The more powerful the spell, the harder it is to channel, and the greater of a physical toll the aura takes. In the case that a mage attempts and fails a spell, the mages suffers a hemorrhage, and likely dies. Soulburning magic bypasses this by using the soul itself - unhindered by the mortal coil - to channel and fuel the magic. Instead of the soul going through the Cycle, it is destroyed. In order to obtain the soul, its mortal vessel is destroyed, and it is captured by other magics.
Soulburning allowed Kal to create tools that pushed the realm of possibilities. Cities were raised in moments. Farms yielded endless crops. Diseases and death were all but absent. For many of Arezia, this was the perfect world. For Kal and his subordinates, however, this was not the end. They would not stop until they were gods. Thus, Kal sacrificed countless lives to bestow upon Arezia three treasures of unlimited strength; the Northern Edge, a blade which allowed its wielder to control the tides of battle, and kill the gods themselves; the Harmony, a pendant which protected its user from any magic; and, the most powerful of all, the Wishgranter, a ring that gave the user the ability to rewrite the realm itself.
In Kal's hubris, he wore the Wishgranter, and wished to become a god. The power needed by the Wishgranter to grant his wish was so tremendous that it triggered a cataclysm. Every single Arezian soul, gone in an instant. Kal became the god he sought to become, but of an empty world. In his shame, he used his limitless control of the auras to grant three more wishes: to bury away all remnants of Arezia under a new world, to bury his great and powerful tools, and to restore life to the new world. Erelith was born, and Kal became a god in recluse; driven by his shame to keep his secrets away from mortals.
Yet, secrets are only so to be uncovered. With the Northern Edge's appearance during the Umbral Reign to slay the Queen, treasure hunters began scouring the world, only to find passages to the ruins of Arezia ...
The WISHGRANTER Saga
Looking to join in? Join this discord server for rules, guidelines, and wiki information.
Don't like discord? Private message me for the information you need and to show interest.
Erelith's Wiki can be accessed here.
Discord/General Rules
1. Be polite.
2. No Metagaming.
3. Keep discussions in the appropriate channels.*
4. Keep bot comands in #bot-commands.*
5. Listen to any @Gamemaster . Feel free to ping them if you have any questions/concerns.*
6. Check announcements now and then for info.*
*Applicable to discord members.
IC Rules
1. Erelith is host to wide variety of beasts and races. That being said, if you're planning to introduce an unconventional race (Not Elf, Human, Dwarf, Halfling, Orc, or a mix of those) please run it by a @Gamemaster beforehand. (Non-discord members PM me through the site itself)
2. Normal roleplaying rules apply. No Godmoding, metagaming (mentioned already).
3. Reminder that it's a roleplay for story, not a TDM.
4. As of right now, we're not forcing characters to adhere to any kind of mechanics. Things work on good faith between the group, however should the group grow too large/show that such mechanics are needed it will be done.
EDIT: If you have any questions or requests, you can shoot me a PM and I'll get back to you.
Good to hear Lauder!
Just a heads up to the people who are viewing this thread, we will be launching this role play Friday evening.
(Edited because it originally said Saturday.)
Just a heads up to the people who are viewing this thread, we will be launching this role play Friday evening.
(Edited because it originally said Saturday.)
You know I am interested. What kind of plot do you have in mind? Are we looking for hidden treasures? Waging war between the nations? Plotting to overthrow our rightful rulers?
The main, overall "Quest" is the endeavor into the ruins of Arezia to find this Wishgranter. For the treasure hunter, it is a source of unfathomable wealth. For the warlord, it is an limitless fountain of power; capable of uniting the realm under one ruler. For the sane of mind, it is the catalyst to unravel Erelith at the seams, and should be destroyed.
Some nations actively pioneer their own way to the Wishgranter. Others have their own plethora of problems on hand.
I intended for the Wishgranter Saga to be both a wide and narrow road. Want only to chase down the artifact? You can. Want to explore Erelith? Make your mark in some other way? The way is there.
Many millennia before the creation of modern Erelith existed the Arezian nation. A utopian world that surpassed all of Erelith, Arezia worked with technology in one hand, and magic in the other. A great inventor, Kal, strove to place the Sentient Races on the level of gods. In his relentless efforts, he pioneered the way through the most profane magics in the world; soulburning.
In normal practices of the arcane, a mage physically and mentally exerts himself to channel the auras through his frame, which manifests to his will. The more powerful the spell, the harder it is to channel, and the greater of a physical toll the aura takes. In the case that a mage attempts and fails a spell, the mages suffers a hemorrhage, and likely dies. Soulburning magic bypasses this by using the soul itself - unhindered by the mortal coil - to channel and fuel the magic. Instead of the soul going through the Cycle, it is destroyed. In order to obtain the soul, its mortal vessel is destroyed, and it is captured by other magics.
Soulburning allowed Kal to create tools that pushed the realm of possibilities. Cities were raised in moments. Farms yielded endless crops. Diseases and death were all but absent. For many of Arezia, this was the perfect world. For Kal and his subordinates, however, this was not the end. They would not stop until they were gods. Thus, Kal sacrificed countless lives to bestow upon Arezia three treasures of unlimited strength; the Northern Edge, a blade which allowed its wielder to control the tides of battle, and kill the gods themselves; the Harmony, a pendant which protected its user from any magic; and, the most powerful of all, the Wishgranter, a ring that gave the user the ability to rewrite the realm itself.
In Kal's hubris, he wore the Wishgranter, and wished to become a god. The power needed by the Wishgranter to grant his wish was so tremendous that it triggered a cataclysm. Every single Arezian soul, gone in an instant. Kal became the god he sought to become, but of an empty world. In his shame, he used his limitless control of the auras to grant three more wishes: to bury away all remnants of Arezia under a new world, to bury his great and powerful tools, and to restore life to the new world. Erelith was born, and Kal became a god in recluse; driven by his shame to keep his secrets away from mortals.
Yet, secrets are only so to be uncovered. With the Northern Edge's appearance during the Umbral Reign to slay the Queen, treasure hunters began scouring the world, only to find passages to the ruins of Arezia ...
The WISHGRANTER Saga
Looking to join in? Join this discord server for rules, guidelines, and wiki information.
Don't like discord? Private message me for the information you need and to show interest.
Erelith's Wiki can be accessed here.
Discord/General Rules
1. Be polite.
2. No Metagaming.
3. Keep discussions in the appropriate channels.*
4. Keep bot comands in #bot-commands.*
5. Listen to any @Gamemaster . Feel free to ping them if you have any questions/concerns.*
6. Check announcements now and then for info.*
*Applicable to discord members.
IC Rules
ANY AND ALL CHARACTERS MUST BE SUBMITTED IN #CHAR-APPLICATIONS FOR APPROVAL PRIOR TO USAGE (Non-discord members PM me through the site itself)
1. Erelith is host to wide variety of beasts and races. That being said, if you're planning to introduce an unconventional race (Not Elf, Human, Dwarf, Halfling, Orc, or a mix of those) please run it by a @Gamemaster beforehand. (Non-discord members PM me through the site itself)
2. Normal roleplaying rules apply. No Godmoding, metagaming (mentioned already).
3. Reminder that it's a roleplay for story, not a TDM.
4. As of right now, we're not forcing characters to adhere to any kind of mechanics. Things work on good faith between the group, however should the group grow too large/show that such mechanics are needed it will be done.
EDIT: If you have any questions or requests, you can shoot me a PM and I'll get back to you.
-
Holden d'Alnharte, the Exile. (SIDE)
Some call him a war hero.
Others call him a murderer.
Holden served as a marine in the navy of On'hino. His job was to scout for the main forces, report enemy massings, and kill enemy scouts and targets of opportunity. What none expected was his excellence in his tasks. Throughout the war, he was considered a certainty to victory for whichever army he had scouted the battlefield for. It was even reported that after being spotted by lookouts from the rebel armies, they had retreated from a vital control point. However, it could be a myth.
Holden's capabilities of blending in were remarkable. After slipping into the chain of command of the rebel armies, he had not only intercepted vital information, but killed off multiple officials without detection. The result left him with the monicker "Ghost of the Sea". Though his stealth was noteworthy, he did not come up short in the field of combat. Having spent the majority of his time on the field, various battles and skirmishes left him to favor a longsword of unknown descent -- Yusil.
The only thing to outdo his swordsmanship is his marksmanship. A popular story among soldiers of the Royal Army: "When given the task to eliminate the commander of a rebel battalion in a fortified position, he snatched a longbow from an archer's hands. Before he returned, white flags were being raised from the rebels, who explained that 'the gods had struck down their commander with a single arrow to the throat.'"
The Betrayal
After being recognized for his bravery, dedication and effectiveness on the battlefield, Holden was recalled home, to the capital city of On'hino, Okeluiso. He became a war hero. One night, he was called into the king's castle for a celebration over their nation's clear victory over the rebels residing in their northern coast. However, the events that had taken place in the castle are not known, aside from two things: The murder of the king's son, and the exiling of Holden.
When asked, the king could not say whether or not the death of the only heir to the throne was at the hands of Holden, nor would he explain why he banished the war hero. The anarchy that swept the land was over the questionable innocence of Holden. Had he killed the prince? If that is the case, then why did the king let him leave alive? Such questions baffled either side, until a coup arranged by On'hino's generals overthrew the king, and left him to rot in a prison.
The men to replace the king promised an end to the controversy by summoning Holden to trial in On'hino. But, a large problem came to a head then. If exiled from the lands, then where would Holden go? With his vast array of skills, combined with the possibility of him being anywhere in Erelith, the war hero and possible killer could not be called upon so easily.
Having not the manpower to waste over this controversy, the men in charge came up with another solution. If Holden is to come home, his innocence would be redeemed, and he would be exempt of murder charges. However, until Holden comes home, the lump sum of coin on his head stands more than enough for one to build their own nation.
After a year of being hunted, Holden has yet to return to On'hino. However, in his wake over the world is a trail of bodies belonging to those searching for their claim to fame and fortune. One would barely be able to recognize him from his years in service, however his tale is not one to mistake for another's -- nor is his ability.
Age: 32.
Place of birth: On'hino.
Occupation: Scout, Ranger, Freelance.
Physique-
Hair: Chestnut brown, ungroomed, full beard.
Eyes: Stone grey.
Fitness: Strong and lean, resilient.
Morals: "The taking of a life is not a simple task, but one I will not hesitate to complete should I feel mine threatened."
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